A hair's-breadth difference and I would have been skewered through the heart!
As it was, the first spear struck wide - slamming home in the support beam with a delicious thwack and a prolonged trembling. The second spear sailed overhead as I ducked, and pierced the drywall making a mushy, crumbling hole. The spear settled, wobbling and listing for a moment before sliding out to clatter onto the parquet floor of the conference room. Its shaft bore the unmistakable corporate logo of our competitors - guests here, at a supposedly friendly summit.
"Infidels!" I cried. "A fatwah be upon you!" I often spontaneously convert to Islam in moments of high stress. Crouching, I drew my ringing rapier from its jewel-encrusted scabbard and leapt forward howling articulately: "PARRY!!" "Thrust!" "Thrust!" "DODGE!" "Feint!" "En garde!" (always stab them in the neck in between the "En" and the "garde" - they will be totally paused, waiting for that "...garde!!") I dove, pirouetted and lunged in a prancing ballet of mayhem as my foes listed to all sides, heavily wounded, or else collapsed making disorganized heaps 3, 4 people high.
The battle raged for all of about twelve minutes. At the end, I hit the stop-watch button on my iWatch, considered the variables and concluded: "Not bad."
It was lunch time. I turned imperiously on my heel and left, before the moans of the casualties could spoil my appetite.