"No need to be too agile," was Cole's answer to him that day.
He truly didn't need excessive agility, not with his terrifying strength that could lift thirty or forty stone.
Oberyn had tried it himself later. Such thousand-pound strength was beyond mortal reach.
Tyrion's heart nearly leapt from his throat as he watched the ugly greatsword slash downward with a horrifying whistle.
It was over—Cole hadn't dodged. The dwarf had seen the Mountain's blade cleave a man in two with his own eyes. The iron giant's power matched his massive frame. Under his eight-foot-tall bulk, Cole, at just under six feet, looked small.
Clang!
The violent collision of metal rang out, sparks from the friction flying nearly five inches.
A gasp of surprise rose from the crowd. It wasn't the sound of sword striking armor, but sword meeting sword.
Tyrion was shocked to discover that Cole had crossed his two blades to form an X, firmly blocking the path of the Mountain's greatsword.
Blocked! He had actually stopped the Mountain's mighty blow.
And not only had he blocked it—Cole roared as his crossed swords pushed upward and forward. Caught off guard, the Mountain was forced back three steps.
Then came the sounds of swords striking armor. Cole's twin blades danced between his arms, finding gaps in the Mountain's chest plate, arm guards, and waist.
Incredible—he was actually driving the Mountain back.
Tyrion glanced at Cersei and saw her beautiful face contorted with concern. He couldn't help feeling a spark of joy.
The Mountain shielded himself with the seven-pointed oak shield, blocking several attacks with both shield and armor.
The armor was too thick; Cole's swords could only leave shallow marks. Suddenly the Mountain changed tactics, charging at Cole with his shield. His heavy footfalls struck the ground, iron boots clanging.
The greatsword slashed through the air, swinging at Cole's head.
Cole dodged sideways, not realizing the Mountain was feinting. The oak shield slammed into Cole's body.
Tyrion watched him knocked to the ground and heard the Mountain shout, "Die, bastard!"
Then he saw the Mountain's greatsword falling once more.
This time was more dangerous—the dwarf's eyes followed the descending blade intently.
Missing its target, as Cole rolled right and regained his footing.
The Mountain's greatsword missed, but his shield swung back around.
"Damn you, inhuman brute." Cole jumped backward, dodging, then lunged forward. He slammed his back against the Mountain, the sword in his left hand stabbing at the gap in the Mountain's gorget.
Kill him, kill him, Tyrion shouted in his heart. The sword must find its way to his throat.
The Mountain seemed to sense the danger as he watched the blade thrust upward.
With a roar, the Mountain suddenly closed his arms to trap Cole.
Cole dropped into a crouch, pulling his sword back from the Mountain's throat. He slipped away from the giant's terrifying embrace like a nimble fish, seizing the opportunity to bring the sword in his right hand down hard against the Mountain's knee joint.
The Mountain staggered backward.
Prince Oberyn rose from his seat and shouted, "Well struck! Kill him!"
Some might have thought it merely the bloodthirsty Red Viper cheering for a thrilling duel, but Tyrion knew the Prince of Dorne was celebrating his enemy's injury and retreat.
Tyrion felt a surge of joy seeing the Mountain wounded. He might have jumped up and cheered if Cole killed the brute.
Cole pressed his advantage, following close as the Mountain retreated. The two swords in his hands became white blurs, moving almost too fast for the naked eye to follow.
The dwarf recognized Cole's unique skill. His swordplay was swift and fierce.
Every attack found its mark, forcing the Mountain backward step by step.
Head, legs, left arm, right shoulder—Cole's attacks came from everywhere, forcing the Mountain to raise his shield against these lethal strikes.
The Mountain's helmet rang with repeated blows. The iron giant seemed to waver. Though the sword did not cleave his head, the fierce beating must have left him dazed.
The Mountain defended passively for long moments. Each time Tyrion thought he would fall, the monster remained unnaturally steady.
The dwarf realized the armor was too thick.
Cole suddenly halted his attack and jumped back.
None could see the sweat or hear the heavy breathing beneath his armor.
The rapid assault had been physically demanding. Just as Cole could withstand the Mountain's attacks, the Mountain could absorb Cole's powerful strikes. Worse, his armor was terribly thick. The contest of strength between the two men remained deadlocked.
Seeing an opening, the Mountain charged forward again with ponderous steps, like a raging bull.
He raised his greatsword high, but once more swung at empty air.
Cole was far more nimble than Gregor Clegane. Thus far, the Mountain had not landed a single blow, while his own armor was covered in sword marks. Had he not been wearing the heaviest armor in the Seven Kingdoms, he would already be dead.
With a low curse, the Mountain swung his greatsword horizontally. This attack method obviously had a much wider range than overhead blows. The Mountain's arm plus the two-handed greatsword created a deadly arc nearly seven feet in radius, but still Cole evaded it.
Seeing that Cole's movements remained quick, Tyrion was certain he had not yet exhausted his strength.
The Mountain swung and slashed angrily, thinking Cole would eventually tire, but all that reached his ears was the repeated clang of metal on metal.
The sound of collisions roared in the spectators' ears.
The two swords twisted and whirled in Cole's hands as he swung them with precision, blocking and attacking simultaneously. They exchanged blows at dizzying speed, Cole's blades slashing diagonally and horizontally, until the shield bearing the seven-pointed star was hacked to pieces.
Tyrion saw the Mountain's movements growing sluggish. He was tiring.
Indeed, Cole seized an opportunity when the Mountain slowed, cutting at his elbow. Blood gushed forth, staining half the arm-plate red.
The Mountain howled in pain, then roared with rage. His voice was as massive as his body, like a ferocious beast.
The injured arm was his shield arm. He simply hurled the splintered oak shield at Cole, who was unprepared. The shield struck Cole squarely in the chest.
Ignoring the pain, the Mountain gripped his sword with both hands and raised the huge blade.
His roar was deafening, but the sword remained suspended in the air.
Then came an agonized scream.
Tyrion watched as two long swords pierced the Mountain's armpits. Cole pulled hard, and with the sound of mail giving way, the Mountain's arms snapped at the shoulder blades. Blood poured out as the greatsword fell from the air.
The wailing continued as Cole kicked him, and the Mountain collapsed.
Blood flowed freely. The walking Mountain had fallen.
Cole held his bloody swords and walked slowly forward. Standing beside the Mountain, he whispered, "You got off too easily."
With a grunt, he drove both blades into the gap in the Mountain's gorget.