Armed mixed fighting and mixed boxing, 370 pictures 1920x1080 (Full HD), no nudity, no blood.

(A note on the text. The Hindi word, “Shabash!” means “Bravo!”)

Lakshmibai, the Rani (Queen) of Jhansi, is a popular figure in Indian folklore. She led her Army during the Indian Mutiny with great courage, and was killed in one of the last battles. Her upbringing among boys, and her participation in their sports, meant that she was a skilled swordswoman and horsewoman, as well as being a fine shot.

She was a young widow, of about 28-30, at the time of the Mutiny (1857-8). She and the king had one child, who died in infancy, and on his deathbed, the king adopted another boy as the heir to the throne. The British refused to recognise this arrangement, and annexed the kingdom, although Lakshmibai (nicknamed “Lucky” by some) continued to rule as queen under their “protection”.

There was mutual suspicion: the British believed Lucky was plotting with Russian agents to overthrow them, while she considered their annexation to be unlawful. Naturally each wanted to discover the intentions and activities of the other.

There is a very good fictitious account of a British officer visiting Lucky from the novel “Flashman in the Great Game” by George MacDonald Fraser. After the diplomatic stuff, she invites him to try fencing and shooting with her. This story is simply another fictitious account of her meeting a young British envoy.

*****

Charles Canning, the Governor General, thought he had found a job for his son at last. This young man, with one of those odd Victorian names, Erskine, had been doing precious little since he left school a couple of years earlier. Canning fancied the diplomatic service for Erskine, and how better to initiate him into it than to send him to negotiate with a minor Indian ruler? He sent Lucky a letter of introduction and a request that she meet Erskine, which she accepted.

“This is a very impressive introduction,” she told Erskine when they met, trying not to laugh at the naïve young man. She had been reading his father’s letter before he arrived. “Fencing and boxing champion of your school! Congratulations, sir!”

“Well, it’s not much really,” Erskine tried to be modest and not to blush at the compliment from this bewitching young woman.

“On the contrary,” she continued. “After we have discussed all the boring things, we will fence and box.”

“I’m sorry?” he was astonished at her suggestion – or rather command, since she was a queen, after all.

“We will fight,” she informed him, as if it was as normal as taking tea together. “In fact, we will do it now, as a way of getting to know each other.”

*****

She was amused to see his reaction to her in her lightly armoured leotard, 10 minutes later as they faced each other outside, foils at the ready. His eyes popped at her fine figure: large, round breasts, trim waist, curving hips, long legs in thigh-length boots, and magnificent bottom. She had heard that young British men were sexually repressed until they got married, having cold swims to get rid of any “urges”, and she could believe it. She was certain this was more than he had seen of a woman before, and she could play it to her advantage. She raised her foil to begin.

“The British want my kingdom!” she shouted surprisingly at Erskine as their foils clanged together over their heads. So this was how she conducted diplomacy?

“Nonsense!” he countered, driving their points downwards.

“You repress us with your laws!” she accused him, while forcing him onto the back foot to ward her blade off.

“Which law’s that?” he answered insolently, their blades crossing at her side. “The one that prevented you being burned alive on your husband’s funeral pyre?”

“I could have your tongue torn out for that!” she shouted, furious because Erskine was indeed right that the British had ended “suttee”, the custom of burning widows alive.

“Then you really would lose your kingdom,” he trumped her.

Lucky glared at him, the arrogant, young aristocrat, as she defended herself, back handed, from a lunge. She had underestimated him. He wasn’t stupid as she had thought, even if he was a novice when it came to women. Plus, he was a more skilled swordsman than she had believed. Very well, she would use some Indian tactics by and by.

She thrust her point at him; he drove it to the side. Round they went, mutual dislike morphing into loathing, while their blades met furiously.

“God, she’s strong,” Erskine thought admiringly, as he only just drove her point off himself from above. He experienced an odd sexual excitement that he hadn’t known before. Moreover, her breasts were maddeningly distracting, dancing and swinging with her quick movements, uninhibited as they were within the light, flexible Indian armour.

When he did see an opportunity, she blocked it. Every way she defended herself seemed to be just right, he thought, as she drove his point away by turning her foil downwards. He found himself panting; on the other hand, she was breathing quickly too.

Erskine lunged high; Lucky crossed it with her blade and thrust one elegant stiletto-heeled boot into his balls. He yelled in his severe pain, feeling sick. She had temporarily paralysed him, and she took advantage of it to lock his sword arm to his side. It forced him to drop his foil, and he stood with his hands up while she menaced him with her blade dancing in front of his face.

“My victory, I think,” she declared.

“Yes, but I’m not familiar with your rules,” he answered, still suffering from his wounded balls.

“You’re in my country, remember? Now, my servants will provide you with shorts in order to box. Get changed, then come back here.”

*****

“It is a grave discourtesy to keep royalty waiting,” Lucky chastised him, while raising her fists.

“It’s not exactly the height of good manners to kick a man in the genitals either,” Erskine reacted, responding in kind.

“More insolence!” she shouted, hurling her right fist over his ducked head.

“Did Her Majesty miss?” he asked mockingly, all diplomacy forgotten, as he himself wasted a punch over her bowed head. He wasted a second one over her shoulder as she lightly nudged her body to the side. And a third over her other shoulder.

Then she got him, while he was following through, with a good, firm right cross to the jaw. The two out of sight bodyguards she had posted nearby looked at each other and nodded, as if to say, “We won’t have much work to do this afternoon”. They were close enough to see the look of pain on the surprised young man’s face.

The warrior queen struck the inexperienced young man’s same jaw with a left cross, ramrod straight. The bodyguards smiled as they heard him yelp. This was the queen they knew and loved (and secretly fancied), dishing it out to the upstart foreigner. It took all their powers of restraint to keep from shouting encouragement to her – well, that and the thought she would have had them executed for not doing their job properly.

Her right fist slapped into Erskine’s mouth. His lips and teeth seemed to buzz with pain before going numb. This was like no boxing he had done at school, or even unofficially and privately, out of sight of the teachers. She seemed to be coming at him from all angles, with the speed of the Devil.

Lucky drove her left fist hard and low into his stomach. The bodyguards laughed silently as he had to run backwards several steps to stay on his feet. For the second time that day, he marvelled at her strength. For a woman who loved feminine things like scent, had her own private zoo, and loved to entertain the local children, she fought like an Irish labourer on a Saturday night after the pubs have shut.

She sent him spinning with an angled uppercut. Her right fist caught him on the jaw for the third time, and he went tripping into the long grass which marked the boundary of their little arena.

“Shabash!” murmured one of the bodyguards, as the shapely, busty, raven-haired beauty gave her male opponent a black eye. Lucky felt like celebrating herself, fancying she could feel his eye swelling up around her left fist. Yes, he wouldn’t be so superior after that, would he? She hated the arrogant young envoy of a country that assumed it could make laws for her kingdom. HER kingdom!

That thought incensed her and she hammered her right fist into Erskine’s chest. Despite the fire she lit there, he noticed the sickening hollow sound her powerful fist made as it landed. How had he got himself into this? He had been sent by his father to try to charm a lady into loyalty to Britain. Damn his father, damn his stupid mission, and damn that demon of a woman who was battering him with her fists!

Appalled at the injustice of it all, he swung a right hook at her. But she curved herself out of the way, and banged her left fist into the same spot on his chest that she had only just hit. The pain was excruciating. He retreated a couple of steps, but she was remorseless in pursuit, banging one into his left cheekbone. He was certain she must have cracked it, as were the bodyguards, who heard the noise of it.

Erskine crouched, rather like a hedgehog retreating inside its spikes, but Lucky was having none of this abject defence. She contemptuously sliced her left fist through the tangled heap of body that he presented to her and got him on his right jaw.

One of the bodyguards groaned softly at what he saw next, and his comrade looked at him enquiringly. Lucky scooped her right fist up under Erskine’s chin for a superbly executed uppercut. But more than the punch, it was the view that so seemed to affect the bodyguard. They were hidden behind her, and her rear view in the foreground had never looked so pretty and tempting while she wrought havoc on her opponent in the background.

To compound the shock to his chin, Lucky now caught him in the same place with a second blistering left cross. She savaged his chin and numbed his brain. Because he couldn’t think straight. Her attacks just came so fast and hard that she was robbing him of his ability to calculate and plan.

She got him on the chin a third consecutive time, this time with a glorious right cross. Everything was right about it: balance, poise, execution and strength. Her bosom swayed and danced as her fist landed, and her bottom joined in the fun with a wobble. The bodyguard who groaned stared and shook his head with wonder and admiration.

The only person who missed out on the entertainment was the unfortunate Erskine, who was now rocked by the royal lady’s left fist reaching high and hard at his jaw. She seemed to be possessed. Her list of grievances had become an obsession with her and fury took her over. Not only that, her upbringing as the only girl among boys left a conviction that she had to fight that much harder to assert herself. Erskine was just unlucky that he was on hand when the two elements of her personality joined forces.

Holding his right wrist in her left hand, Lucky plunged her right fist into his stomach. He folded around it, trying not to cough, while waves of pain radiated from the spot where her fist had landed.

Noting how badly it affected him, she cruelly went for the same place with her left fist, then came at his jaw with her right. Erskine’s struggle against coughing presented his jaw to her as a gift. Seldom had a target looked so inviting, so she hammered it with pleasure.

Hurt pride and desperation made him lash out with his right, but Lucky ducked safely underneath it. Then, with perfect timing, she sprang back up and seemed to beam her right fist into his temple, just beside the eye.

That was it for him, she knew. An impressive list of victories against first boys then young men gave her the experience to understand that one more punch would do it. She had all the time she needed for it, because he had no initiative left. Plus, she wanted to savour the moment. It would be a blow for Jhansi against an over-mighty Britain.

She crouched below him, steadied, then let him have it. Her left fist stormed into his chin one last time, and down he went, one untidy heap of defeated male.

Lucky pushed him onto his back with her boot and smiled down at him – the first time he had seen her smile that day, he noted through dreamy eyes. The feeling of her stiletto heel on his chest, and the sight of the triumphant beautiful woman above him, brought back that sensation of sexual excitement that he had felt earlier. Then he passed out.