You're taken to the entrance

As you approach the Spiral Tower, you look up at the immensity of the structure. The tower is made completely out of iron and rises many floors—at least twenty. It would stand as a truly inspiring work of architecture if it weren't a prison for the most deranged criminals.

Devon and Sarn take you through the entrance, a thick sliding door of iron with several different kind of locks. The door slides open and you are taken in. Sarn removes your shackles as the door closes, and Devon pushes you forward.

A crowd of spectators await on the second floor, now chattering, some gasping, at your arrival. After a quick survey, you realize they are all of the nobility. It an obvious decision: if you were to lose you would be proven guilty, allowing them to make an example of you in a public punishment, but if you were to win, you'd be a symbol of triumph for the peasants. By keeping the poor from watching, your victory would only gain you freedom. All considered, you're fine with that.

The murmurs grow louder as you search for the judge. "She hasn't any armor," you hear amongst them.

"Not so," you hear. You know the voice; it is certainly the judge. He emerges from the crowd and sits himself in a large chair in the would be front row.

"She does have armor," he answers. The commotion stirs, but the judge explains. "She has been given armor appropriate for a woman. If she were **** to wear a heavier armor, she'd be unable to move—and that would hardly be fair." The noblemen and noblewomen nod, accepting his explanation. "Women simply cannot bear the weight men can."

"Do I get to at least choose my own weapon?" you call upward.

The judge looks down at you with utter contempt. "You'll be given a weapon suited for your sex."

"I'm sure it was chosen fairly," you reply sarcastically.

The judge motions towards a guard, who then unlocks the gate to the second floor and descends the spiraling stairs. As he moves down, you glance around the first floor, gathering the surroundings for your place of battle.

It's likely that this floor serves as a mess for the prison guards. There are wooden tables in the back, attached to the floor—the stools look to have been removed. The stairs start on the far left wall and circle upwards all the way to the right. The rest of the first floor is open space. You've fought in worse.

The guard, having reached you, hands over a small iron buckler and a light rapier. You laugh to yourself that they at least gave you a shield.

"A fine weapon," you call out. "I could probably only carry four of these in one hand."

The guard leaves and locks the second floor gate behind him. A loud knock comes from the entrance, alerting Devon. The door is opened and a large knight clad in plated armor enters.

You've never seen the monster in person, but the songs of Ser Elric Terrowin do him no justice. He is even larger than they say; far larger than any man you've known. Perhaps some animals, but you doubt you've seen five the size of this knight. Leaning on his shoulder is a large two-handed bastard sword that is only a shade shorter than yourself. You repeat the strategy in your mind: keep him moving, and he'll tire.

The doors are locked and the guards have removed themselves. It is just you and Ser Terrowin. A leather-wearing adventuress and a giant armored knight.

The judge stands as he shouts, "let the trial by combat begin!"