Climb up three flights of stairs on the south side of a square, vanilla-colored building along Westlake Avenue North and you will come upon a frenzy of clashing steel.

The Salle Auriol fencing club is a single, open room. Rows of equipment - ÀepÀees, sabers, foils, wire-mesh masks, vests known as lamÀes, are stored against a far wall. There's a compact set of weight-lifting and aerobic equipment wedged into a recess and a few single dressing rooms in one corner.

The club and action, though, are dominated by the sprawling wood floor with yellow rectangular boxes - 6 feet wide by 45 feet long - painted atop a navy-blue background. Each lane represents a field of battle where two fencers spar.

Student Courty Stanton, right, works with fencing teacher Leon Auriol at the Salle Auriol Club.

Because there is little room to move side-to-side, fencers must rely on darting lunges, shuffling retreats, deft sword play, quick thinking. Each clash is marked by the chiming of metal against metal or the hollow rasp of one blade sliding down another. The typical exchange amounts to a flurry of seconds and ends when one fencer is struck in the designated hitting zone.

The bouts put a premium on technique, timing and strategy. Some within fencing say it's an anaerobic sport, better for building strength, coordination and endurance than for losing weight. Others claim it is very aerobic because of the quick, intense motion it requires.

Accomplished fencers tend to be a little asymmetrical - their lead legs and arms stronger and bigger - so most fill out their fitness programs with other workouts and stretching regimens, such as aerobics, running or yoga.

Yet, while the sport may not develop both sides of the body equally, it is as much a mental workout as it is a physical one.

"Fencing is about being at risk and being in control," said Marshall Hibnes, president of the nonprofit club.

Visions of swashbuckling draw people to fencing, but the hard work required to perfect technique can cause the dropout rate to be 70 percent in some cases. In fact, with about 100 members, Salle Auriol claims to be the biggest club in western Washington. The other fulltime private club is Rain City Fencing Center in Bellevue, which says it's the oldest continuously running one in the state.

Only about 400,000 sport fencers are counted in the U.S., but the number of those belonging to the United States Fencing Association has grown from 3,000 in 1980 to more than 15,000 last year. The association says the number of young fencers has grown by 10 percent each year since 1996.

The maitre or master of the Seattle club is Leon Auriol, a compact, white-haired native of Toulouse, France, where he began fencing in 1948. He learned from two masters, one a World War II freedom fighter. He has been instructing from Portland to Vancouver, B.C., since arriving in the Northwest in 1963, and has coached in several international competitions.

"It was a science before it was a sport," Auriol said. "Back in the early 1900s fencing masters used to fence for money. They didn't like giving secrets away."

While Auriol is still a perfectionist on technique at 73, his club embraces a wide range of ages and ability. There are several married couples, a guy with purple hair and fencers with a wide range of abilities and experience.

During a Monday night session, several members squared off against one another while Auriol taught 11-year-old Kyle Reardon. Kyle's father, Stephen, watched from the sideline, both proud and surprised by his son's interest.

"When he told me he wanted to fence, I was going, yeah, like how long is that gonna last?" Stephen said. "But he's really stuck with it. He gets out there and does drills with everyone else, and he's shown a lot of confidence. I'm not competitive at all so he didn't get that from me."

George Hall, meanwhile, was shuffling and sparring with another member. He began fencing in college and has stuck with it - so long that he's been given two lifetime-achievement awards.

"I tore my right rotator cuff about five years ago," he said. "The doctor said he could operate, but I'm 80 so I just decided to fence with my left hand."

Fencers wear protective vests and helmets and can use any of three weapons. The foil is a rectangular blade that weighs less than a pound. The ÀepÀee is heavier, but still only 27 ounces. The saber is about the same size and weight as the foil, but is unique because fencers can use it to slash as well as thrust.

The moments of combat are so intense that the light weapons can feel heavy toward the end of a match, which often goes until one fencer hits the other 15 times.

The action is so fast it's hard for a spectator to follow - and hard to referee. To help, weapons are electronically wired so sensors in the tips record when the striking areas are hit. The impulse causes a box that hangs on wires above the fencers to flash green or red, depending on who strikes whom.

The device came in handy during a recent class when Auriol had intermediate students square off against each other in a tournament format. Part of the training involved teaching students how to judge who scored the point.

As the students felt their way through the clashes, Auriol barked instructions to make that connection of mind and the metal:

"Nice repost ... No, you're stepping right into it! ... Don't stop! You make a nice attack and then you stop! ... Attack, attack, attack."

Richard Seven is a staff writer for Pacific Northwest magazine. Benjamin Benschneider is the magazine's staff photographer.