At this sight, Sir
Tarquin waxed ten times more fierce; and summoning all his strength for
the blow, wrought so lustily on the head of Sir Lancelot that he began
to reel; which Tarquin observing, by a side blow struck the sword from
out his hand, with so sharp and dexterous a jerk that it shivered into a
thousand fragments.
"Now yield thee, Sir Knight, or thou diest;" and with that the cruel
monster sprang upon him to accomplish his end. Still Sir Lancelot would
not yield, nor sue to him for quarter, but flew on his enemy like the
ravening wolf to his prey. Then were they seen hurtling together like
wild bulls--Sir Lancelot holding fast his adversary's sword, so that in
vain he attempted to make a thrust therewith.
"Thou discourteous churl! give me but the vantage of a weapon like thine
own, and I will fight thee honestly and without flinching."
"Nay, Sir Knight of the Round Table, but this were a merry deed withal,
to help thee unto that wherewith I might perchance mount some goodly
bough for the crows to peck at," replied Tarquin. Terrible and unceasing
was the struggle; but in vain the giant knight attempted to regain the
use of his sword.
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