In this we are
well matched. Stay, I have a steel-lined cap, and you have none. There
it goes, to make our chances equal. Wind your cloak about your left arm
as I do. I have known worse shields. Good foothold, but an uncertain
light. Now, go!"
Caleb needed no encouragement. For one second they stood facing each
other, very types of the Eastern and Western world; the Roman--sturdy,
honest-eyed, watchful and fearless, his head thrown back, his feet
apart, his shield arm forward, his sword hand pressed to his side from
which the steel projected. Over against him was the Jew, crouched like a
tiger about to spring, his eyes half closed as though to concentrate the
light, his face working with rage, and every muscle quivering till his
whole flesh seemed to move upon his bones, like to that of a snake.
Suddenly, uttering a low cry, he sprang, and with that savage onslaught
the fight began and ended.
Marcus was ready; moreover, he knew what he would do. As the man came,
stepping swiftly to one side, he caught the thrust of Caleb's sword in
the folded cloak, and since he did not wish to kill him, struck at his
hand. The blow fell upon Caleb's first finger and severed it, cutting
the others also, so that it dropped to the ground with the sword that
they had held.
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