menace. Arms slightly amove so that neither blade was still in that dead air.
Somewhere the moon moved in the sky and hourglasses were turned, while those two
circled and stared, paced and glared, paced and feinted as fighting men with
respect each for the other. Now and again steel hissed and sang and steel rang
or wood boomed under the impact of swordblade on reinforced shield. Now and
again a man grunted, or a god. One swift awful flurry of strokes traded left
each bruised under armor still intact.
How could Hanse knew that they fought so for an hour? Staying alive meant
staying alert; being alert meant having no time to think of time or of tiring.
It was guard and parry, strike and cover, and pace to seek another opportunity.
Silver twinkled as the sword-bitten winding on Hanse’s sheath came loose and
dangled.
How long was it, ere Vashanka was there no more but become a rock-leopard that
snarled and sprang with awful talons extended-
-to be met by Hanse become bear; a big bear that caught the huge cat and
squeezed it in mid-leap, staggering back, feeling its claws as he shook it and
hurled it from him to hit the ground, hard, and roll, snarling with a whining
note, twisting, becoming a cobra.
Both were blooded now, and blood marked the hissing serpent that reared,
striking-
It struck neither man nor bear, for neither was there, but a small ferocious
collection of teeth and fur and boneless speed that avoided the strike and
pounced to clamp its teeth on a hated enemy-
But as soon as the mongoose had the cobra, the serpent swelled huge and then