There was naught but an
angry word or two to be atoned for. So there was an end, and Ragnar went
on guard. Griffin made ready also, and at once it was plain that here
was no uneven match after all.
Both of them wore ring mail of the best. We had set the two six paces
apart, and they must step forward to get within striking distance. At
once Griffin seemed to grow smaller, for he crouched down as a cat that
is going to spring, and raised his shield before him, so that from where
I stood behind Ragnar I could only see his black glittering eyes and
round helm above its edge. And his right arm was drawn back, so that
only the point of his heavy leaf-bladed sword was to be seen glancing
from the right edge steadily. And now his eyes were steady as the sword
point, which was no brighter than they. If once he got inside the sweep
of the great axe it would be bad for Ragnar.
One step forward went the earl, shield up and axe balanced, but Griffin
never moved. Then Ragnar leapt forward and struck out, but I could see
that it was a feint, and he recovered at once. Griffin's shield had gone
up in a moment above his head, and in a moment it was back in its place,
and over it his eyes glared as before, unwavering. And then, like a
wildcat, he sprang at Ragnar, making no sweeping blow with his sword,
but thrusting with straight arm, so that the whole weight of his flying
body was behind the point.
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