"All save the men who have fallen to your blows, my lord, and the noble whom you captured," answered the native, eyeing his master with amazement. "Truly it was a brave fight, and I have never seen men struck to the ground in such a way. Show me how it was done."
Roger doubled his fist, and displayed a row of knuckles from which the skin had been torn.
"Their teeth are sharp," he said, again with a reckless laugh, "and they fight with their mouths open. That is the way, Tamba; close the hand, and put the thumb so. Then hit out from the shoulder, and aim for the face. A good blow will fell an enemy. But what about these men who are lying about us? None are killed, except, perhaps, one or two whom I struck with the club. We must get rid of them; and, above all, we must take pains to keep our prisoner. Go to him now, and tell him that he will be killed if he attempts to escape. I will look at our enemies, and will place them on the flight of steps. Collect a few of the arms as you go, for we shall need them. And, Tamba——"
"What next, my lord?"
"Have a look into their pouches. Some may contain food, and we shall want it perhaps. I mean to remain here till I am exhausted or until these fellows admit their friendship for us. Those priests will be our worst foes. They will never forgive the rough treatment I have given them. There, off you go, and let me know what success you have."
