“You lie,” he yelled. “For now it is mine. Give it to me;” and he stretched forth an arm like one exacting tribute from a conquered foe.
Pic fell back a step and his hands closed firmly about the haft. His lips set themselves tightly together as he glared unabashed at the monster. For a moment neither moved. Those about them drew in deep breaths of wonder as they witnessed the youth’s open defiance of their leader.
“That ax,” roared the Man of Kent, withdrawing his hand and gripping his own weapon. “Can you fight with it—you an untried boy?”
“Yes.”
“And for it?” added the monster with a fiendish hyena laugh as he thrust his great head almost into the other’s face.
Pic’s eyes blazed like fire. His lips parted in a furious snarl.
“I have said the ax is mine,” he cried hoarsely. “No man lives who can take it from me,” and he made ready for the clash which he now saw was impossible to avoid.
The Kentish Men grunted noisy approval. Personal quarrels were of frequent occurrence; blood-shed a thing to amuse and while away the passing time. But this contest promised something unusual; better because of its novelty—a giant versus a dwarf. Their sympathies, or rather their brutal preference, favored the smaller contestant who faced such odds with so little concern for his own skin. They had no love for their chief. By the power of his arm alone had he attained a commanding position over them. All had felt the weight of his hand and feared his gigantic strength. That a stranger—a mere lad—dared try conclusions with him, was enough to arouse their interest to the highest pitch. They admired, they wondered; but the Ape Boy was clearly overmatched and that he would put up a good fight before having his skull cracked was about the most that could be expected. They took comfortable positions in a semi-circle about the contestants with backs to the terrace like an audience before a stage. Without a thought of interfering, they squatted down to enjoy the entertainment now being served before them.
The Man of Kent leered upon the Ape Boy with such tenderness as a cat bestows upon a mouse caught in the toils. He took fiendish relish in prolonging his victim’s agony before applying the finishing touch. Low murmurs arose. The spectators were growing impatient of his inaction. The Man of Kent turned savagely upon them.
“Be quiet,” he snarled. “Would you have me treat as a man one who cannot properly grip his ax because of his soft baby hands?”