Pic heard the insult and the hot blood surged into his face. With a bowl of fury, he sprang nimbly forward and dealt the Man of Kent a resounding whack across the chest with the flat of his ax.
His audience growled noisy approval and wonder, too, for a blow with the flat blade was a warrior’s expression of deepest scorn for an unworthy foe. They craned their heads eagerly forward and awaited Pic’s next move with breathless interest. The chieftain roared with pain and surprised rage. Lurching forward with a labored jump, he swung back and his blade whizzed through the air above the other’s head. As Pic dodged, he shifted the hold on his weapon from right to left and struck his adversary edge-on over the right shoulder before he could recover himself.
Maddened by this wound and infuriated by the applause which greeted this second display of skill, the Man of Kent flew into a rage terrible to see. Pic retreated a step, dismayed by his foe’s beast-like fury and ability to withstand punishment. Perhaps the tide of battle might have turned against him at that moment had not a great uproar arisen among the spectators and drawn the attention of both combatants.
On the terrace above them loomed a monster head armed with long curling tusks. Beside it stood another and smaller head, bearing a long sharp-pointed horn on its lowered snout. This pair on the terrace balcony comprised a second audience of silent and amazed observers.
A great commotion ensued. Believing themselves attacked, the Men of Kent sprang to their feet and began backing down the slope to the river. With a parting howl of rage their chieftain made off in the same direction while the Mammoth and Rhinoceros continued staring and wondering what it all meant. Finding himself alone Pic mounted the terrace and joined his friends who as yet had spoken no word nor moved a muscle.
“When did you come?” he asked. “I had no idea that you were watching us.”
“So that is how you Trog-men fight,” said the Rhinoceros with a twinkle of his small eyes. “We saw you hit the big one twice. He made a queer noise. Was he angry?”
“He was,” Pic replied; “very angry; and so big and strong I could not hurt him although I struck him my hardest blow. He might have beaten me, had not you and Hairi frightened him away.”
Wulli listened with the greatest interest. He had enjoyed watching the fight although not fully understanding the fine points involved in an encounter between two human beings, where stones fastened to wooden sticks were the sole weapons employed. However he had determined in his own mind that the Ape Boy excelled at this peculiar style and he was therefore duly impressed.
“We might follow them—we three. They would fly before us like a flock of crows.”