Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Amazons.
“Wrestling must be a favourite pastime with these warlike ladies,” murmured Ned, as he wiped his streaming face on his handkerchief. “Pouf! that was a hot bout, and no mistake.”
For a moment after he had released the amazon, silence reigned over the spectators, then a loud cry of admiration rose from the ranks to which the conquered one belonged. This proved at least that they might be fierce, but they were at least generous foes; also that they had witnessed what evidently was a novelty to them.
“What sort of men are raised in their nation, I wonder?” muttered Ned, looking anything but pleased at this demonstration. “The women are all right, and a little more so, like our gymnastic girls; but they are evidently not used to muscular men, or perhaps these are so big that they are astonished to see the like of me doing this slight trick.”
While he still mopped his face and his followers stood waiting on the next development, sixty of the women ran out of the ranks from different sides, unarmed, and with animated gestures and a torrent of scornful words, challenged the square to a similar contest.
The language sounded strange yet musical in their ears, but the bright flashing eyes, curling red lips, and defiant actions made their meaning clear.
With a burst of guttural laughter, Cocoeni and fifty more of his companions stripped themselves of all but their waist-bands, and stood forth to gratify the wrestling-loving viragoes.
“Deal softly with them, lads, yet beat them,” cried Ned, seeing what was about to take place.
He had an instinctive feeling that it was necessary for their future safety that these amazons should be taught a lesson, yet he did not wish any of them hurt, and these Kaffirs were mighty fellows.