“What!” he cried. “Who are you, to be commanding the King within his own Palace? The girl is mine; to-morrow she is to be my bride. She shall do as I command her or die instantly.”
“You shall do as I command you or die instantly,” said David. “Take your hand from her wrist and let her go free, or you shall repent of your folly.”
Never in all his royal existence had the Bronze King been addressed so. He grew so angry that his face looked more coppery than ever in the flickering light of the torch; Ruth thought she had never looked upon any one more terrible in all her life. A sound came from him that seemed to start somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. It was like the roar of a raging forest fire.
He turned the torch so that its light fell on David’s face. And when he saw the boy standing there before him, he laughed in scorn and turned, dragging Ruth toward the doorway.
David drew his hunting-knife and rushed upon the King with such fury that the torch fell to the ground, setting fire to the grass and bushes as it rolled over and over; for the force with which it had been hurled from his hand when David made his onset was great enough to send it some distance.
The King was a terribly powerful and heavy man, but he had no weapon save his own strength. David was slender and frail, but he held within his grasp a power that made him fearless and wise to act. The King, infuriated by David’s boldness, relaxed his grasp on Ruth’s arm; and she, finding herself free, ran a few steps from him so that she might be beyond his reach should he attempt to seize her again. In a moment David and the Bronze King were rolling over and over in an angry struggle, that same strange sound belching from the King’s huge body with increasing volume. Ruth trembled, for she feared lest David be hurt if not killed outright. In the growing light of the fire that had started from the blazing torch these two struggled and struggled, while poor Ruth looked on helplessly, her heart throbbing with fear and anguish.
The whinny of a horse sounded not far away, and the light from the spreading fire illuminated a grove of dark cedar trees, within which Ruth could distinguish the outline of the Pale-Coloured Horse as it gazed with clear, intelligent eyes upon its master.
A quick and clever turn on David’s part threw the Bronze King so that he fell violently to the ground. David stood over him; then, lifting his knife, he plunged it deep into his enemy’s side below the heart, just as the defeated King was about to call for help. The mighty monarch roared with pain. As David drew forth the knife there gushed from the wound a fluid, the colour of molten copper, that burst into flame the instant it came in contact with the air. In a moment the whole body of the great Bronze King was enveloped in vivid flame.
David caught Ruth by the hand, and together they fled toward the Wingèd Horse. In an instant they were on its back. David held the reins of the magic bridle in one hand while with the other he supported Ruth, who sat before him on the wonderful steed which was now so miraculously to save their lives. Looking toward the Palace, they saw that armed men were rushing into the Garden from all directions. News that the King was slain had already spread, and his soldiers and men-at-arms had vowed vengeance upon the slayer.
“Come, my faithful Horse,” cried David. “Save us! the hour has come.”