"Halt, Giaour!" roared the Moor, with a voice that sounded above the thunder of battle, and made his way toward Banfy. In his clenched fist shone a broad scimitar that seemed too heavy even for him.
Two hussars riding before Banfy fell at one blow from the monster; one to the right, the other to the left of his horse. As he raised his arm for the third blow the Moor rose in his saddle and shouted: "I am Kariassar, the Invincible! Thank God that you fall by my hand." And with that he threw his sword backward and dealt a frightful blow in the direction of Banfy's head. The Baron drew his sword coolly in front of his face and when Kariassar struck, made a very skilful movement at the hand of the Moor and struck off four fingers at once from Kariassar's hand, so that they fell noiselessly to the ground. An expression of terror and rage overspread the dark features. He threw himself quickly with a frightful roar at Banfy, and paying no heed to the wounds received on face and shoulders, with his left hand grasped the Hungarian's right and gave him such a push that, had not Banfy been firm in his saddle, he must have fallen from his horse. It seemed as if the Moor were still able with one hand to crush him. As Banfy was a good rider he used his spurs, and while the giant struggled with the master, pulling at his lacerated arm with lion strength, the battle-horse turned himself suddenly against the Moor, dealt him a blow in the thigh with his hoof, bit his breast with his foaming mouth and pushed against him with his teeth. Kariassar cried out with the maddening pain and letting go the Baron suddenly, reached for his dagger with his left hand and drew it from its sheath. Just at this moment Banfy struck at the giant's neck and the monstrous head rolled to the ground. While the blood gushed out in a threefold stream, the headless figure remained seated upon his unguided horse,—a terrible spectacle! At sight of him the frightened Mamelukes scattered, dashing over hedges and fences on their horses, riding one another down.
At the same time the people who were defending the church broke down the barricades and made a sally on the assailants. At their head was Madame Vizaknai with drawn sword—behind the clergy as standard-bearers, with the church banners.
The great army of besiegers, now fallen between two fires, parted and opened a free course for the scythes of the peasants, and for the tschakany. This last is a mighty weapon; in the hands of the expert its blow is almost unfailing. The long pointed blade strikes with such weight as it falls that there is neither helmet nor shield it cannot go through, and the sword offers no defence against its crooked steel.
Soon the two armies met. The janissaries who, though half dead still struck with their hangers at the feet of the horses riding over them, scattered like chaff.
Madame Vizaknai sprang toward Dionysius Banfy and seized his horse by the bridle.
"The danger is great, gracious lord. The Turks are twenty times our number. Come behind the church wall."
"I'll not go a step further," replied Banfy, coldly. "Save yourself behind the barricades."
"Neither will I," replied Madame Vizaknai.
"I can defend myself," said Banfy, fiercely.