“Make good your vaunt, then,” said Bourbon. “Drag me from this rock, and I will yield.”
“I accept the challenge,” rejoined Warthy, resolutely. “I have no fear of the issue of a conflict with a traitor. Guilt will unnerve your arm—justice will strengthen mine. Move not, I charge you,” he added to his men.
“Leave me to fight it out alone.”
So saying, he leaped upon the rock.
Bourbon did not oppose him, but drew back slightly to give him room.
They now stood face to Face, eyeing each other fiercely—the one thirsting for vengeance, the other animated with the hope of achieving a feat which would ensure him a great reward and endless renown.
“Swords are useless here,” said Warthy.
“Use your poniard, then,” replied Bourbon, sheathing his sword.
His example was followed by Warthy, and in another moment each held a poniard in his right hand, while with his left he grasped the corresponding hand of his adversary.
“You are a brave man, Warthy,” said Bourbon, “and I am loth to kill you, but you have sought your own destruction. You will never leave this rock alive.”