"He hath cut off one forepaw of the tiger," exclaimed Knud. "That thrust was at the lion. Again! Again! Such roaring was never heard."
The wild beasts tore as they roared and the multitude uttered loud outcries, but all of the movements in the arena were untellably rapid, nor might they who were watching separate Ulric from his two enemies. He was with them at every spring and turn and roll. The long, keen sword dripped blood and the white skin of the son of Odin was spattered redly, as if he were sorely wounded.
"If he be slain at all thou losest," said Julius.
"O friend," replied Caius, "be thou contented. Thou must buy thee better beasts than these."
"Mark!" exclaimed Tostig the Red. "That was a thrust behind the shoulder. The tiger falleth undermost. O jarl! Beware now of thy lion!"
Over the dying tiger stood the huge Numidian, panting and roaring, and before him stood the jarl, looking him in the eyes.
"Splendid is he!" exclaimed Ben Ezra. "Jehovah of Hosts, be with him now! It is the last."
Forward went the lion, but not with a bound, and he swerved in his rush owing to his many wounds. High in the air and over him, in a leap for life, went the son of Odin, and as his feet touched the earth he turned, thrusting swiftly, and he sprang again. Wild were the plaudits of the multitude, but the lion was staggering and his roar was muffled.
"One thrust more," muttered Ulric. "I am sorely spent and I bleed. Hael, Odin! I have cloven his heart! He dieth!"