Down the passage, lit by wavering lamps and flambeaux, charged the white-robed Ismaelians, the commands and curses of the grand prior speeding them. Not a man but was a trained sword hand, and had been in the battle press a score of times. But they never knew before how deep the Frankish bear could bite. Side by side—armed only with their great blades—Godfrey and Richard met them in the passage. Then came the rush, the shock. Godfrey swung to left; to right whirled Trenchefer. Left and right, each felling his man; and cimeters dashed from hands as stubble, shields were smitten through as if of gauze. After the shock came the recoil; new charge and new repulse. The long Frankish swords hewed down the Ismaelians before their short cimeters could strike. There were three corpses before the door, but the two were still standing. Third charge—again flung back! Iftikhar raged at his men.
"Scorpions! Lizards! Will you let two men mock you? Is it thus you earn Paradise?"
"We may fight men, not jinns!" howled an old daïs. Richard brandished Trenchefer.
"Come you, Iftikhar Eddauleh! The account is long!"
The grand prior forced himself forward.
"It is long!" foamed he. "Eblees pluck me if it is not paid."
"Back, Cid," pleaded the Ismaelians; "they have the might of the rebel efreets!"
"Fools!" thundered Iftikhar, putting all by; "follow, who dares!" His eye lit on Morgiana within. "Allah blast me utterly, wench," rang his menace, "if you see the dawning."
Morgiana's answer was to tear the ring from her finger, and dash it in his face.
"See, see! You have cursed, mocked, triumphed! But I conquer! You shall possess the Greek, never, never!"