glitter threateningly.

Sadly and silently the two brothers draw nearer to the ring until their
foreheads are pressed against the railing. A man approaches them and
calls into their ears, "_Pare_, [128] a hundred to ten on the white!"

Tarsilo stares at him in a foolish way and responds to Bruno's nudge
with a grunt.

The starters hold the cocks with skilful delicacy, taking care not
to wound themselves. A solemn silence reigns; the spectators seem
to be changed into hideous wax figures. They present one cock to
the other, holding his head down so that the other may peck at it
and thus irritate him. Then the other is given a like opportunity,
for in every duel there must be fair play, whether it is a question
of Parisian cocks or Filipino cocks. Afterwards, they hold them up
in sight of each other, close together, so that each of the enraged
little creatures may see who it is that has pulled out a feather,
and with whom he must fight. Their neck-feathers bristle up as they
gaze at each other fixedly with flashes of anger darting from their
little round eyes. Now the moment has come; the attendants place them
on the ground a short distance apart and leave them a clear field.

Slowly they advance, their footfalls are, audible on the hard
ground. No one in the crowd speaks, no one breathes. Raising and
lowering their heads as if to gauge one another with a look, the two
cocks utter sounds of defiance and contempt. Each sees the bright
blade throwing out its cold, bluish reflections. The danger animates
them and they rush directly toward each other, but a pace apart they
check themselves with fixed gaze and bristling plumage. At that moment
their little heads are filled with a rush of blood, their anger flashes
forth, and they hurl themselves together with instinctive valor. They
strike beak to beak, breast to breast, gaff to gaff, wing to wing, but
the blows are skilfully parried, only a few feathers fall. Again they
size each other up: suddenly the white rises on his wings, brandishing
the deadly knife, but the red has bent his legs and lowered his head,
so the white smites only the empty air.. Then on touching the ground
the white, fearing a blow from behind, turns quickly to face his
adversary. The red attacks him furiously, but he defends himself
calmly--not undeservedly is he the favorite of the spectators, all
of whom tremulously and anxiously follow the fortunes of the fight,
only here and there an involuntary c