or is the flesh touched in this first assault.
They pass each other without delay, and come back at the top of their
horses: speed to renew their blows on the strong, stout shields. Both of
the knights are strong and brave, and both of the horses are stout and
fast. So mighty are the blows they deal on the shields about their necks
that the lances passed clean through, without breaking or splintering,
until the cold steel reached their flesh. Each strikes the other with
such force that both are borne to earth, and no breast-strap, girth,
or stirrup could save them from falling backward over their saddle-bow,
leaving the saddle without an occupant. The horses run riderless over
hill and dale, but they kick and bite each other, thus showing their
mortal hatred. As for the knights who fell to earth, they leaped up
as quickly as possible and drew their swords, which were engraved with
chiselled lettering. Holding their shields before the face, they strive
to wound each other with their swords of steel. Lancelot stands in no
fear of him, for he knew half as much again about fencing as did his
antagonist, having learned it in his youth. Both dealt such blows on the
shield slung from their necks, and upon their helmets barred with gold,
that they crushed and damaged them. But Lancelot presses him hard and
gives him a mighty blow upon his right arm which, though encased in
mail, was unprotected by the shield, severing it with one clean stroke.
And when he felt the loss of his right arm, he said that it should be
dearly sold. If it is at all possible, he will not fail to exact the
price; he is in such pain and wrath and rage that he is well-nigh beside
himself, and he has a poor opinion of himself, if he cannot score on his
rival now. He rushes at him with the intent to seize him, but Lancelot
forestalls his plan, for with his trenchant sword he deals his body
such a cut as he will not recover from until April and May be passed. He
smashes his nose-guard against his teeth, breaking three of them in his
mouth. And Meleagant's rage is such that he cannot speak or say a word;
nor does he deign to cry for mercy, for his foolish heart holds tight in
such constraint that even now it deludes him still. Lancelot approaches
and, unlacing his helmet, cuts off his head. Never more will this man
trouble him; it is all over with him as he falls dead. Not a soul who
was present there felt any pity at the sight. The King and all the
others there