the string would always hang down from the wound in order to
pull it out by.

Then they got their knives again and played a more dangerous game. Jorian
stood on guard with his knife, waving the blade slowly before him in the
shape of a long-bodied letter S. Boris poised his weapon in the hollow of
his hand, and sent it whirring straight at Jorian's heart. As it came
buzzing like an angry bee, almost too quick for the eye to follow, Jorian
flicked it deftly up into the air at exactly the right moment, and,
without even taking his eye off it, he caught the knife by the handle as
it fell. Thereafter he bowed and gave it back to the thrower
ceremoniously. Then Boris guarded, and Jorian in his turn threw, with a
like result, though, perhaps, a little less featly done on Boris's part.

All the while there was a clamant and manifold astonishment in the
kitchen of the inn, together with prodigal and much-whispering wonder.

Then ensued other plays. Boris stood with his elbow crooked and his left
hand on his hip, with his back also turned to Jorian. _Buzz!_ went the
knife! It flashed like level lightning under the arch of Jorian's armpit,
and lo! it was caught in his right hand, which dropped upon it like a
hawk upon a rabbit, as it sped through his elbow port.

Then came shooting with the cross-bow, and I regretted much that I had
only learned the six-foot yew, and that there was not one in the company,
nor indeed room to display it if there had been. For I longed to do
something to show that I also was no milksop.

Now it chanced that there was in one corner a yearling calf that had
been killed that day, and hung up with a bar between its thighs. I saw an
axe leaning in the corner--an axe with a broad, cutting edge--and I
bethought me that perhaps, after all, I knew something which even Jorian
and Boris were ignorant of. So, mindful of my father's teaching, I took
the axe, and, before any one was aware of my intent, I swept the
long-handled axe round my head, and, getting the poise and distance for
the slow drawing cut which does not stop for bone nor muscle, I divided
the neck through at one blow so that the head dropped on the ground.

Then there was much applause and wonder. Men ran to lift the calf's head,
and the owner of the axe came up to examine the edge of his weapon. I
looked about. The eyes of the Lady Ysolinde were aflame with pleasure,
but, on the other hand, the Little Playmate was crimson with shame. Tears