where he was left unguarded, and quickly turned
his joy into tribulation; for Sir Tarquin, though not mortally wounded,
drew back and cried out lustily for pain, the which Sir Lancelot
hearing, he leapt again to his feet, still eager and impatient for the
strife.

The contest was again doubtful, neither of them showing any disposition
to yield, or in any wise to abate the rigour of the conflict. Night,
too, was coming on apace, and seemed like enough to pitch her tent over
them, ere the issue was decided. But an event now fell out which,
unexpectedly enough, terminated this adventure. From some cause arising
out of the haste and rapidity of the strokes, one of these so chanced,
that both their swords were suddenly driven from out of their right
hands; stooping together, by some subtlety or mistake, they exchanged
weapons. Then did Sir Lancelot soon find his strength to increase,
whilst his adversary's vigour began to abate; and in the end Sir
Lancelot slew him, and with his own sword cut off his head. He then
perceived that the giant's great strength was by virtue of his sword;
and that it was through his wicked enchantments therewith he had been
able to overcome, and had wrought such disgrace on the Knights of the
Round Table. Sir Lancelot forthwith took the keys from the giant's
girdle, and proceeded to the release of the captive knights, first
unbinding the prisoner, who yet lay in a piteous swoon hard by. But
there was a great outcry and lamentation when that he saw his own
brother Sir Erclos in this doleful case; for it was he whom the cruel
Tarquin was leading captive when he met the just reward of his misdeeds.

After administering to his relief, Sir Lancelot rode up to the
castle-gate, but found no entrance thereby. The drawbridge was raised,
and he sought in vain the means of giving the appointed signal for its
descent.

But the damsel showed him a secret place where hung a little horn. On
this he blew a sharp and ringing blast, when the bridge presently began
to lower, and instantly to adjust itself across the moat; whereon,
hastening, he unlocked the gate. But here he had nigh fallen into a
subtle snare, by reason of an ugly dwarf that was concealed in a side
niche of the wall. He was armed with a ponderous mace; and had not the
maiden drawn Sir Lancelot aside by main force, he would have been
crushed in its descent, the dwarf aiming a deadly blow at him as he
passed. It fell, instead, with a loud crash o