ts rent the air with
their brazen clamors, and each champion striking his horse with the
spurs, and slacking the rein, the horses started into full gallop, and
the knights met in mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt. The
victory was not in doubt--no, not one moment. Conrade, indeed, showed
himself a practised warrior; for he struck his antagonist knightly in
the midst of his shield, bearing his lance so straight and true, that it
shivered into splinters from the steel spear-head up to the very
gauntlet. The horse of Sir Kenneth recoiled two or three yards and fell
on his haunches, but the rider easily raised him with hand and rein. But
for Conrade there was no recovery. Sir Kenneth's lance had pierced
through the shield, through a plated corselet of Milan steel, through a
_secret_, or coat of linked mail, worn beneath the corselet, had
wounded him deep in the bosom, and borne him from his saddle, leaving
the truncheon of the lance fixed in his wound. The sponsors, heralds,
and Saladin himself, descending from his throne, crowded around the
wounded man; while Sir Kenneth, who had drawn his sword ere yet he
discovered his antagonist was totally helpless, now commanded him to
avow his guilt. The helmet was hastily unclosed, and the wounded man,
gazing wildly on the skies, replied, "What would you more? God hath
decided justly. I am guilty--but there are worse traitors in the camp
than I.--In pity to my soul, let me have a confessor!"

He revived as he uttered these words.

"The talisman--the powerful remedy, royal brother," said King Richard to
Saladin.

"The traitor," answered the Soldan, "is more fit to be dragged from the
lists to the gallows by the heels, than to profit by its virtues: and
some such fate is in his look," he added, after gazing fixedly upon the
wounded man; "for though his wound may be cured, yet Azrael's seal is on
the wretch's brow."

"Nevertheless," said Richard, "I pray you do for him what you may, that
he may at least have time for confession. Slay not soul and body! To him
one half-hour of time may be worth more, by ten thousand fold, than the
life of the oldest patriarch."

"My royal brother's wish shall be obeyed," said Saladin.--"Slaves, bear
this wounded man to our tent."

"Do not so," said the Templar, who had hitherto stood gloomily looking
on in silence. "The royal Duke of Austria and myself will not permit
this unhappy Christian prince to be delivered over to the Saracens,
tha