e couched in steel, as you deserve for your boorish
insolence."

"There be plenty of room and time for that even now, you dog of a French
coward," cried the officer, couching his lance as he spoke.

Joan de Tany was sitting her horse where she could see the face of Roger
de Conde, and it filled her heart with pride and courage as she saw and
understood the little smile of satisfaction that touched his lips as he
heard the man's challenge and lowered the point of his own spear.

Wheeling their horses toward one another, the two combatants, who were
some ninety feet apart, charged at full tilt. As they came together the
impact was so great that both horses were nearly overturned and the two
powerful war lances were splintered into a hundred fragments as each
struck the exact center of his opponent's shield. Then, wheeling their
horses and throwing away the butts of their now useless lances, De Conde
and the officer advanced with drawn swords.

The fellow made a most vicious return assault upon De Conde, attempting
to ride him down in one mad rush, but his thrust passed harmlessly from
the tip of the outlaw's sword, and as the officer wheeled back to renew
the battle, they settled down to fierce combat, their horses wheeling
and turning shoulder to shoulder.

The two girls sat rigid in their saddles watching the encounter, the
eyes of Joan de Tany alight with the fire of battle as she followed
every move of the wondrous swordplay of Roger de Conde.

He had not even taken the precaution to lower his visor, and the grim
and haughty smile that played upon his lips spoke louder than many words
the utter contempt in which he held the sword of his adversary. And as
Joan de Tany watched, she saw the smile suddenly freeze to a cold, hard
line, and the eyes of the man narrow to mere slits, and her woman's
intuition read the death warrant of the King's officer ere the sword of
the outlaw buried itself in his heart.

The other members of the two bodies of royalist soldiers had sat
spellbound as they watched the battle, but now, as their leader's corpse
rolled from the saddle, they spurred furiously in upon De Conde and his
little party.

The Baron's men put up a noble fight, but the odds were heavy and even
with the mighty arm of Norman of Torn upon their side the outcome was
apparent from the first.

Five swords were flashing about the outlaw, but his blade was equal to
the thrust and one after another of his assailants cr