Meanwhile Banfi was madly forcing his way through the Turkish host surrounding the church. The foremost rows fled back aghast at this unexpected onslaught; but a brigade of Ali Pasha's picked Mamelukes rode forward and arrested the flight. A gigantic Moor stood at the head of this troop. His horse too was an extraordinarily big beast, a stallion sixteen hands high. The protuberant, swelling muscles of the dusky giant's naked arms shone like steel in the hellish glare of the burning haystacks, his broad mouth was bleeding from the blow of a stone, and the whites of his eyes gleamed ghost-like out of his dark countenance. "Halt, Giaour!" roared the Moor, with a voice which rose above the din of battle, and he went straight for Banfi. In his enormous fist sparkled a sabre as broad as a man's hand; it appeared too heavy even for him. Two hussars riding in front of Banfi fell right and left before two blows from the monster, one without his head, the other cleft to the shoulder. Throwing back his arm for a third stroke, the Moor rose in his stirrups, and exclaimed with a voice of thunder-- "I am Kariassar, the invincible! Thank thy God that thou diest by my hand!" and with that he swept his sword backwards, and dealt a tremendous blow at Banfi's head. The Baron, with the utmost sangfroid, brought his sword in front of his face, and at the very moment when Kariassar let fly at him, made with lightning-like swiftness a dextrous lunge at the Moor's fist--it was what fencers call _an inner cut_--striking off Kariassar's four fingers, so that the heavy scimitar fell clashing out of the fingerless hand. The black's face grew pale from rage and pain. With a frightful howl he instantly threw himself on Banfi, and disregarding fresh wounds on his face and shoulders, seized Banfi's right hand with his left, and must have dragged him from his horse by sheer brute force if the Baron had not had an uncommonly firm seat. It seemed as if the Moor were capable of crushing him with only one hand. But Banfi was a good rider, and now he pressed his horse tightly with his knee, whereupon the noble beast reared and plunged; and while the giant was struggling with his master, and tearing at his lacerated arm with a lion's strength, the war-horse turned suddenly on the Moor, struck him a blow on the thigh with its front hoof, bit his brawny breast with foaming mouth, and shook the bitten part between its teeth. Kariassar yelled aloud, and suddenly relinquishing the Baron, grasped his poniard with his left hand, and writhing with pain, drew it from its sheath; but at the self-same moment Banfi dealt a rapid stroke at the giant's neck. The huge head rolled suddenly to the ground, and while the blood shot up in a threefold jet from the severed neck, the headless figure remained for an instant swaying on its horse, and spasmodically waving its poniard--a fearful spectacle to friend and foe.