The Inca snatched the _llautu_ from his head and cast it aside. He went out, returning instantly with a pair of the short native swords. He thrust the hilts toward the cavalier. "Choose!" he cried, hoarsely. Cristoval’s eyes blazed, and he stretched out his hand to seize the weapon. Arrested the motion, and drawing back, stood surveying the maddened youth in silence. Fight this prince, already laden with unnumbered cares, the victim of inconceivable wrongs, and on the eve of leading a life-and-death struggle to save his people? Turn a sword upon the brother of Rava? "Choose!" commanded Manco, passionately. "Doth the Viracocha hesitate?" Cristoval grasped a sword, and as the Inca stepped back to guard, threw it upon the table. "My lord," he said, "I have no mind to fight." Manco’s surprise gave way to quick access of anger. "What mean you, Viracocha?" he demanded, hotly. "Is this some new form of insult?" "God forbid!" said Cristoval. For a moment the monarch glared at him, speechless with rage and uncertainty. "Do I look upon a coward?" he asked, slowly, the scorn deepening in his eyes. Cristoval knew that the stigma must follow his refusal, yet he started and reddened at the word. "A coward! No, my Lord Inca, not that!" he replied, meeting steadily the look of contempt and enmity. "Not a coward; and I believe you cannot think it." During a fraction of a second he felt the penetrating gaze which might have been Rava’s. It passed, and Manco’s brow darkened again. He was about to speak, but Cristoval raised his hand. "Lord Inca Manco," he said, gravely, "we have no quarrel. I divined but now the nature of what you hold as grievance. I call upon Heaven to witness that the Ñusta Rava hath had from me naught but honor in mine every thought." "Honor!" repeated Manco, with renewed scorn. "Honor in a Viracocha?" "Nay, my lord! You have heard me say that I will not fight," returned the cavalier. Manco colored under the reproof, and Cristoval went on, "There is honor even among Viracochas, and something more than lust of gold, God knoweth!" He paused again. "You spoke of the symbol the Ñusta Rava wore. I tell you, Prince, that if you come not to the faith, it betokeneth you will go upon your bended knees on the hot pavement of hell and give up thanks that your sister hath been spared your fate!" Then, with a gesture: "But I say once more, Lord Inca, we have no quarrel. We have a common enemy."