So upon that each knight made him ready for the combat, and Enid stood to one side to observe what happened. Anon they were in all ways prepared, and each took post for a tilt. When all this was prepared, each knight shouted to his horse, and each drave spurs into the flanks of his steed and each launched the one against the other with wonderful speed and vehemence. So they met in the midst of the course with a crash like to thunder, and in that encounter the lance of each knight held so that the horse of each sank back upon his haunches quivering from the shock of that assault. Then each knight threw aside his lance and sprang from his saddle, and each drew his sword and each rushed the one against the other like two fierce bulls raging for battle. Each lashed at the other many terrible and severe strokes, and for a time neither had any advantage over the other. Several times Geraint was wounded and several times more he wounded his adversary. Thus they fought for a long while, and Geraint suffered many wounds, until at last, because of the smart of those wounds, his anger flamed up like fire and added strength to his strength. Then he rained blows fast and furious upon his assailant, striking him with terrible violence again and again and yet again, so rapidly and so fiercely, violently and furiously that the Little King bore back before him, holding his shield full low because of his weariness and wounds. Then Geraint beheld the opening that the other gave him, and with that he rushed in upon him, and he smote him with might and main upon the crown of the helmet. So terribly fierce was that blow that it split apart the helmet and the iron cap beneath and cut deep into the bone beneath the cap. [Sidenote: _Sir Geraint overthrows the knight._] Then the wits of the Little King flew away from him like a flock of flies, his strength deserted him, his thighs trembled and he sank down upon his knees. Thereupon Geraint rushed upon him and plucked the helmet off of his head. Then he catched him by the hair of the head and drew his head forward, whirling his sword aloft as though to strike the head off from the body. At that the senses returned to the Little King, and he beheld that death was very near to him. So he clutched Sir Geraint about the knees, and cried out aloud, “Lord, spare me my life.” “I will spare thee,” said Sir Geraint, “upon one condition, and that is that thou wilt swear to be true fellow to me henceforth and shall be faithful to me as I shall be to thee. For certes thou art the noblest, worthiest knight that ever I have yet encountered.” Then the other arose from his knees. “Sir Knight,” said he, “I know not who thou art.” “I am Sir Geraint,” said Sir Geraint, “the son of King Erbin.”