"In four lives you have failed!" taunted the Dark Prince as he paused in his attack, and relaxed, point lowered. Rankin's blade wavered--groped--then sheared swiftly down and back in a drawing cut to the adversary's forearm. "You improve with practise!" mocked the Dark Prince as Rankin's blade cut only the poison sweetness of the heavy air. "If you only had another life----" Then he fell back before Rankin's renewed attack. Clack-clack-click! Blade against blade, whirling, circling, yielding a step, gaining a step, traversing, dodging: parry, return, and cut again--an endless, deadly mill. The Dark Prince ceased smiling, and his breath came too fast for mockery. But Rankin's tough arm ached to the very shoulder from the merciless, biting assault of steel upon steel. And his head whirled from the everlasting mutter of the snakeskin drum.... The figures crowding against the wall of green flame became more distinct. Their mumbled words became more plain. At times Rankin caught a word, and was glad that he could not understand all.... Steel against steel ... strength against strength ... but ages of cunning against the wits of one short life: for only the body of that terrific adversary was human. The tall flames were diminishing. With them would perish the last chance. Those who had crossed the Border to aid their Prince crowded against the barrier that would soon give way. Rankin wondered if Suleiman's shadowy presence was behind him; but he dared not glance back for even an instant. The Dark Prince stood fast in the center of the circle, secure in his faultless defense. Rankin knew that when he had exhausted himself against that flashing barrier of steel, the enemy would resume his deadly assault. Six to one in a side street ... that was easy ... but this thirsty blade would soon drink deep.... Rankin's arm was numb, and his parry against those biting swift returns was ragged. Just one slip--and that would be any moment now.... The enemy's eye shifted ever so slightly. He measured the height of the diminishing green flame, and smiled again. Then Rankin cut to the head. The adversary parried, and the hungry blade flamed swiftly in return---- Rankin could not parry. But stretched out in a full lunge, he passed beneath the shearing steel, and drove home with his point---- The green flame flickered and died. Rankin, still clutching his blade, lurched forward on his face as the Dark Prince crumpled in a heap on the tiles. But before the blackness descended, Rankin caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure of a bearded king who bowed and extended his arm in salutation. And this time the smiling loveliness of the girl at his side was not obscured by any veil.... A strong hand gripped Rankin's shoulder, pulled him back to his knees, and lifted him to his feet.