You undertake too steep a climb
when you try to make me believe in your love while before my eyes you give to
the man I hate my lands and the woman you had promised me and my place above
your men--" His rage choked him so that he was obliged to break off and stand
drawing his sword from his sheath and slamming it back with a sharp sound. His
voice came back in a hoarse roar. "When I reckon up the debt against you, I
know that the only thing to wipe it out would be your life. Not taken by
poison nor underhandedly, but torn out of your deceitful body as we stand face
to face. If I could do that, it might be that my anger would be quenched."
Again he drew his blade half out,--and this time he did not shove it back. His
huge body seemed to draw itself together, crouching, as he leaned forward.
"Why do you stand there looking as though you thought you were Odin? Do you
think to blunt my weapon with your eyes? Why do you tempt me?"
The King had not moved away from the chair against which he had staggered, and
the prints of his nails were on its arm. He was as though he had hardened to
stone. "To show you that I am stronger than you, though I face you with bare
hands," he said. "To show you that you dare not kill me."
"Dare not!" Rothgar's laughter was a hideous thing as he cleared at a bound
the space between them. His sword was full-drawn now.
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