The young man felt an involuntary shudder run through his body as the
moment drew near when he would have to face the hunted foe. The magical
mysteriousness which enveloped his pursuer; the marvellous audacity
which ensured the success of all his projects; his gigantic bodily
strength--all these things were sufficient to make any man's heart beat
more quickly at the prospect of encountering Black-Mask in a life and
death struggle at a lonely place.
But Szilard was resolved to see the business through. The strong will
peculiar to men of his nature broke down his fear. He had no business to
tremble, it was not permitted to him to fear. He who has a sword in his
hand is never alone--a sword is also a man.
The blind man trembled in his stead. He feared for him. When Szilard
returned with his naked sword, the blind man passed his finger along its
edge from end to end to test its sharpness.
"A good sword, a very good sword, Domnule. Fear him not, but when he
scrambles out of the water, rush upon him and strike at his neck. Do not
aim at his body for this accursed one wears a coat of mail so that no
weapon can pierce him. If he comes to close quarters, do not defend
yourself but slash away at him, you may perhaps be wounded, but if you
stand on the defensive, he will kill you. If he gets too much for you,
call out and I will rush in and strangle him with my naked hands.
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