“Run,” I said to Dian.  “I can engage him until you get a good start.  Maybe I can hold him until you have gotten entirely away,” and then, without a backward glance, I advanced to meet the Ugly One.  I had hoped that Dian would have a kind word to say to me before she went, for she must have known that I was going to my death for her sake; but she never even so much as bid me good-bye, and it was with a heavy heart that I strode through the flower-bespangled grass to my doom.

When I had come close enough to Jubal to distinguish his features I understood how it was that he had earned the sobriquet of Ugly One.  Apparently some fearful beast had ripped away one entire side of his face.  The eye was gone, the nose, and all the flesh, so that his jaws and all his teeth were exposed and grinning through the horrible scar.

Formerly he may have been as good to look upon as the others of his handsome race, and it may be that the terrible result of this encounter had tended to sour an already strong and brutal character.  However this may be it is quite certain that he was not a pretty sight, and now that his features, or what remained of them, were distorted in rage at the sight of Dian with another male, he was indeed most terrible to see—­and much more terrible to meet.

He had broken into a run now, and as he advanced he raised his mighty spear, while I halted and fitting an arrow to my bow took as steady aim as I could.  I was somewhat longer than usual, for I must confess that the sight of this awful man had wrought upon my nerves to such an extent that my knees were anything but steady.  What chance had I against this mighty warrior for whom even the fiercest cave bear had no terrors!  Could I hope to best one who slaughtered the sadok and dyryth singlehanded!  I shuddered; but, in fairness to myself, my fear was more for Dian than for my own fate.

And then the great brute launched his massive stone-tipped spear, and I raised my shield to break the force of its terrific velocity.  The impact hurled me to my knees, but the shield had deflected the missile and I was unscathed.  Jubal was rushing upon me now with the only remaining weapon that he carried—­a murderous-looking knife.  He was too close for a careful bowshot, but I let drive at him as he came, without taking aim.  My arrow pierced the fleshy part of his thigh, inflicting a painful but not disabling wound.  And then he was upon me.

My agility saved me for the instant.  I ducked beneath his raised arm, and when he wheeled to come at me again he found a sword’s point in his face.  And a moment later he felt an inch or two of it in the muscles of his knife arm, so that thereafter he went more warily.

It was a duel of strategy now—­the great, hairy man maneuvering to get inside my guard where he could bring those giant thews to play, while my wits were directed to the task of keeping him at arm’s length.  Thrice he rushed me, and thrice I caught his knife blow upon my shield.  Each time my sword found his body—­once penetrating to his lung.  He was covered with blood by this time, and the internal hemorrhage induced paroxysms of coughing that brought the red stream through the hideous mouth and nose, covering his face and breast with bloody froth.  He was a most unlovely spectacle, but he was far from dead.