When all was prepared, the damsel led King Arthur into a fair field, and there he beheld awaiting him a knight, all sheathed in armour, his vizor down, and bearing a shield on which was no blazonry.  So the two knights saluted each other, and, wheeling their horses, rode away from each other some little space.

Then turning again, they laid lance in rest, and rushing upon each other, encountered with the noise of thunder, and so great was the shock that each knight was borne from the saddle.  Swiftly they gained their feet, and, drawing their swords, dealt each other great blows; and thus they contended fiercely for some while.  But as he fought, a great wonder came upon Arthur, for it seemed to him that his sword, that never before had failed him, bit not upon the armour of the other, while every stroke of his enemy drew blood, till the ground on which he fought was slippery beneath his feet; and at the last almost his heart failed within him, knowing that he was betrayed, and that the brand with which he fought was not Excalibur.  Yet would he not show aught of what he suffered, but struggled on, faint as he was and spent; so that they that watched the fight and saw how he was sore wounded, marvelled at his great courage and endurance.  But presently, the stranger knight dealt the King a blow which fell upon Arthur’s sword, and so fierce was the stroke that the blade broke off at the pommel.  “Knight,” said the other, “thou must yield thee recreant to my mercy.”  “That may I not do with mine honour,” answered the King, “for I am sworn to fight in this quarrel to the death.”  “But weaponless thou must needs be slain.”  “Slay me an ye will, but think not to win glory by slaying a weaponless man.”

Then was the other wroth to find himself still withstood and, in his anger, he dealt Arthur a great blow; but this the King shunned, and rushing upon his foe, smote him so fiercely on the head with the pommel of his broken sword that the knight swayed and let slip his own weapon.  With a bound, Arthur was upon the sword, and no sooner had he it within his grasp than he knew it, of a truth, to be his own sword Excalibur.  Then he scanned more closely his enemy, and saw the scabbard that he wore was none other than the magic scabbard of Excalibur; and forthwith, leaping upon the knight, he tore it from him and flung it far afield.

“Knight,” cried King Arthur, “ye have made me suffer sore, but now is the case changed and ye stand within my power, helpless and unarmed.  And much I misdoubt me but that treacherously ye have dealt with me.  Nevertheless, yield you recreant and I will spare your life.”  “That I may not do, for it is against my vow; so slay me if ye will.  Of a truth, ye are the best knight that ever I encountered.”