“Sir Knight!  Fly quickly as thou canst, for my lord is a mighty giant, a follower of Mahomed, who hath sworn to destroy all Christians.”

Hearing this St. George laughed loud and long.  “Go tell him then, fair dame,” he cried, “that a Christian Knight waits at his door, and will either satisfy his wants within his castle or slay the owner thereof.”

Now the giant no sooner heard this valiant challenge than he rushed forth to the combat, armed with a hugeous crowbar of iron.  He was a monstrous giant, deformed, with a huge head, bristled like any boar’s, with hot, glaring eyes and a mouth equalling a tiger’s.  At first sight of him St. George gave himself up for lost, not so much for fear, but for hunger and faintness of body.  Still, commending himself to the Most High, he also rushed to the combat with such poor arms as he had, and with many a regret for the loss of his magic sword Ascalon.  So they fought till noon, when, just as the champion’s strength was nigh finished, the giant stumbled on the root of a tree, and St. George, taking his chance, ran him through the mid-rib, so that he gasped and died.

After which St. George entered the tower; whereat the beautiful lady, freed from her terrible lord, set before him all manner of delicacies and pure wine with which he sufficed his hunger, rested his weary body, and refreshed his horse.

So, leaving the tower in the hands of the grateful lady, he went on his way, coming ere long to the Enchanted Garden of the necromancer Ormadine, where, embedded in the living rock, he saw a magic sword, the like of which for beauty he had never seen, the belt being beset with jaspers and sapphire stones, while the pommel was a globe of the purest silver chased in gold with these verses: 

  My magic will remain most firmly bound
  Till that a knight from the far north be found
  To pull this sword from out its bed of stone. 
  Lo! when he comes wise Ormadine must fall. 
  Farewell, my magic power, my spell, my all.

Seeing this St. George put his hand to the hilt, thinking to essay pulling it out by strength; but lo! he drew it out with as much ease as though it had hung by a thread of untwisted silk.  And immediately every door in the enchanted garden flew open, and the magician Ormadine appeared, his hair standing on end; and he, after kissing the hand of the champion, led him to a cave where a young man wrapped in a sheet of gold lay sleeping, lulled by the songs of four beautiful maidens.

“The Knight whom thou seest here!” said the necromancer in a hollow voice, “is none other than thy brother-in-arms, the Christian Champion St. David of Wales.  He also attempted to draw my sword but failed.  Him hast thou delivered from my enchantments since they come to an end.”

Now, as he spoke, came such a rattling of the skies, such a lumbering of the earth as never was, and in the twinkling of an eye the Enchanted Garden and all in it vanished from view, leaving the Champion of Wales, roused from his seven years’ sleep, giving thanks to St. George, who greeted his ancient comrade heartily.