Now he was here, now there, ofttimes striking with the
sword. The giant ran blindly about, groping with his hands, for his
eyes were full of blood, and he knew not white from black. Sometimes
Arthur was before him, sometimes behind, but never in his grip, till
at the end the king smote him so fiercely with Excalibur that the blade
clove to his brain, and he fell. He cried out in his pain, and the
noise of his fall and of this exceeding bitter cry was as fetters of
iron tormented by the storm.
Arthur stood a little apart, and gazed upon his adversary. He laughed
aloud in his mirth; for his anger was well-nigh gone. He commanded
Bedevere, his cupbearer, to strike off the giant's head, and deliver
it to the squires, that they might bear it to the host, for the
greater marvel. Bedevere did after his lord's behest. He drew his
sword, and divided the head from the shoulders. Wonderfully huge and
hideous to sight was the head of this giant. Never, said Arthur, had
he known such fear; neither had met so perilous a giant, save only
that Riton, who had grieved so many fair kings. This Riton in his day
made war upon divers kings. Of these some were slain in battle, and
others remained captive in his hand. Alive or dead, Riton used them
despitefully; for it was his wont to shave the beards of these
kings, and purfle therewith a cloak of furs that he wore, very rich.
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