Good foothold, but an uncertain light.

Now, go!" Caleb needed no encouragement.

For one second they stood facing each other, very types of the Eastern and Western world; the Roman--sturdy, honest-eyed, watchful and fearless, his head thrown back, his feet apart, his shield arm forward, his sword hand pressed to his side from which the steel projected.

Over against him was the Jew, crouched like a tiger about to spring, his eyes half closed as though to concentrate the light, his face working with rage, and every muscle quivering till his whole flesh seemed to move upon his bones, like to that of a snake.
Suddenly, uttering a low cry, he sprang, and with that savage onslaught the fight began and ended.
Marcus was ready; moreover, he knew what he would do.

As the man came, stepping swiftly to one side, he caught the thrust of Caleb's sword in the folded cloak, and since he did not wish to kill him, struck at his hand.