He trembled with rage and flung his sword far across the dim atrium with a shout of anger.

Like the great cats in his rage, he was like them also in his methods of attack--sly and terrible, but with a deep regard for the integrity of his own skin.

Sure of his advantage, he could be as brave as when he faced the tiger.
He sat awhile muttering, his face between his hands.

Soon, having calmed his passion, he rose and snarled: "Good sirs, never quarrel with the pet of an emperor, for if one spares you the other will not.".