The onyx eyes glared in terror; the tortured forehead, white as paper, became spangled with drops of sweat.
There arose a smothered feline screech as from a tiger whose back is broken in a deadfall.

Richard gave his wrist the shadow of a twist, and Storri fell on one knee.

Then, as though it were some foul thing, Richard tossed aside Storri's hand, from the nails of which blood came oozing in black drops as large as grapes.
"What was it ?" gasped Dorothy, who had stood throughout the duel like one planet-struck; "what was it you did ?" "Storri on his knee ?" asked Richard with a kind of vicious sweetness.
There was something arctic, something remorselessly glacial, in the man.
It caught and held Dorothy, entrancing while it froze.

"Storri on his knee ?" repeated Richard, looking where his adversary was staining a handkerchief with Tartar blood.

"It was nothing.