See, the sun sinks in blood," and he pointed with his battle-axe towards the setting orb; "it is well that my sun should go down in its company.

And now, O king! I am ready to die, but I crave the boon of the Kukuana royal House[1] to die fighting.

Thou canst refuse it, or even those cowards who fled to-day will hold thee shamed." "It is granted.

Choose--with whom wilt thou fight?
Myself I cannot fight with thee, for the king fights not except in war." Twala's sombre eye ran up and down our ranks, and I felt, as for a moment it rested on myself, that the position had developed a new horror.

What if he chose to begin by fighting _me_?
What chance should I have against a desperate savage six feet five high, and broad in proportion?
I might as well commit suicide at once.