The shield of the Marquis bore, in
reference to his title, a serrated and rocky mountain. Each shook
his lance aloft, as if to ascertain the weight and toughness of
the unwieldy weapon, and then laid it in the rest. The sponsors,
heralds, and squires now retired to the barriers, and the
combatants sat opposite to each other, face to face, with couched
lance and closed visor, the human form so completely enclosed,
that they looked more like statues of molten iron than beings of
flesh and blood. The silence of suspense was now general. Men
breathed thicker, and their very souls seemed seated in their
eyes; while not a sound was to be heard save the snorting and
pawing of the good steeds, who, sensible of what was about to
happen, were impatient to dash into career. They stood thus for
perhaps three minutes, when, at a signal given by the Soldan, a
hundred instruments rent the air with their brazen clamours, and
each champion striking his horse with the spurs, and slacking the
rein, the horses started into full gallop, and the knights met in
mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt.
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