With his hand, skilled in wrath too, Richard
Doubles his fierce blows, dividing them
Between Gernand's chest and head; now tries
To injure his right side, now the left one,
And his own hand is so fast and furious
That it deceives the eyes, and his technique
So great that it suddenly, unexpectedly hits
Where it was feared less -- and stings, and wounds.
Nor does he stops until his fierce sword has
Been driven once, twice,
He finally falls after so many wounds, spilling
His soul and spirits out of that wide doors.
The winner sheathes the blade, still dripping
Blood, and does not tarry over him, soon
Putting aside his own disdain and fury,
For a short time suffices to a great wrath.