He it was who had carried Fatima, the beloved, about his cage by that neck in which Harrik had laid his face so often.
The hot flush of conflict and the long anger of the years were on him.
Since he must die, since Destiny had befooled him, left him the victim of the avengers, he would end it here.

Here, against the thing of savage hate which had drunk of the veins and crushed the bones of his fair wife, he would strike one blow deep and strong and shed the blood of sacrifice before his own was shed.
He thrust the torch into the ground, and, with the dagger grasped tightly, carefully opened the cage and stepped inside.

The door clicked behind him.

The lion was silent now, and in a far corner prepared to spring, crouching low.
"Fatima!" Harrik cried, and sprang forward as the wild beast rose at him.

He struck deep, drew forth the dagger--and was still..