Now it is Gawain's desire to measure his
strength on the morrow with this strange knight who changes every
day his arms, as well as his horse and harness. His moultings
will soon be numerous if he continues thus each day, as is his
custom, to discard his old and assume new plumage. Thus, when he
thought of the sword and the lance respectively. Gawain
disparaged and esteemed highly the prowess of his foe. The next
day he sees Cliges come back whiter than the fleur-delis, his
shield grasped tight by the inside straps and seated on his white
Arab steed, as he had planned the night before. Gawain, brave
and illustrious, seeks no repose on the battleground, but spurs
and rides forward, endeavouring as best he may to win honour in
the fray, if he can find an opponent. In a moment they will both
be on the field. For Cliges had no desire to hold back when he
overheard the words of the men who said: "There goes Gawain, who
is no weakling either on foot or ahorse. He is a man whom no one
will attack." When Cliges hears these words, he rushes toward
him in mid-field; they both advance and come together with a
swifter leap than that of the stag who hears the sound of the
dogs as they come baying after him. The lances are thrust at the
shields, and the blows produce such havoc that the lances split,
crack and break clear down to the butt-end, and the saddle-bows
behind give away, and the girths and breast-straps snap.
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