Zilant roared tremendously as he came out of his iron nest. It was suspended in the air by twelve iron chains, tied to twelve oak trees. He flew out like an arrow, and called upon the intruders to prepare for the fight.
"It's my turn now," said Gol to his knights-companions. "Alas!" he thought within himself, "I must go—to die! It's all over with me, but I shall at least fall like a hero."
Having devoutly crossed himself, he mounted his mare, waved his axe, and, shutting his eyes, rode to meet the dragon.
Zilant roared more furiously than ever at the sight of Gol, thinking the moujik was sent out to mock him. Meanwhile, poor Gol, whispering to himself, "Oh, my father and brothers! remember my name—think of me when I am gone!" awaited the approach of death.
Zilant stared at the peasant. "Surely," he thought, "there is some trickery here. A moujik—and on such a beast—sent out to fight me! Why, with a click of a little finger he could be tossed half a dozen yards."
In his fear of treachery he stooped, and began to examine Gol's saddle. In an instant Gol rose up, and gave the dragon such a tremendous blow on the head with his axe that he fell down stunned, and rolled over on the sand. Then Gol cut and chopped at him until he had hewn him into pieces like so much wood. Having killed
