'The Great King smiled, for he expected no less of his champion. Manawyddan extolled the warrior's resolve, saying, "Go, then, Llencellyn, with my blessing. I charge you to remember that though all the fiends of Hell stand against you, yet with the help of the Swift Sure Hand, you must surely prevail."

'Up leapt Llencellyn and called for his weapons and his horse. When he had armed himself, he then mounted his fine steed and called to the lady to lead him to her realm, that he might kill the giant without delay and win himself a wife and kingdom. The Grey Lady mounted her yellow mare and led the king's champion away.

'The men of Manawyddan's court were not content to stand idly by and await the combat's outcome. "How can we stay here while our swordbrother faces this peril?" they cried. "O, King of Might, let us follow them to the place of combat so that we might see how Llencellyn fares."

'This they did, following the champion's trail to the battleground, arriving just in time to see Llencellyn strike the first of many stout blows – any one of which would have been enough to fell the strongest enemy. Curiously, the more Llencellyn fought, the stronger grew the giant. With every well-placed stroke of the champion's sword, the Black Giant's strength increased and Llencellyn's grew the less.

'The king and all his warhost looked on in horror as their renowned champion's strength waned, until, no longer able to lift the blade, Llencellyn's arm faltered. The Black Oppressor, keen for the kill, drove in the instant the sword blade fell. Up went the cruel iron axe, and down without mercy, striking the champion squarely in the centre of his helm. The giant's blade sliced the warhelm and passed through skin and flesh and bone and brain as if through empty air, cleaving the dauntless champion's head in two.

'All the host stood bereft and watched in agony and grief as the Black Oppressor leapt upon the corpse and hacked poor Llencellyn's body into small pieces and then trampled those pieces into the ground – those, that is, which the hounds did not devour. He then turned to the stricken company, and jeered, "Who will be next to chance with death?"

'When no one made bold to answer the evil lord, Manawyddan cried out, "If my men have lost their courage, so be it! Far better for me to die fighting than to go to my grave a coward and the king of cowards. Bring me my sword and shield!"

This speech shamed the assembled warriors – though not enough for any to overcome their terror of the giant. They all looked at one another and shrugged as if to say, "If that is the way the king wants it, who are we to disagree?" Meanwhile, the king's weapons were brought and the king began to gird himself for the battle which would certainly be his last.

'Yet while the king was strapping on his sword belt, a slender young man approached, knelt before him, and said, "Please, lord, I am your servant."

'The king had never seen the youth before, and said, "Forgive me, lad, but I have no time for tact. Too soon I shall be feeding hungry ravens and quenching the parched soil with my blood. Who are you, and what do you want?"

' "My name," replied the stripling youth, "is of little importance. I am new to your court and have not yet distinguished myself in arms, and thus I have doubtless escaped your notice."

' "Yes, yes," snapped Manawyddan irritably. "If you have something to say, say it quickly."

' "I beg the boon of trying my hand against the Black Oppressor," the youth said simply.

' "Well, your courage is sound, but I misdoubt your intelligence. Fine and mighty warriors who have tried to slay this Black Oppressor now sleep in turf houses. What makes you think you, little more than a boy – and a skinny boy at that! -can succeed where battlechiefs the like of Llencellyn have failed so miserably?"

'To this the lad replied, "Young I may be, but I have never yet met an enemy who can stand against me."

' "Clearly, you cannot have faced many foemen," the king declared sadly. "That, I suspect, is the secret of your success."

' "Regard me not too lightly," the youth warned, his assurance undimmed. "For I have succeeded by reason of a strange endowment with which I have been favoured."

'Manawyddan leaned on his spear and sighed. "Am I ever to learn the end of this? Perhaps it was pointless conversation that laid all your adversaries low."

' "Not at all," the youth assured the king solemnly. "I owe my triumph to the fact that, having no strength of my own, whenever I take the field the might of my opponents is granted me in double measure."

' "Son," Manawyddan replied, shaking his head sadly, "I have lived a very long time in this worlds-realm and have heard many strange things, but I never heard of anything like that." He paused, regarding the slender youth with great suspicion. "If I believed even the smallest part of what you said to be true, I might allow you to try your hand. As it is, I fear I would merely be delaying my own death with the purchase of yours. As a king of renown and a leader of warriors, I consider it far beneath me to even contemplate such a thing."

' "Well," answered the youth happily, "there is something in what you say, of course. But from where I stand, it appears your vaunted warhost has made the selfsame bargain with your life as you fear making with mine. Indeed, your warriors, fearless to a man, no doubt, have given you up for dead before you have even lofted spear or lifted blade."

' "Tread lightly here," the king growled in warning, "for you are talking about men tested in the straits of battle. Nevertheless, I find myself sorely tempted to grant your entreaty, though it be your last. I could always fight the giant tomorrow, I suppose."

'The shaveling youth smiled and bowed to the Great King. "Truly, you are a sovereign worthy of the name," the lad replied. "You have but to grant my plea, and reap the reward."

'Manawyddan sighed. "Would that it were so."

' "Rest assured, you will never hear a word of reproach from me," said the youth. "Give me a sword only, then stand aside and watch what I will do."

'Lord Manawyddan, Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty, gave the youth the sword from his hand, and called for his shield-bearers to arm the lad with spear and dagger, helm and belt as well. But the young man shook his head firmly, saying, "Either this blade will suffice, or it will not. If it will, then nothing else is needed; if it will not, then nothing else will help. Summon the giant, and let us set to. The day stretches long, and I am growing hungry."

The Black Oppressor, who had long since retired to his hall to gloat over his loathsome triumph, was duly summoned by a blast of the king's horn. "What is this?" the giant grumbled in a voice like low thunder, "Who disturbs my rest? Can it be the Mighty Manawyddan has finally gathered his courage into a heap and wishes now to weigh its worth against the standard of my blade?"

' "Say nothing you wish not to regret," the valiant lord advised. "It is not myself who is judge over you, but whatever god made you – and that soon. Before you stands the youth who will do for you as you have done for so many others."

The Black Giant laughed long and hard at this. Then he looked upon the youth, standing white and naked before him, armed with nothing but a sword that was so overlarge, he had to clutch it tight in both hands just to raise it.

' "Lad," rumbled the giant, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "of all the warriors I have slaughtered, I cannot remember killing any as foolish as you."

The slender youth stepped smartly forward, dragging the sword with him. "Only sow what you wish to reap," the lad replied evenly. If there was the slightest quiver of fear in his voice, no one heard it.

'In his eagerness to kill again, the giant licked his thick, foul lips and grinned down at the fair youth. Hefting his war axe, and testing the keenness of its blade with his thumb, the Black Oppressor said, "Come, then; it will be a joy to send you hence."