"'Knowest thou not,' said I, 'that if the Gods condemned me to die
by thy hand, not only thou, but thy whole house, thy wife and thy
children, would be sacrificed to my ghost?"

"'The earth can hide the Spartan's bones as secretly as the Helot's,'
answered my strange foe. 'Begone, young and unfleshed in slaughter as
you are; why make war upon me? My death can give you neither gold nor
glory. I have never harmed thee or thine. How much of the air and sun
does this form take from the descendant of the Heraclidae?'

"'Thrice hast thou raised revolt among the Helots, thrice at thy voice
have they risen in bloody, though fruitless, strife against their
masters.'

"'Not at my voice, but at that of the two deities who are the war-gods
of slaves--Persecution and Despair.'[13] "Impatient of this parley, I
tarried no longer. I sprang upon the Helot. He evaded my sword, and
I soon found that all my agility and skill were requisite to save me
from the massive weapon, one blow of which would have sufficed
to crush me. But the Helot seemed to stand on the defensive, and
continued to back towards the wood from which I had emerged. Fearful
lest he would escape me, I pressed hard on his footsteps. My blood
grew warm; my fury got the better of my prudence. My foot stumbled;
I recovered in an instant, and, looking up, beheld the terrible club
suspended over my head; it might have fallen, but the stroke of death
was withheld. I misinterpreted the merciful delay; the lifted arm left
the body of my enemy exposed. I struck him on the side; the thick hide
blunted the stroke, but it drew blood. Afraid to draw back within
the reach of his weapon, I threw myself on him, and grappled to
his throat. We rolled on the earth together; it was but a moment's