Even before Girflet had been disarmed, Lancelot of the Lake was armed and mounted,
ready to avenge him, having asked the king’s leave. He raced with all speed to the
meadow, and found the knight in no awe of him at all: the moment he set eyes on
Lancelot he charged in no uncertain manner. Lancelot, so full of prowess, charged
likewise and they met in a fearsome clash; with their stout lances they smashed each
other’s shield with ease, but their hauberks proved too good and they couldn’t pierce
the mail; instead their lances shivered and flew into shards, splintering like so much
bark. Their charge was unswerving and they crashed together, face to face and body to
body; they saw stars, broke teeth and noses; and every part of Lancelot’s harness –
breast-piece, stirrup-strap, saddle-strap and saddle-bow – was ripped and smashed
asunder, and he went flying from his fine steed and crashed to the ground so hard it
nearly killed him. It was a long time before he could stand. The watching Britons were
appalled and aghast, dismayed and amazed, and said:
‘Dear God! Who can he be, this knight who’s good enough to unhorse Lancelot?’
They were deeply shocked and downcast. And the knight took Lancelot’s destrier
by the reins and sent him to the ladies – not that it gave them any comfort or joy!

Gerbert's Continuation of Perceval