lady, standing up, at which her friends stood also, leaving only Tazendra still seated. “Dragonling? No gentleman is required to take such words from—”
“Stop,” said Khaavren. “For if you utter that hated word once more, which it sounds very much as if you are about to do, I believe that I will
separate your head from your body without the formalities that are so beloved by the lawmakers. You perceive, then, that I am doing you a favor by interrupting you.”
“Oh,” said another Dragon, “formalities mean little enough to me or my friends; our swords don’t require them.”
“Although,” added another, “we understand that this attitude is different among the police.”
Now, there is no question that, with this last utterance of that word which is so justly hated by all good persons of all times and places, a duel would have followed immediately, if there had not come an interruption at that moment. The interruption came when Tazendra, who had been trying to maintain her calm so that she would have the privilege of dueling with a Dragonlord, rose with a great cry, drew her sword from her back, and, with a shout, gave such a blow to the lady who had spoken that it would have certainly split her skull had she not leapt backward, upsetting her chair and bumping into a patron who had come to watch the hostilities. Because she was not there to interrupt the determined progress of the sword, however, it continued into the heavy oak table at which they had been playing and very nearly split the table instead of the skull at which it had been aimed. Coins and glasses splattered, tinkled, and rolled onto the floor.
The four Dragonlords recovered quickly, drew, and placed themselves on their guards. Khaavren and Pel drew as well, and even Aerich was sufficiently exasperated to take his sword into his hand.
“I’m stuck,” said Tazendra, who was unable to extract her weapon from the table-top.
“So much the better,” said her antagonist, and aimed a terrific blow at her body, which would certainly have killed her had Pel not interfered by giving the Dragonlord a good cut on her shoulder, which caused her to gasp and drop her weapon.
“Thorns, to us!” cried the Dragonlords.
“Guardsmen, to us!” cried the Guardsmen.
Of these two calls, the former was the more effective. There were nearly a score of soldiers of the Army of the Thorny Rose who were in the hostel, whereas, to our friends’ chagrin, there were no other Guardsmen there at all. As a result, within seconds Khaavren, Aerich, and Pel found themselves backed up against the far wall of the room, while their antagonists pressed forward, hampered only by their numbers, the size of the room and the table itself, for reasons which we will hasten to explain.
Tazendra had also decided to retreat, but was unwilling to leave her sword behind, and so she dragged it, table and all, to a position in front of her friends. Now this table, we should say, was supported by stout wooden legs, which curved outward from a common support in the center of the underside. Because of this design, the table overbalanced, with the result that it became an effective shield, reaching to the height of Tazendra’s breasts.
Therefore, for a few moments there was something of a stand-off, with the Dragonlords only able to attack around the sides of the vertically positioned table and the Guardsmen unable to attack at all. Then a Dragonlord cried out, “Press them, press them; let us finish this before more of these police come to rescue them,” which was not only a dire threat, but a fresh insult which aggravated the Guardsmen beyond endurance.
Tazendra, who had been frustrated in any case by her inability to free her sword from the table, gave a cry like an enraged dzur and began pushing the table forward into the throng of Dragonlords. Khaavren immediately put his shoulder into it as well, while Pel and Aerich stood by its sides, cutting at any who dared to press
“Stop,” said Khaavren. “For if you utter that hated word once more, which it sounds very much as if you are about to do, I believe that I will
separate your head from your body without the formalities that are so beloved by the lawmakers. You perceive, then, that I am doing you a favor by interrupting you.”
“Oh,” said another Dragon, “formalities mean little enough to me or my friends; our swords don’t require them.”
“Although,” added another, “we understand that this attitude is different among the police.”
Now, there is no question that, with this last utterance of that word which is so justly hated by all good persons of all times and places, a duel would have followed immediately, if there had not come an interruption at that moment. The interruption came when Tazendra, who had been trying to maintain her calm so that she would have the privilege of dueling with a Dragonlord, rose with a great cry, drew her sword from her back, and, with a shout, gave such a blow to the lady who had spoken that it would have certainly split her skull had she not leapt backward, upsetting her chair and bumping into a patron who had come to watch the hostilities. Because she was not there to interrupt the determined progress of the sword, however, it continued into the heavy oak table at which they had been playing and very nearly split the table instead of the skull at which it had been aimed. Coins and glasses splattered, tinkled, and rolled onto the floor.
The four Dragonlords recovered quickly, drew, and placed themselves on their guards. Khaavren and Pel drew as well, and even Aerich was sufficiently exasperated to take his sword into his hand.
“I’m stuck,” said Tazendra, who was unable to extract her weapon from the table-top.
“So much the better,” said her antagonist, and aimed a terrific blow at her body, which would certainly have killed her had Pel not interfered by giving the Dragonlord a good cut on her shoulder, which caused her to gasp and drop her weapon.
“Thorns, to us!” cried the Dragonlords.
“Guardsmen, to us!” cried the Guardsmen.
Of these two calls, the former was the more effective. There were nearly a score of soldiers of the Army of the Thorny Rose who were in the hostel, whereas, to our friends’ chagrin, there were no other Guardsmen there at all. As a result, within seconds Khaavren, Aerich, and Pel found themselves backed up against the far wall of the room, while their antagonists pressed forward, hampered only by their numbers, the size of the room and the table itself, for reasons which we will hasten to explain.
Tazendra had also decided to retreat, but was unwilling to leave her sword behind, and so she dragged it, table and all, to a position in front of her friends. Now this table, we should say, was supported by stout wooden legs, which curved outward from a common support in the center of the underside. Because of this design, the table overbalanced, with the result that it became an effective shield, reaching to the height of Tazendra’s breasts.
Therefore, for a few moments there was something of a stand-off, with the Dragonlords only able to attack around the sides of the vertically positioned table and the Guardsmen unable to attack at all. Then a Dragonlord cried out, “Press them, press them; let us finish this before more of these police come to rescue them,” which was not only a dire threat, but a fresh insult which aggravated the Guardsmen beyond endurance.
Tazendra, who had been frustrated in any case by her inability to free her sword from the table, gave a cry like an enraged dzur and began pushing the table forward into the throng of Dragonlords. Khaavren immediately put his shoulder into it as well, while Pel and Aerich stood by its sides, cutting at any who dared to press
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