At once, the group of Merchants sitting behind the Thane sprang into action, drawing swords and casting their robes aside. The Thane took Valen’s advice, throwing himself over the table, leaving a wide smear of blood, landing amidst his supporters, some of whom began calling for the guards.
To no one’s surprise, the guards remained at their posts.
The thin, small elderly Merchant stayed well out of the ensuing fight, but not before handing the Thane a large broadsword, which he had somehow contrived to keep hidden.
Doc had never seen a real-life swordfight before, and it was utterly unlike anything he could have imagined. Looking back on it later, the closest he could come to describing it was that it reminded him of a bullfight he had seen as a child. At the last the bull was exhausted and bleeding, trying vainly to gore its pitiless tormenter, while the strutting butcher of a matador stood in a stylized pose, arm upraised with the point of the sword downwards, to deliver the final killing blow. The thin sliver of blade descended, passing effortlessly into the bull’s bulk in a way what seemed almost innocuous, except for the fact that the bull was now moaning in agony, coughing up blood, whirling about vainly in an attempt to dislodge the pin that skewered its vitals. Its death came as slow agony, while the crowd got to its feet, cheering wildly for the strutting little monster who had so cleverly murdered a dumb brute that knew nothing of the twisted, inbred “reasoning” of Man.