Talisman turned away. At that moment the men who had been pursuing him came into sight, five at one end of the alley and four at the other. ‘We’re going to cut your heart out!’ shouted the leader, a fat, balding ruffian. Talisman drew his knife as the first five attackers rushed in. Movement came unexpectedly from Talisman’s left! His eyes flickered towards it. The drunken stranger had risen to his feet and appeared to be trying to move the oak bench. No, not move it, Talisman realized, but lift it! It was so incongruous and bizarre a moment that he had to jerk his eyes from the scene in order to face his attackers. They were close now – three armed with knives, two with cudgels of lead. Suddenly the heavy oak bench hurtled past Talisman like a spear. It struck the gang leader full in the face, smashing his teeth and punching him from his feet, then spun off into the others sending two of them to the ground. The remaining two men leapt over the bodies and ran in close. Talisman met the first, blade to blade, then hammered his elbow into the man’s chin. The attacker fell face first to the cobbles. As he struggled to rise Talisman kicked him twice in the face; at the second kick the man groaned and slumped unconscious to the ground.
Talisman swung – but the last assailant was vainly struggling in the iron grip of the stranger, who had lifted him by neck and groin and was holding him suspended above his head. Spinning on his heel, Talisman saw the four remaining attackers edging forward from the other end of the alley. The stranger ran towards them, gave a grunt of effort and hurled his hapless victim straight into them. Three went down – but struggled to their feet. The stranger stepped forward.
‘I think that’s enough now, lads,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘So far I haven’t killed anyone in Gulgothir. So gather your friends and go on about your business.’ One of the men moved carefully forward, peering at the stranger. ‘You’re the Drenai fighter, aren’t you? Druss?’
‘True enough. Now be on your way, lads. The fun is over – unless you’ve an appetite for more?’
‘Klay will beat you to a bloody pulp in the final, you bastard!’ Without another word the man sheathed his knife, and turned to his comrades. Together they helped the injured from the alley, having to carry the leader who was still unconscious. The stranger turned to Talisman. ‘An ugly place,’ he said, with a broad grin, ‘but it does have its delights. Join me in a jug?’
‘You fight well,’ said Talisman. Glancing round he could see the attackers milling at the mouth of the alley. ‘Yes, I’ll drink with you, Drenai. But not here. My feeling is they will talk amongst themselves until their courage returns – then they will attack again.’
‘Well, walk with me, laddie. The Gothir gave us lodgings – which I believe are not far from here -and there’s a jug of Lentrian Red that has been calling my name all evening.’ Together they moved west, out on to the main avenue leading to the colosseum. The attackers did not follow.
Talisman had never been inside so luxurious a lodging, and his dark, slanted eyes soaked in the sights – the long oak-panelled staircase, the wall hangings of velvet, the ornate cushioned chairs, sculpted and gilded, the carpets of Chiatze silk. The huge warrior called Druss led him up the stairs and into a long corridor. Doors were set on both sides at every fifteen paces. The stranger paused at one of them, then pressed a bronze latch and the door slid open to reveal a richly furnished apartment. When Talisman peered in, his first sight was of a six-foot-long rectangular mirror. He blinked, for he had seen his reflection before, but never full-length nor quite so clearly. The stolen black cloak and tunic were travel-stained and dust-covered, and his jet-black eyes gazed back at him with undisguised weariness. The face he gazed upon – despite being beardless – looked far older than his eighteen years, the mouth set in a grim, determined line. Responsibility sat upon him like a vulture, eating away at his youth.