The Captain was a large man and looked strong and fit although it was hard to tell under his clothing. The skin on his face and around his eyes, however, betrayed his indulgences. He looked about for a moment as his eyes adjusted and then strode over to a table where two Scribes had been quietly talking.

"I will sit here!" he said, rather loudly, throwing his helmet on the table.

The two scribes gathered their things and moved without a word. Although some might have considered the Warrior's demand to be rude, the Scribes immediately saw the futility of contention over such a trivial thing. What purpose would it serve to offer one's life in defense of a particular table in a paga tavern? A Warrior is within his rights to demand anything he wants: "Take what you will; the swords of others will set you your limits" say his codes. Had the table been occupied by armed Warriors, it is unlikely that they'd have surrendered their seats so readily. Knowing when to choose one's battles is a wisdom men of all castes should possess.

Regardless of the fact that the Warrior was within his rights to demand the table, rudeness is still recognized. Hamish pointed that out to Mog.

"That was rather rude of him," he remarked quietly to Mog who simply shrugged. The same slave who had attended them earlier now hastened to the Warrior to serve him.

"Paga! Then food! Then more paga!" the burly Warrior demanded, punctuating his requests by pounding his fist on the table. The slave hastened to obey. Hamish and Mog observed her as she quickly fetched a footed bowl and a large animal skin that had been hung on a rack near a fire pit. She placed the bowl on the table and uncorked the skin. Just as she prepared to pour, the Warrior erupted.

"What is this?" he bellowed, "Am I in a war camp in the Voltai that I must be served from a bota?" The slave quivered under the blast and put her head to the floor.

"A girl begs forgiveness, Master," she said in a tremulous voice, "she has only been owned by the tavern a short while and this is how she was taught to serve."

"I notice those two have a bottle of paga," the Warrior said forcefully while jerking his head towards Hamish and Mog. "How is it that a shoveler of tarn shit and a hoer of suls rate to drink from a bottle, while I, Hunig, a Captain of the City Guard, must drink paga from the fetid skin of a stinking animal?" Hamish bristled slightly.

"They specifically requested a bottle, Master." She paused a moment, unsure how to proceed. "You simply demanded paga, Master, so I was going to serve it the way it is commonly served here."

She was answered with a back handed cuff that sent her sprawling. The paga skin flew from her hands and landed on the floor, leaking slowly from the opened spout. The girl fingered her bloody lip and crawled quickly to the bota and re corked it.

"Take away that disgusting swill and bring me paga that is fit for a Warrior!" demanded Hunig. The girl scurried to obey.

"I think the house paga is actually quite good," remarked Hamish quietly to Mog. "They just happen to like to serve it in botas here. Isn't one of the proprietors a Warrior?" Mog nodded slowly.

"A veteran of numerous campaigns, as I heard it," Hamish continued, "I suppose he developed a liking for it served in botas over the years."

"Seen him drink it that way," Mog offered

"Well there you go," Hamish said. "If it is good enough for a veteran Warrior. . . " Hamish looked at Mog who only shrugged again.

A few moments later the girl reappeared in front of Hunig's table. She was empty-handed. She swiftly knelt and placed her head to the floor. "M-master," she stammered.

"What now, slut?" bellowed Hunig.

She took a deep breath and blurted out, "A girl regrets to inform you that the Brewer has not delivered his shipment yet today and we have no more bottled paga and. . . " Her words were cut short as Hunig landed a smashing blow to her chin that tumbled her backwards in an unconscious heap. A tall bearded Merchant hurried over.

"Is there a problem, Warrior?" he asked. Hunig rose to his feet and began to thunder.

"Tarn Spoor and Ox Dung here get to drink bottled paga while I, a member of high caste, a Captain of Warriors, of the City Guard of Glorious Ar, am forced to swill urt piss stored in a tarsk's bladder!" Hamish had leapt to his feet and Mog too had risen slowly, his huge hand holding the heavy hardwood staff.

"They happened to have secured the last bottle on hand," the Merchant explained calmly. "I expect the Brewer to arrive any moment with today's shipment. In the meantime, please enjoy our regular paga, which is of excellent quality I assure you, at no charge."

"The hell I will!" Hunig blasted, "Bottled paga is what I will have!" Shoving the Merchant aside, he took a couple of steps toward Hamish and Mog and stopped with his hands on his hips

"Your paga! You will give it to me!" Hamish smiled and picked up the bottle and a glass. He calmly poured the paga into the glass and paused for a moment. He held the bottle in his left hand and held the glass up to the light.

"It really is good paga, y'know," Hamish said. With that he drank it all down.

Hunig bellowed with rage and rushed at Hamish. Hamish leapt so quickly to the side that by the time Hunig arrived Hamish simply wasn't there anymore. As Hunig missed his target and stumbled slightly, Hamish set the empty glass down on the table. Still holding the bottle in his hand, he took a couple of steps back. As Hunig looked around to acquire his target, Hamish tilted the bottle up and took a swig. He licked his lips and grinned.

Hunig's eyes turned cold. Now that his initial rage had passed, he burned with the icy cold fire that is characteristic of Warriors. Hunig stepped back to his table and yanked his sword free of the scabbard. Mog watched quietly without moving.

"Give it to me," Hunig warned. Hamish took another sip. Hunig burst toward Hamish, lunging with the sword. The movement was fast, but Hamish, who had been expecting it, was faster. He leapt nimbly to the side again.

Slowly, step by step, Hunig advanced on Hamish. Every so often, his sword would swing out. Each time, although Hunig did his best to vary the attacks without telegraphing them, Hamish evaded every swing. Hamish grinned and sipped on the paga between attacks

"Oops. All gone!" Hamish said just as Hunig lunged and swung again. As Hamish dodged neatly, he tossed the bottle in such a way that Hunig's lunge carried him into it. The bottle caromed off of Hunig's forehead. The restrained Mog let out a hearty laugh.

Hunig turned toward Mog and raised his sword arm. Before the sword could descend, however, Mog's staff swung upward in an arc. It moved swiftly between Hunig's legs and its motion ended at their junction with a sickening crack that made every man in the room wince.

Hunig froze momentarily as all the color left his face. The sword clattered to the floor and Hunig fell to his knees. The entire tavern was frozen for a moment until the silence was broken by the sound of Hunig violently emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Hamish looked at Mog and grinned.

"I think we should be going now," Hamish said. Mog smiled and nodded.