Chapter twelveThe stone-bow was small, light and well-made. It was no more than a forearm in length. Nevertheless, it had enough pulling force for a decent shot. The projectiles were not stones, but cleanly cast lead balls. I weighed it in my hand and looked into the little Och’s eyes. His shop was crammed with weapons and armor, everything was properly oiled and gave off that very special fragrance that belonged in any armory.
He wiped his middle left and upper right hand on his leather apron. Then he told me his price. I grimaced and offered half.
In the end we settled on three-quarters of the original price, and I paid for the little crossbow to our mutual satisfaction.
I wore a rust-brown shamlak with a narrow gap down the front and black embroidery, and trousers of the same color t
