did“Amrik’s a tough old bull,” Heros said, “and he’s earned his name, I’ll tell you. See that?” He held out his left arm and displayed a great white scar that stretched from wrist to elbow joint. “He gave me that when I crossed him one afternoon. I was younger and thick-headed. It was hot, and we were all drunk, and I swore I could best him. I didn’t know then that it was the Mad Bull’s favorite sport to cut stripling lads into sides of fresh meat. Well, I couldn’t best him. He wasn’t as drunk as I was, and he told me he liked my looks and that a big fellow like me would be a loss to his army. But he warned me not to cross him again or try to second-guess him.”
“You could best him now, Heros,” Oron said.
“I don’t doubt it,” agreed Heros. “But Amrik— We’ve gotten to know you, Oron, and we
