Chapter thirteen
The Battle Maidens squabbleI sat next morning in the early radiance of the Suns of Scorpio polishing up the armor. I had bought a choice breakfast of vosk rashers and loloo’s eggs, swilled down an inordinate amount of good Kregan tea, chewed a handful of palines, and now, stripped down to a breechclout — which was, incidentally, a normal sober yellow — sat companionably with a couple of other mercenaries hard at the task that would keep us alive on the day of battle.
We spoke in that rapid shorthand of warriors, at ease, knowing our own worth — or, at least, they did — and bending diligently to our tasks.
The Rapa paktun’s armor had been fashioned from good quality iron with bronze fittings. The breast and back were molded, and so formed a quality kax, a corselet that c
