Read Online Ronan the Barbarian by James Bibby - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Bibby
Ads: Link
to a little list of "Things To Do" that he kept pinned to the wall, wrote down "More replacement glasses", and came back to the bar, shaking his head.
"No, sorry. Can't help you there."
"Maybe I can," came a voice from behind Ronan, and he turned to find the white-streaked salesman approaching him, hand extended.
"Hi", the man said, "I'm Belladon." He glanced admiringly at Ronan's sword. "Hey! Nice sword! I'm in swords myself, actually. I'm Sales Executive (South Frundor Region) for the Orcbane Sword Corporation." They shook hands, and white particles fell in a shower to the floor. "Just got back this evening from a convention in Unch Haven. Left there on Friday morning. Now I know what you're gonna say!" He held up both hands to stem a non-existent argument, and Ronan's heart began to sink. "It takes more than three days to get here from Unch Haven. Sure it does, if you take the West Road then come up the Southern Highway like most people do. But I cut straight through the mountains to Carn Betw, and Bob's your uncle!" He looked down at his white-stained clothes a touch ruefully. "Yeah, I know what you're gonna say. There are drawbacks. It takes you straight through the Forest of a Million Pigeons. But if you're ever pushed for time, it's a life-saver!"
Ronan sighed. He had met salesmen before, and he thought he knew exactly how the conversation was going to go. Firstly Belladon would tell him how his horse had come all the way from Unch Haven on only half a bale of hay, then there'd be a couple of Hobbit jokes, then an enquiry after his sex-life, and then he'd try to sell Ronan a sword. He turned away and stared moodily at his Whitebeard Flagon as Belladon's voice droned on.
"And you'll never believe this, but my horse came all that way on just half a bale...."
There was a faint sound behind him, no more than a whisper of metal on leather, but a sound that might be made by a sword being drawn ever so quietly. Ronan reacted instinctively. He swung round like lightning, and the point of his dagger came to rest against Belladon's throat. The salesman froze, his sword half out of its scabbard, and his face went the colour of fresh pigeon crap. Ronan stared unblinkingly into his eyes.
"Hey!". The sound came out like a strangled croak, and Belladon tried to swallow. His throat was suddenly bone-dry, and it felt as though he was swallowing a football-sized lump of chalk. He tried again. "I only wanted to show you my sword! I mean, it's a beauty, it's our latest model, the Orcbane Mucromatic, you'd love it, and I'm a klatting sword salesman for Trann's sake!" Fear caused his voice to rise through several octaves, until even a bat would have had difficulty in picking up the last couple of words.
There was a pause, while Ronan stared at Belladon, and the salesman's bowels turned to iced water. But Ronan wasn't pausing for effect. He was faced with something of a dilemma. Quite simply, he wasn't sure what to do.
When Ronan started out in warrior school, he had thought that things would be pretty straightforward. You helped good people, and killed evil people. The problem was, there was this massive grey area in the middle that no-one had warned him about. Take Belladon, for example. Anyone who quietly tries to draw their sword behind your back is probably up to no good, but the guy was apparently a sword salesman, and Ronan couldn't think of a reason why he would want to assassinate him. Instinct said that he was up to no good and would probably benefit from a quick decollation, and yet Ronan was stuck with a moral code created by his father and by the romantic literature he had absorbed as a child. As a result, he just couldn't bring himself to kill someone who might possibly be innocent.
Deciding to give Belladon the benefit of the doubt he sheathed his dagger, and then thinking that it would be a friendly gesture to talk shop with the guy for a moment, he drew his massive sword. But the mere sight of five foot of
"No, sorry. Can't help you there."
"Maybe I can," came a voice from behind Ronan, and he turned to find the white-streaked salesman approaching him, hand extended.
"Hi", the man said, "I'm Belladon." He glanced admiringly at Ronan's sword. "Hey! Nice sword! I'm in swords myself, actually. I'm Sales Executive (South Frundor Region) for the Orcbane Sword Corporation." They shook hands, and white particles fell in a shower to the floor. "Just got back this evening from a convention in Unch Haven. Left there on Friday morning. Now I know what you're gonna say!" He held up both hands to stem a non-existent argument, and Ronan's heart began to sink. "It takes more than three days to get here from Unch Haven. Sure it does, if you take the West Road then come up the Southern Highway like most people do. But I cut straight through the mountains to Carn Betw, and Bob's your uncle!" He looked down at his white-stained clothes a touch ruefully. "Yeah, I know what you're gonna say. There are drawbacks. It takes you straight through the Forest of a Million Pigeons. But if you're ever pushed for time, it's a life-saver!"
Ronan sighed. He had met salesmen before, and he thought he knew exactly how the conversation was going to go. Firstly Belladon would tell him how his horse had come all the way from Unch Haven on only half a bale of hay, then there'd be a couple of Hobbit jokes, then an enquiry after his sex-life, and then he'd try to sell Ronan a sword. He turned away and stared moodily at his Whitebeard Flagon as Belladon's voice droned on.
"And you'll never believe this, but my horse came all that way on just half a bale...."
There was a faint sound behind him, no more than a whisper of metal on leather, but a sound that might be made by a sword being drawn ever so quietly. Ronan reacted instinctively. He swung round like lightning, and the point of his dagger came to rest against Belladon's throat. The salesman froze, his sword half out of its scabbard, and his face went the colour of fresh pigeon crap. Ronan stared unblinkingly into his eyes.
"Hey!". The sound came out like a strangled croak, and Belladon tried to swallow. His throat was suddenly bone-dry, and it felt as though he was swallowing a football-sized lump of chalk. He tried again. "I only wanted to show you my sword! I mean, it's a beauty, it's our latest model, the Orcbane Mucromatic, you'd love it, and I'm a klatting sword salesman for Trann's sake!" Fear caused his voice to rise through several octaves, until even a bat would have had difficulty in picking up the last couple of words.
There was a pause, while Ronan stared at Belladon, and the salesman's bowels turned to iced water. But Ronan wasn't pausing for effect. He was faced with something of a dilemma. Quite simply, he wasn't sure what to do.
When Ronan started out in warrior school, he had thought that things would be pretty straightforward. You helped good people, and killed evil people. The problem was, there was this massive grey area in the middle that no-one had warned him about. Take Belladon, for example. Anyone who quietly tries to draw their sword behind your back is probably up to no good, but the guy was apparently a sword salesman, and Ronan couldn't think of a reason why he would want to assassinate him. Instinct said that he was up to no good and would probably benefit from a quick decollation, and yet Ronan was stuck with a moral code created by his father and by the romantic literature he had absorbed as a child. As a result, he just couldn't bring himself to kill someone who might possibly be innocent.
Deciding to give Belladon the benefit of the doubt he sheathed his dagger, and then thinking that it would be a friendly gesture to talk shop with the guy for a moment, he drew his massive sword. But the mere sight of five foot of
Similar Books
