The blue man collapsed to the ground, face-first. Prompting Michael to run to his side, fall on his knees, and roll him over to look for injuries. In this way, Sandy observed that this strange being had a sword sheathed to his left hip. As its silvery-looking hilt was clearly visible at the top of an exotically embroidered scabbard.
But, even that paled in comparison to what happened next. Michael, taking a closer look at the blue man's face, suddenly exclaimed:
"Toray?!"
The blue man opened his eyes in response.
"Prince...Landor? Thank...the Great Parent! I've found you."
"What the frig are you doing here?" replied Michael: "You're two weeks early."
"No time...now. Take me...to Willek. Quickly!"
Gesturing for Sandy to help him, the two youngsters helped the blue man to his feet. No sooner had they done so, however, than three more people joined the party!
These three looked more like Sandy than the one called Toray. Although, they did have swarthier complexions. Not to mention, hairstyles slightly reminiscent of a disco-era Afro. Plus; all they wore in the way of clothing were loinclothes (that looked more like rawhide kilts) and matching boots.
Most disquieting of all, however, were their weapons. Broadswords strapped to their backs like a quiver full of arrows on an archer. Plus; what looked like short-handled maces, made of stainless steel, strapped to their left hips. And, with a short noose of rope tied around the base of each mace's knob.
In short; these latest three arrivals looked like Conan the Barbarian impersonators!
"You! And, you," the apparent leader shouted, pointing at her and Michael: "Stand away from the Azuling. Now!"
To which Michael replied: "Landor Golarson takes no orders from any _boot-licker_ of Ashrog's."
Sandy could not tell which had stunned the trio more: the insult or the name. In any event, the leader finally responded by lifting his mace off his belt by the noose; whirling it counter-clockwise; and then throwing it under-handed. Almost in a literal blur!
To her ever-increasing amazement, though, Michael sprang forward and intercepted the weapon! Catching it in his own left hand, and throwing it back after his own counter-clockwise spin.
Resulting in the man to the barbarian leader's left falling flat on his back. Blood gushing from his throat, where it had been penetrated by a crescent-shaped blade that seemed to have magically appeared out of the mace's handle!
Two seconds later, Michael had unsheathed Toray's sword. Aiming its point in the barbarian leader's direction, and grinning.
"One Osiri down," he recited: "Two to go."
Whereupon, the remaining two barbarians drew their own swords, and charged forward.
"OSIRIIIIIIIIIIII!" they screamed in unison.
"WOTANIIIIIIIIIII!" Michael screamed in counterpoint.
The swords of the barbarians proved slightly shorter than Toray's weapon. But, they were slightly wider where the blade met the hilt. This allowed the two Osiri to wield their swords single-handedly. As opposed to the two-handed grip Michael was now employing.
Even so, he was clearly no novice at combat fencing. A fact he proved when he drew first-blood on the Osiri to his right. Ham-stringing the latter's right leg!
But, instead of aiming a death-blow at the fallen warrior's head, Michael snatched up his switch-bladed mace, instead.
WHOOSH!
THUNK!
"Urrrrrgh!"
Another Osiri fell flat on his back, choking to death on his own blood. Prompting Michael to turn around and remark:
"Now, it's your turn. Boot-licker!"
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
GOODSON FAIRGROUNDS,
GOODSON, CONNECTICUT
(10:02 P.M./EST)
GOODSON, CONNECTICUT
(10:02 P.M./EST)