None

CLUBS AND BATTLE AXES! The Murrian stood with his battle ax gripped in both hands, his shaggy beard clotted with blood from the blow Deswine's spiked club had dealt him. Jerwold, white faced, supple, unmarked, stood at ease, the long thin blade balanced and bobbing in his hand. Tark could hear the Murrian snort as he began to move, catlike, to his left, circling his opponent, hands gripping the haft of the battle ax, feinting, drawing back, seeking to lure the Bladesman forward into a fatal mistake. But the giant Murrian had to strain to draw breath, and although beard and blood obscured his view, Tark felt sure the warrior's right eye no long saw.