Gauntlet of Death

A text adventure game published as a type-in game in the book "Castles & Kingdoms".

The Barbarian moved silently through the streets of Belestria, his huge frame dwarfing the Graylock throngs that mingled and flowed from the side-streets. Humans were not an uncommon sight in the Trade City and this one, though larger than most, aroused little attention beyond the ordinary caution taken in the presence of an obviously dangerous being. The Barbarian was called Thoran, which in his own language meant Wolf Slayer. He hailed from the mountains of the far north of the Great Outback, the refuge of the last tribes of Human nomads. He wore no Guildband or armour. Rather, he dressed in traditional loose desert garments. Although his hood partially concealed his features, his bulk betrayed his race to any who might care to examine him more closely. He was intent on his mission. He moved through the streets of the Trade City as though he knew them well. He worked his way amongst merchants, beggars and thieves towards the Palace of the King. His mind and his body were concentrated on a single task. By the time he reached the square opposite the Palace gates he was so preoccupied with his mission that he failed to notice the quiet build-up of troops around him. Not until he heard the twang of a crossbow did he become aware of them. Thoran spun like a cat, whirling to face the direction of the sound. His hand moved so fast it was a blur to the onlookers. He dropped to one knee. Then he rose to his feet again, stretched out his hand in the direction of a young soldier, and opened his clenched fist. The youth who had fired the bolt was one of the youngest and least experienced of the King's garrison. He had done the unforgivable: fired without an order. Although the garrison soldiers didn't flinch, the youth took haIf a step backwards. In Thoran's outstretched hand was the very bolt that had been aimed at him! Thoran shook the hood off his head, revealing decidedly Human features and a shaggy mane of jet-black hair. He moved towards the offending soldier until his outstretched arm was only inches from his face. The air was electric with tension. By Graylock law, Thoran had a right to claim the youth's life for this unprovoked attack. A crowd had gathered by now, and each of the onlookers wondered what would be the outcome of this confrontation between a Human and a Royal Trooper-a rare occurrence in these times of stealth and assassins. Thoran broke into a thunderous laugh; his mirth cracked through the air like a great whip. Lt was not a laugh of ridicule, but one of great amusement. He ripped away his desert garments to reveal the leather dressings of a Hekero, a northern warrior. "l have no quarrel with anyone," he said, loud enough so that all could hear. And then, softly, for the youth's ears only, "But you'll not find me so generous after a second mistake." With this, he tossed the bolt back at his assailant and strode boldly through the gates and up the Palace steps, as if he'd been born there. The Troopers and the crowd were left to contemplate the worth of a being who could catch an arrow barehanded. The Palace guards ushered him through to the inner chambers, on instructions from the Court, and the herald announced him as if he were a visiting royal. He strode between two lines of reposing courtiers and approached the King's throne. He clenched his right hand into a fist and slapped it against his left breast - a salute between equals. The courtiers began to mutter at this audacity but the King motioned for them to be silent. "We've been waiting for you, Thoran," His Highness said, his voice echoing throughout the room. ''I'll not waste words with you, Ruler of Child Snatchers," Thoran spat. "Where is the daughter of Broton, Chief of the Eagle Clan of North men, abducted by raiders on your orders?" "She is uninjured and well looked after, my Barbarian friend, and you may return her to her sire after her ransom is paid." "What tre