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"An accessory for intimidation — right there, attached to the bandage. And I've seen swords like that in some book. You can't really find them around here, but they worked well over there. Compare this," — Vargas tapped his own armor and nodded at the armor in the image. — "And that. They don't have much ore there, and it's poor quality, so they improvise. It's barely enough to shield against a glancing blow or a spent arrow, otherwise they're lightly equipped. They fight in a single strike, staring each other down for ages. I doubt it's all that effective — take a handful of peasants, arm them with firearms, and that whole leather-and-wood army would fall. In our time, you have to reinvent the rules of war to stay on top. But it's a fine piece, no argument," — he paused briefly, looking at the cross-shaped marks on the pauldron — could those be kill tallies?
Then he resolutely headed inside.
"You know everything, my lord. I suppose such an imposing stature is necessary to carry that heavy head of yours, packed with all sorts of knowledge. But what's there to reinvent? Throughout the ages, the point has been to stand aside while the poor and the fools fight each other, isn't that right?"
To the possible disappointment of the sausage-noses, the washing area, like the sauna itself, was segregated — women and men went through these procedures separately. The only consolation was that there were few other visitors at the moment — besides the knight and his squire, the sauna held only the somewhat familiar Knight of the Swift Arrow.
"Oh, Steel Dawn, what an unexpected meeting."