The Emperor’s sword—which I had so little used—thrummed to life in my hand, and I thrust its point at the first of his Excubitors. “Try it, you bloodless slaves! Try it and by all the gods of Earth, I swear I’ll tear you each apart!” “Stop!” the Emperor exclaimed. “Damn it, Marlowe! Stop! Stand down, all of you!” He clutched his bloody nose, just as Gilliam had done. Gilliam . . . There was no ring to save me this time. No title, no rank, nor any duel to fight. The bell was rung, the die cast. I didn’t even care.
