The expression on the man's face told of something more than mere surprise which held him quiet. Here was proof of the powers of the coronet. Flor looked savagely at his captive.
"Take off your cap."
Reluctantly, the man's hand came up. He removed his steel cap, holding it in his hand as he faced his captor.
"That is fine." Flor pressed his advantage. "Now, your garments. Off with them!"
The swordsman was nearly his size. Both of them had the heavy build of their mountain stock, and the garments of the free swordsman would do for Flor's purpose, even though they might not fit him perfectly. Who expected one of these roving soldiers of fortune to be dressed in the height of style? They were fighters, not models to show off the tailor's art.
Flor watched as his prisoner started to disrobe, then pulled off his own single garment, carefully guiding it through the belt at his waist, so as not to disturb the talisman's powers.
He threw the long shirt at the man before him.
"Here," he ordered. "Put this on."
He sensed a feeling of deep resentment—of hopeless rebellion. He repeated his demand, more emphatically.
"Put it on, I say!"