Jon set his lips grimly. So the Tower would fall, after all, to the barbarians? Not lightly, he thought, and waited for the giant's advance.
The sword the giant swung was nearly four feet long. It cut a sizzling swath through the air as he approached.
Jon moved back, up against the comforting bulk of the Tower itself, and prepared to defend the Tower to the death. The giant charged.
Jon parried his wild blow, felt the stinging shock ripple up his arm as their swords clanged together. He initiated an assault of his own, but the Wild One laughed derisively and parried as if he were fighting a child.
"Ho, Free One! The Tower is ours!"
"Not yet," Jon said. "Not while I live!"
"How long will that be?" the giant asked. "Another minute perhaps?"
His sword spun through the air in a shining arc. Jon parried desperately, but the force of the blow was too great for him and his sword went flying out of his numbed hands. He stood there, helpless, while the giant raised his sword for the final blow.
And suddenly six inches of bright steel protruded from the giant's chest. A red fountain of blood bubbled forth. The giant stared in amazement for a second, then began to topple like a felled oak.
Astonished, Jon looked up and saw the Wild One he had wounded standing there, holding a bloody sword.