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SIR BLANDAMOUR (As the orcs chasing the girls ( [img]tongue.gif[/img] ) come around the bend in the road, he marks the hugest and ugliest for his own. This is indeed the chief, Gothmog. About sixteen orcs follow him, crudely armed. Battle fury blazes up in him. He can barely control Shaitann, and now there is no need. He releases the rein, applies the spurs, and shouts his battle cry.) "For Torm and Truth," (The huge black stallion springs forward and gathers speed over the thirty or so yards between him and his chosen foe. A small orc tries to trip Shaitann, but he might as well have tried to block an avalanche. He goes down under the thundering hooves. Blandamour's lance is couched, and his skill, honed in a hundred tourneys, proves out. Gothmog is impaled on the lance, which snaps off. Leaving the dying orc chieftain, he cuts about with his sword as Shaitann spins, kicks, and bites. There is blood in his nostrils, and it is not his.)
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