Four against one, huh? Fair enough odds, if the Barbarian doesn't get us all killed by tripping over his loin cloth." Kilvorough the Warrior drew his Blade of Leaping Gold, with only a quick sideways glance at Um-Grol, the Norse Barbarian.

"Shut ya bog 'ole, skinny. I'll smash ya ugly face in!" The Chaos Lord was temporarily forgotten, by Um-Grol at least, as he balled his hand into a fist and took a threatening stance.

Seeing yet another fight about to begin, the dark skinned Arabian Assassin took it upon himself once more to disperse tempers, by sliding silently in front of the Barbarian and lightly touching his fist, pushing it gently back to Um-Grol's side. "Not here, not now!" As usual, his deep, low voice reached his Barbarian ally. "Settle it later, once the servant of Khorne is disposed of."

With a blur of speed, Kilvorough leapt forward, meeting the Chaos Lord with a clashing of swords. Even with his magical blade of speed, the Chaos Lord blocked every blow with unparalleled efficiency.

The razor bladed chakram that was the Warrior Princess' whizzed over the top of the Warrior's head, striking the Chaos Lord on the top of his helmet. Alas, it did nothing more than anger him. Isparana grabbed the weapon from the air as it returned to her grasp, as drew her slender blade, preparing to join Kilvorough in melee.

Lúm-Dúl drew his magical scimitar, also ready to advance, when suddenly he noticed the Barbarian holding a strange, glowing hammer. He had never seen Um-Grol use this weapon before. "Where did you get that hammer, Norseman? You have no idea what power it contains!"

When Um-Grol shrugged, Lúm-Dúl snarled in annoyance, a rare sign for the usually calm Arab.

"You hold in your ham like fists the legendary Hammer of Hargon, long thought destroyed. For one who knows how to use it, it is an unstoppable weapon. Give it to me, you are unsuited to use it."

Although Um-Grol had no idea what the strange black man was saying to him, it sounded like an insult. "Izza big 'ammer. Can't have it! Get lost!" With that, and a mighty Norse war chant, the Barbarian charged into battle, and with a blow that could fell an ox, struck the Chaos Lord directly on top of his helmeted head. Nothing happened. The Chaos Lord didn't even feel the blow. Again he tried, with the same result. "Hmmm.... Must be broken....." The discarded hammer landed directly at Lúm-Dúl's booted feet, who reverently picked it up.

"One must have great skill and understanding of weaponry to use this device. It does not like to be abused by one unskilled in the art of war. You Barbarian, are an oaf, and would not recognise a magical artefact if it stabbed you in the chest and said 'I am a magical artefact'" Lúm-Dúl glided across the floor with amazing agility and proceeded to clobber the Chaos Lord over the head. The laughter that ensued was from the mouth of Um-Grol as he watched the hammer ricochet back onto the Arab's unprotected face. "AARRGH, my nose!! It broke my nose!!!"

As the hammer fell from loose fingers, Kilvorough grasped it with his left hand, being ambidextrous, and set to work once more on the Chaos Lord, who did not seem to be tiring. Willing all his strength into the blow, he swung the Hammer of Hargon directly at the Chaos Lord's mid-section. There was a sickening crunch, and a muffled cry of pain from behind the servant of Khrone's blood red helmet. Grasping his side, he staggered, and eventually fell to his knees, whimpering continuously.

Barbarian, Arabian, and Warrior Princess gawked in surprise. How had he been able to use the weapon and not any of the others?

"Well, I guess we know who has the greater understanding of what a Warrior is now, don't we...."

"I can fight, though. I bash the creatures when they seez me, and they run in fright. Why I can not use it, Kilvooogh?" Um-Grol seemed really confused.

"My skill with the scimitar is unrivalled. I am as quick as any man, and yet it broke my nose, blast it. Yet you, a stripling of a boy, wield it with grace and style while I blunder about. How can this be?"

"Simple. You, Um-Grol, are an uncouth savage who delights in killing and maiming. You do not appreciate the skills and the trade of war. A sword is a sword is a sword to you. As long as there are opponents, you can kill happily, relishing the blood, but you fail to see the big picture. And you, Arabian, focus far too much on subterfuge and cowardly assassination techniques. True, your sword arm is one of the fastest I have encountered, but you too do not appreciate the tools and skills involved in the trade. Where as, I do. I am a Warrior, a mercenary, a traveller, and adventurer. The both of you are machines of death. Unsuited for a weapon of this power." With that mighty speech, Kilvorough walked from the room, the hammer of Hargon resting over his right shoulder. "And, just for once, get my name right, you walking hulk of meat!"

Warrior story by Michael Brockhouse.