spare any who surrendered.

Driving down from above, von Schlichten and his Kragans slithered over
floors increasingly greasy with yellow Ulleran blood. He had picked up
a broadsword at the foot of the first stairway down; a little later,
he tossed it aside in favor of another, better balanced and with a
better guard. There was a furious battle at the doorways of the throne
room; finally, climbing over the bodies of their own dead and the
enemy's, they were inside.

Here there was no question of quarter whatever, at least as long as
Firkked lived; North Ulleran nobles did not surrender under the eyes
of their king, and North Ulleran kings did not surrender their thrones
alive. There was also a tradition, of which von Schlichten was
mindful, that a king must only be killed by his conqueror, in personal
combat, with steel.

With a wedge of Kragan bayonets around him and the picked-up
broadsword in his hand, he fought his way to the throne, where Firkked
waited, a sword in one of his upper hands, his Spear of State in the
other, and a dagger in each lower hand. With his left hand, von
Schlichten detached the bayonet from the rifle of one of his followers
and went forward, trying not to think of the absurdity of a man of the
Sixth Century A.E., the representative of a civilized Chartered
Company, dueling to the death with swords with a barbarian king for a
throne he had promised to another barbarian, or of what could happen
on Uller if he allowed this four-armed monstrosity to kill him.

It was not as bad as it looked, however. The ornate Spear of State, in
spite of its long, cruel-looking blade, was not an especially good
combat-weapon, at least for one hand, and Firkked seemed confused by
the very abundance of his armament. After a few slashes and jabs, von
Schlichten knocked the unwieldy thing from his opponent's hand. This
raised a fearful ululation from the Skilkan nobility, who had stopped
fighting to watch the duel; evidently it was the very worst sort of a
bad omen. Firkked, seemingly relieved to be disencumbered of the
thing, caught his sword in both hands and aimed a roundhouse swing at
von Schlichten's head; von Schlichten dodged, crippled one of
Firkked's lower hands with a quick slash, and lunged at the royal
belly. Firkked used his remaining dagger to parry, backed a step
closer to his throne, and took another swing with his sword, which von
Schlichten parried on the bayonet in his left hand. Then, backing