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to place the loser’s head high upon a pole in the middle of their last battlefield.
This gruesome trophy was to be placed there for all to see, well, all but the
multitude of dead men strewn about here there and everywhere all about.
However this grizzly macabre act was not a gesture of insult in any way. No, oh
no far from it, no it was more of a promise, a pledge each warrior had made to
one another before the fight had even ensued. Both Barak and the savage one
eyed high smelling chieftain had sworn whoever the victor was he would then
simply lop off the loser’s head. Barak had perhaps pledged this with a sigh a
yawn and a handshake. While knowing full well whose greasy ginger skull would
be the closer to the heavens on that cold starry night. Anyway with this deed once
done the head would be placed upon the high pole to stare down upon the vast
crowd with unseeing eyes, well one unseeing blue eye. The fierce code of the so
called barbarian tribes in many ways carried a lot more honour to it than that of
the back-stabbing Roman high born nobility. Because at day’s end after all said
and done, the giant’s hairy unwashed, very itchy enemies, which of course were
still many in number, could have stood well back from the fearsome giant and
shot Barak there and then full of arrows. And this until the ogre dropped down
onto his knees and simply bled to death. For it must be said there were still many
thousands of the savage horde about that stood silently watching their former
leader meet his swift but noble end upon his final day on earth. Perhaps there
were still over ten thousand hairy itchy men or even more wild looking open
mouthed things who witnessed the brief but savage duel between Barak and their
ferocious but mismatched one eyed clan chieftain. However, for their own reasons
the horsemen did not do this. No their arrows stopped in their quivers and the
warriors to their credit upheld their savage code of conduct. Thankfully for Barak
the savage unwashed horsemen kept to their word, to a man they bowed to the
giant’s power and his skill with a sword and of course to his courage. Later after
the fight, after the blood and dust was finally settled, these now leaderless
horsemen simply let the slayer ride off with both of the Roman Standards.
And so it was a victorious Barak who rode away from the battlefield. However
though, this was not until the following morning. Because as ever with the giant,
and having manners about him, Barak had thought it would not be polite to leave
without having at least one night in toasting the savage chieftain who he had so
quickly and recently slain.

So there under the tall pole that carried the one eyed chieftain’s hairy grinning
head, aye under the cold starry steppes sky, Barak had sat his broad back against
that pole whilst he drank much vodka and feasted upon thick steaks of horse
flesh. Oh and all of this with the unwashed itchy horde for company and until
sunrise of the next day. And what a drink that was by the by, the giant had found
the barbarian chieftain was also quite good company, well, good company for a
dead man that is. As for Barak, well he being ever polite the giant had toasted
the chieftain most sincerely, the ogre did this many times before the coming of
that following cold red skied dawn. And then when the giant finally arose upon

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