Sitting in the center of the room, with one massive leg thrown casually
over the arm of a chair big enough to be a throne, was a man who
looked like a cross between a Viking warrior and a giant from a child's
fairy-tale. His heavily muscled upper body was naked except for a silver
band around one bicep, a knife-scabbard looped over one shoulder, and
a strange charm about his neck. His lower body was clad in soft, tight fitting
leather breeches which were tucked into high boots. He wore a
yellow scarf tied around one of these. His hair, a dirty gray-blonde, cascaded almost
to the middle of his broad back; his eyes were as green
and curious as the eyes of a tomcat who is old enough to be wise but
not old enough to have lost that refined sense of cruelty which passes
for fun in feline circles. Hung by its strap from the back of the chair
was what looked like a very old machine-gun.
Jake looked more closely at the ornament on the Viking's chest and
saw that it was a coffin-shaped glass box hung on a silver chain. Inside
it, a tiny gold clock-face marked the time at five minutes past three.