Free Castle Perilous by John Dechancie

stood an elderly man dressed in a red-hooded shoulder cape. He was smiling, leaning on the counter with hands folded.
    â€œGood morning,” he said pleasantly.
    â€œI guess this is the armory.”
    The man nodded. “It is, sir. And I am the armorer.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Gene glanced around. “Do we just take what we need?”
    â€œIf you wish, sir. However, I am available to serve you should you need assistance. If you desire a weapon, I must fetch it from the storeroom.”
    â€œOh.” Gene knocked a knuckle against an iron breastplate. “Thanks.” He stepped over to examine a shield emblazoned with a particularly interesting coat-of-arms.
    â€œDo you have any clothes?” Linda asked the man.
    â€œI’m afraid I have nothing but military apparel, which would hardly befit a gracious lady such as yourself.”
    â€œOh. Do you know where I could — ”
    â€œI think you’d be wanting to see the seamstress, my lady.”
    â€œOh, good. And where — ”
    â€œI’m afraid her shop is a long way from here. It’s on the other side of the keep, on the twentieth floor of the Queen’s Tower.”
    â€œOh.”
    Gene came back to the counter. “I want a sword,” he said. “And a knife.”
    â€œA sword . . . and a knife.”
    â€œUh, yeah.”
    The man sighed. “Would you have any idea as to the type of sword or knife you’d be wanting?”
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œThere are many varieties, you know. All lengths and sizes, all used for various and sundry purposes.”
    â€œWell, I sort of want a general . . . you know, sword.”
    â€œA sword befitting a general?”
    â€œNo, no. Your average all-purpose, general-utility thing.”
    The man frowned. “Hmmm.”
    â€œSomething about yea long.”
    â€œAh, a longsword. Two-edged, then?”
    â€œUhhh . . . yeah. Two-edged.”
    â€œTwo-handed or one-handed haft?”
    Gene shrugged. “Whatever. Two-handed.”
    â€œCross hilt or decorative?”
    â€œUm.” Gene crossed his arms and rubbed his chin.
    â€œI might not have the decorative in a two-hand-hafted longsword, come to think of it. One moment, sir, and I will look.”
    The man went back to a row of free-standing shelves, returned with a huge sword and laid it on the counter. “Will this do, sir?”
    â€œHoly heck.” Gene picked the thing up, grasping the haft with both hands. The sword was heavy and unwieldy, almost impossibly so, and about half again as long as it needed to be. He glanced at the elaborately wrought hilt and laid it back on the counter. “You have anything a little easier to handle?”
    â€œMany things. Perhaps a shortsword would better suit you.”
    â€œYeah. What do you have?”
    â€œMany kinds.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Gene shrugged. “Like . . . what?”
    â€œWell, there are two-edged shortswords and one-edged shortswords. There are swords of various curvatures and of various blade widths. There are swords used for hacking, and there are those more suitable for thrusting at one’s enemy. And, of course, there are swords suitable for both. There are blades of various tempers and degrees of strength. There are broadswords and sabers, court swords and backswords. We have rapiers and épées, we have falchions and scimitars. There are swords with cup hilts, cross hilts, decorative hilts, basket hilts, and hilts molded to the individual hand.”
    â€œUh — ”
    â€œThere are ceremonial swords, calvary swords, infantry swords, swords for infighting, and swords to keep a distance. Now, as far as knives — ”
    â€œHold it.”
    â€œ — there are many different kinds. We have various styles of dirk and dagger, stiletto and poniard — ”
    â€œHold it! Look, all I want is a sword about that long.”
    â€œAre you sure a sword is what you want,