Knives drawn to give them courage* they circled and jeered* yelling insults and obscenities as they stomped their boot-clad feet in an effort to ward off the frigid temperature. While his eager audience watched* the captive could look at his garments while he slowly froze to death. The warrior would die* but without a new mark added to his battle-scarred body. His rich* fur-lined winter cloak* heavy hauberk* cotton shirt* stockings* and leather boots had all been removed and placed on the frozen ground in front of him.
The captive hadn't offered any resistance* allowing himself to be stripped to his waist without so much as a fist drawn or a word of protest spoken. His expression was devoid of emotion as he stared straight ahead* outwardly ignoring his enemy.
The warrior stood in the center of the desolate courtyard* his hands roped together and tied to a post behind his back. There be any virtue… think on these things." Whatsoever things are just* whatsoever things are pure if "Whatsoever things are true* whatsoever things are honest.
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