He opens the doors of a huge wooden wardrobe that completely covers one wall of the room. Inside are an assortment of weapons - swords and shields, axes and knives, lances and shields, mysterious rods, spheres of metal and crystal, scrolls and books, and things so odd you don't even have words for them.
"I don't know how to use any of this stuff," you tell the big man.
"Not even this?" he says, holding up a book.
"Well, I can read if that's what you mean, but I don't know how to swordfight or use these weapons."
He puts his fingers to his chin and looks you over. "Hmmm... Perhaps it's your mind that will have to be your weapon." He holds up his hand when he sees you are about to protest again. "Let's not call it a 'weapon' - let's call it a 'tool'. Do you find that word more comfortable?"
"My mind is a tool? I guess so. That's more the way I think of it myself. 'Weapon' sounds so... mean... and hostile."
Barl laughs. "And you are a "gentleman", eh? Hahaha! Not for you to slice off a man's head with a mighty swing of your sword? Hahaha!"
Your face turns red as you hear him ridicule you and, surprisingly, you feel a surge of anger well up in you.
Barl stops laughing and looks at you seriously. "I thought so," he says without smiling. He stares at you in a way that makes you feel that he could strike you down with one blow of his big fist. Your anger drains away and is replaced by fear. You feel your knees trembling a little.
Barl smiles again and puts his arm around your shoulder. "You have much to learn, my "hot-and-cold" friend," and he laughs at his little joke.
You don't see the joke, but you try to laugh a little bit. It seems the safest thing to do when an insane killer giant has his arm around your shoulders.
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