"I am called Tjorr the Sarmatian, _disa_. My folk are the Rukh-Ansa, a
confederation among the Alanic peoples. We dwell on the western side
of the Don River, north of the Azov Sea. I carry _disa_ blood myself,
being a son of the clan chief Beli. The Cimmerian Greeks caught me in
battle a few years ago. I went from hand to hand, being too quick of
temper to make a good slave, until at last they pegged me into this
floating sty. And now you have freed me!" Tjorr blew his nose and wiped
his eyes.
"Well, I am Eodan, Boierik's son, of the Cimbri. We can trade stories
later. How shall we dislodge those two up there?"
"A bow would be easiest," said Tjorr, brightening, "but I'd liefer
throw things at them."
Flavius went to the deck's edge and looked down. "Eodan," he called.
"Will you speak with me?"