Grumbling curses, Lothar drops his firearm onto his seat and grabs up his kite shield. Jumping from the seat, he quickly hooks the shield onto his left arm and draws one of his swords in swift, practised movements and moves cautiously against the Gor currently shredding the young squire's horse.

'Beastling! How's about a taste of manflesh?' he shouts, the shield close to his face, the sword ready to strike.