Another smith spoke up. " Her Grace commanded us to make chainmail and armor, swords and daggers and axes, all in great numbers. For arming her new gold cloaks, m'lord" .
" M'lord, begging your pardon, Her Grace said those as didn't meet their numbers would have their hands crushed, " the anxious smith persisted. " Smashed on their own anvils, she said" .
" A lord's dungeon near Gulltown, " the smith replied. " A brigand, a barber, a beggar, two orphans, and a boy whore. With such do we defend the realms of men" .