The large guard sauntered toward the cell, leaving his friends to amuse themselves with Vasher’s duffle.  “They say you’re pretty tough,” the man said, sizing up Vasher.
	Vasher did not respond.
	“The bartender says you beat down some twenty men in the brawl.”  The guard rubbed his chin.  “You don’t look that tough to me.  Either way, you should have known better than to strike a priest.  The others, they’ll spend a night locked up.  You, though. . .you’ll hang.  Colorless fool.”