Explore "Adaptation" by Mack Reynolds on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The sergeant stopped the small company about a quarter of a mile from the city of Bari. His detachment numbered only ten but they were well armed with short swords and blunderbusses and wore mail and steel helmets. On the face of it, they would have been a match for ten times this number of merchants.
It was hardly noon but the sergeant had obviously already been at his wine flask. He leered at them. "And where do you think you go?"