From THE EIGHTH KING:
Something gave the Worm pause; Datang shook her head when the words ceased, as though waking from a dream. When it spoke again, the words were mere sound, if puissant enough to loose knuckle-sized chunks of mortar from between the tower’s bricks. It looked down at something on the rim of the Gorge.
“ONE OFFERS HIMSELF TO BEGIN THE PROCEEDINGS.”
“Lin Gyat,” said Datang. And, indeed, the giant capered at the firelight’s edge, and she could hear the bellow of his own voice in a whisper, echoing from the mountains and the Gorge:
“Come, vermin! But beware—we clerics of Uä are tougher bits of gristle than once we were!”
“He is mad,” Kalsang said in awe.
“Of a certainty,” said Datang. “Shoot the Worm before it proves him wrong.”
“A GOD-MARKED MONK,” said the Priestkiller Worm. “I KNOW THE LAW, FLEA; I KNOW THE MARKS OF A DEITY’S PROTECTION. THOSE ARE NOT THEY. YOU ARE MERELY—”
“Cursed!” Lin Gyat’s reply came back in that same echoed murmur. “And a spicy curse it is, pest! You think yourself a lengthy snake? Behold a lengthy snake!”
“No,” murmured Datang—but, of course, there could be no intervening. Lin Gyat flung his robe wide; his breechclout fell in the dust around his ankles.
“Marvel at the Python of Degyen, beast!” Lin Gyat cried. “Thick enough to choke the Hinge-Gullet Goat of Tanggang, and cursed from tip to tail! I abjure you: Recede into your lair, or it will throw open the diseased gates of your jaws and fill your brain-pan with its pearly venom!”
Silence hung heavy in the unnatural night that veiled Pongyo Gorge.
1300+ words on the train this morning. Pyrotechnic fantasy shoot-em-up denouement with dick jokes == motivation.