Джеффри Лорд - King Of Zunga

The girl snorted. «Meaning a woman would never understand it. Typical masculine attitude.» She turned her back on him, and edged away to a safe ten-foot distance. Blade grinned wryly. She had been genuinely curious-no foreign agent would have picked a fight with him that way. And there went the evening's chances. Well, a good night's sleep would not do him any harm. He had brought no wounds back from Zunga, but it had been a lively time there, and even his magnificent constitution needed to be restored a bit.

He followed the path of the quarterstaff demonstrators out through the French windows and onto the lawn, but did not go near them. Even from a distance he could see they were making asses of themselves. None of them would have lasted two minutes in combat with a Zungan warrior. He was almost tempted to go over and show them what he could do, but that would risk the same sort of awkward questions he had just fended off from the girl. And the Official Secrets Act was adamant.

But in the privacy of his own mind he could consider the latest adventure and what he had done in Zunga. Most of his memories, frankly, revolved around Aumara. For her he had been no casual affair; the memory of him would remain with her as long as her memory would stay with him. No doubt after a time she would take Nayung as her consort, and together they would rule Zunga, bring up the child, and generally do well by both themselves and their people. But she would remember him, and so she would keep alive the story of the English warrior sent by the Sky Father to aid Zunga. He had done what the Sky Father had bidden, and then returned to his homeland. In time Blade would be a legendary figure among the Zungans-and in Rulam and Kanda, a figure mothers used to frighten naughty children, perhaps?

In any case, Blade knew he had done well. He would indeed be a legend in his own time-if not in his own dimension.