make enough of a din to frighten an Assyrian mercenary. The man piloting the war-wagon is even more frightening.

He is Khonsu, warrior of the pharoah's army, beloved of battle, scourge of the Nubians, wreaker of havoc in a thousand battles.

And he is very thirsty.

The screaming chariot comes to a halt in front of this new watering hole. It is midday, and Khonsu has already developed a need to slake his thirst. Stepping down from the beautifully worked chariot, the man adjusts his weaponry - an ornate khopesh and a bronze-headed mace. He leaves his filigreed shield on the chariot, and adjusts his casiri.

Now then...I shall slake this terrible thirst...with that nectar of the gods, that bounty of Heliopolis, beer!

Striding into this "Bar O", the large man takes in the sights and smells with the sweeping gaze of a raptor...a huge Celt...that man in rich clothing.,..probably the owner...a pair of Cretans with the huge Celt,probably talking the stpuid oaf out of his money..and...another Celt...a woman...she is...breathtaking!

Khonsu smoothes his casiri, and makes sure his eyebrows are neatly combed. Running his hands over his shaven pate, he ambles over to the bar, to this delicate flower of Celtica. She wears the same colors as the huge man with the funny-looking sword on his belt - maybe they're related?

Excuse me, miss...I was wondering if you w-whu-whoa...

Khonsu notices the two ENORMOUS orbs on the woman's chest, barely covered and straining at the flimsy excuse for clothing that is draped over her chest...

Would you...care to...have a beer with me? And maybe some children?