The two friends were sitting in the Gothic-style beer hall, eating cold cuts and drinking ice-cold beer. The walls were covered with images of snakes, dragons, medieval battles, and knights in armour who looked even more fierce in the dim lighting. They had also hung pictures of medieval castles built of hewn grey stone, with circular towers ending in battlements, while on those ending in cones, the flag bearing the lord’s coat of arms fluttered.
The young man with the beard, wearing a leather jacket and boots, was explaining to his chubby, brown-haired friend the book he had supposedly been reading over the past few days. He was pretending to be a bookworm, when in reality all the stories from the books he claimed to have read were figments of his imagination.
“The author’s name is Philippe Mensonge. The story takes place in the Middle Ages. A knight wearing silver armour, on which was painted a lion designed in gold, relentlessly hunted down liars and swindlers and executed them on the spot with a long, silver sword. The knight was very tall, nearly two meters, with thick eyebrows, a stern gaze, and a slightly hooked nose. His straight, jet-black hair fell wildly over his shoulders. His appearance sent shivers down one’s spine. He had become the fear and terror of the liars and swindlers in the region. But no one knew who he was, despite all the efforts of the inhabitants of the medieval town. He was a medieval Batman…”
Suddenly, the door of the tavern burst open with a deafening crash. The patrons turned their heads toward the door in terror. The sight that met their eyes sent a chill down their spines. A knight in silver armour, taller than average, imposing and robust, began walking toward the two friends, brandishing a heavy, silver sword that flashed like lightning. He came up beside the young man with the beard, who was staring at him in shock, and in a flash raised the sword and brought it down with force, striking his neck. The young man’s head was severed in an instant; it rolled swiftly toward the door, pushed it open, and fell outside. A bright red streak formed on the floor. For a split second, the lights in the tavern went out. When they came back on, the knight and the young man with the beard had vanished. The patrons looked at each other in terror. The only trace left behind by the event was the bright red line on the floor.
Thanos Zarangalis was born in Istanbul in 1949. He studied economics at the University of Istanbul. He moved to Athens in 1979 where he studied graphic arts at the Vakalo Art & Design College and then worked as a graphic designer. Some years later, he started to translate Turkish literature into Greek. He has translated over forty novels, many poems and articles. He writes short stories.
