Interesting Times

see he’s the one behind the bloody big rock and wearing the only really arrow-proof helmet! Understand?”
    He stopped. The cadre were looking at him as if he was mad. He stared at their young, keen faces, and felt very, very old.
    “But there are causes worth dying for,” said Butterfly.
    “No, there aren’t! Because you’ve only got one life but you can pick up another five causes on any street corner!”
    “Good grief, how can you live with a philosophy like that?”
    Rincewind took a deep breath.
    “Continuously!”

Six Beneficent Winds had thought it was a pretty good plan. The horrible old men were lost in the Forbidden City. Although they had a wiry look, rather like natural bonsai trees that had managed to flourish on a wind-swept cliff, they were nevertheless very old and not at all heavily armed.
    So he led them in the direction of the gymnasium.
    And when they were inside he screamed for help at the top of his voice. To his amazement, they didn’t turn and run.
    “Can we kill him now? ” said Truckle.
    A couple of dozen muscular men had stopped pounding logs of wood and piles of bricks and were regarding them suspiciously.
    “Got any ideas?” said Cohen to Mr. Saveloy.
    “Oh, dear. They’re so very tough looking, aren’t they?”
    “You can’t think of anything civilized?”
    “No. It’s over to you, I’m afraid.”
    “Hah! Hah! I bin waiting for this,” said Caleb, pushing forward. “Bin practicing every day, ’n I? With my big lump o’ teak.”
    “These are ninjas,” said Six Beneficent Winds proudly, as a couple of the men wandered towards the door and pulled it shut. “The finest fighters in the world! Yield now!”
    “That’s interesting,” said Cohen. “Here, you, in the black pyjamas…Just got out of bed, have you? Who’s the best out of all of you?”
    One of the men stared fixedly at Cohen and thrust out a hand at the nearest wall. It left a dent.
    Then he nodded at the tax gatherer. “What are these old fools you’ve brought us?”
    “I think they’re barbarian invaders,” said the taxman.
    “How’d you—How’d he know that?” said Boy Willie. “We’re wearin’ itchy trousers and eatin’ with forks and everythin ’—”
    The leading ninja sneered. “Heroic eunuchs?” he said. “Old men?”
    “Who’re you calling a eunuch?” Cohen demanded.
    “Can I just show him what I’ve been practicing with my lump o’ teak?” said Caleb, hopping arthritically from one foot to the other.
    The ninja eyed the slab of timber.
    “You could not make a dent on that, old man,” he said.
    “You watch,” said Caleb. He held out the wood at arm’s length. Then he raised his other hand, grunting a little as it got past shoulder height.
    “You watching this hand? You watching this hand?” he demanded.
    “I am watching,” said the ninja, trying not to laugh.
    “Good,” said Caleb. He kicked the man squarely in the groin and then, as he doubled up, hit him over the head with the teak. “’Cos you should’ve been watchin’ this foot.”
    And that would have been all there was to it if there had only been one ninja. But there was a clatter of rice flails and an unsheathing of long, curved swords.
    The Horde drew closer together. Hamish pushed back his rug to reveal their armory, although the collection of notched blades looked positively homely compared with the shiny toys ranged against them.
    “Teach, why don’t you take Mr. Taxman over to the corner out of harm’s way?” said Ghenghiz.
    “This is madness!” said Six Beneficent Winds. “They’re the finest fighters in the world and you’re just old men! Give in now and I’ll see if I can get you a rebate!”
    “Calm down, calm down,” said Mr. Saveloy. “No one’s going to get hurt. Metaphorically, at least.”
    Ghenghiz Cohen waved his sword a few times.
    “Okay, you lads,” he said. “Give us your best ninje.”
    Six Beneficent Winds looked on in horror as the Horde squared up.
    “But it will be terrible slaughter!” he said.
    “I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Saveloy. He fished in his pockets for a bag of peppermints.
    “Who are these mad old men? What do they do? ”
    “Barbarian heroing, generally,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Rescuing princesses, robbing temples, fighting monsters, exploring ancient and terror-filled ruins…that sort of thing.”
    “But they look old enough to be dead! Why do they do it?”
    Saveloy shrugged. “That’s all they’ve ever done.”
    A ninja