Robert E. Gilbert, Thy Rocks and Rills
“ Fergus, perhaps the only bull-fighter ever to be gored in the brain, died silently. The sword raked a shallow gash long Moe's loin.In the sixth tier of the stands, saliva drooled from the slack mouth of the little man seated beside Stonecypher. "Now's your chance, Illard!" the man squalled. "Be a hero! The last of the bullfighters! Kill him, Illard!"Illard walked on shaking legs over bodies he did not see. He was short, for a killer, and growing bald. He picked up the sword Fergus had dropped, looked into the gory face of the bull, and toppled in the sticky sand. ”
