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As mighty Harreld had hauled back and flung the quivering ash spear a staggering 124 strides, Crabannan had made a hasty mental note to never, never get on Harreld's bad side. Crabannan knew that with his superior quickness and endurance, he could probably beat Harreld in a fight, but he had no desire to find out how many bones he would almost certainly break in the process.
After the competition, Wilcred came alongside Crabannan, while the tall man was holding something very like a conversation with Harreld. (There were a great deal of nods, cheerful grunts, and monosyllabics being exchanged.)
Wilcred clapped Crabannan on the shoulder. "Where did you learn to throw a spear, my friend?" he cried in mock disgust. "You just lost me two gold coins!"
Crabannan did not know Wilcred very well, andwas startled for a moment out of his good humor; but when he realized that Wilcred was speaking in jest, he unfurrowed his brows quickly enough. He even smiled a little and cast about for a suitable mock apology.
Wilcred continued. "In truth, though, where did you learn the spear? You nearly matched our Harreld, and there are few Rohirrim who can say the same."
"Wherever it was, it seems it wasn't enough, eh?" Crabannan said, leaving the question unanswered. "Harreld earned that one. But Degas now - I think he surprised all of us. Maybe even his sister."
Wilcred nodded, chuckled, and said, "Aye" several times, but Harreld simply said, "They made a man out of him in Gondor."
"Well, Crabannan. If you handle any other weapons as well as the spear, I'll be wagering on you again in the later games. Don't let me down this time!" said Wilcred, as he turned to go. Walking away, he continued to shake his head in disbelief. Under his breath, he said, "I haven't seen a spear thrown like that in fifteen years."
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