"Acid for blood... quel diable?" Jacques whispered, sickened at the idea that his God could allow something liek that to live. Sheathing his rapier, he also holstered the blaster, drawing the wheellock again. It seemed a pitiful weapon to have to rely solely on. Never in the past had he been without a good sword or long knife with which to fight, in case the worst happened and he found himself fighting for the Prize.