First to Slay a Giant

An arrogant hunter drops a severed giant's head onto the tavern counter with a thunk. "How shall I receive my reward?" he asks.

A large bald man had been polishing tankards behind the counter. He turned at the question the hunter posed. A thick brown beard with three thin beaded-braids hangs from his chin. "And how, may I ask, did you come across this–" he glares at the greyish head leaking on his counter, "–beast," he snarls.

The arrogant hunter leans on the counter, planting himself to speak of his deeds. "Now that's a tale that will forever be told."

"In that case, tell me everything."

The big bearded, bald man sets down a tankard of swishing, frothy ale and the hunter takes a big swig, wiping his mouth free of froth with his sleeve.

"Months on the road hunting, searching for clues, dealing in information. I heard every rumour under the sun. But of the ones worth listening to, a large portion of ‘em traced back to the tale of the boy named Jack—you know the one," the bearded man nodded. "So I decided to track him down.

“I spurred my steed west and stopped at every village, farm and alehouse in search of someone who knew the boy. Finally, I came across a courtesan that said she knew the boy's mother once, that she had moved beyond the great mountains so as not to bring the boy up in a filthy town with the likes such as her.

“A few more days' travel and I had narrowed the area down to a handful of farms. I came to one with a boy outside milking cattle. Never once did the boy turn his head from that cow until I mentioned a giant. He was all-too-happy to find someone wanting to listen. But before he could get down to the finer details, his mother came home and told me off, ordered the boy not to speak to strange men.

“So I had to stay in the nearby village a few days and squeeze information out of the rumours. I questioned locals but they paid no mind to 'the ramblings of a boy' as they put it.

“Eventually the mother went off to the market to flog the weekly cheese. But it took some convincing for Jack to disobey his mother's orders." The hunter laughs, ale drips down his chin. "Was easy once I asked him how he killed the giant; every boy wishes to tell the world of his heroic feats. Anyway, didn't seem the effort was going to pay off once Jack started talking about magic beans. Huh, I thought I had wasted all that time; that me, you and the rest of the country had been duped into believing giants exist by a boy with a wandering imagination. I would've choked that little runt out had his mother not come back with her stinking cheese."

The barman pours each of them another ale and returns to the counter with curiosity in his grumbly tone. "So, what led you to this one then?" asks he, gesturing to the leaky head next to them, its eyes dead as though made by a doll maker, one half-covered by a drooping eyelid.

The hunter belches. "Well, now, here's the part most people won't believe–" the bearded tavern owner leans in, "–I was on my way out of town in search of the place where they say the giant fell, when I heard drunken talk of a wizard living in a nearby cave. I supposed it simply drunken talk like any other, but I also figured that if Jack had truth in his tale at all, then maybe this so-called 'wizard'—who was probably just a crazed-old-man—had seen something around the caves; that's where I figured a giant might dwell, if there was such a thing.

“Anyway, I tracked down this 'wizard'—"

"Was he?" asks the barman.

"Was he what?"

"A wizard?"

"Till the day my death comes, I'll ask myself that very question."

Both men ponder over a gulp of ale.

"He was certainly crazy, that's for sure; tried to sell me magic beans–" the bald man laughs. "–They looked like any ordinary sack of beans to me. But he continued to claim how they worked for Jack. So I bought ‘em."

The tavern owner leans in with a raised brow, his beard brushing the top of his tankard. "How much did you fork out for these...'magic' beans?"

"Not as much as they were worth," says the arrogant hunter. "And threatening to strangle the old git if he was having me on certainly eased my worry.

“I wanted to plant the beans right there but the old man swore blind that if I did, giants would rain from the heavens. I decided to listen to the crackpot and plant a single bean a mile or so on."

The hunter shakes his head after a big swig of his emptying tankard and grimaces at the severed head. "Turned out to be right. I awoke the next morning under the shadow of a beanstalk as tall as three mountains—"

"Codswallop!" The bearded man throws down his tankard, spilling ale on his hand.

The hunter can do no more than shrug his shoulders. "It's true. No doubt you’ll hear of it in the coming days as talk of it spreads."

The barman huffs. "And I suppose you climbed this beanstalk, did you?"

"Well I could hardly bring my steed, now, could I? It was a challenge worthy of great effort and one I will remember long from now. I have hunted many great beasts and I consider that stalk to be up there with the toughest of my victories.

“Then I reached the top–" the hunter shoves his tankard aside and leans in, "–and let me be clear when I say: not only do giants exist as you can see from this here head...but there’s a whole town of ‘em up there."

"The hells," says the bearded man, reluctant to believe it for if it were so would bring great fear.

"Anyway—being the best of hunters—I ambushed the first giant I could find and tied the great beast down. Don't even know if it was male or female. Tortured the beast for—well for my own pleasure mostly. But also because Jack had spoken of much gold when he encountered his."

"And?"

"None to be had. Poor as a pauper, this one." The hunter nodded to the head. "All of ‘em looked that way. So I came back here for the reward."

The bald man straightens up behind the counter with a wry smile.

"As I say," says the hunter smirking over his tankard, "a tale of which be told at campfires and alehouses for centuries to come." He places the empty tankard onto the counter. "Now, how shall I receive my reward?"

"Rewards gone."

"What!? But I'm the first to slay such a creature."

"I believe you confirmed Jack to be the first," says the barman polishing the tankards with a rag.

"His giant fell to its death. Anyway, the reward was posted after rumours of Jack's tale spread. I’m the first man to bring evidence of such existence, as the requirements state."

The braids dangle from the large man's chin as he wipes the counter. "Shepherd boy killed a giant out East. Just wandered onto his farm, would you believe?"

"No! I would not believe," says the hunter slamming his fists on the counter, causing the severed head to bounce.

"...Apparently its name was Goliath—spoke and everything." The bald man points to a corner of the tavern, where a giant’s head—larger than the one leaking on the counter—is mounted proudly on the wall. "Yours didn't speak," says he, smiling in jest. "That shepherd boy will go down in history and be talked of far into the future...As I say, rewards gone. Got no use for this." The barman gestures to the head. "Now kindly take it off my counter and pay for your ale."