By P.K. Silverson
© Copyright 2008
By The Author
All Rights Reserved
In a land of far away, in a time not yet today, there lived a horrible giant.
The horrible giant was not merely horrible because he looked horrible. The horrible giant was not simply horrible because he smelled horrible. The horrible giant was not totally horrible because he had absolutely no notion of proper dental hygiene.
The horrible giant was entirely horrible, aside from his other faults, because he behaved in a rude and horrible manner.
It was expected of him, of course. He was, after all, a horrible giant.
The horrible giant lived all by himself in an area with no appreciable property value whatsoever. Nobody who was anybody, which is to say nobody or anybody at all, would have anything to do with him.
Because he was shunned and reviled by everyone who was anyone, which is to say everybody, the horrible giant developed a foul temper. He took to venting his ire on everybody who was anybody, which is to say the entire land of far away in a time that was not yet today.
With anger and rage as his sole companions, the horrible giant paid frequent visits to his neighbors and countrymen. These visits proved neither neighborly nor welcome.
The first indication the horrible giant was out and about on his terrible business was a powerful shaking of the ground as he made his way along. Those who lived nearest the giant’s mountain retreat always heaved a sigh of relief as his heavy steps faded into the distance, most days about 10:30 in the morning as the horrible giant headed off to other parts of the world.
On those days, the worst that could happen to the local residents would be some more shaking and pounding when he came by on his way home later that evening. Still, the dawn of every new day brought the sober realization that somebody somewhere could expect a not-so-friendly visit from an unwelcome guest.
As part of any visit by the horrible giant, chickens, goats and cows would disappear. Entire houses would be flattened. Sparkling silver trinkets and shining gold coins would leave the trembling hands of their rightful owners in trade for a far more priceless commodity, which is to say the privilege of continuing to breathe.
Every so often, some poor farmer or villager would stand up for what belonged to him and his family. Then, the horrible giant would smile his third-most horrible smile. If the brave citizen who dared to defy cruel fate yielded his ground, the horrible giant would claim his disputed prize with a horrible laugh and his second-most horrible smile, robbing his victim of dignity as well as wealth.
But if a valiant soul held steadfast in the resolve to deny the horrible giant of a claim, that unfortunate soul would find himself yanked rudely into the air. The horrible giant would smile his absolute-most horrible smile, then quickly bite off the head of the poor fool who had dared to argue with him. With the most horrible laugh anyone could imagine, the horrible giant would fling the lifeless body aside and take what he wanted anyway.
On every such occasion, after the heavy steps of the giant had faded into the distance, the family and friends of the deceased would gather around the headless body. With their heads shaking in sorrowful certainty, they would say: “That was a big mistake.”
And they were right, of course.
Life in the land of far away and the horrible giant went on in this manner for many years. The horrible giant’s behavior grew ever more callous and rude. It was expected of him because he was, after all, a horrible giant.
As the horrible giant’s arrogance grew, so, too, grew his appetite. So the horrible giant ate more. And to eat more he had to have more to eat. So the horrible giant stole more.
It became apparent, in time, that the horrible giant was bleeding the land of far away bone dry. But he didn’t care, because he was a horrible giant. It was kind of like his job.
The good people of the villages and the good farmers of the fields suffered in silence for many seasons, until their suffering became unbearable. Something had to be done. So, when the time came to make the annual tribute to the good king of the land of far away, there was no tribute made.
Of course, this displeased the good king immensely. He took a great deal of time to listen to the pleas of his subjects as they were conveyed to him by his royal collectors. When he understood there was not enough bounty for tribute after the repeated pillaging of his subjects by the horrible giant, the king knew he had to act swiftly and with great purpose.
The good king told his mighty knights to go back to the good people of the villages and to the good farmers of the fields. He gave them detailed instructions and explicit orders, so that every brave knight would know his sole purpose was to extract the full tribute due to the good king regardless of how desperate the plight of the people might be.
And tribute was paid to the good king by all, either in silver or gold, or in crops or in livestock, or even in life.
That was what was expected of the subjects because he was, after all, a good and powerful king.
In the course of making his difficult decision, the good king realized his strong measures…effective as they proved to be…could not be utilized indefinitely. There were practical matters to consider. For instance: Who would the good king rule if the brave knights ended up having to slaughter all his subjects because the horrible giant had stolen every last bit of silver or gold or crops or livestock from the land of far away?
The logical answer to such a question, of course, was: Nobody.
Since the good king could not be a good king if he had nobody to be a good king to, it became readily apparent something had to be done about the horrible giant.
And so, as the good king sent his mighty knights out to collect the royal tribute, he held one back. This knight was his best and boldest man, a noble of unquestioned valor, unequaled strength and untapped loyalty.
Needless to say, this bravest knight was sorely disappointed he would not be able to participate in the rape and pillage of the kingdom along with the rest of his friends. But he swallowed his frustration and paid fast attention to his liege.
“Seek out the horrible giant,” the good king told his bravest knight. “Seek out this terrible menace and put an end to him, and you have but to name your reward.”
This made the bravest knight smile with great happiness. It was his wish to marry the king’s eldest daughter, and he was getting tired of sneaking around to be with her. By killing the horrible giant, he could declare his true love freely. And, once he was married to the beautiful princess, he could easily kill her older brothers and ascend to the very throne of the kingdom itself uncontested, once the good king died of natural causes, of course.
All in all, it sounded like a very good deal to the bravest knight.
The next morning at the break of day, the bravest knight set off about his terrible mission to the cheers and applause of the entire royal court. “This is a big mistake,” the Lord High Chamberlain told the good king. “What have we got to lose?” the good king answered, making a mental note to have his advisor beheaded and replaced.
It did not take the bravest knight long at all to locate the horrible giant because the land of far away was not a very big place and the horrible giant was not the subtle type.
“Ho there,” the bravest knight hailed the horrible giant, effortlessly reigning in his terrified mount at the same time.
“Ho there yourself, little man,” the horrible giant replied, smiling his third-most horrible smile. “What is your business with me?”
The bravest knight did not take kindly to being addressed in such a manner. He flipped his battle visor down with a precise “snick” and held firmly to the reins of his poor frightened horse who, quite sensibly, strained to turn and run full speed back to the good king’s castle and the soft, dry hay in the safety of the royal stables.
“Listen, gruesome,” the bravest knight said in his most commanding voice, you’ve been taking things that don’t belong to you. It’s my duty to make you stop it…any way I can.”
“Oh, really?” the horrible giant asked, smiling his second-most horrible smile. “I’m terribly sorry to have put you to so much trouble, pip-squeak.”
The insult was simply too much for the bravest knight’s delicate sensibilities. Absolutely nobody had ever dared talk to him like that, and he just wasn’t about to get used to it. “Prepare to die,” he announced matter-of-factly.
The bravest knight drew his great sword and spurred his mighty steed, intending to gallop straight toward the horrible giant and slice the fiend into fillets for the vultures circling high in the sky overhead. These birds had come to know, over time, that wherever the giant went, there was bound to be an ample meal soon enough.
The horrible giant smiled his absolute-most horrible smile and laughed his wicked laugh. The sound sent waves of terror racing up and down the spine of the mount of the bravest knight.
Instead of charging the horrible giant, the fear-crazed beast reared up wildly. Unceremoniously, he dumped his bold rider to the ground. His panic and flight left his master lying in a daze, helpless and exposed to the horrible giant’s not-so-tender mercies.
Before the last of the horse’s hoofbeats faded into the distance, the bravest knight was picked up and raised high above the ground, where his great sword lay uselessly.
The horrible giant smiled his absolute-most horrible smile and quickly bit off the head of the bravest knight. Then, with the most horrible laugh anyone could imagine, the horrible giant flung the lifeless body aside.
Later that very day, after the riderless horse found his way back to the good king’s castle, the royal family and the friends of the court gathered around the table of the great hall and shook their heads in sorrowful certainty.
“That was a big mistake,” they agreed. Still, it didn’t do the late Lord High Chamberlain any good at all.
“Whatever shall I do now?” the good king wondered, far too distressed to eat more than a single leg of mutton for his dinner.
“Let me take care of it, Father,” answered the good king’s eldest son.
“You?” the good king wondered, for his eldest son was not yet fully trained in battle.
“Yes, Father,” the good king’s eldest son said. “It is the perfect opportunity to prove myself to you, to our court and to our people.”
“So it is,” the good king agreed.
“It sounds like a big mistake to me,” the queen thought to herself, for she knew better than to express such doubts aloud.
On the very next day, the good king’s eldest son set off from the castle on foot, carrying nothing but a strip of cloth and his lunch in a brown paper bag. By mid-day, he allowed himself a brief rest by the side of a babbling brook. The water from the brook made an excellent refreshment to accompany the sandwich his mother had personally ordered to be packed for him by his own favorite hand-maid.
It was while he was in repose that the horrible giant came upon the good king’s eldest son.
“Ho there,” the good king’s eldest son called to him.
“Ho there yourself, little man,” the horrible giant replied, smiling his third-most horrible smile. “What is your business with me?”
“You’ve been taking things that don’t belong to you. It’s my duty to make you stop it…any way I can,” the king’s eldest son smiled back.
“Oh, really?” the horrible giant asked. “I’m terribly sorry to have put you to so much trouble, pip-squeak.”
“I’m here to kill you, you big oaf,” the good king’s eldest son answered pleasantly.
The horrible giant smiled his second-most horrible smile. “This I’d like to see,” he said. “You don’t even have a weapon.”
“Of course I do,” the good king’s eldest son kept his tone even and pleasant. He rose to his feet, holding the strip of cloth in one hand and a large, smooth stone from the babbling brook in the other. He cradled the smooth stone with the cloth and twirled it high above his head.
The horrible giant smiled his absolute-most horrible smile and started to laugh just as the good king’s eldest son let go of his sling. The large smooth stone flew straight and true, striking the horrible giant right between his angry green eyes.
“Ow,” the horrible giant bellowed with rage. He snatched the good king’s eldest son from his feet. Before the valiant prince knew what was happening, the horrible giant bit off his head. But instead of merely flinging the corpse aside, the horrible giant spun the good king’s eldest son around his head by the arms, releasing the lifeless body only after generating enough speed to send it sailing through the air. And sail it did, all the way back to a hard landing in the courtyard of the good king’s castle.
“I knew that was a big mistake,” the queen shook her head in sorrowful certainty.
The good king mourned for seven days and seven nights. On the eighth day, he gathered the entire court into the great hall and asked, in the smallest of voices, if there was anybody present who could vanquish the horrible giant.
“I can, your majesty,” came an answer from the back of the company. Out of the crowd stepped a meek little man who held a quill pen and a large pad of parchment in his hand.
“You’re welcome to try,” said the good king. “But I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“No matter,” said the meek little man. Without waiting another minute, he turned on his heel and strode out of the great hall with great purpose.
The meek little man walked all day long and then half a day more. By-and-by, he came to the house of the horrible giant at the edge of the mountain in an area of the land of far away with no appreciable property value whatsoever.
The house itself was a great house, with great lands beyond. The fields were filled with cattle and the coops were filled with poultry and the sties were stocked with pigs.
The meek little man knocked on the front door of the great house. Despite the echoes of his pounding, nobody answered. Using all his might, the meek little man pushed at the large, sturdy door. He managed to open it the just a crack.
Peeking inside, the meek little man saw untidy piles of immense wealth strewn about the room. Mopping his brow at the sight of treasure in such alarming proportion and disarray, the meek little man sat down on the front stoop to await the return of the horrible giant.
While he waited, he wrote with his quill pen on his pad of parchment.
Not long before dusk, the meek little man heard heavy footsteps approaching in the distance. They came quietly at first, then grew louder and louder and louder still, until they sounded like thunder.
Just as the meek little man thought he would go mad from the din, the horrible giant came into view.
“Ho there,” the meek little man called to him.
“Ho there yourself, little man,” the horrible giant replied, smiling his third-most horrible smile. “What is your business with me?”
“You’ve been taking things that don’t belong to you. It’s my duty to make you stop it…any way I can,” the meek little man said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, really?” the horrible giant asked, smiling his second-most horrible smile. “I’m terribly sorry to have put you to so much trouble, pip-squeak.”
“No trouble at all,” the meek little man said. He stood slowly and held out his pad of parchment up for the horrible giant to see.
“What’s this?” the horrible giant demanded, taking the parchment pad. He was not smiling at all.
“It’s your tax bill, with interest,” the meek little man told him. “You see, I am the royal tax collector. As with every subject in this wonderful land of ours, you are obligated to pay tribute to our good king.
“I can see,” the meek little man went on without pausing for breath, “your enterprise has made you more than just a tidy living. We cannot allow you to get away without paying your fair share of tribute. After all, if one person got away without paying their taxes, the next thing you know, nobody would pay their taxes. Then there’d be no money for public works or emergency assistance and other vital government needs of the like.
“You wouldn’t want that now, would you?” the meek little man asked. “The result would be chaos and anarchy. Why, it could spell the end of civilization as we know it. Don’t you agree?”
“I guess so,” the horrible giant muttered, not knowing quite what else to say.
“Then, in the name of our good king,” the meek little man went on, “I seize your entire lands and property.”
“I could bite your head off,” the horrible giant roared.
“You could, but you’d still owe your taxes. And you agreed to that yourself. I heard you.”
The horrible giant shook his head, not knowing what else to do.
“Get off this land and don’t come back,” the meek little man said. “This is the property of our good king and you are trespassing.”
The horrible giant fled up into the mountains and was never seen in the land of far away again. After some time had gone by, and the horrible giant’s reign of terror had faded into distant memory, tales came back from other lands. It seems the brute had turned to begging, but he was not very good at it and barely eked out a living.
Finally, news came to the land of far away that the horrible giant had died, penniless and in disgrace.
As for the meek little man, he returned to the castle and to his job as royal tax collector. He performed his role diligently, long and well, and never complained while he was repeatedly passed over for promotion.
Years later, he was taken hostage in a tax revolt, then put to death by renegade middle-income property owners who wanted a more equitable system.
But that is another story entirely.
Moral: You can’t always have it all your own way.
