Just off the corridor to the Guardroom, you spot two tall guardsmen holding tall halberds.
They snap to attention as you approach, pulling open the huge double doors behind them.

“Watch yourself, sir,” is all they say to you. You walk past, spotting out of the corner of your eye that they now hold oversized, elongated fountain pens.

Through the doors is a vast space, filled by racks of pens of every description. There must be millions – billions – of them. An aproned figure with a hawk on his shoulder appears from a hidden door and beckons at you.

“What’re you after today, sir?” he asks, welcoming you warmly.

You glance around in wonderment. Surely every writing implement in history has a place here.

“Are there any,” you hesitate, “actual weapons here?”

He smiles tolerantly, pulls a nondescript ballpoint pen from his pocket and pulls. It transforms before your eyes into a large automatic rifle.

“You know the saying about the pen and the sword – why not have both?.”