Further, as Christian progressed along his way, he was confronted by a Klingon by the name of Honor, holding a gleaming, curved bat’elh in one hand and a shining dk’tagh dagger in the other.  

Hon. “Halt, pilgrim!” roared the Klingon in its gravelly voice.  “I am Honor, of the house of Dignity!  Of what house are you?”

Chr. “I am of the house of the Lord, and I am on my way to the Celestial City,” peeped Christian, never having seen a warrior quite like this one.

Hon. “Ah, I have met many such humans.  They have great honor, and they do battle fiercely.  Allow me to walk with you.”  Honor sheathed the dk’tagh, and dropped the bat’elh to his side.

Chr. “With great gladness, sir (gulp).  I would love the company of a warrior such as yourself.”

The pair walked on for some distance, discoursing of their journeys, until they spotted an inn near the side of the road.

Hon. “The night is late, and my belly longs for fresh, wiggling gagh.  Let us stop at this inn.”

Chr. “But sir, the inn leaves us some distance from the path.  Would it not be better to continue until we find an inn sanctioned by our Lord?”

Hon. “Would you have us sleep on the ground amongst the grubs when there is such a fine inn right beside?”

Chr. “Our Lord will provide a resting place.”

Honor gave Christian a most fierce look at that, for Klingons can’t stand to lose arguments (they prefer to battle to the death instead), but stayed on the path.  Sure enough, after another kilometer or so, a large palace rose up before them, directly in the center of the path.

Hon. “I see you were correct.  We could have strayed from the path at the other inn, but God has provided us a fine resting place here.”

Christian strode up to the gate and rang the bell, but after waiting several seconds, there was neither answer nor confirmation.  Christian rang again, with no better effect.  Finally Honor stomped up, shoved Christian roughly out of the way, and gave a Klingon battle cry, causing a number of the windows nearest to shatter, culminated with drawing back his fist and striking the bell so hard it lost its connection to the doorpost and flew into the bushes.  The doorman opened the door most quickly.

Hon.  “State your name, slow one.”

Res. “I am Rest, and I don’t like being hurried.”

Hon. “We wish to stay at this establishment.  Allow us to pass.”

Catching sight of the bat’elh hanging from the warrior’s hand and the mark of God on the Klingon’s forehead (almost indistinguishable due to the natural Klingon ridges covering it), the doorman quickly stepped out of the way.  Honor strode into the palace with wide-eyed Christian in tow.  After a few battle drills on the holodeck, Honor took Christian to the dining room, where they sat down to order.

Chr. “What delicacies are there to be served at this place?”

Waiter. “Anything you please.”

Chr. “I would like a pile of grits and some mashed potatoes, with white wine for dessert.”

Hon. (thinking, Vegetables? What kind of p’tak eats the meat of plants during such a feast?) “I will have gagh, the freshest you have, with a side of pork and a pitcher of bloodwine.  (to Christian) Do you enjoy bloodwine?”

Chr. “In truth, sir, I have never tried it.”

After the meal, during which Christian ate very little of his grits, due to the wriggling grubs the Klingon was shoving into his mouth on the other side of the table, the pair went to bed.  The next morning, after starting out early on their way, the pair came upon an enemy installation, some ways to the side of the path.  It began to fire wayward arrows toward them, most going wide, but a few coming annoyingly close.  Honor glared at the enemy, pulled out his weapons, and started toward the enemy’s fortress.  Christian called out to him.

Chr. “My Klingon friend, where are you going?”

Hon. “To make these insolent p’takel pay for their folly!” the Klingon replied, popping out the tines of his dk’tagh.

Chr. “But would it not be more prudent to simply avoid the arrows and continue on their way?”

Hon. “And let this insult go unavenged?  That would incur terrible dishonor!  If no one challenges these heathens, they will forever menace travelers along this path!  Take up your sword, if truly a warrior you be, and help me!  This will be a battle about which both our people will sing songs for eternity!”

Christian tried to convince his friend to stop, to tell him that discretion was the better part of valor, but to no avail; Honor was already out of hearing range, and Christian would not leave the path.  Instead, he got out of range of the arrows, and watched the battle as he continued down the path.  The Klingon fought valiantly, with great courage and skill, swinging his shining bat’elh left and right, but could not take on an entire fortress.  An enemy archer slipped a dart through the Klingon’s armor, and Honor fell to his knees.  Christian continued on his way, resolving never to greet Klingons on the road again.