Now, the idle wish for honesty returns. Mhavos is relatively certain-- in the way only the untested can be-- that he could best bloody Marcoulf in daggers.

Instead, he says, "I read an old book on knife fighting. I'm afraid it's all
I can do to aid you in the endeavor. What about knives caught your interest? Oughtn't you be rushing heroically forward with a great sword?"

The human's hand is still on his wrist. He tries to ignore it. (What does it mean?)