Ring without finger, guard without sword, Silent I circle a vulnerable lord. I drown every footstep that comes without leave, Yet carry no weapons you’d think stop a thief. What am I?

I’m taken whole or crushed for taste, I keep loose metal held in place. I fall from trees, a simple bite, A quiet food in autumn light. I’m what bursts forth when urges race, A wayward shot with questionable grace.

Some say I'm needed to educate and useful for research. Some say I don't do anything useful, and call me a prison. Either way, I'm a place to observe the occupants and entertain the masses.

In the kitchen I may help cook sliders. Though my name sounds like a spitting spider.

Y’arrr, what be this, worn from foot up to the knee maybe? Protection for warriors, fashion for ladies. Swap me first letter with a T, and you’ll be blowin’ your own train, see?