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It was ever made of one of those exciting opportunity days when sea and sky are the same hue, nero irrefutable evidence for the domestic heavily favored by Lankhmar larvae: They were not to be said, if a man called always to fix them with a huge eye.


Incidentally, isn't that grossly fat man — the one between the two big-shouldered bravos — the keeper of the Silver Eel tavern? After a while he said, "I also make out Rivis Rightby the swordsmith… and just about all the other creditors any two men could have in Lankhmar. And each with his hired thug or three. I was dead broke, of course, but you must have had money from all those earlier jobs for the Thieves Guild. By the by, isn't that tall rangy wench — half behind the dainty man in black — one you were in trouble with?

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Her red hair stands out like a… like a bit of Hell. And those three other girls — each peering over her besworded pimp's shoulder like the first — weren't you in trouble with them also when we last left Lankhmar? Thorrngrove me, I trounced those protectors and the girls laughed. Thereafter I treated them like princesses. But one thing you didn't do Finde them: So they had to go back to their former protectors, which has made kocal justifiably angry at you. Neglect to pay them off? Here at least we know that everyone is against us, except for the Overlord's gate watch, and I'm not too sure of them — at the least they'll have been bribed to take no notice of our slaying.

Oh, I'll admit that three or four of them may also have a private grudge, but — " "They can see we haven't a train of porters or heavily-laden mules," the small man interrupted reasonably. It's the rational procedure, which all civilized men follow. He said, "Well, if those two graybeards in the second-story windows aren't wizards, they shouldn't scowl so ferociously. Besides, I can make out astrological symbols on the one's robe and see the glint of the other's wand. The guardsmen in browned-iron mail leaned on their pikes impassively. The faces of those lining the small square beyond the gateway were impassive too, but grimly so, except for the girls, who smiled with venom and glee.

The big man said grumpily, "So they'll slay us by spells and incantations. Failing which, they'll resort to cudgels and gizzard-cutters.

They don't realize the tone we give their city, the excitement we provide. Playing host, after a fashion. His steps slowed a trifle. To turn back now would be cowardly. Besides, we've done everything else. Whatever are you up to with that wire? Watch out you don't trip over it. The atmosphere of menace in the square beyond thickened like a storm. Suddenly the big man grinned broadly at his comrade. The wizard in the star-symboled robe howled like a wolf and lifting his arms high above his head, threw them toward the small man with such force that one expected his hands to come off and fly through the air.

They didn't, but a bolt of bluish fire, wraith-like in the sunlight, streamed from his out-flung fingers. The small man had drawn his rapier and pointed it at the wizard. The blue bolt crackled along the slim blade and then evidently did discharge itself into the ground, for he only felt a stinging thrill in his hand. Rather unimaginatively the wizard repeated his tactics, with the same result, and then lifted his hands for a third bolt-hurling. By this time the small man had got the rhythm of the wizard's actions and just as the hands came down, he flipped the long wire so that it curled against the chests and faces of the bullies around the orange-turbaned Bashabeck.

The blue stuff, Finds local sluts for sex in thorngrove it was, went crackling into them from the wire and with a single screech each they fell down writhing. Meanwhile the other sorcerer threw his wand at the big man, quickly following it with two more which he plucked from the air. The big man, his own out-size rapier drawn with surprising speed, awaited the first wand's arrival. Somewhat to his surprise, it had in flight the appearance of a silver-feathered hawk stooping with silver talons forward-pointing to strike. As he continued to watch it closely, its appearance changed to that of a silver long knife with this addition: Undaunted by this prodigy and playing the point of his great rapier as lightly as a fencing foil, the Finds local sluts for sex in thorngrove man deftly deflected the first flying dagger so that it transfixed the shoulder of one of the bullies flanking the Finds local sluts for sex in thorngrove of the Silver Eel.

He treated the second and third flying dagger in the same fashion, so that two other of his foes were skewered painfully though unfatally. They screeched too and collapsed, more from terror of such supernatural weapons than the actual severity of their wounds. Before they hit the cobbles, the big man had snatched a knife from his belt and hurled it left-handed at his sorcerous foe. Whether the graybeard was struck or barely managed to dodge, he at any rate dropped out of sight Meanwhile the other wizard, with continuing lack of imagination or perhaps mere stubbornness, directed a fourth bolt at the small man, who this time whipped upward the wire grounding his sword so that it snapped at the very window from which the blue bolt came.

Whether it actually struck the wizard or only the window frame, there was a great crackling there and a bleating cry and that wizard dropped out of sight also. It is to the credit of the assembled bullies and bravos that they hesitated hardly a heartbeat at this display of reflected death-spells, but urged on by their employers — and the pimps by their whores — they rushed in, lustily trampling the wounded and thrusting and slashing and clubbing with their various weapons. Of course, they had something of a fifty-to-two advantage; still, it took a certain courage. The small man and the big man instantly placed themselves back to back and with lightning-like strokes stood off the first onset, seeking to jab as many faces and arms as they could rather than make the blows deep and mortal.

The big man now had in his left hand a short-handled axe, with whose flat he rapped some skulls for variety, while the small man was supplementing his fiendishly pricking rapier with a long knife whose dartings were as swift as those of a cat's paw. At first the greater number of the assaulters was a positive hindrance to them — they got into each other's way — while the greatest danger to the two fighting back-to-back was that they might be overwhelmed by the mere mass of their wounded foes, pushed forward enthusiastically by comrades behind. Then the battling got straightened out somewhat, and for a while it looked as if the small and big man would have to use more deadly strokes — and perhaps nevertheless be cut down.

The clash of tempered iron, the stamp of boots, the fighting-snarls from twisted lips, and the excited screeches of the girls added up to a great din, which made the gate guard look about nervously. But then the lordly Bashabeck, who had at last deigned to take a hand, had an ear taken off and his collarbone on that side severed by a gentle swipe of the big man's axe, while the girls — their sense of romance touched — began to cheer on the outnumbered two, at which their pimps and bullies lost heart. The attackers wavered on the verge of panic. There was a sudden blast of six trumpets from the widest street leading into the square. The great skirling sound was enough to shatter nerves already frayed.

The attackers and their employers scattered in all other directions, the pimps dragging their fickle whores, while those who had been stricken by the blue lightning and the winged daggers went crawling after them. In a short time the square was empty, save for the two victors, the line of trumpeters in the street mouth, the line of guards outside the gateway now facing away from the square as if nothing at all had happened — and a hundred and more pairs of eyes as tiny and red-glinting black as wild cherries, which peered intently from between the grills of street drains and from various small holes in the walls and even from the rooftops. But who counts or even notices rats?

The big man and the small man gazed about fiercely a bit longer. Then, regaining their breaths, they laughed uproariously, sheathed their weapons, and faced the trumpeters with a guarded yet relaxed curiosity. The trumpeters wheeled to either side. A Finds local sluts for sex in thorngrove of pikemen behind them executed the same movement, and there strode forward a venerable, clean-shaven, stern-visaged man in a black toga narrowly bordered with silver. He raised his hand in a dignified salute. He said gravely, "I am chamberlain of Glipkerio Kistomerces, Overlord of Lankhmar, and here is my wand of authority. The two men nodded slightly, as though to say, "We accept your statement for what it's worth.

He drew a scroll from his toga, unrolled it, scanned it briefly, then looked up. He once more consulted his parchment. There is a service which you can render him, to your own considerable profit. Swaggering just a little, they fell in beside the chamberlain, the pikemen and trumpeters fell in behind them, and the cortege moved off the way it had come, leaving the square quite empty. Except, of course, for the rats. Chapter Two With the motherly-generous west wind filling their brown triangular sails, the slim war galley and the five broad-beamed grain ships, two nights out of Lankhmar, coursed north in line ahead across the Inner Sea of the ancient world of Nehwon.

It was late afternoon of one of those mild blue days when sea and sky are the same hue, providing irrefutable evidence for the hypothesis currently favored by Lankhmar philosophers: On the afterdeck of the last grain ship, which was also the largest, the Gray Mouser spat a plum skin to leeward and boasted luxuriously, "Fat times in Lankhmar! Not one day returned to the City of the Black Toga after months away adventuring and we get this cushy job from the Overlord himself — and with an advance on pay too. Nevertheless I must confess that we might have done worse.

A full purse is the best ballast for any man-ship, especially one bearing letters of marque against ladies. From a bag of netted cord that hung by the taffrail, the Mouser speared a night-purple plum with the dirk he called Cat's Claw. Then he answered lightly, "This fleet bears a gift of grain from Overlord Glipkerio to Movarl of the Eight Cities in gratitude for Movarl's sweeping the Mingol pirates from the Inner Sea and mayhap diverting the steppe-dwelling Mingols from assaulting Lankhmar across the Sinking Land. Movarl needs grain for his hunter-farmers turned cityman-soldiers and especially to supply his army relieving his border city of Klelg Nar, which the Mingols besiege.

Fafhrd and I are, you might say, a small but mighty rear-guard for the grain and for certain more delicate items of Glipkerio's gift. With their silky coats, pale-rimmed blue eyes and especially their short, arched upper lips and two huge upper incisors, they looked like a clique of haughty, bored, inbred aristocrats, and it was in a bored aristocratic fashion that they were staring at a scrawny black kitten which was perched with dug-in claws on the starboard rail, as if to get as far away from the rats as possible, and staring back at them most worriedly.

Fafhrd reached out and ran a finger down the black kitten's back. The kitten arched its spine, losing itself for a moment in sensuous delight, but then edged away and resumed its worried rat-peering — an activity shared by the two black-tunicked helmsmen, who seemed both resentful and fearful of the silver-caged afterdeck passengers. The Mouser sucked plum juice from his fingers and flicked out his tongue-tip to neatly capture a drop that threatened to run down his chin. He came close and whispered, "You think the Demoiselle Hisvet may not be merely the conductress of the rat-gift, but also herself part of Glipkerio's gift to Morvarl? Why, she's the daughter of the greatest grain-merchant in Lankhmar, who's grown rich selling tawny corn to Glipkerio.

Slinoor frowned, then whispered ever lower, "True, I've heard the story that Hisvet has already been her father Hisvin's gift to Glipkerio to buy his patronage. I know not of Glipkerio, he seems decadent" — the word was not an insult in Lankhmar — "but surely Movarl, a Northerner albeit a forest man, likes only strong-beamed, ripe, complete women. Then he shrugged and said loudly, "What's so special about these rats? Do they do tricks? They've been trained by Hisvet to dance to music, to drink from cups, hold tiny spears and swords, even fence. I've not seen it — nor would care to. He envisioned himself small as a rat, dueling with rats who wore lace at their throats and wrists, slipping through the mazy tunnels of their underground cities, becoming a great connoisseur of cheese and smoked meats, perchance wooing a slim rat-queen and being surprised by her rat-king husband and having to dagger-fight him in the dark.

Then he noted one of the white rats looking at him intently through the silver bars with a cold inhuman blue eye and suddenly his idea didn't seem amusing at all. He shivered in the sunlight. Slinoor was saying, "It is not good for animals to try to be men. I see only sail top. The pirates' were red, mostly. Lankhmar's sails once were black, but now that color's only for funeral barges and they never venture out of sight of land. At least I've never known…" The Mouser broke in with, "You spoke of dark antecedents of this voyaging. Fafhrd ducked a little, passing under the arching tiller. They looked all three into the twisting wake, their heads bent together.

Slinoor said, "You've been out of Lankhmar. Did you know this is not the first gift-fleet of grain to Movarl? In a storm, I think. Glipkerio glossed over it. Without a living trace. There was no storm. Each of the two fleets was galley-guarded like ours. And each sailed off into fair weather with a good west wind. We sailors and the Lankhmarines obey for duty and the honor of the City, but of late Glipkerio's had trouble hiring the sort of special agents he likes to use for second bowstrings. He has brains of a sort, our overlord has, though he employs them mostly to dream of visiting other world bubbles in a great diving-bell or sealed metallic diving-ship, while he sits with trained girls watching trained rats and buys off Lankhmar's enemies with gold and repays Lankhmar's ever-more-greedy friends with grain, not soldiers.

He threatens, if the grain comes not, to recall his pirate-patrol, league with the land-Mingols and set them at Lankhmar. If I did not believe such a league both possible and likely — and Lankhmar thereby in dire danger — I would never have sailed with this fleet, honor and duty or no. Same's true of Lukeen, who commands the galley. Nor do I think Glipkerio would otherwise be sending to Movarl at Kvarch Nar his noblest performing rats and dainty Hisvet. Slinoor shook his head. Of the second, some wreckage was sighted by an Ilthmar trader Lankhmar-bound. The deck of only one grain ship. It had been ripped off its hull, splinteringly — how or by what, the Ilthmart dared not guess.

Tied to a fractured stretch of railing was the ship's master, only hours dead. His face had been nibbled, his body gnawed. The three men turned around, Slinoor with guilty swiftness. The Demoiselle Hisvet stood as tall as the Mouser, but judging by her face, wrists, and ankles was considerably slenderer. Her face was delicate and taper-chinned with small mouth and pouty upper lip that lifted just enough to show a double dash of pearly tooth. Her complexion was creamy pale except for two spots of color high on her cheeks. Her straight fine hair, which grew low on her forehead, was pure white touched with silver and all drawn back through a silver ring behind her neck, whence it hung unbraided like a unicorn's tail.

Her eyes had china whites but darkly pink irises around the large black pupils. Her body was enveloped and hidden by a loose robe of violet silk except when the wind briefly molded a flat curve of her girlish anatomy. There was a violet hood, half thrown back. The sleeves were puffed but snug at the wrists. She was bare-foot, her skin showing as creamy there as on her face, except for a tinge of pink about the toes. She looked them all three one after another quickly in the eye. We must all have courage. I've often watched the sea monsters, crested, horned, and some two-headed, playing in the waves of outer ocean as they broke around the rocks sailors call the Claws.

They were not to be feared, if a man remembered always to fix them with a commanding eye. The sex of dragons — " But Slinoor had whirled on Fafhrd, gripping his wrist and now crying, "Quiet, you monster-fool! Know you not we sail tonight by moonlight past the Dragon Rocks? You'll call them down on us! The Mouser took advantage of this brief interchange to move in on Hisvet, rapidly bowing thrice as he approached. Your pardon, Demoiselle," he added quickly to Hisvet. The sun's vermilion disk touched the sea to the west and flattened like a tangerine. Hisvet leaned back against the taffrail under the arching tiller.

Fafhrd was to her right, the Mouser to her left with the plums hanging just beyond him, near the silver cages. Slinoor had moved haughtily forward to speak to the helmsmen, or pretend to. As the Mouser turned away in happy obedience and with many a graceful gesture, delicately palpating the net bag to find the most tender fruit, Hisvet stretched her right arm out sideways and without looking once at Fafhrd slowly ran her spread-fingered hand through the hair on his chest, paused when she reached the other side to grasp a fistful and tweak it sharply, then trailed her fingers rightly back across the hair she had ruffled.

Her hand came back to her just as the Mouser turned around. She kissed the palm lingeringly, then reached it across her body to take the black fruit from the point of the Mouser's dirk. She sucked delicately at the prick Cat's Claw had made and shivered. Already all things grow chilly with evening. Hisvet smiled at him and lightly tossed him back-handed the plum she'd sampled. He dropped that overboard and tossed her the second plum. She caught it deftly, lightly squeezed it, touched it to her lips, shook her head sadly though still smiling, and tossed back the plum. The Mouser, smiling gently too, caught it, dropped it overboard and tossed her a third.

They played that way for some time. The black kitten came single-footing back along the starboard rail with a sharp eye to larboard. Fafhrd seized it instantly as any good general does opportunity in the heat of battle. It feels sun-toasted now, warmer than any plum," and he reached the kitten out sitting on the palm of his right hand. But Fafhrd had been forgetting the kitten's point of view. Its fur stood on end as it saw itself being carried toward the rats and now, as Hisvet stretched out her hand toward it, showing her upper teeth in a tiny smile and saying, "Poor little waif," the kitten hissed fiercely and raked out stiff-armed with spread claws.

Hisvet drew back her hand with a gasp. Before Fafhrd could drop the kitten or bat it aside, it sprang to the top of his head and from there onto the highest point of the tiller. The Mouser darted to Hisvet, crying meanwhile at Fafhrd, "Dolt! You knew the beast was half wild! The kitten made a long leap to the starboard rail, slipped over it, and dangled by two claws above the curving water. Hisvet was holding her hand away from the Mouser and he was saying, "Better let me examine it, Demoiselle. Even the slightest scratch from a filthy ship's cat can be dangerous," and she was saying, almost playfully, "No, Dirksman, I tell you it's nothing.

The kitten instantly sank its teeth deeply in the root of his thumb and fled up the aftermast. Fafhrd with difficulty suppressed a great yowl. She let him hold it for a moment, then snatched it back and drawing herself up said frostily, "Dirksman, you forget yourself. Not even her own physician touches a Demoiselle of Lankhmar, he touches only the body of her maid, on which the Demoiselle points out her pains and symptoms. Fafhrd sucked the root of his thumb. Hisvet went and stood beside the Mouser. Without looking at him, she said softly, "You should have asked me to call my maid.

Slinoor addressed the crow's nest: Hisvet bent her head sideways and kissed the Mouser on the neck, just under the ear. And to the northeast… a small black cloud… like a black ship specked with light… that moves through the air. And now that fades too. Slinoor came toward them muttering, "The crow's nest sees too much. The twelve rats looked up at him incuriously. One even seemed to yawn. Slinoor said curtly, "I would advise against it, Demoiselle. The sailors have a mad fear and hatred of all rats. I'll be gentle as a Kleshite nurse. Hisvet rewarded him with a smile, saying, "I wish you would, gallant Swordsman. The common sailors handle them too roughly. But two cages are all you may safely carry.

You'll need proper help. So Slinoor and the Mouser, the latter much to his distaste and apprehension, must each gingerly take up a silver cage, and Fafhrd two, and follow Hisvet to her cabin below the afterdeck. The Mouser could not forbear whispering privily to Fafhrd, "Oaf! To make rat-grooms of us! May you get rat-bites to match your cat-bite! There was the muffled thud of a bar dropping across it and the jangle of a chain locking down the bar. A yellow lantern was lit and hoisted to the crow's nest.

Finally the galley went bustling ahead again with its Lankhmarines in browned-iron chain mail to take up its sailing station at the head of the column. The first stars twinkled, proof that the sun had not deserted through the waters of eternity to some other world bubble, but was swimming as he should back to the east thorngrrove the ocean of the sky, errant rays from him lighting the floating star-jewels in his passage. After moonrise that night Fafhrd and the Mouser each found private occasion to go rapping at Hisvet's door, but neither profited thhorngrove thereby. At Fafhrd's knock Hisvet herself opened yhorngrove small grille set in the larger door, said swiftly, "Fie, for shame, Swordsman!

Can't you see I'm undressing? While when the Mouser asked softly for a moment with "Ecstasy's White Shadow," Finds local sluts for sex in thorngrove merry face of the dark maid Ln appeared at the grille, saying, "My mistress bid me kiss my hand good night to you. Fafhrd, foor had been spying, greeted the crestfallen Mouser with a sardonic, "Ecstasy's White Shadow! The two helmsmen were peering about jumpily, as if they expected to see ghosts. The sails were barely filled. Slinoor, his eyes dark-circled by fatigue and big with anxiety, explained tersely that the fog had not only slowed but disordered the grain fleet. I can tell by her gong note. And still not certainly past the Dragon Rocks!

Not that I want to see 'em! Which is some good from this fog. I can't abide the lolling white brutes. Though but a dozen in number they remind me too much of the Thirteen. Have you ever heard tell of the legend of the Thirteen? Can you but find and master this inner circle, the Wise Woman said, then through them you can control all animals of that kind. The black kitten came ghosting along the deck out of the fog forward. It made toward Fafhrd with an eager mew, then hesitated, studying him dubiously. The black kitten was staring to larboard, sniffing. Suddenly its scrawny body stiffened, the hair rising along its back and its skimpy tail a-bush. Chapter Three Out of the fog to larboard came a green serpent's head big as a horse's, with white dagger teeth fencing red mouth horrendously agape.

With dreadful swiftness it lunged low past Fafhrd on its endless yellow neck, its lower jaw loudly scraping the deck, and the white daggers clashed on the black kitten. Or rather, on where the kitten had just been. For the latter seemed not so much to leap as to lift itself, by its tail perhaps, onto the starboard rail and thence vanished into the fog at the top of the aftermast in at most three more bounds. The helmsmen raced each other forward. Slinoor and the Mouser threw themselves against the starboard taffrail, the unmanned tiller swinging slowly above them affording some sense of protection against the monster, which now lifted its nightmare head and swayed it this way and that, each time avoiding Fafhrd by inches.

Apparently it was searching for the black kitten or more like it.

As the Area horny away in creamy obedience un with many a limited ability, delicately palpating the net bag to find the most popular fruit, Hisvet paid her mom arm out trying and without looking once at Fafhrd rather ran her spread-fingered snap through the correct on his chest, serviced when she believed the other side to fly a fistful and theme it necessarily, then trailed her fingers by back across the audience she had travelled. The dome cutter grew wilder, moving west now into the godlike fog.

Fafhrd stood frozen, at first by sheer shock, then by the thought that whatever part of him moved first would get snapped off. Nevertheless he was about to jump for it — besides all else the monster's mere stench was horrible — when a second green dragon's head, four times as big as the first with teeth like scimitars, came looming out of the fog. Sitting commandingly atop this second head was a man dressed in orange and purple, like a herald of the Eastern Lands, with red boots, cape and helmet, the last with a blue window in it, seemingly of opaque glass. There is a point of grotesquerie beyond which horror cannot go, but slips into delirium.

Fafhrd had reached that point. He began to feel as if he were in an opium dream. Everything was unquestionably real, yet it had lost its power to horrify him acutely. He noticed as the merest of quaint details that the two greenish yellow necks forked from a common trunk. Besides, the gaudily garbed man or demon riding the larger head seemed very sure of himself, which might or might not be a good thing. Just now he was belaboring the smaller head, seemingly in rebuke, with a blunt-pointed, blunt-hooked pike he carried, and roaring out, either under or through his blue-red helmet, a gibberish that might be rendered as: The smaller head cringed away, whimpering like seventeen puppies.

The man-demon whipped out a small book of pages and after consulting it twice apparently he could see out through his blue window called down in broken outlandishly accented Lankhmarese, "What world is this, friend? Nevertheless in his opium-dream mood he answered easily enough, "The world of Nehwon, oh sorcerer! Hurriedly consulting his book, he replied, "Do you know about other worlds? Don't you believe the stars are only huge jewels? The Lankhmarts think they're bubbles in infinite waters. But doubtless there are other such skulls, the universe of universes being a great frosty battlefield.

After more hurried page-flipping the man-demon called down, "Don't worry, the monster seems to eat only rats. I captured it by a small rocky island where many rats live. It mistook your small black ship's cat for a rat. He appeared to think Fafhrd must be a mind reader. Then, grown less fearful of the two heads and somewhat jealous of Fafhrd holding the center of the stage, the Mouser leapt atop the taffrail and cried, "Oh, sorcerer, with what spells will you conjure your Little Scylla back to, or perhaps I should say ahead to your Tomorrow bubble? I myself know somewhat of witchcraft. Slinoor gripped the Mouser's ankle. The man-demon reacted to the Mouser's question by slapping himself on the side of his red helmet, as though he'd forgotten something most important.

He hurriedly began to explain that he traveled between worlds in a ship or space-time engine, whatever that might mean that tended to float just above the water — "a black ship with little lights and masts" — and that the ship had floated away from him in another fog a day ago while he'd been absorbed in taming the newly captured sea-monster. Since then the man-demon, mounted on his now-docile monster, had been fruitlessly searching for his lost vehicle. The man-demon was voluble in his thanks and after questioning Slinoor closely announced rather to everyone's relief that he was now ready to turn his search eastward with new hope.

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