Swords Against the Shadowland (Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar) Read Online Free Page A

gleaming spiderwebs stretched among tall cattail reeds vibrated as the wind murmured through the sticky strands. Birds wheeled gracefully overhead, and unseen creatures, barely perceived by their splashing, scampered or swam away from the immense, elongated shadows that preceded the two advancing human figures.
    When the ground began to rise subtly, the Mouser gave a sigh of relief. Moments later, he stood atop a kind of winding, natural causeway that seemed to divide the marsh. On either side lay moist, grassy expanses, but the earth beneath his feet was fairly packed by centuries of horses' hooves and wagon wheels and the tread of traveling feet.
    "Causey Road," the Mouser said. He pointed westward. The highest tips of the highest towers and pinnacles of Lankhmar could barely be seen by his straining eyes. "We stand upon an artery to the heart of Nehwon."
    Fafhrd had found a stick—a dried reed stalk, actually—and sat down on the roadside to scrape black mud from his boots with it. A sour expression clouded his features. "Lankhmar is the heart of Nehwon?"
    The Mouser nodded. "In all the world there is no city greater."
    "Certainly none I hold in greater scorn," Fafhrd shot back. "The anus is as important to a body as the heart, so if we must speak in metaphors, let Lankhmar be Nehwon's arsehole."
    "You're in a foul mood, to speak of arseholes," the Mouser said.
    Fafhrd was sullen. "Arseholes are foul, and Lankhmar is fouler."
    The Mouser grinned secretly. "Some call the city fair."
    "They are unfair in their judgment," the Northerner answered curtly as he rose and cast aside the stick.
    Walking westward on Causey Road, the two spoke little and kept their thoughts to themselves. The Mouser felt a weighty oppression of spirit as he approached the city, and he could tell from the slump of Fafhrd's mighty shoulders and by the sullen expression on his friend’s face that the Northerner felt the same.
    The marshlands were soon left behind, and the stark gray walls of Lankhmar City rose before them. Well on its way toward zenith, the morning sun beat uncomfortably on the left side of the Mouser's face. He tugged up the hood of his light gray cloak to block the burning rays, though honesty might have moved him to admit it was more to hide his own unhappy expression from Fafhrd.
    Causey Road led straight into the city's Marsh Gate. There were no merchants with pitched tents clustered outside the gate as travelers would find at the city's three southern gates, nor was there any traffic. Causey Road ran eastward eventually through the Mountains of Hunger, past the Great Dike, and into the Sinking Lands. In spring and autumn, a few caravans and the more adventure-minded traders set forth that way, but most businessmen found the trade far more lucrative further northward along the shores of the Inner Sea.
    Two pairs of guards stood wearily in the shadows of the massive gates, sweltering in their armor and red cloaks, pikes leaned against the walls and helmets set by in the roadside dust, boredom and discomfort plain on their sweat-stained faces. As Fafhrd and the Mouser approached the gate, the four exchanged glances as if mentally choosing straws. Finally, one picked up his pike, set his helmet on his head and trudged forward.
    "In the name of that peach-sucking, sheep-loving, decadent little pervert who, to Lankhmar’s everlasting shame, calls himself our Overlord—halt!"
    Fafhrd caught the Mouser's arm with one hand and clutched his other hand over his heart in feigned shock. "That's the prettiest speech I've heard all day, Captain," he said, grinning.
    The guard, no captain at all, but a mere corporal of middle age who probably had not advanced in rank in years, looked up at the seven-foot-tall Northerner. If he was impressed, he hid it well. "And the truest, I'll wager," he answered. "You look like a pair of rogues to me. Come to steal our treasury and rape our women, have you?"
    The Mouser answered drily. "Be assured. Your