Swords Against the Shadowland (Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Robin Wayne Bailey
treasury is safe from us."
The corporal smiled appreciatively, then glanced back over his shoulder at his three comrades to make sure they were safely beyond earshot. "You haven't seen our women." He grimaced as he faked a shudder. "Trust me, our gold is warmer."
Fafhrd laughed aloud. "Our captain speaks like a married man," he said.
The Mouser put on a grave face. "Is it true, good captain?" he said. "Are you so afflicted?"
The corporal hung his head as he nodded, and his shoulders slumped. "It is exactly as you have deduced," he admitted sadly. "A shrewish woman she is, who spends every coin I make and heaps debt upon my poor head." He cast another glance back at his comrades. "Why at this very moment I haven't a penny in my pocket for even a cool pint."
The Mouser eyed the guard with greater understanding. "That is a sad state in which to find oneself," he agreed. "I can fully and completely sympathize." Easing back the folds of his light gray cloak, he turned his own empty pockets inside out.
The corporal's brow furrowed in disappointment. He turned expectantly toward Fafhrd, but the red-headed giant shrugged apologetically as he turned his palms upward. "Money and these hands rarely share long acquaintance," he said.
The guard's frown only deepened.
"On the other hand, these hands," the Mouser said in reassuring tones, "have a handsome skill at finding it." He licked his lips slightly as he brushed his fingertips together. "Do you know an inn called the Silver Eel?"
"The Silver Eel?" the corporal repeated. "On Dim Lane, halfway between Cheap Street and Carter. An infamous dive. I see you are not strangers to Lankhmar."
"We shall be at that infamous dive tonight before the witching hour," the Mouser informed. "If you should come around, my friend and I would be happy to buy you and your fellow threesome guards a pint. Or should you come alone you can have their share."
The corporal smiled as he rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. "A merry and generous offer, indeed," he answered, glancing around again. "If all travelers were such understanding gentlemen as yourselves my job would be a far happier one."
"Not to mention more lucrative," Fafhrd added, rolling his gaze toward the blue sky.
The guard pretended not to hear. "Come then," he said. "It's too hot to stand in the sun like this." He made a grandiose gesture with his right arm. "Prepare yourselves to enter this stinking, rat-infested hell-hole ..." he paused to wipe the leer from his face. Then he winked. "I mean, 'Welcome to our beloved city.'"
He led them past the other three guards, who eyed the odd-looking adventurers suspiciously as they passed through the open wooden gates and under the great arch where empty watchtowers perched on either side. The Street of the Gods stretched before them, a broad lane paved with white marble. To the left and right ran Wall Street, another wide lane cluttered with shops and merchants' kiosks.
"The Silver Eel, near witching hour," the corporal repeated quietly as he turned to resume his post.
"Refreshing," Fafhrd commented as he watched the man go, "to deal honestly with an honest guard."
"There are so few men of integrity left," the Mouser agreed.
The pair strolled south on Wall Street. The shadows of Lankhmar's towers and minarets drew dark hatchings across the dusty road. The massively stout wall on their left rose in stark contrast to the rickety wooden apartment buildings and old warehouses that stood jammed in too-close proximity on their right.
An ox-drawn cart loaded with rough barrels trundled by; the driver, a bone-thin old man, barely seemed to notice them. A raspy noise issued from his throat, and he coughed into his hand as he passed. The white parts of his eyes were as yellow as old parchment. From a leather cord around his neck depended a small monkey’s paw, considered a good-luck charm by the residents of the southern city of Tisilinit, and a bestower of virility by the men of Ilthmar.
The
The corporal smiled appreciatively, then glanced back over his shoulder at his three comrades to make sure they were safely beyond earshot. "You haven't seen our women." He grimaced as he faked a shudder. "Trust me, our gold is warmer."
Fafhrd laughed aloud. "Our captain speaks like a married man," he said.
The Mouser put on a grave face. "Is it true, good captain?" he said. "Are you so afflicted?"
The corporal hung his head as he nodded, and his shoulders slumped. "It is exactly as you have deduced," he admitted sadly. "A shrewish woman she is, who spends every coin I make and heaps debt upon my poor head." He cast another glance back at his comrades. "Why at this very moment I haven't a penny in my pocket for even a cool pint."
The Mouser eyed the guard with greater understanding. "That is a sad state in which to find oneself," he agreed. "I can fully and completely sympathize." Easing back the folds of his light gray cloak, he turned his own empty pockets inside out.
The corporal's brow furrowed in disappointment. He turned expectantly toward Fafhrd, but the red-headed giant shrugged apologetically as he turned his palms upward. "Money and these hands rarely share long acquaintance," he said.
The guard's frown only deepened.
"On the other hand, these hands," the Mouser said in reassuring tones, "have a handsome skill at finding it." He licked his lips slightly as he brushed his fingertips together. "Do you know an inn called the Silver Eel?"
"The Silver Eel?" the corporal repeated. "On Dim Lane, halfway between Cheap Street and Carter. An infamous dive. I see you are not strangers to Lankhmar."
"We shall be at that infamous dive tonight before the witching hour," the Mouser informed. "If you should come around, my friend and I would be happy to buy you and your fellow threesome guards a pint. Or should you come alone you can have their share."
The corporal smiled as he rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. "A merry and generous offer, indeed," he answered, glancing around again. "If all travelers were such understanding gentlemen as yourselves my job would be a far happier one."
"Not to mention more lucrative," Fafhrd added, rolling his gaze toward the blue sky.
The guard pretended not to hear. "Come then," he said. "It's too hot to stand in the sun like this." He made a grandiose gesture with his right arm. "Prepare yourselves to enter this stinking, rat-infested hell-hole ..." he paused to wipe the leer from his face. Then he winked. "I mean, 'Welcome to our beloved city.'"
He led them past the other three guards, who eyed the odd-looking adventurers suspiciously as they passed through the open wooden gates and under the great arch where empty watchtowers perched on either side. The Street of the Gods stretched before them, a broad lane paved with white marble. To the left and right ran Wall Street, another wide lane cluttered with shops and merchants' kiosks.
"The Silver Eel, near witching hour," the corporal repeated quietly as he turned to resume his post.
"Refreshing," Fafhrd commented as he watched the man go, "to deal honestly with an honest guard."
"There are so few men of integrity left," the Mouser agreed.
The pair strolled south on Wall Street. The shadows of Lankhmar's towers and minarets drew dark hatchings across the dusty road. The massively stout wall on their left rose in stark contrast to the rickety wooden apartment buildings and old warehouses that stood jammed in too-close proximity on their right.
An ox-drawn cart loaded with rough barrels trundled by; the driver, a bone-thin old man, barely seemed to notice them. A raspy noise issued from his throat, and he coughed into his hand as he passed. The white parts of his eyes were as yellow as old parchment. From a leather cord around his neck depended a small monkey’s paw, considered a good-luck charm by the residents of the southern city of Tisilinit, and a bestower of virility by the men of Ilthmar.
The
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