Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...
Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...
Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...
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lot, then let your champions battle to the death to decide it -- all else to follow the<br />
same. Oh Hasjarl, oh Gwaay, I have spoken." And he folded his arms and stood<br />
there between the two pale flame pillars still burning high as he.<br />
Fafhrd had taken advantage of the shocks to seize his sword and ax from the<br />
ones holding them nervelessly, and to push forward <strong>by</strong> Hasjarl as if properly to<br />
ward him standing alone and unshielded in front of his men. Now Fafhrd lightly<br />
nudged Hasjarl and whispered through his bag-mask, "Take him up on it, you<br />
were best. I'll win your stuffy loathy catacomb kingdom for you -- aye, and once<br />
rewarded depart from it swifter ever than Gwaay!"<br />
Hasjarl grimaced angrily at him and turning toward Flindach shouted, -- "_I_<br />
am Lord Paramount here, and no need of lots to determine it! Yes, and I have my<br />
arch-magi to strike down any who sorcerously challenge me! -- and my great<br />
champion to smite to mincemeat any who challenge me with swords!"<br />
Fafhrd threw out his chest and glared about through red-ringed eyeholes to<br />
back him up.<br />
The silence that followed Hasjarl's boast was cut as if <strong>by</strong> keenest knife when a<br />
voice came piercingly dulcet from the unstirring low mound on the litter,<br />
cornered <strong>by</strong> its four impassive tread-slaves, or from a point just above it.<br />
"I, Gwaay of the Lower Levels, am Lord Paramount of Quarmall, and not my<br />
poor brother there, for whose damned soul I grieve. And I have sorceries which<br />
have saved my life from the evilest of his sorceries and I have a champion who<br />
will smite his champion to chaff!"<br />
All were somewhat daunted at that seemingly magical speaking except<br />
Hasjarl, who giggled sputteringly, twitching a-main, and then as if he and his<br />
brother were children alone in a playroom, cried out, "Liar and squeaker of lies!<br />
Effeminate boaster! Puny charlatan! Where is this great champion of yours? Call<br />
him forth! Bid him appear! Oh confess it now, he's but a figment of your dying<br />
thoughts! Oh, ho, ho, ho!"<br />
All began to look around wonderingly at that, some thoughtful, some<br />
apprehensive. But as no figure appeared, certainly not a warlike one, some of<br />
Hasjarl's men began to snigger with him. Others of them took it up.<br />
The Gray Mouser had no wish to risk his skin -- not with Hasjarl's champion<br />
looking a meaner foe every moment, side armed with ax like Fafhrd and now<br />
apparently even acting as counselor to his lord -- perhaps a sort of captaingeneral<br />
behind the curtain, as he was behind Gwaay's -- yet the Mouser was<br />
almost irresistibly tempted <strong>by</strong> this opportunity to cap all surprises with a master<br />
surprise.<br />
And in that instant there sounded forth again Gwaay's eerie bell-voice,<br />
coming not from his vocal cords, for they were rotted away, but created <strong>by</strong> the<br />
force of his deathless will marshaling the unseen atomies of the air:<br />
"From the blackest depths, unseen <strong>by</strong> all, in very center of the Hall -- Appear,<br />
my champion!"<br />
That was too much for the Mouser. Ivivis had reassumed her hooded black<br />
robe while Flindach had been speaking, knowing that the terror of her hag-mask<br />
and maiden-form was a fleeting thing, and she again stood beside the Mouser as<br />
his acolyte. He handed her his wand in one stiff gesture, not looking at her, and<br />
lifting his hands to the throat of his robe, he threw it and his hood back and<br />
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