Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...

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oversee the obsequies and prepare myself with fasting and with prayer for his
passing. Do you likewise."
Flindach slowly turned and disappeared into the darkness from which he had
come.
For the space of ten full heartbeats Gwaay and Hasjarl sat motionless. The
announcement came as a thunderclap to both. Gwaay for a second felt an impulse
to giggle and smirk like a child who has unexpectedly escaped punishment and is
instead rewarded; but in the back of his mind he was half-convinced that he had
known all along the outcome of the casting. However, he controlled his childish
glee and sat silent, staring.
On the other hand Hasjarl reacted as might be expected of him. He went
through a series of outlandish grimaces and ended with an obscene halfsmothered
titter. Then he frowned, and turning said to Gwaay, "Heard you not
what said Flindach? I must go and prepare myself!" and he lurched to his feet and
paced silently across the room, out the broad-arched door.
Gwaay remained sitting for another few moments, frowning eyes narrowed in
concentration, as if he were puzzling over some abstruse problem which required
all his powers to solve. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and, motioning for his
slaves to precede him, made ready for his return to the Lower Levels, whence he
had come.Fafhrd had barely left the Ghost Hall when he heard the faint rattle and
clink of armed men moving cautiously. His bemusement with Friska's charms
vanished as if he had been doused with ice water. He shrank into the deeper
darkness and eavesdropped long enough to learn that these were pickets of
Hasjarl, guarding against an invasion from Gwaay's Lower Levels -- and not
tracking down Friska and himself as he'd first feared. Then he made off swiftly for
Hasjarl's Hall of Sorcery, grimly pleased that his memory for landmarks and
turnings seemed to work as well for mazy tunnels as for forest trails and steep
zigzag mountain escalades.
The bizarre sight that greeted him when he reached his goal stopped him on
the stony threshold. Standing shin-deep and stark naked in a steaming marble
tub shaped like a ridgy seashell, Hasjarl was berating and haranguing the great
roomful around him. And every man jack of them -- sorcerers, officers, overseers,
pages bearing great fringy towels and dark red robes and other apparel -- was
standing quakingly still with cringing eyes, except for the three slaves soaping
and laving their Lord with tremulous dexterity.
Fafhrd had to admit that Hasjarl naked was somehow more consistent -- ugly
everywhere -- a kobold birthed from a hot-spring. And although his grotesque
child-pink torso and mismated arms were a-writhe and a-twitch in a frenzy of
apprehension, he had dignity of a sort.
He was snarling, "Speak, all of you, is there a precaution I have forgotten, a
rite omitted, a rat-hole overlooked that Gwaay might creep through? Oh, that on
this night when demons lurk and I must mind a thousand things and dress me for
my father's obsequies, I should be served by wittols! Are you all deaf and dumb?
Where's my great champion, who should ward me now? Where are my scarlet
grommets? Less soap there, you -- take that! You, Essem, are we guarded well
above? -- I don't trust Flindach. And Yissim, have we guards enough below? --
Gwaay is a snake who'll strike through any gap. Dark Gods, defend me! Go to the
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