Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...
Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...
Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...
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spells burst through and strike him down in stinking jellied death; his realm will<br />
sleep, each slave and cursed page, so we conquer all merely <strong>by</strong> marching down<br />
after the business of the funeral. Ho, swifter there!" And seizing a long whip from<br />
an overseer, he began to crack it over the squat cones of the tread-slaves' heads<br />
and sting their broad backs with it. Their trot changed to a ponderous gallop, the<br />
moan of the fan rose in pitch, and Fafhrd waited to hear it shatter crackingly, or<br />
see the belt snap, or the rollers break on their axles.<br />
The dwarf at the shaft-window took advantage of Hasjarl's attention being<br />
elsewhere to snatch a pinch of powder from his bag and bring it to his nostrils<br />
and sniff it down, leering ecstatically. But Hasjarl saw and whipped him about the<br />
legs most cruelly. The dwarf dutifully emptied his bag and shook it out while<br />
making little hops of agony. However he did not seem much chastened or<br />
troubled <strong>by</strong> his whipping, for as he left the chamber Fafhrd saw him pull his<br />
empty bag over his head and waddle off breathing deeply through it.<br />
Hasjarl went on whip-cracking and calling, "Swifter, I say! For Gwaay a<br />
drugged hurricane!"<br />
The officer Yissim raced into the room and darted to his master.<br />
"The girl Friska's escaped!" he cried. "Your torturers say your champion came<br />
with your seal, telling them you had ordered her release -- and snatched her off!<br />
All this occurred a quarter day ago."<br />
"Guards!" Hasjarl squealed. "Seize the Northerner! Disarm and bind the<br />
traitor!"<br />
But Fafhrd was gone.<br />
The Mouser, in company with Ivivis, Gwaay and a colorful rabble of druginduced<br />
hallucinations, reeled into a chamber similar to the one from which<br />
Fafhrd had just disappeared. Here the great cylindrical shaft ended in a half turn.<br />
The fan that sucked down the air and blew it out to refresh the Lower Levels was<br />
set vertically in the mouth of the shaft and was visible as it whirled.<br />
By the shaft-mouth hung a large cage of white birds, all lying on its floor with<br />
their feet in the air. Besides these tell-tales, there was stretched on the floor of the<br />
chamber its overseer, also overcome <strong>by</strong> the drugs whirlwinding from Hasjarl.<br />
By contrast, the three pillar-legged slaves ponderously trotting their belt<br />
seemed not affected at all. Presumably their tiny brains and monstrous bodies<br />
were beyond the reach of any drug, short of its lethal dose.<br />
Gwaay staggered up to them, slapped each in turn, and commanded, "Stop!"<br />
Then he himself dropped to the floor.<br />
The groaning of the fan died away, its seven wooden vanes became clearly<br />
visible as it stopped (though for the Mouser they were interwoven with scaly<br />
hallucinations), and the only real sound was the slow gasping of the tread-slaves.<br />
Gwaay smiled weirdly at them from where he sprawled, and he raised an arm<br />
drunkenly and cried, "Reverse! About face!" Slowly the tread-slaves turned,<br />
taking a dozen tiny steps to do it, until they all three faced the opposite direction<br />
on the belt.<br />
"Trot!" Gwaay commanded them quickly. Slowly they obeyed and slowly the<br />
fan took up again its groaning, but now it was blowing air up the shaft against<br />
Hasjarl's downward fanning.<br />
Gwaay and Ivivis rested on the floor for a space, until their brains began to<br />
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