Swords Against Wizardry by Fritz Leiber ...

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Gwaay's attempts to return the poppy dust, perchance with interest, and to tutor
his sorcerers in the exact spells they must use against Gwaay once Quarmal's
body was devoured by the flame.
In the Ghost Hall, Fafhrd munched and drank with Friska a small feast he'd
brought. He told her how he'd fallen into disfavor with Hasjarl, and he mulled
plans for his escape with her from the realm of Quarmall.
In Gwaay's Hall of Sorcery, the Gray Mouser conferred in turn with the eleven
skinny wizards in their white loincloths, telling them nothing of Sheelba's spell,
but securing from each the firm assurance that he was a magus of the First Rank.
In the steam room of Gwaay's bath, that Lord recuperated his flesh and
faculties shaken by disease spells and drugs. His girls, supervised by Ivivis,
brought him fragrant oils and elixirs, and scrubbed and laved him as he directed
languidly yet precisely. The slender forms, blurred and silvered by the clouds of
steam, moved and posed as in a languorous ballet.
The huge pyre was finally completed, and Brilla heaved a sigh of relief and
contentment with the knowledge of work well done. He relaxed his fat, massive
frame onto a bench against the wall and spoke to one of his companions in a
high-pitched feminine voice:
"Such short notice, and at such a time, but the gods are not to be denied, and
no man can cheat his stars. It is shameful though, to think that Quarmal will go
so poorly attended: only a half dozen Lankhmarts, an Ilthmarix, and three
Mingols -- and one of those blemished. I always told him he should keep a better
harem. However the male slaves are in fine fettle and will perhaps make up for
the rest. Ah! but it's a fine flame the Lord will have to light his way!" Brilla
wagged his head dolefully and, snuffling, blinked a tear from his piggy eye; he
was one of the few who really regretted the passing of Quarmal.
As High Eunuch to the Lord, Brilla's position was a sinecure and, besides, he
had always been fond of Quarmal since he could remember. Once when a small
chubby boy Brilla had been rescued from the torments of a group of larger, more
virile slaves who had freed him at the mere passing-by of Quarmal. It was this
small incident, unwotted or long forgotten by Quarmal, which had provoked a
lifelong devotion in Brilla.
Now only the gods knew what the future held. Today the body of Quarmal
would be burned, and what would happen after that was better left unpondered,
even in the innermost thoughts of a man. Brilla looked once more at his
handiwork, the funeral pyre. Achieving it in six short hours, even with hosts of
slaves at his command, had taxed his powers. It towered in the center of the
courtyard, even higher than the arch of the great gate thrice the stature of a tall
man. It was built in the form of a square pyramid, truncated midway; and the
inflammable woods that composed it were completely hidden by somber-hued
drapes.
A runway was built from the ground across the vast courtyard to the topmost
tier on each of the four sides; and at the top was a sizable square platform. It was
here that the litter containing the body of Quarmal would be placed, and here the
sacrificial victims be immolated. Only those slaves of proper age and talents were
permitted to accompany their Lord on his long journey beyond the stars.
Brilla approved of what he saw and, rubbing his hands, looked about
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