Sorceress of Darshiva

we'll do it the other way."
    "I suppose I'd better go find another club," Sadi sighed.
    They rode out with Garion jingling along in the lead. His helmet was in place, and his shield was strapped to his left , arm. The butt of his lance rested beside his foot in his stirrup, and he affected a menacing scowl. The sword strapped Across his back pulled steadily at him, indicating that they were still on the trail of Zandramas. When they reached the edge of the foothills, the winding mountain track became a narrow, rutted road stretching off toward the southeast. They picked up their pace and moved along the road at a brisk pace.
    A few miles out onto the plain, they passed a burning village set back about a half mile from the road. They did not stop to investigate. About noon, they encountered a party of armed men on foot. There were about fifteen of them, and they wore clothing which vaguely resembled uniforms.
    "Well?" Garion said back over his shoulder, tightening his grip on his lance.
    "Let me talk to them first," Silk said, moving his horse forward. "Try to look dangerous." The little man walked his horse toward the strangers. "You're blocking the road," he told them in a flat, unfriendly tone.
    "We have orders to check everyone who passes," one of them said, looking at Garion a little nervously.
    "All right, you've checked us. Now stand aside."
    "Which side are you on?"
    "Now, that's a stupid question, man," Silk replied. "Which side are you on?"
    "I don't have to answer that."
    "Then neither do I. Use your eyes, man. Do I look like a Karand—or a Temple Guardsman—or a Grolim?"
    "Do you follow Urvon or Zandramas?"
    "Neither one. I follow money, and you don't make money by getting mixed up in religion."
    The roughly dressed soldier looked even more uncertain. "I have to report which side you're on to my captain."
    "That's assuming that you've seen me," Silk told him, bouncing a purse suggestively on the palm of his hand. "I'm in a hurry, friend. I have no interest in your religion. Please do me the same courtesy."
    The soldier was looking at the purse in Silk's hand with undisguised greed.
    "It would be worth quite a bit to me not to be delayed," Silk suggested slyly. He theatrically wiped his brow. "It's getting hot out here," he said. "Why don't you and your men go find some shade to rest in? I'll 'accidentally' drop this purse here, and you can 'find' it later. That way, you make a nice profit, and I get to move along without interference and without having someone in authority find out that I've passed."
    "It is getting warm out here," the soldier agreed.
    "I thought you might have noticed that."
    The other soldiers were grinning openly.
    "You won't forget to drop the purse?"
    "Trust me," Silk said.
    The soldiers trooped across the field toward a grove of trees. Silk negligently tossed the purse into the ditch beside the road and motioned for the others to come ahead. "We might want to move right along," he suggested.
    "Another purse full of pebbles?" Durnik grinned.
    "Oh, no, Durnik. The purse has real money in it— Mallorean brass halfpennies. You can't buy very much with them, but they're real money, right enough."
    "What if he'd asked to see what was inside?"
    Silk grinned and held up his cupped hand. Tightly wedged between the folds of skin in his palm were several silver coins. "I like to be ready for eventualities," he said. Then he looked back over his shoulder. "I think we should leave now. The soldiers are coming back to the road."
    The next encounter was a bit more serious. Three Temple Guardsmen blocked the road. Their shields were in front of them and their lances were at the ready. Their faces were devoid of thought. "My turn," Garion said, settling his helmet more firmly in place and shifting his shield. He lowered his lance and thumped Chretienne with his heels. As he charged, he could hear another horse pounding along behind him, but he did not have time to look back. It was all so stupid, but he felt that surge in his blood again. "Idiocy," he muttered. Then he easily unhorsed the Guardsman in the center. Durnik, he noted, had cut his lance perhaps two feet longer than was standard. With a quick flick of his shield, he deflected the lances of the other two Guardsmen and thundered on between them. Chretienne's hooves slammed down into the still-tumbling body of the fallen Guardsman. Garion reined in sharply and whirled the big gray to face the two he had left behind. But there was no need.