The First Book of Lankhmar

adversary, half decapitating him. Then he, dropping back a swift step, readied a thrust for the other.
           But there was no need. A narrow ribbon of bloodied steel, followed by a gray glove and arm, flashed past him from behind and transfixed the last bravo with the identical thrust the Mouser had used on the first.
           The two young men wiped and sheathed their swords. Fafhrd brushed the palm of his open right hand down his robe and held it out. The Mouser pulled off right-hand gray glove and shook the other's big hand in his sinewy one. Without word exchanged, they knelt and finished looting the two unconscious thieves, securing the small bags of jewels. With an oily towel and then a dry one, the Mouser sketchily wiped from his face the greasy ash-soot mixture which had darkened it, next swiftly rolled up both towels and returned them to his own pouch. Then, after only a questioning eye-twitch east on the Mouser's part and a nod from Fafhrd, they swiftly walked on in the direction Slevyas and Fissif and their escort had been going.
           After reconnoitering Gold Street, they crossed it and continued east on Cash at Fafhrd's gestured proposal.
           "My woman's at the Golden Lamprey," he explained.
           "Let's pick her up and take her home to meet my girl," the Mouser suggested.
           "Home?" Fafhrd inquired politely, only the barest hint of question in his voice.
           "Dim Lane," the Mouser volunteered.
           "Silver Eel?"
           "Behind it. We'll have some drinks."
           "I'll pick up a jug. Never have too much juice."
           "True. I'll let you."
           Several squares farther on Fafhrd, after stealing a number of looks at his new comrade, said with conviction, "We've met before."
           The Mouser grinned at him. "Beach by the Mountains of Hunger?"
           "Right! When I was a pirate's ship-boy."
           "And I was a wizard's apprentice."
           Fafhrd stopped, again wiped right hand on robe, and held it out. "Name's Fafhrd. Ef ay ef aitch ar dee."
           Again the Mouser shook it. "Gray Mouser," he said a touch defiantly, as if challenging anyone to laugh at the sobriquet. "Excuse me, but how exactly do you pronounce that? Faf-hrud?"
           "Just Faf-erd."
           "Thank you." They walked on.
           "Gray Mouser, eh?" Fafhrd remarked. "Well, you killed yourself a couple of rats tonight."
           "That I did." The Mouser's chest swelled and he threw back his head. Then with a comic twitch of his nose and a sidewise half-grin he admitted, "You'd have got your second man easily enough. I stole him from you to demonstrate my speed. Besides, I was excited."
           Fafhrd chuckled. "You're telling me? How do you suppose I was feeling?"
           Later, as they were crossing Pimp Street, he asked, "Learn much magic from your wizard?"
           Once more the Mouser threw back his head. He flared his nostrils and drew down the corners of his lips, preparing his mouth for boastful, mystifying speech. But once more he found himself twitching his nose and half grinning. What the deuce did this big fellow have that kept him from putting on his usual acts? "Enough to tell me it's damned dangerous stuff. Though I still fool with it now and then."
           Fafhrd was asking himself a similar question. All his life he'd mistrusted small men, knowing his height awakened their instant jealousy. But this clever little chap was somehow an exception. Quick thinker and brilliant swordsman too, no argument. He prayed to Kos that Vlana would like him.
           On the northeast corner of Cash and Whore a slow-burning torch shaded by a broad gilded hoop cast a cone of light up into the thickening black night-smog and another cone down on the cobbles before the tavern door. Out of the shadows into the second cone stepped Vlana, handsome in a narrow black velvet dress and red stockings, her only ornaments a silver-sheathed and hilted dagger and a silver-worked black pouch, both on a plain black belt.
           Fafhrd introduced the Gray Mouser, who behaved with an almost fawning courtesy, obsequiously gallant. Vlana studied him boldly, then gave him a tentative smile. Fafhrd opened under the torch the small pouch he'd taken off the tall thief. Vlana looked down into it. She put her arms around Fafhrd, hugged him tight, and kissed him soundly. Then she