Swords Against the Shadowland

The Ilthmart thief sat at a table, pouring himself a mug of ale as he clutched the wrist of a serving wench and tried to drag her closer. What the woman lacked in looks, she made up for with ample bosoms. "Now that we're alone, my purty birdie ..." the thief was saying when Fafhrd walked in.

"You're covered with mud and stink like a pisspot!" the woman protested as she tried to pull away.

Hinges creaked as Fafhrd pushed the door closed, and a board groaned under his foot.

The Ilthmart looked up. "Bleedin' hell!" he raged, releasing the woman's arm so suddenly that she pitched backwards and fell. The Ilthmart paid her no more attention. Pushing back his chair, he drew his sword.

Legs straddled and skirts splayed about her, the wench sat up and rubbed her backside, which was as impressively abundant as her breasts. Pushing back a thick strand of hair that fell over her face, she stared wide-eyed at Fafhrd. "I dunno, dearie," she said. "That looks like heaven to me!"

Moving slowly across the floor, Fafhrd raised Graywand. "I'll match you steel for steel and inch for inch, my friend," he said, touching the tip of his longer sword to the Ilthmart's blade.

The wench scrambled out of the way, her gaze still on Fafhrd's nude form. "I'll wager he's got you on either count, luv," she said to the thief.

The Ilthmart backed up nervously. On the sleeve of his sword arm, a rip and a slight red stain showed where the Mouser's blade had earlier nicked him. His gaze darted about the gloom-filled room, seeking a way out. "Perhaps we can come to some accommodation?" he said, lifting the Mouser's purse by its strings from under his belt.

"No doubt we can," Fafhrd replied in calm manner. "Return my partner's purse, and we'll consider it a short-term loan. And that ring you're wearing, we'll consider that interest on the loan. Your sword, too." Then he smiled. "Your cloak, that's a bribe to the middleman who arranged your loan—me. In fact, just leave all your clothes."

The Ilthmart blustered. "Why, my things won't begin to fit you!

Fafhrd smiled. "I know, but I'll feel much better knowing I'm not the only one running buck-naked in the middle of the night through the streets of Lankhmar. And since you're responsible for my current state of undress, it seems fitting that you share my discomfiture." He rested the tip of Graywand on the Ilthmart's chest. "Do I need to emphasize my point?"

The Ilthmart cast his sword down at Fafhrd's feet and scrambled swiftly out of his boots and clothes. In moments, he stood as naked as Fafhrd, but far less at ease.

"Out you go now," Fafhrd said, inclining his head toward the door.

Nervous eyes regarded Fafhrd, then flickered toward the wench, who still sat straddle-legged on the floor, then toward the door, and back to Fafhrd. "That's it?" he said warily. "You're letting me go?"

"What worse can I do to you?" the Northerner answered. "Your humiliation is between your legs."

"Ain't it the truth!" said the wench, making a wry face as she measured a small piece of air with thumb and forefinger.

Face reddening with anger and embarrassment, the Ilthmart clenched his fists. Without another word, he bolted past Fafhrd for the door. Fafhrd, laughing hugely, swung his blade, the flat side of which made a loud, sharp crack on bare buttocks. With a yowl, the Ilthmart flung open the door and raced into the night.

The thick fog crept surreptitiously over the threshold, seeming to pause as it touched the warmer interior air. At a slower, more cautious pace, it flowed along the floor.

Fafhrd picked up the Ilthmart's discarded trousers, frowned, and cast them aside.

"Why not try me on for size, dearie?" the wench suggested with a lewd wink.

Fafhrd considered it for a moment as he extended a hand to help her to her feet. Yet there was still the Mouser's safety to ascertain, and this nameless tavern's customers might return at any moment. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he drew her close for a quick kiss before stepping away. "Except for this cloak," he said, snatching up the garment and lacing it at his throat, "these clothes and sword are yours. Hide them before someone returns and sell them for what you can."

The wench's eyes widened at such generosity. "I'm not used to no gentlemen," she said, swiftly collecting the Ilthmart's belongings. Straightening, she clutched them to her breasts. "But you come back this way any night, and I'll treat you right well, and charge you nothing for it."

Fafhrd smiled at her earnestness. Prying one hand from her new possessions, he planted another kiss on the tips of her fingers, and bowed. Then, gathering the folds of his acquired cloak to conceal his nakedness, he went out into the street.