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decreased. If anything, that became greater. But there was added to it, over and
above, a consciousness of desperate shame, a realization that he had demeaned
himself ineradicably in the eyes of these two ruffians. His lips began to writhe,
showing tight-clenched teeth. He extended his left hand in a gesture of
supplication.
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"Oh, mercy, have mercy," he cried piteously, and his right hand twitched a
second dagger from his belt and hurled it underhand at Fafhrd.
The Northerner knocked aside the weapon with a swift blow of his palm, then
said deliberately, "He is yours, Mouser. Kill the man."
And now it was cat against cornered rat. Lord Rannarsh whipped a gleaming
sword from its gold-worked scabbard and rushed in, cutting, thrusting, stabbing.
The Mouser gave ground slightly, his slim blade flickering in a defensive
counterattack that was wavering and elusive, yet deadly. He brought Rannarsh's
rush to a standstill. His blade moved so quickly that it seemed to weave a net of
steel around the man. Then it leaped forward three times in rapid succession. At
the first thrust it bent nearly double against a concealed shirt of chain mail. The
second thrust pierced the belly. The third transfixed the throat. Lord Rannarsh
fell to the floor, spitting and gagging, his fingers clawing at his neck. There he
died.
"An evil end," said Fafhrd somberly, "although he had fairer play than he
deserved, and handled his sword well. Mouser, I like not this killing, although
there was surely more justice to it than the others."
The Mouser, wiping his weapon against his opponent's thigh, understood
what Fafhrd meant. He felt no elation at his victory, only a cold, queasy disgust. A
moment before he had been raging, but now there was no anger left in him. He
pulled open his gray jerkin and inspected the dagger wound in his left shoulder. A
little blood was still welling from it and trickling down his arm.
"Lord Rannarsh was no coward," he said slowly. "He killed himself, or at least
caused his own death, because we had seen him terrified and heard him cry in
fright."
And at these words, without any warning whatsoever, stark terror fell like an
icy eclipse upon the hearts of the Gray Mouser and Fafhrd. It was as if Lord
Rannarsh had left them a legacy of fear, which passed to them immediately upon
his death. And the unmanning thing about it was that they had no premonitory
apprehension, no hint of its approach. It did not take root and grow gradually
greater. It came all at once, paralyzing, overwhelming. Worse still, there was no
discernible cause. One moment they were looking down with something of
indifference upon the twisted corpse of Lord Rannarsh. The next moment their
legs were weak, their guts were cold, their spines prickling, their teeth clicking,
their hearts pounding, their hair lifting at the roots.
Fafhrd felt as if he had walked unsuspecting into the jaws of a gigantic
serpent. His barbaric mind was stirred to the deeps. He thought of the grim god
Kos brooding alone in the icy silence of the Cold Waste. He thought of the
masked powers Fate and Chance, and of the game they play for the blood and
brains of men. And he did not will these thoughts. Rather did the freezing fear
seem to crystallize them, so that they dropped into his consciousness like
snowflakes.
Slowly he regained control over his quaking limbs and twitching muscles. As
if in a nightmare, he looked around him slowly, taking in the details of his
surroundings. The room they were in was semicircular, forming half of the great
dome. Two small windows, high in the curving ceiling, let in light.
An inner voice kept repeating, _Don't make a sudden move. Slowly. Slowly.
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Above all, don't run. The others did. That was why they died so quickly. Slowly.
Slowly._
He saw the Mouser's face. It reflected his own terror. He wondered how much
longer this would last, how much longer he could stand it without running
amuck, how much longer he could passively endure this feeling of a great
invisible paw reaching out over him, span by span, implacably.
The faint sound of footsteps came from the room below. Regular and
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