Thieves World 3 – Shadows of Sanctuary by Asprin, Robert

Governor’s Palace of Sanctuary. His mop of hair was blacker than shadowed night

and his eyes nearly so, under brows that just missed meeting above a bridged

nose that Just missed being falcate.

He collected his other gear, collected himself, swallowed hard, choked up all he

could on his line until he was straining, stretched, on tipetoe.

Then he thought something rather prayer-like, and out he swung.

Out above the street made broad enough to accommodate several big grain wagons

abreast he swung, and across it. The looming wall rushed at him.

Even with the bending of his knees until they were nearly at his chest, the jar

of his impact with the unyielding wall was enough to rattle teeth and turn

prayers to curses. Nothing broke, neither legs nor silken line. Certainly not

the wall, which was of stone, quarried and cut to form a barrier four feet

thick.

He went up the rope in a reverse rappel, step after step and hand over hand.

Dragging himself up the wall, walking up the fine perfectly set stones, climbing

above death, for that was the penalty for slipping. The street was far below and

farther with each pulling step.

He never considered that, or death, for he never considered the possibility of

slipping.

A mighty warrior he was not. As an archer he had many peers and many betters. As

a youth he was perfect, lean and wiry and strong. He was a highly competent

thief in a citylet named for thieves. Not a cutpurse or a street-snatcher or an

accoster; a thief. A burglar. As such, he was a superb climber of walls, without