Thieves World 5 – The Face of Chaos by Asprin, Robert

him. Lord Marshal? Or may I help you? What’s here’s yours, my lord, on trial or

as our gift -‘ Her arm spread wide, bangles tinkling, indicating the racked

weapons.

‘I’ll take a look out back. Madam; don’t disturb yourself.’

She settled back, not calm, but bidden to remain and obedient.

In the ochre-walled yard ten men were gathered behind the log fence that marked

the range; a hundred yards away three oxhides had been fastened to the

encircling wall, targets painted red upon them; between the hides, three

cuirasses of four-ply hardened leather armoured with bronze plates were propped

and filled with straw.

The smith was down on his knees, a crossbow fixed in a vice with its owner

hovering close by. The smith hammered the sights twice more, put down his file,

grunted and said, ‘You try it, Straton; it should shoot true. I got a hand

breadth group with it this morning; it’s your eye I’ve got to match…’

The large-headed, raw-boned smith, sporting a beard which evened a rough

complexion, rose with exaggerated effort and turned to another customer, just

stepping up to the firing line. ‘No, Stealth, not like that, or, if you must,

I’ll change the tension -‘ Marc moved in, telling Niko to throw the bow up to

his shoulder and fire from there, then saw Tempus and left the group, hands

spreading on his apron.

Bolts spat and thunked from five shooters when the morning’s range officer

hollered ‘Clear’ and ‘Fire’, then ‘Hold’, so that all could go to the wall to

check their aim and the depths to which the shafts had sunk.