Thieves World 7 – The Dead of Winter by Asprin, Robert

up he wheeled and came dropping like a stone, his right shoulder hunched above

the stave he held in both hands. The knife-wielder, going into shock or

something like at the absolutely incredible, knew real fear. He made the wrong

move. That cost him his eye, which his dodging put into the path of the down

rushing quarterstaff. His cry was a shriek as he went down and Throde landed in

a crouch. He had to yank his staff out of the man’s eye socket and brain. The

last three or four inches were dripping as he turned, crouching, to meet

whatever had to be faced and braced next.

That was nothing; mumbling and whimpering, Tarkle was crawling away. Throde’s

arms quivered under the impetus of adrenaline and excitation, but he stopped

himself.

“Guess Throde and me fooled you bastards,” he snarled in the best fakey voice he

could find.

Tarkle didn’t look back. Tarkle kept right on crawling up the alley toward the

light. Throde looked down at his two victims. They lay sprawled ugly, messily.

So what? This was an alley in the Maze: Who cared?

Throde did. Shaking all over and leaning on his staff, he limped back to the

house of Alamanthis, and awoke the physician. Then the youth went on home,

limping, his staff clacking the street. Throde lived alone.

The following night, Ahdio and Throde worked alone. Once again Ahdio made an

announcement, sadly: his woman was gone. That brought groans and embarrassed,

chastened faces and expressions of sympathy. It was the first quiet night at

Sly’s Place in anyone’s memory.

On the night following, however, Ahdio and Throde had help. Mostly she stayed