Max Allan Collins

'Gomorrah,' Arpid said, taking in the view with wide, appreciative eyes. 'Grandest city in the world.'

To Mathayus there was nothing grand about it— not even the palace, which to the assassin was noth­ing more than a box for him to crack open and shake that rogue warlord out.

But the scruffy little horse thief was still rhap­sodizing, sighing like a man remembering his kiss. kiss. 'Let me tell you, partner—after a hard day of looting and pillaging, there's no better place to un­wind than Gomorrah...' He frowned in thought. '.. . except for maybe Sodom.'

Massive bow already over his shoulder, Matha­yus turned to Hanna and began arming himself from the camel's backpacks—knives, arrows, kama, and more. The sight of this seemed to take some of the steam out of the thief.

'Yes, Gomorrah's something, all right,' Arpid said, stepping away from the assassin. 'And I really do wish I could join you ...'

The Akkadian was paying the man no heed; right now the assassin was withdrawing his long, hooded cloak. As Mathayus slipped into it, his companion plucked a knife from one of the packs and executed a few slashes at invisible adversaries.

'Believe me,' Arpid was saying, 'I'd like to even up the score with those red guards, myself. .. but with the price on my head, I'd never make it through the gates.'

Mathayus turned and finally acknowledged the thief. 'Oh, but I have faith in you ... partner.'

'I'm afraid my notoriety would only bring you unwanted attention. You should sneak in the back way.'

'We're going to Gomorrah, not Sodom.'

'Really, Mathayus—I would not want to impede you....'

The Akkadian rested a massive hand on the little man's bony shoulder. 'You'll get us in, thief. The front way.'

Before long they were approaching the Gomorrah gate, the hooded cloak obscuring Mathayus's face as he walked the camel, the thief following along, hiding behind the Akkadian's bulk.

From beneath the hood, the assassin's eyes took it all in: the detachment of red-turbaned guards checking the people as they entered, searching carts, scrutinizing individuals and their baggage alike; and a line of archers on the ledge overlooking the gated entryway—with a nod from the guards below, these bowmen could turn any troublemaker into an instant pincushion.

'You see, Mathayus?' the horse thief whispered, from behind him. 'Memnon has the city locked up tight as a blood-gorged tick. . . . We need to turn back.'

'But I'm depending on you.'

'I know, and I wish there was something I could do.'

Mathayus turned to the thief and his smile was broad and terrible. 'Oh, but there is.'

And the Akkadian drew his arm back and punched Arpid in the face, knocking him instantly out.

Moments later, with the unconscious thief slung over Hanna's saddle, the cloaked Akkadian walked the camel by its reins up to the guards at their gate station. They viewed him with suspicion—but then they viewed everyone with suspicion, so that was to be expected.

'What business have you in Gomorrah?' the bur­lier of the guards demanded.

'I have come for a bounty,' Mathayus said. He nodded toward the figure draped over the camel's saddle. 'Arpid—the horse thief. He is a wanted man, I understand.'