Max Allan Collins

Memnon has a taste for your magic.'

'I prefer to call it science.'

'Science, then. Call it what you will, little man ... it's all a sham.'

The other guards were looking toward their leader, with shrugs; they had found no one. Thorak stalked the chamber, having one last look around, moving past the catapult, the launching spoon of which was covered by a tarpaulin.

Quickly Philos caught Thorak's attention. 'Well, you and I must put our differences aside. We both serve our lord Memnon, each in his own way.'

Thorak strode back to the magician... or was that scientist? 'The day will come, little man, when the Great Teacher's patience for idiocy will run out... and I will see your bones bleach in the sun.'

Philos swallowed. 'And a good day to you, sir, as well.'

Thorak strutted out and his fellow guards fol­lowed him, though their leader waited for them to exit so he could personally slam the door.

Which Philos again secured with the wooden beam. He listened as their footsteps faded away, and then he said, 'We seem to be alone again. At last.'

Mathayus peeled away the tarp and revealed him­self nestled in the catapult's spoon. He did not move from this position, relishing a few moments of rest. He would be on the move again, soon enough.

'Thank you,' the Akkadian said to the scientist.

The little man sighed and walked over to join his guest, shaking his head as he came, his kind face lined with sadness and, yes, fright.

'Dark days, my friend,' the scientist said. 'More heads have rolled in this age of Memnon's 'peace' than I have seen in all my days .. . even days of war.'

'I will not forget your goodwill, old man.'

Philos sighed again, heavily, but mustered a smile. 'How can we face ourselves, if we are to simply cast our fellowman to the winds?'

And then the scientist sat down on the catapult, leaning back against its release lever ...

... sending the mechanism's central arm flinging forward with a whump!, hurling Mathayus straight through the window and into the air.

'Oh dear,' Philos said, standing, touching fingers to his lips. 'Well... he did say he needed a way out of here ...'

The Akkadian, eyes wide, was flying; no bird could rival him, as he hurtled over the towers and minarets of the palace. But even as he enjoyed the view, he knew his landing could not rival that of the birds, unless he was very, very lucky.

And he was, though a less sturdy man might have suffered injuries, where Mathayus merely crashed into the large awning, on the far side of a high mas­sive wall, the awning giving way, collapsing, but at an angle, sending him smashing through the exqui­sitely carved filigree-wooden shutters of a chamber whose purpose would soon be revealed to him.

Seated unceremoniously on the floor in a pile of splintered wood, the Akkadian—pleased that his bow had made the trip with him, intact—glanced about at the huge circular room, whose ceiling hung with satin drapes. The floor was marble, all but cov­ered with loose cushions, around a small but elab­orately fashioned central fountain. To one side a huge gong stood, as if at guard.

None of this impressed the Akkadian much, how­ever—he was too riveted by the tenants of this sim­ple yet somehow lavish den. Around him, seated on those pillows, lounging along the lip of the fountain, or just strolling aimlessly, were beautiful women, a dozen at least, in the delightfully skimpy attire of the harem girls they obviously were.

He gazed at them in wonderment—so much female beauty in one place, spread before him like a buffet of pulchritude. For a moment he wondered if he had died on impact and gone