Max Allan Collins

of late, at our councils. I have not been well... but know that my spirit has been heartened by our impending victory.'

The eyes of the generals were wide and locked upon her; Toran seemed almost to stumble back, at the sight of her.

To the generals, Memnon said lightly, 'Is this sufficient to placate your men?' Then he turned to Cassandra. 'Please tell my generals what you have seen, my sorceress.'

Her eyes traveled slowly across the assembled guests; torchlight flickered, throwing dark shadows over a courtyard cloaked by the moon's ivory. 'I see a great victory.... Your enemies will reveal themselves before you.'

The slightly inebriated generals did not perceive the ambiguity of this statement, and shared confident smiles, and touched wine goblets.

General Toran still stood, but his head hung in chagrin. Sheepishly, he said, 'My sincerest apolo­gies, my lord.'

Memnon lifted his left hand, waving that off magnanimously. 'I understand, old friend. It is only human, to be fearful, weak....'

And with his other, the warlord thrust the Ak­kadian's dagger into the general's chest, piercing his heart. Toran had only a moment to be surprised be­fore, dead, he pitched back onto the table, knocking a goblet of wine to bleed its contents on the court­yard floor.

'And anyone with such weak traits as that,' Memnon said, 'is of no use to me as a general.' He casually looked from the face of one stunned com­mander to another, and said, 'Consider this a sym­bol, in full view. I trust it's effective. . .. Now—are there any others among you who doubt my word?'

Looking sideways at one another, the generals shook their heads, murmuring their loyalty, their be­lief in their lord.

'How reassuring,' Memnon said. 'And now . .. the feast is over. To your beds, my generals ... take a wench with you, if you like, but rest well. For tomorrow ... we conquer.'

The guests—grandly entertained by all of this— clapped and applauded their drunken approval.

Memnon turned to Cassandra, and said so softly that only she heard: 'Wait for me in my chambers.'

'... My lord?'

'There is a subject I would discuss with you.'

'Yes, my lord.' She half bowed, and moved away, disappearing within the palace. Memnon, having watched her go with a cold, wary gaze, now turned to Takmet.

'Fortify the palace guard,' the warlord said.

Takmet, still fiddling unsuccessfully with the Ak­kadian's bow, said, 'It is done, my lord,' and tossed the pair of wenches off his lap.

Memnon did not bid his guests any further good­bye; lost in dark thought, he made his way into the palace, following the path of his sorceress.

Outside the fortified walls of Gomorrah—along the forward parapet of which four archers were posi­tioned—a horse-drawn cart, covered by a tattered tarp, creaked and groaned up to the main gates. Half a dozen red-turbaned, heavily armed guards walked up to the small, skimpily bearded man holding the reins of the horses. Seated next to him was another slight, unthreatening-looking creature, with a thatch of unruly white hair.

'What's in the cart?' one of the guards asked.

Arpid glanced at the fearsome fellow. 'What's in the cart?'

'You heard me!' And the guard's hand went to his sword hilt; the other red-turbaned sentries did the same.

Nervously, Arpid glanced behind him at the tarp. 'You want to know what's in the cart.. . . Truth be told, it's a kind of... surprise.'