the sight of its sign of three red centipedes. A very clear depiction.
It was almost two weeks before Gord would exchange anything approaching friendly conversation with his huge companion. In fact, for several days he wouldn't speak to Chert at all, and thereafter he had merely grunted replies when necessary to do so. Finally, the pain of having lost a hundred, and eighty nobles, almost four gold orbs, wore off sufficiently for the young thief to resume a semblance of his former swagger and assurance.
'You noted, didn't you, that never once during the course of playing that stupid game did we encounter a felon or ruffian? They feared to accost us, for it was evident that I was there to protect the scholar from harm,' said the thief.
Chert flexed his arm, looked at Gord, and said nothing.
'Of course, your being along as a backup was of benefit too. But tell me, did you set the whole thing up?'
'Gord, I am thunderstruck at such a suggestion,' the barbarian said, shaking his head in hurt disbelief. 'You insisted on going to meet Twistbuck and you alone determined you'd play against him!'
'True, true. Still, I am troubled. There has to be a logical explanation for the professor's victory over one with my capabilities. It just doesn't make sense. Do you know what position the man holds at Counts College?'
'He professes.'
'Of course.' the young thief snapped irritably, 'but what does Twistbuck profess?'
'Architecture.'
'And?'
'Someone mentioned cartography, I think.'
'That wouldn't have been a factor. Is there anything else you heard about Twistbuck that would have contributed to his win?' Gord demanded.
'Well, there is one minor detail that might have made a difference in the game. But I don't know, maybe it's nothing,' Chert said hesitantly, while concentrating on stifling the grin that wanted to spread from one cheek to another and back again.
'Let me be the judge of that. Tell me, what do you know?' Gord demanded.
'Oh, just that your worthy opponent also specializes in history and city planning. Knows Greyhawk like the back of his hand!' The barbarian allowed the insistent grin to have its way and then broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
'Aaargh!' Gord roared in absolute rage. It would be some time before the furious rogue would send another word in Chert's direction.
The House in the Tree
The big Roan stallion pranced and snorted, an overabundance of pent-up energy evident in every spasmodic thrust and quiver. The prospect of being released from the restricting confines of its narrow stall was more than the animal could handle. The feisty stallion didn't care which direction it was about to take, it just wanted to run with the wind — and it wanted to do that without another second's delay.
'I should be back within a fortnight' Gord said to the liveryman, noting the dirty, calloused palm suddenly thrust in his direction. The young adventurer was as anxious as the stallion to be on his way somewhere, anywhere, but he paused and considered carefully. Then Gord dropped a few silvery-gold electrum coins into the manure- stained hand. The outstretched palm clamped shut on the luckles with miraculous speed.
'At'll be fine, young sar!' the liveryman said with a grin. The squat fellow bobbed his head and made the hand disappear within his baggy blouse.
'When I return with. . what is his name?'
'Blue Murder, sar, but- '
Gord didn't allow the stable owner to finish his explanation. 'I know, I know..he's as gentle as a lamb and hasn't a single bad habit. His former mas ter named him as he did for reasons unknown.' Gord repeated the spiel handed to him a short time earlier. As the blocky fellow bobbed his head again and started to speak. Gord concluded. 'As I started to say, when Blue Murder and I return, I shall expect you to give over two luckies, for they are left only as surety!'
The fellow's face fell. He wasn't going to skin an inexperienced stranger after all. The dark look lifted, however, when he managed to figure out that Gord was going to pay him a hundred bronze zees for the use of the stallion for only two weeks — and all that time the young man would have to feed and care for the animal too! 'Oh, yes, yer worship,' the liveryman said, smiling again, 'you are a hard bargainer, but I'll agree to yer terms. If the stallion is back in a fortnight!'
'Shit' Gord replied flatly. 'I know I'm paying you too much. None of this hard-bargain crap, churl! if I kept him for the entire month of Reaping you'd be amply paid.' Then the young adventurer turned, thrust his boot into the stirrup, and swung up onto the stallion's back.
Crumbling and cursing under his breath, the liveryman jerked the hair of the urchin who was trying to hold Blue Murder's bridle to keep the stallion quiet. The boy yowled and grabbed his head, and the sudden noise and freedom from constraint were enough to make the horse rear and dance on its hind hooves.
Gord was ready. The stallion was a full seventeen hands high, and its wildly rolling eyes and flattened ears had alerted the young thief that he could expect any action. Even so, the horse nearly unseated him. Gord laughed, leaned forward, and jerked downward on the reins. The flailing hooves came down, nearly braining the smirking liveryman. The scoundrel tried to jump back, but the move caused him to lose his balance and plop down in the mire with a squishy thump.
Turning the snorting, curvetting stallion, Gord lightly pressed his heels against Blue Murder's sleek flanks, and the horse shot ahead, its hooves throwing up clumps of manure and mud in a spray that couldn't help but strike the fallen stable owner. 'A fortnight, then,' Gord called gleefully over his shoulder.
Threats and curses followed the receding form of horse and rider as they galloped away along Harbor Road, oblivious to the wrath being called down upon them.
When the heat of High Summer grew too oppressive to bear, or at those times when the crowded, odiferous city became too wearisome for his liberated spirit, Gord would venture into the countryside roundabout Greyhawk. Sometimes these expeditions were shared with his gigantic companion. Chert, but ofttimes the barbarian preferred to be left to his own devices, and then the young adventurer explored alone. Such was the case at this time. Gord was on his own, and he was delighted. He needed to be away from the hillman, for the barbarian's likes and dislikes often seemed to be absolutely contrary to Gord's, and Chert's manner and activities were either stupid or boring of late to the young thief. In short, they had enjoyed enough of each other's company for a time. And Chert was in total agreement with that observation.
Actually, the hillman had decided to abandon the city more than a week ago, a couple of days prior to the seven-day midsummer holiday of Richfest. Muttering something and tossing a pack over one of his ledgelike shoulders, Chert had clumped out of the building he and Gord had used as their lodging.
'See you,' he had shouted at Gord as the young man came downstairs to try to discover what all the racket was about. 'I'm getting on a boat going all the way to Hardby on Woolly Bay — they tell me the women there are bold and beautiful!' With that the huge hillman stepped out and went his way. Shouting in Gord's general direction through the front door he had carelessly left wide open. Chert added, 'If I'm not back in a month or so, start the party without me!'
'You'll find the women of Hardby to be something indeed!' Gord had shouted back before simply banging the door shut without proper farewell. But once it was shut he collapsed behind it roaring with pleasure in anticipation of the rude awakening his friend was going to get upon his arrival in Hardby. The young thief had been to that region once, and he knew exactly what Chert would find. Women were the rulers there; they were quite bold, often beautiful, and regarded men as only a little lower than the least of females. This was an oddity, for in general the women everywhere in the eastern Flanaess were held as men's equals in all aspects except brute force. But in Hardby the amazonian soldiers and guards to the Despotrix were as burly and muscular as dockworkers. and even someone as large as the gigantic barbarian would have a hard time overpowering one of them, let alone a whole city of such warriors. Gord wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, got to his feet, and then set about planning a
