achieve satiety too quickly, now, do we? This way, the expectation is deliciously prolonged.'
'You will never achieve satiety, Great One,' the brownhaired, green-eyed beauty told him. 'Your capacity for pleasure is infinite.'
'I was wondering why I was feeling a return of energy so soon after,' Thorsby marveled. 'You mean-?'
'Yes, Great One. You may indulge every desire, taste every variety of the fruits of passion, and not feel any sapping of strength.'
'Bloody wonderful. Well, then…'
Thorsby fortified himself from the wine bottle-which, it should be noted, never emptied.
'The same applies to any sense you wish to engage,' the redhead informed him. 'Taste, touch, hearing, smell-'
'Well, let's see,' Thorsby said. 'We've got touch pretty well covered. Taste? Yes, let's have some food, finally.' A huge table appeared, laden with a feast fit for the shah of shahs. Dishes were fetched and offered.
'Taste this, Great One.'
'This too, Great Sultan!'
'And this!'
'One at time.' He nibbled on bread dipped in something. He chewed and swallowed.
'Gods!'
'Does it meet with your approval, Great One? If not, you may order the cook to be boiled in his own oil.'
'Ye gods! Fetchen, taste the food!'
Fetchen emptied his mouth. 'Wha?'
'Taste this stuff! It's unbelievable.'
'Quiet, can't you see I'm feeding?'
'More, O Wonderful Master?'
Thorsby's gaze swiveled back and forth. 'I'll try a bit of… this. Yes… well…'
Thorsby ate a cube of spiced meat. 'Merciful gods! That is good! Oh, my heavens. I could eat that all day.'
Thorsby began to stuff himself. Between mouthfuls he said, 'Fetchen… mmph… You really must… mmph… try some of this-'
'Oh, all bloody right.' Fetchen grabbed a skewer of barbecued lamb and bit off a chunk. His eyes popped wide. 'This is super!'
'Well, I bloody well told you, didn't I?'
Assisted by the houris, Fetchen tore into his food.
'What other senses may we delight, Great and Wonderful Masters?'
Thorsby turned to the honey-blonde. 'I can't imagine more. Make some suggestions.'
'Why, we have scarcely begun, Great One. Would some entertainment be to your liking as you take your repast?'
'Capital idea!' Thorsby said enthusiastically, his mouth so stuffed he could barely get the words out. 'Bring it on, love.'
'Do you have preferences, Great One?'
Thorsby swallowed. 'Such as?'
'Musicians, singers, tumblers, jugglers-'
'Belly dancers!'
'Your every caprice is law, O Powerful Ruler.'
Belly dancers dutifully appeared, with musicians to back them up. They were as beautiful as the other houris and more tempting. They gyrated and shook, bangles jingling, finger-cymbals clashing, to the beat of the tabour and the drone of the doumbek.
'Fantastic!' Thorsby approved.
'And when His Greatness grows weary of them, he needs but to wave a hand and they will go away.' 'Never! Bring them on in endless numbers! Let every one be better and more voluptuous than the last. I command it!' Thorsby took another swig of ambrosia.
'Right, I'm getting the hang of this.'
'We tremble, and obey!' the houris chorused.
'But vary it a bit. Throw in some… oh, tap-dancers or something. Chorus lines. Vaudeville acts.'
'Your every whim will be obeyed, O Great and Powerful Sultan.'
'That's me all over. Isn't it, Fetch, old darling? Fetch? Oh, Fetch?'
Where Fetchen had been, there was now a pileup of nude flesh draped with food.
'Right,' Thorsby answered himself.
CASTLE PERILOUS — KEEP
Linda came out of a tropical night and into the gloom of the castle keep, passing through the portal that linked Sheila's world with Castle Perilous.
It was late afternoon, castle time. An ordinary day. Walking along the hallway, she passed servants and tradesmen going about their appointed tasks, along with a well-dressed nobleman or two about on business. She greeted the people she knew and smiled at those she didn't. She'd often wondered what the total population of the castle was. It must be enormous. She'd been here almost five years, and new faces presented themselves almost every day. To take a census, you'd have to count the population that lived in the various castle 'aspects'-the worlds to which the castle provided access-as well as permanent castle residents. And then there were the Guests: people and other beings who had wandered into the castle through any one of 144,000 magical doorways.
The final nose-count would very likely be surprising. She turned down the hallway that led to her bedroom, still thinking of Gene and of what had begun to develop between them.
She was now regretting that it had happened; or rather that it only halfway happened. If Dalton and Thaxton hadn't blundered by, something might have, and then the affair would have been a fait accompli. Now she had to decide whether she wanted to go through with it. With the alcohol wearing off, she was beginning to see that that would be a tough decision. What would be the mood the next time she and Gene met? What would she say? What would he say?
She didn't relish facing him. Would they simply smile and pretend it didn't happen? Maybe that would be best. Or should they talk it out?
She wondered if Gene was already having second thoughts. Never once in all the time she'd known him did she get the slightest hint that he regarded her as anything but a good friend. A buddy. One of the guys. She had felt no spark, not the faintest throb, in all that time. She began to search her own feelings to see if there was something in her, some tiny glowing coal of desire beneath the sisterly warmth she felt for him.
She would be surprised to find anything. Maybe… maybe she just wanted to get laid.
Well, what was wrong with that? Perfectly natural. She hadn't slept with a man since…
She stopped. Good Lord, had it been so long that she couldn't remember?
Was it Tom Fahey, the man she'd been engaged to for three years? No wait. There was the insurance agent-her insurance agent, who had come over to change the beneficiary on her life insurance and ended up asking her out….
Was that after Tom and she had broken up, or before?
During?
Yes, during. It was during the breakup. Yes. She and Tom were just about through when she'd gone out with… She started walking again. What was his name? Phil. No, Stu.
Stu Stockton! Yes. Brief fling, that. One of the few, if not the only, brief fling of her life. On the rebound, sort of. Or did it happen before Tom and she got back together for the last time?
She laughed. She was obviously repressing all that. Better left repressed, too. Cover it up, let it lie. The dead past. Shudder.
So, it had been either Stu or Tom. When? Well, that would have been, oh, almost five and a half, maybe six
