" Fighting, all the time fighting. Aren' t you two aware this is a pleasure palace? Sarn!" she called to the man behind the bar. " Bring drinks for my two friends."

The bartender quickly poured the drinks, his eyes never leaving the frozen tableau that could erupt into bloody death at any instant. He nervously checked the position of the six grey- clad soldiers before venturing out from behind the relative safety of the bar.

" Zarella says we should drink. Do we drink? Or does my dagger drink alone- of your blood?"

The trapped arm ceased struggling and relaxed.

The voice, trembling with impotent rage barely contained, came. " We drink. Such a charming hostess is not to be denied."

" I agree." Lan carefully backed away, wary that the sword still in Kyn- alLyk- Surepta' s hand wouldn' t find a sheath in his body. His eyes darted to the six soldiers, still holding their swords in white- knuckled grips. They had been ordered to remain where they were. Lan wondered at their discipline. Few from this area were so rigidly trained.

Lyk Surepta put his blade away, then took the small cup of the fierce liquor. He held it up to his lips in silent toast. Lan smiled slightly and reached for his own cup. As he did, Surepta tossed the liquor into his face.

It wasn' t entirely unexpected, yet some of the liquor found its way into his eyes. Lan' s reflexes worked for him. He was dropping and rolling to his right even as the liquor spattered across his face. The foot intended for his groin scraped his left hip and then harmlessly glanced off, finding only smoky air.

He wiped the liquor from his eyes. The room swam into blurry focus as he saw the grey form moving toward him. Instinct again told him where to roll to avoid the kick aimed at his face.

This time Lan came to his feet, clear- visioned. His hand never moved toward his knife. His voice threatened more than the action would have.

" You will die for that, turncoat. Name your next of kin so they might arrange a proper burial. Or will these soldier- lackeys of yours attend to the remains?"

" It' s not my corpse you should worry about, fool. You' ll be cooling meat in a few seconds!" In the same breath, he drew his sword again and made a long lunge.

And kept flying through the air. Lan neatly trapped his wrist, started a circular motion, and sent his attacker somersaulting. The sword clattered to the floor. Quick as a cat, Surepta tried to grab the fallen weapon. Even faster, Lan kicked it, spinning, into the far corner of the room. A howl of pain told that the blade' s sharp edge had found a human target. Neither Surepta nor Lan bothered with the spectator' s minor injury.

" You two, stop it!" cried Zarella, her tone chastising. Yet the carriage of her body, the inflections of her words, told she was delighted to have these two handsome, powerful men fighting for her favors.

" I will have her," snarled Surepta.

" Only in Hell!" Lan' s move came with sinuous, flowing speed. A tangle of arms and legs resulted in a stranglehold on Lyk Surepta' s neck. A brawny forearm tightened on the other' s windpipe. Tendons appeared in bas- relief as the pressure increased.

Try as he might, Kyn- alLyk- Surepta couldn' t break the death grip around his throat. He tried to gesture to his men, to call to them, to get help. Every second marked the passing of just a little more of his strength. He couldn' t reach the bushy brown hair of his attacker and pull the man over his shoulder. A rock- hard stomach resisted every blow from his elbows. Inexorably, he was pulled back over a knee jammed into his spine.

Lan felt the life slowly ebbing in the man' s body. He pressed his advantage- and found himself frozen like a glacier.

He stood as rigid as a statue, his eyes staring straight ahead. Try as he might, he couldn' t move his head. His arms were lead- heavy and his legs firmer than any granite. Lan' s pulse throbbed wildly in his temples, almost drowning out the faint voices around him.

" But I tried, Honor! Ask the others."

" Zarella tried to stop a fight over her? Now I' ve heard everything. The sun and both moons can dance a jig tomorrow, and then I' ll have seen everything, too."

Lan recognized the sheriffs tired voice. The old mage had cast a mild paralysis spell on both him and Kyn- alLyk- Surepta, of that he was now sure. Knowing the nature of his immobility, he began working out of it.

Lips moving the barest amount, he began chanting the counterspell. He was unable to say it loudly, and it took several minutes longer than normal for the debilitating paralysis to leave his limbs, but Lan knew better than to move before the sheriff conjured the counterspell on his own. The old man had pride. It wouldn' t do to humiliate him in front of a pleasure palace full of young bucks looking for trouble, nor would it do for the mage' s weaknesses to be shown to the damnable grey- clad soldiers.

Any hint that the sheriff was unable to stop them would bring hordes of them down on the city. Lan didn' t like all the laws, but he knew what they meant to the sheriff. He also knew what life would be like under the direct controls of the soldiers.

" It' s true, Honor. I was talking with Lan when Lyk came over. Lan refused to leave when Lyk made a legitimate nummary offer for my services."

The sheriff looked at Lan, and their eyes met briefly. The sheriff knew his spell had already been nullified but said nothing. He nodded slightly toward Lan, silently thanking him for this small concession to his authority. Lan knew it was the only consideration he was likely to get.

" So Lan is in the wrong? Who drew his blade first? No, don' t bother lying. I can see who still has a sheathed sword and who doesn' t."

A whining voice from the side of the room came, " He cut me, Honor! Dar- elLan- Martak cut me with the other' s sword!"

" Shut up, Lorgan. I' ll deal with you later. If I have the time." Turning to his deputy mage, the sheriff asked, " Is Kyn- alLykSurepta going to survive his wrestling bout?"

" Yes, Honor. He' d only fainted from lack of air. Nothing more. Not even necessary for any healing spells."

" So:" The sheriffs voice firmed with resolve. " Nothing has been done except stir up the clientele of the Dancing Serpent. Zarella, you should be charged for a floor show. But, from what you say, Lan is to blame. He' ll be removed from the premises."

" We claim the right to punish him!" spoke up one of the greyclad soldiers. " He attacked an officer in our corps."

" Your corps?" sneered the sheriff. " I do not recognize your authority. You might have rid us of those annoying brigands, but who are your lords? To whom do you swear fealty? You are strangely silent on those counts. Your pasty grey complexions sicken me. You hardly appear of this world."

A gagging sound interrupted the sheriff. Kyn- alLyk- Surepta sat up, his eyes fiery coals of hatred aimed at the world.

" You ask that?" coughed out Kyn- alLyk- Surepta. " We fight for the law. We desire only to drive out ones such as that." He glared at Lan, who still pretended paralysis.

" Where do they come from? I' ve not seen their like around here before," asked the mage.

" They come from: distant lands. It is of no consequence. I command them. We can take care of this upstart. You need not trouble yourself, Honor."

" I so choose. I am the duly appointed lawgiving authority here, and until that changes, your vigilante ways will not be tolerated. Leave. And take them with you."

Lyk Surepta shot a look of pure hatred at Lan, then retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and jerked his head in silent command to his soldiers. They marched off, boot heels clicking in unison. The sheriff turned back to Lan. A pass of the hand in front of Lan' s face caused a jolt to pass through his aching body. The last trace of paralysis was officially removed with this public act.