Demons of the Dancing Gods Read Online Free PDF

actually having to go there. The
    people were poor and dressed in rags; many of the children
    weren't dressed at all, and everybody seemed anxious to sell
    travelers something petty and crude that they had no desire for.
    Still, for such a forgotten part of the country, it had one
    hell of an official entry station—a gigantic building entrants
    actually had to ride through, complete with officious clerks
    who were dressed in uniforms that suggested they were chief
    generals in some big army. The little man with the ten stars
    on each shoulder and the fourteen stripes down his blue uniform's
    sleeves was at least thorough.
    "Names?"
    "Joseph the Golden and Marge of Mohr Jerahl," Marge
    responded, already a little bit annoyed.
    The eyebrows went up. "Mohr Jerahl? Then you are a citizen
    of Marquewood?"
    "In a way I guess I am," she admitted.
    "Documents, then?"
    "The fairy folk need none, as you know."
    "And if you were truly of Mohr Jerahl, you wouldn't need
    this bridge, either," the clerk responded coldly. "Insufficient
    documentation. Entry refused. And you?"
    Joe was growing a little irritated at the man's manner and
    drew his sword. It was an impressive weapon, being one of
    the last of the legendary dwarf-swords and thus magical, with
    a mind and personality of its own. To the consternation of all,
    Joe had named it Irving, after his small son a world away; but
    looking at the thing induced only respect, not derision.
    The clerk was unfazed. "Striking a customs and immigration
    official with a sword, magical or not, is an offense punishable
    by not less than ten years at hard labor and/or a fine not to
    exceed fifty thousand marques," he said casually. "Undocumented
    and threatening. Entry refused." He turned to go back
    to his station, and Joe roared.
    "How arc you gonna impose that punishment if you're dead?"
    The clerk stopped, turned, and looked at the big man as if
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    Chalker, Jack L - Demons of the Dancing Gods
    he were a small child or an idiot. "I am only a small cog in a
    great bureaucratic machine. What happens to me will not alter
    things one bit. It will simply trigger the crossbows now aimed
    at you both and, if you survive them by some miracle, will
    make you wanted fugitives. It is not my job to bring you in or
    punish you. We have police and army units to do that."
    "Why, you cold little—machine!" Marge snapped, and
    started for him.
    "Wait!" Joe shouted, sheathing his sword. "As an old trucker,
    I should have realized that you don't fight his type with weapons."
    He saw Marge stop and look hesitant and he turned back
    to the little man.
    "Tell me, Mr. Official, what is the penalty for bribing an
    officer of the government at an official entry station?"
    The clerk thought a moment. "It would depend on the
    amount."
    Joe reached into his saddlebag, found a small pouch, opened
    it, and removed two medium-sized diamonds. He dismounted
    and walked over to the little man and handed him the two
    stones. "How about for this amount?"
    The clerk reached into a shirt pocket, pulled out a jeweler's
    magnifier, and looked them both over critically. He placed
    both the stones and the magnifier back in his pocket, then took
    out a small pad and scribbled something on it that neither of
    them could read, handing two sheets to Joe. "Documentation
    all in order. Have a pleasant and enjoyable stay in our beautiful
    country," he said. He turned and went back inside.
    Joe grinned, looked at Marge, and said, "Let's mount up."
    They were through the little, shabby town and out onto the
    Eastern Road before they slowed and pulled alongside each
    other. Joe was still grinning. "No doubt about it," he said.
    "People really are the same all over."
    She shook her head wonderingly. "You know, he wasn't
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    DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS
    kidding about those crossbows. I spotted them all over, on
    some kind of lever and spring mechanism. Either he or a buddy
    could have made pincushions of us. What made you sure he'd
    take the