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the lost metropolis at the same time…" As the witch made that last remark, she allowed a thin smile to play across her face for a moment before concluding.
    "And yet, even being the first to locate and hold the item is no guarantee of victory, although such possession is certainly an advantage. The contest does not end until one of the havens is reached. Simply put, whichever champion holds the Theorpart safe within Yolakand or Ocherfort gains it for Graz'zt or Zuggtmoy."
    "Agreed!" the assembled demons called in chorus – all except for the cambion. If Iggwilv's plan came to fruition, Iuz stood to gain a great deal… But still, he could not keep a frown from spreading across his face.

Chapter 2
    TEN MARES, TWENTY CAMELS, and her height in silver pieces!"
    The cry from the Foudhi sheik seemed to go unnoticed. The beautiful, platinum-haired dancer continued to writhe sensuously in the golden light of a score of smoking lamps ringing the stage. Her skin glistened from a film of perfumed oil and perspiration, for the place was hot and her exertions strenuous despite the seeming ease with which she performed. The men in the audience gave forth quick intakes of breath, in unison, as without apparent effort she removed another of her transparent garments. It floated to the marble floor of the stage upon which her little feet moved rhythmically and her shapely body moved in complex and suggestive patterns of incredible grace and muscular control. The three-piece ensemble of musicians twittered on, playing the oddly structured melody to which she danced as the gorgeous woman kept time with finger-held cymbals of polished silver.
    The crowd murmured and gasped again, almost as one. Such a response spoke far more eloquently of her performance than any words of praise could have. It was a tribute to the dancer's beauty and skill from men who had seen as many as a thousand such dances performed by an equal number of lovely females. Yet this audience of hard-bitten warriors and jaded aristocrats watched this beauty's every move and voiced their appreciation as they never had before. Gathered together this night in the wine house known as the Dar Peshdwar, one of the most popular such establishments in the city of Hlupallu, were men of both East and West. Mercenaries and merchants from Perrenland, Bissel, and Veluna rubbed elbows with soldiers and traders of Ket. Sprinkled among them were veiled and head-dressed nomads from the Bayomen Plains, turbaned nobles from Jakif, Tusmit, and distant Ekbir, and dark-eyed Baklunish and gray-eyed hillmen from a dozen unknown tribes. All of these men combined to fill the large, brightly tiled, and high-ceilinged place to capacity. Nobles and their servants, ordinary men, and soldiers and guards alike seemed unable to take their rapt gazes from the woman who danced in the center of the crowded court.
    This dancer was called The Pearl of Perfection. Such an appellation was not unique; some in the audience had seen that name applied to a dozen different females. But this one truly deserved the title. Men lusted for her, and the richer and more powerful of those in attendance were eager to have her. In as many minutes there were eight offers to purchase the girl, beginning with the unspectacular sum offered by the petty Foudhi sheik. The mountain of fat who owned the establishment, a Kettite of obvious Tusmite heritage named Omar, wrung his hands piteously and bowed at the one presenting this offer. He quavered his sincere regret at having to decline such a generous offer, noting that he was a thousand times a fool for being unable to accept such munificence. A hundred, two hundred, even five hundred gold pieces were not sufficient to acquire this incredible female. The air, already heavy with perfume, incense, smoke, and a score of other odors, grew heavier still with the near-palpable emotions of frustrated purchasers and the concupiscence of the entire audience as her performance neared its