'Spare my life . . .' he groaned. 'Spare me, I swear by the gods . . . I'll hand you my money . . .
Hand you everything . . . I'll show you where it's hidden . . .'
'Where's Rience, Myhrman?'
The charlatan shook at the sound of the voice. He was not a fearful man; there were not many things of which he was afraid. But the voice of the white-haired man contained them all. And a few others in addition.
With a superhuman effort of the will, he overcame the fear crawling in his viscera like some foul insect.
'Huh?' He feigned astonishment. 'What? Who? What did you say?'
The man bent over and Myhrman saw his face. He saw his eyes. And the sight made his stomach slip right down to his rectum.
'Don't beat about the bush, Myhrman, don't twist up your tail.' The familiar voice of Shan
