Pool of Radiance by James M. Ward, Jane Cooper Hong Page A

trio. Two well-armed women rushed toward Tarl like charging bulls, and two good-sized men began to pummel Ren with their fists. The fifth fighter planted himself squarely in front of Shal and began to wind up for a punch to her midsection. Shal had never been in a fist-fight before. Instinctively she threw her arms up to protect her face and tensed every muscle in her body. His blow to her firm stomach didn’t even phase her. Slack-jawed, the man looked up at Shal, his face turning green. She looked down at him, formed a fist just like her attacker’s but larger, and slammed a hard uppercut into the man’s chin. He staggered back and crashed to the floor well beyond where her first victim had landed.
    Meanwhile, Ren and Tarl had dispatched their attackers just in time to see the results of Shal’s punch. “Whoa there, girl!” Tarl called out, panting. “You should be protecting us!” Tarl stole a moment to glance at Ren, and Shal and the two men broke into smiles and turned as one to face whatever riffraff might still be of a mind to tackle them, but there were no takers. Most of the crowd were occupied with brawls of their own. The few people who’d been paying attention were frozen by the remarkable prowess of the three fighters, who fought as if they’d been battling together for years.
    “We’d better get out of here,” grunted Ren to his new companions. “The Watch Guard will be here any minute. They sentence people for brawling now in ‘Civilized’ Phlan.”
    Quickly the three worked their way to the inn’s big double doors and pushed through. Before they even had a chance to step into the street, they were blocked by seven members of the Watch Guard. The guards wasted no time expertly slipping the loops of their man-catchers around the necks of the three. The strange implements were basically nothing more than nooses on long poles, designed to keep captives a safe distance from their captors. A quick jerk of the torturous implements by the guards sent the three to their knees, choking, effectively eliminating any thoughts of resistance. Another practiced jerk, and they were standing again.
    “Take them before the council,” instructed the group’s leader. “We’ll get the rest of this rabble cleaned up in short order.”
    “Even man-catchers have their weaknesses,” Tarl whispered to Ren.
    Ren shook his head. “Don’t try anything, friend. The sentence for fighting here is mild compared to the one for resisting the Watch Guard. It isn’t worth it.”
    “You’ve got that right,” one of the guards said as he prodded them along. “Now, shut up and get a move on. The night’s council representative is waiting for you.”

    Porphyrys Cadorna loved night council duty. As Tenth Councilman, he seldom had a chance to demonstrate his wisdom; there were always nine others whose views superseded his. But during night duty, he was judge and jury for whatever citizens were dragged into the council chambers. Cadorna dreamed of the advancements he would earn as the wisdom of his judgments became known to the rest of the council and the voting representatives of Phlan. Naturally he would make certain that his decisions were widely known.
    Porphyrys was the last living member of the noble Cadornas, a family respected for its wealth and power until the time of the Dragon Run. The Cadorna Textile House was among many businesses and landmarks destroyed by the onslaught of dragons that leveled Phlan fifty years ago, and its ruins remained just outside the civilized portion of the city, under the control of the darker forces of Phlan. When his last uncle was on his deathbed, Porphyrys vowed, for reasons of honor and reasons of his own, to return the name of his family to prominence. His personal goal was nothing less than to rule Phlan, no matter what the cost. Porphyrys was a patient man—he had worked his way through the ranks of the assembly and finally attained the position of Tenth Councilman—but he had