Castle Roogna by Piers Anthony Page B

until all its needles burst into flame. The scorch marks are still on it, but I'm happy to say that it will probably survive. Lucky it was a wet day, raining in fact, so my heat only cooked its outer layers some instead of setting the whole thing on fire. I'm sorry I did that; I really think that needle in the back was an accident. Something that just slipped out. I just can't help myself when I get hot."
           He rounded the curve in the passage, so that he was no longer in view of the needier. Then he leaned against the wall, feeling faint.
           Grundy's translation came to an end. "You're the best liar I've ever seen," he said admiringly.
           "I'm the scaredest liar you've ever seen!"
           "Well, I guess it takes practice. But you did well; I could hardly keep up with those whoppers! But I knew if I cracked a smile, I'd really get needled."
           Dor pondered the implications. He had indeed achieved his victory by lying. Was that the way it should be? He doubted it. He made a mental resolution: no more lying. Not unless absolutely necessary. If a thing could not be accomplished honestly, probably it wasn't worth accomplishing at all.
           "I never realized what a coward I was," Dor said, changing the subject slightly. "I'll never grow up."
           "I'm a coward too," Grundy said consolingly. "I've never been so scared since I turned real."
           "One more challenge to handle-the worst one. I wish I were man-sized and man-couraged!"
           "Me too," the golem agreed.
           The passage terminated in a conventional door with a conventional door latch. "Here we come, ready or not," Dor muttered.
           "You're not ready," the door replied.
           Dor ignored it. He worked the latch and opened the door.
           There was a small room paneled in bird-of-paradise feathers. A woman of extraordinary perfection stood watching them. She wore a low-cut gown, jeweled sandals, a comprehensive kerchief, and an imported pair of Mundane dark glasses. "Welcome, guests," she breathed, in such a way that Dor's gaze was attracted to the site of breathing, right where the gown was cut lowest yet fullest.
           "Uh, thanks," Dor said, nonplused. This was the worst hazard of all? He needed no adult-male vision to see that it was a hazard few men would balk at.
           "There's something about her-I don't like this," Grundy whispered in his ear. "I know her from somewhere-"
           "Here, let me have a look at you," the woman said, lifting her hand to her glasses. Dor's glance was drawn away from her torso to her face. Her hair began to move under her kerchief, as if separately alive.
           Grundy stiffened. "Close your eyes!" he cried. "I recognize her now. Those serpent locks-that's the gorgon!"
           Dor's eyes snapped closed. He barged ahead, trying to get out of the room before any accident caused him to take an involuntary look. He knew what the gorgon was; her glance turned men to stone. If they met that glance with their own.
           His blindly moving feet tripped over a step, and Dor fell headlong. He threw his arms up to shield his face, but did not open his eyes. He landed jarringly and lay there, eyelids still tightly screwed down.
           There was the swish of long skirts coming near. "Get up, young man," the gorgon said. Her voice was deceptively soft.
           "No!" Dor cried. "I don't want to turn to stone!"
           "You won't turn to stone. The hurdles are over; you have won your way into the castle of the Good Magician Humfrey. No one will harm you here."
           "Go away!" he said. "I won't look at you!"
           She sighed, very femininely. "Golem, you look at me. Then you can reassure your friend."
           "I don't want to be stone either!" Grundy protested. "I had too much trouble getting real to throw it away now. I saw what