Tower of Zanid by L. Sprague de Camp

stumbling over ’em.” Qais yawned.
    Kastambang made a contemptuous gesture. “Sir, this Saqqiz of Ruz is but one of these ultra clever moderns who, having nought to say, conceal the fact by saying it in the most eccentric manner possible. You’d do better to stick to revivals of the classics, such as Harian’s Conspirators , which opens tomorrow night.”
    At that moment, the Koloftu reappeared, saying: “ ‘Tis ready, master.”
    “Come, sirs,” said Kastambang, heaving himself to his feet.
    He proved less impressive standing than sitting, being short in the legs and moving with difficulty, wheezing and limping. He led them down the hall to a curtained doorway, the Koloftu trailing behind. A flunkey opened the door and Kastambang stood to one side, motioning them in with an expectant air. They stepped into a cage suspended in a shaft. The cage presently sank with jerks while from above came the rattle of gearwheels. Kastambang looked at his passengers with expectation, then with a shade of disappointment. He said: “I forgot, Master Antane. Being from Earth, you must be accustomed to elevators.”
    “Why, yes I am, said Fallon. “But this is a splendid innovation. Reminds me of the lifts in small French hotels on Earth, with a sign saying they may be used only for going up.”
    The elevator stopped with a bump against a big leather cushion at the bottom of the shaft. Kastambang’s elevator was, after the Safq, the leading wonder of Zanid, though Qais had ridden in it before and Fallon was hardly awed. It was raised by a couple of stalwart Koloftuma heaving on cranks, while its descent was checked by a crude brake. Fallon thought privately that it was only a matter of time before the lift-crew got careless and dropped their master to the bottom of his hidey-hole with a bang. In the meantime, however, the contraption at least saved the financier’s inadequate arches.
    Kastambang led his brace of guests along a dimly lighted hall, and around several comers to a big solid qong-wood door before which stood a Balhibo arbalestier with his crossbow cocked. Fallon observed a transverse slot in the floor a few meters before he reached the door. Glancing up, he saw a matching slot in the ceiling, a portcullis, evidently. The crossbowman opened the door, which was equipped with loopholes closed on the farther side by sliding metal plates, and led the party into a small room with several more doors. A hairy Koloftu stood in front of one door with a spiked club.
    This door gave into another small room, containing a man in the Moorish-looking armor of a Mikardando knight with a drawn sword. And this door let into the lair itself: an underground vault of huge cyclopean blocks, with no apertures other than the door and a couple of small ventilation holes in the ceiling.
    On the stone floor stood a big table of qong-wood inlaid with other woods and with polished safq-shell in the intricate arabesque patterns of suria. Around it were ranged a dozen chairs of the same material. Fallon was glad that he had settled among the Balhibuma, who sat on chairs, rather than among some of the Krishnan nations who knelt or squatted or sat cross-legged on the floor like yogis. His joints were getting a little stiff for such gymnastics.
    They sat. The Koloft man stood in the doorway.
    “First,” said Qais, “I should like to draw two thousand five hundred karda, gold, from my account.”
    Kastambang raised his antennae. “Have rumors then come to your ear that the House of Kastambang’s in sore financial straits? If they have, I can assure you they’re false.”
    “Not at all, sir. I have a special enterprise.”
    “Very well, good my sir,” said Kastambang, scribbling a note. “Very well.”
    Kastambang gave directions to the Koloftu, who bowed and disappeared. Qais said: “Master Antane is undertaking a let us say a journalistic assignment for me. He is to report to me on the interior of the Safq…”
    Qais gave a few further