Taran and Mahrundl were really mad at SilverHorn. They leaped at him, fists flailing. SilverHorn warded a couple of blows, then slid past them, turned and ran, leaving his cape behind.
“Should we go after him?” asked Mahrundl.
“No, we have a race to win,” said Taran. “Besides, he’s running the wrong way
They turned to pound on down the left tunnel . . .
SilverHorn fled madly at the beginning, bouncing off walls and running on. He emerged from the left tunnel and finally noticed that no one was following him. He stopped and looked around. Now that he wasn’t running, he decided to look more carefully. He saw the right tunnel, and he saw a crevice in an area slightly behind. It seemed to go fairly deep into the rock. SilverHorn had a new dilemma . . .
Meanwhile, in the sword room, Middleclaw and Rrraff eyed Gimor with evil intent. The smallest and nakedest Troll put up his hands and whined, “Let’s be reasonable here. It is much too early in the race to be fighting among ourselves. These swords are magical. How do you know you can even take them? How do you know they aren’t traps?”
“Traps!” said Rrraff and Middleclaw as one. “We hadn’t thought of traps. Maybe touching one would kill you.”
They all looked at the swords with apprehension. Middleclaw finally spoke, “The big one is probably a trap,” he said. “Traps are always set to catch the greedy one. But I wanted the little one. You guys can fight over the big one.”
“But I wanted the little one,” said Rrraff. “I just made up my mind.”
“Then we’ll have to fight for it,” said Middleclaw. He took a deep breath . . .
“Yeah,” said Rrraff. “Rock, paper, knife. Loser goes first.”
He and Gimor threw down on each other. Fist, fist, knife for Rrraff. Fist, fist, rock for Gimor. Rrraff lost.
Gimor turned to duel Middleclaw, only to jump back from a little snort of flame out of the Dragoll. “I win,” said Middleclaw. “You go first!”
“Eeep,” said Gimor. He cautiously moved to pull the small sword out of the wall. When his hand gripped the hilt, he felt a surge of magic run through him, and a voice in his head said, “Are you truly unworthy? You shall be tested!”
Gimor pulled and yanked and tugged, but the sword remained fixed in the wall. However, a voice began to chant. It was a deep scary voice, “Unworthy in Strength. Unworthy in Constitution. Unworthy in Intelligence. Oops! Worthy in Wizardry. You are not entirely hopeless. The sword can never be yours!”
Gimor felt more magical.
Gimor still has the initiative. Middleclaw has the chance to go next. Rrraff would be going last . . .
Meanwhile, in the room of the fountains, Tmuwo thought about the skulls. Skulls were a standard symbol for death. “I’m not that thirsty,” he said. He went to the small opening in the wall and entered.
It was darker. So very dark in fact that not even darkness vision helped. He felt his way along through a twisty passage, testing every step ahead of him with his new club. At one point, he felt only air ahead of him. Carefully searching, he found a ledge off to his left that he could edge along. It was only a short distance, and then he was back inside a constricted tunnel. He moved cautiously on . . .
Mahrundl and Taran reached the fountain room. They saw all the bones. They saw the three fountains . . .
 In fact, his WIZ Attribute just went up by 10 points. Gimor gains 54 Adventure Points.
Racer Profile Number 5
Taran Dracon – “Know Your Winner, er, Victim”
He is a male, standard Khazan Orc/Uruk. Doesn’t mind being naked. He is stinky and has big tusks poking out from his face, which usually dribble Orc-spit. He likes to spout haikus, and memorized all twenty of Arahk Gnahk’s “The Three Laws of Dungeon Delving” and plans to use them to his advantage during the race. He wants to impress Arahk Gnahk, the great Orc shaman, so much that he sometimes does risky and not-well-thought-out things. Wants you to bet on him because he thinks it will make him famous.
Official talent: Find Hidden