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young men were surprised to see that the wizard rested on an ornately carved chair inscribed with mystic sigils.
    "The chair," Gord said aloud.
    "Quiet! I sit on my special chair, nothing more. How can I think if - my chair!" Zig leaped up and stared, but the seat had vanished even as he arose.
    "It was there an instant ago," Chert volunteered.
    "Of course! Thought is the answer. I thought of thinking, and to think, I usually seat myself in the very armchair that appeared, so my strongest mental image was unconsciously that of the seat!" The chair popped back into existence.
    "Which means?"
    "Guard carefully all thoughts, thief, and you too, barbarian! This area is attuned to images of the mind, and carelessness can be deadly. Resume your usual vacuous attitudes, and we will have no such difficulties. Meantime, I shall intelligently experiment and find the wherewithal to defeat this obstacle in my path."
    What the wizard commanded brought the opposite results, naturally, as both Gord's and Chert's minds considered the possibilities. First a huge chest filled with gold and jewelry appeared at Gord's feet. Fist-sized gemstones and glittering platinum pieces cascaded from the heaped coffer to roll and clatter around his boots. Then suddenly, rising from the mound of treasure, came the hideous visage of some demonic guardian, smoking forth and assuming corporeal form. There was a female cry from behind Gord, and when he turned a beautiful half-elven girl was there, hand at her throat, her face a mask of fear. "Save me from that monster, Gord!" she begged.
    "Evaleigh!" the young thief exclaimed, spinning around in a full circle so as to face the demon again, now with his sword and dagger in hand.
    At the same time there appeared before Chert a trio of armored men, Aerdians Toy their dress and armor, cavaliers by bearing and words. "We guard the Overking's jewels, and no filthy barbarian from the Flinty Hills can take them from us!" the middle one boomed, drawing a bastard sword as he spoke. His companions did likewise, but then two other hulking figures, both only slightly smaller than Chert himself, stepped forward to oppose them. It was to be an even contest: three axes against three swords, barbarian hillmen fighting armored knights of Aerdi. Wild-looking, buxom women cheered on Chert and his two fellow hillmen, while sneering nobles in regal finery sat behind their cavaliers and urged them to slay their foes. A pack of shaggy hounds snarled and snapped at leather-mailed war-dogs belonging to the civilized foemen. whose pavilions showed banners of many hues and various devices. Around these tents swirled a battle between a swarm of hillmen with bows, spears, and axes who sought to overcome a well-formed company of uniformed footmen protecting a squadron of mounted cavaliers. Both sides seemed to be calling for reinforcements, and wild shouts, trumpets, and bellowing warhoms sounded in the distance.
    "Stop! Are you demented?!"
    Somehow the shout managed to draw Gord's attention from his life-and-death battle with the horrible demon. He spun to see who was speaking thus. Chert, too. left off his battle with the plated knight in an attempt to determine who would dare to interfere with this contest. Both young adventurers stared at Eneever Zig, who glanced back at them. The three were alone.
    "Look at me. Listen to me," the wizard ordered tonelessly.
    "Wha-"
    "No. Do not speak, just listen. Both of you were creating things with your thoughts — thoughts you were not to have! All of those phantoms are gone now, but they can return, and they can do real damage if your minds give them form, substance, and power. This place is a deathtrap for the unwary and the untrained; undisciplined minds have no hope of survival. Thank your lucky stars that I am with you. Now," Eneever Zig said, looking at each in turn, "can you count?"
    "Of course," Gord said with irritation.
    "Can you?" Chert shot back, equally offended.
    "Excellent! Thief, you