All Roads Lead to Lankhmar - A Review of Fritz Leiber's Sword & Sorcery Tales
Leiber's vast Lankhmar series, which follows both the mishaps and adventures of the barbarian skald Fafhrd and the sorcerous rogue the Gray Mouser, provides fun and gripping page-turners.
There’s really something to be said about truly great pieces of heroic fantasy art. While I’m naturally speaking on the visual arts side of things, I do mean the art of the word, too. It comes as no surprise to anyone who’s read my fiction that I’m a big fan of the heroic fantasy genre or, as some would call it, (myself included) sword & sorcery. Let’s be real here, I’ve been helping The Brothers Krynn to cohost Sword & Saturday, a day which is entirely themed around sword & sorcery, dark fantasy, and adventure fiction, for over six months at the time of this writing. Given that, it’s safe to say I’m a bit biased.
Nevertheless, I do genuinely believe there are wonderful things to be found within the realms of heroic fantasy. As with any genre it has its pitfalls and shortcomings; its writers, illustrators, filmmakers, and what have you, who’s skills fall a bit short or whom lack the creativity or knowledge to build something which breaks away from the realms of pastiche and imitation. Personally, I’d argue that there’s a greater chance of finding such imitative works in heroic fantasy than there are in the realms of epic fantasy, a genre wherein the man most universally aped would be the one so many of us have styled “the father of the fantasy,” John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
This isn’t to say that big names don’t exist in the genre. Robert E. Howard, the man responsible for bringing us the Atlantean hero king Kull the Conqueror, the puritan warrior Solomon Kane, and his most globally renown character Conan the Cimmerian, is a titan in this realm. Big as his name is, though, and for as deservingly revered as he is among heroic fantasy readers and writers, Howard’s reach isn’t on the same level as Tolkien’s, and this touches on a difference which I think is key not only for why I believe imitation is more frequent in this genre, but can also be harder to recognize. Put simply, it’s because this niche features more famed sources for us to draw from.
Howard is still the undisputed king of this genre. His work with Kull, and especially later with Conan, are responsible for the very existence of heroic fantasy as a genre. But he’s not the only name in this niche that is widely recognized. I’ve spoken before of my own enjoyment of Michael Moorcock’s writing, particularly his Elric of Melniboné stories. These are responsible not only for giving us the trope of the darkly armored pale warrior wielding an evil rune sword, but his concept of the multiverse is the very one which American superhero comics have so poorly aped over the years.
What’s more, Warhammer 40,000 fans out there may or may not be aware that the easily recognized symbol of the Chaos faction, the eight pointed star comprised of arrows pointing in the cardinal and intercardinal directions, was directly plagiarized from Moorcock’s own interpretation and representation of Chaos within his fiction. A sad thing, in my opinion, and sadder still that Moorcock never had the drive to fight for his creations, but the shortcomings of the man haven’t stopped him from producing fiction which is both influential and compelling.
Additionally, we have the likes of Edgar Rice Burroughs, creator of both the savage jungle hero Tarzan and Virginian soldier turned Martian hero, John Carter. Of the two, Tarzan is undoubtedly the more influential. His hand, alongside Conan’s, can be seen in the likes of Spear, the cave-man hero from Genndy Tartakovsky’s fantastic primitive fantasy series, Primal, to say nothing of the myriad other primitive wild-man heroes populating our fiction spaces. John Carter certainly has more than his fair share of fans, though, many of whom can be found in the fiction space right here on Substack.
All of this being said, there is one author in particular who’s work I intend to look at today, and that’s the man often credited with the inception of the term “sword & sorcery” for this particular genre of fiction: American author Fritz Leiber, co-creator and writer of the heroically roguish duo, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.
I’ve been reading through Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser stories, also known as the Lankhmar series for the city many of these tales revolve around, since earlier this spring. Actually, I’ve been doing quite a lot of reading this year, and especially in the last few weeks. It’s one of the small advantages that’s come with the various life shakeups I mentioned in a recent note this last Saturday. I discussed one of these stories in a previous review already, Mark Twain’s The Mysterious Stranger. I also started on James Fenimoore Cooper’s excellent novel, The Last of the Mohicans a couple days ago. I’m currently ten chapters in on that, and with as firmly as it’s gripped me, I expect to finish it by the end of this week. As you can see, bad as these shakeups have been for my writing, it’s at least permitted me to read quite a bit. I like to think that’ll help make up for lost time with future reviews like this one.
But I diverge too much. For those unawares, Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser present us with two of the most classic tropes in all of heroic fantasy: the savage barbarian and the guileful swordsman-thief respectively. However, Leiber does something which a good many writers in the genre, both past and present, often neglect to do - he mixes up the formula, thus helping to add an extra layer of depth and fun to all the characters in his stories.
Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are the most readily apparent representations of this, as one would expect. On the face of it, each of them presents as the typical examples of their archetypes. Fafhrd looks like your classic barbaric Northman. He’s toweringly tall and well muscled, sports long copper hair with a full beard, frequently dresses in furs or otherwise plain clothing of earthy colors, and is most often seen wielding a massive sword he calls Greywand.
On the other end of the spectrum we have the Mouser, who is short, lithe, and dark of mien. A skilled swordsman in his own right, the Mouser makes full use of his agility and quick wit when fighting. His preferred weapons reflect this, as he’s most often seen using a thin and slightly curved saber he names Scalpel and his dagger, Cat’s Claw.
Where the duo differs from trope is in their personalities. Each of them does feature elements which play to type - Fafhrd is boisterous and boastful, as barbarian heroes often are; and the Mouser’s often cutting, cynical, and sarcastic, like many thieves and rogues in the genre. However, where one would expect Fafhrd to sport a deep and commanding baritone and speak in the curt manner commonly attributed to his type, his speech is instead rather poetic in nature, as a major part of his personality comes about from the fact that he trained under skalds to learn the arts of song and poetry. He’s also shown to be far more thoughtful than his archetype often portrays, a positive line of similarity with how Howard wrote Conan. Fafhrd is also superstitious, which is to type, but he more often showcases that superstition in forms of poetic reverence for nature, spirits, witches, and the like, which goes against the stereotype of the magic fearing savage.
On the other hand, the Mouser initially comes off as the type who wouldn’t care to talk much, as he shows tendencies towards curt cynicism. However, it’s not long before we learn just how much he enjoys spinning wild and exaggerated yarns. He’s also a practiced magician capable of casting a handful of spells, though he rarely leans on this knowledge due to the costs magic can incur. Fittingly, we get to see an example of this in his introductory story. One would think, then, that he’d share a similar sense of reverence for the likes of spirits, witchcraft, and the supernatural that Fafhrd does, but that assumption would be wrong. Mouser is portrayed as the more logical of the two. Sometimes this is to a fault, blinding him to things he simply doesn’t wish to see. Other times, his instincts prove to be spot on, and result in the both of them being saved from situations that would’ve otherwise cost their lives.
I’m sure readers of this review can get a sense of how well these two characters play off one another based on these summaries of their portrayals. Banter between the two is a joy to read, and it adds a level of believable depth to their friendship that some writers within the genre do reach for, but aren’t quite able to grasp. Leiber’s ability to make his leads read not just like genuine fast friends, as they do at the start of the story, but also as those who’ve truly come to know each other very well over a period of years, is one of his greatest strengths. Wonderful as this is, though, I personally find that he’s at his absolute best in the stories where Fafhrd and the Mouser have fallings out, as friends who spend extended periods in one another’s company often do. His ability to portray the strains that come from mild to major disagreements, as well as the natural way long time friends will often come back together despite those difficulties, is nothing short of excellent to my mind.
Heroic fantasy wouldn’t be as fun as it is without some fantastical elements to tie it all together, though. This, I’m happy to say, is another area in which Leiber is quite good. Magic and mysticism are used relatively sparingly in the Lankhmar stories, at least to where I’ve read so far. (I’ve read through four of the seven books at this point and plan to begin the fifth, The Swords of Lankhmar, once I’ve finished The Last of the Mohicans.) They have a stronger presence than are there in the stories of Conan, but aren’t nearly so common as they are in a lot of more modern fantasy tales. Because of this, a careful balancing act is required. The magical elements present in and around Lankhmar, and indeed the greater world of Nehwon, must be present enough to be impactful, but not so present or repetitive that it begins to feel cheapened by routine.
Happily, Leiber’s approach to these things is both creative and entertaining, and is perhaps best exemplified by another pair of recurring tertiary characters who act as the magical patrons of Fafhrd and the Mouser respectively: the mysterious wizards Ningauble of the Seven Eyes, and Sheelba of the Eyeless Face.
Where Fafhrd and Mouser both compliment and contrast one another, Ningauble and Sheelba act as direct contrasts not only to each other, but their chosen servants. Fafhrd is portrayed as a boisterous character who enjoys his drink and his stories, but likes them short. He has very little patience for excessive details and incessant rambling, so it’s only natural that Leiber chose to make Ningauble his patron, because the seven-eyed eldritch wizard loves engaging in exactly that. A cave dwelling mage known best for the seven eyes that slowly wander under and sometimes protrude from his hooded cloak, (though rarely are more than six of them seen) Ningauble is simultaneously verbose and vague, apt to speak in riddles and couch his desires in excesses of detail which are often entertaining to the reader, but frustratingly lacking in usefulness for the characters. He’s so prone to rambling, in fact, that it’s noted that other wizards often refer to him as “the gossiper of the gods,” which is reflected in the way he requests that any correspondence made to him regarding the weird and wild quests he likes to send the duo on be as detailed as possible.
By contrast, Mouser’s patron is Sheelba of the Eyeless Face. Like the name implies, this enigmatic wizard’s face is fully concealed under its hood by preternatural darkness. As for why I refer to Sheelba as “it,” that’s because the books refer to the character as both “he” and “she” at different points, painting an air of mystery as to Sheelba’s true identity. Just like with Fafhrd and Ningauble, Mouser and Sheelba contrast in their personalities. Mouser is the type who enjoys spinning exaggerated yarns, so the entertainment of contrasts demanded that his patron be incredibly taciturn. Indeed, Sheelba treats its words as if they were valuables to be doled out, choosing them carefully to get its will across as directly as possible.
Sheelba is also the first of these two wizards that the pair encounters. Where Ningauble makes residence in a cave filled with strange portals of his own creation, Sheelba lives in the salt marshes outside of Lankhmar, taking up residence in a hut that stands on five skinny stilts. Of course, it wouldn’t be very fantastical if that’s all there was to its hut, so naturally the front entrance appears like a face with two lanterns acting like eyes and the door like a yawning mouth. Additionally, the hut walks about the marshes in jittery, spider-like motions, a direct reference to the Slavic legends of Baba Yaga, who lives in a house in the middle of the forest that walks about on giant chicken legs.
Whether it be due to requests from their warlock patrons, a desire to line their coffers with wealth, or simply the callings of wanderlust, Fafhrd and the Mouser are on a constant search for adventure. These are a roguish pair who crave glory and derring-do in a world that’s often cynical and sometimes cruel. However, don’t make the mistake of letting the darker sides of the setting color your conceptions. The Lankhmar stories have their dark moments, but they are not dark fantasies. Indeed, for as roguish as they are, Fafhrd and Mouser both are decent men at heart. They’re the types to go out of their way to save maidens in danger, but they’ll probably debate the merits of doing so along the way.
Speaking of maidens, this is one of the areas where Leiber’s writing is on the weaker side. For as fantastic as Fafhrd and Mouser’s characters are, the various love interests or femme fatales they encounter across their stories are far less consistent in terms of their quality. At my current point in the series, with four of the seven books finished, the two best female leads the pair have encountered thus far are their original two love interests. For Fafhrd, it’s the dancer Vlana, who’s exotic wiles and determined nature lure him away from his tribe and the woman he was originally set to marry. For Mouser, it’s Ivrian, the meek daughter of a cruel Duke who reigned over the land where he was studying magic under a hermit wizard named Glavus Rho. These women are ultimately responsible for both boys starting on their adventures, and they’re also responsible for shaping the men they would eventually become. How and why I won’t say here, for it’s best read.
Unfortunately, future female characters often aren’t as interesting as Vlana and Ivrian were. Most of the time they exist only for the specific stories they’re presented in, meant to fill specific roles for the plot more than to act as characters in their own right. There are a couple exceptions to this, though, such as the pair of clever black market fences each man encounters in “The Two Best Thieves in Lankhmar,” the third story of the fourth Lankhmar book, Swords Against Wizardry. I won’t spoil the events of the story here, as to do so would require me spoiling the two stories that take place before it, so let it suffice for me to say that this pair prove to be wonderfully clever foils for our main characters who were expertly utilized within this specific story. Hopefully we’ll see more examples like this, or better yet more female characters with the depth of Vlana and Ivrian, going forward.
In terms of any other shortcomings, the only one I can think of so far has to do with how the Gray Mouser’s introductory novella, The Unholy Grail, fits within the greater whole of the Lankhmar stories. As noted above, Mouser got his start as the apprentice to a rural wizard named Glavus Rho. This region was ruled over by Ivrian’s father, a callous Duke who outlawed the practice of magic within his realm. You can see from that alone where the conflict will arise, and likely surmise where it will lead. Taken on its own, I quite like this story. It’s on the darker side of Leiber’s writing, gives us a showcase of the costs that the use of magic can have on a person, and presents a gripping tale of personal tragedy, revenge, and forbidden love.
The problem comes with the fact that The Unholy Grail doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the Lankhmar stories. At some point between this and the next chronological story, Ill Met in Lankhmar, the Mouser somehow goes from a rural hedge wizard with decent magical aptitude and swordsmanship skills, to an expertly practiced thief with no real explanation of how. In reality, the reason for this is pretty easy to understand: these stories were only loosely related until such time as Leiber chose to start arranging them in chronological order, thus creating the seven Lankhmar books. For the most part, this hasn’t been a problem, but I’d be remiss not to point out that an issue does exist in this particular case.
Regardless of these problems, though, so far I’ve found the adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser to be wildly enjoyable. These aren’t the highest form of fiction by any means, as these stories could pretty safely be considered light reading. They absolutely do pack in the entertainment value, though, and there’s a good amount more depth to them than one might expect from a lot of more typical heroic fantasy or sword & sorcery fare. Leiber’s care to present our main duo as genuinely believable friends is a massive part of that. Combine that with his imaginatively whimsical approach to magic and mysticism, and I’d happily put Leiber’s Lankhmar stories right alongside Howard’s, Moorcock’s, and Burroughs’ as some of the best examples in the genre.
Originally, I wasn’t going to use my ratings scale since I haven’t finished the full series yet. But what the heck, the quality has been quite consistent so far, so I’m confident enough that I can safely do so.
I’ll also say this, too: if you’re a lover of heroic fantasy like I am, don’t sleep on these. The Lankhmar stories are well regarded in this niche for good reason, and it’s worth reading them to learn why.
Avoid It | Discount Bin | Tough Sell | Flawed Fun | Great Read | Must Own
Ah, this really takes me back! When I was young, I read all the Lankhmar books and loved them.
I love Leiber’s work. I’ve read them all several times each.