Three men worked their way along a narrow, descending passage.
"You want to know what I think?" asked Olf, shouldering a pickaxe.
"No, not really," grumbled Dytar. "Keep the torch up, so we donít miss any traps."
"Iíll tell you anyway," said the first. "Iíve got a feeling we are going to find a lot of gold. I can feel it in my little finger."
"Aah, in the last temple, it was in your big toe. Canít you make up your mind?" moaned Dirk. He was carrying a bundle of shovels. "And we didnít find anything, either."
"Well, thatís because the guys from the Order were faster than us. But nobodyís been here before us."
"Just be glad they didnít catch us outside the city."
"Hey, watch out! Stop," called Dytar, putting an end to the debate. "Donít you see that joint, you dimwit? That plate looks strange to me. Thatís bound to be another trapdoor."
"Well, thatís better than those nasty spikes we had earlier."
There was a distant roar. Then a sound like nails sliding across stone. Closer. Much closer.
"What was that?" whispered Olf. "Did you hear that?"
"Weíre not deaf," breathed Dirk.