Oh ye imps of sour water, not Tzakende, the city with more gods than rats or Ngarra where even the little children carry knives. Priests or knives, priests or knives...which would it be?

Layla led a free life as a gem thief, her choice of the two careers open to a woman who'd left her husband, but she had broken the cardinal rule of her trade: she'd stolen from a temple. While the huge emerald had netted her a tidy profit, it had also attracted the attention of the Goddess of Mirth and her Priestess, both urging her to service. And though Layla appreciated some of the Goddess' gifts—coins for one—she was less pleased with the overlarge and temperamental donkey who appeared in her upstairs room.

What was a woman to do? It was time to make a decision, time to leave dusty Charransar on the edge of the Wastes and strike out into the unknown, hoping to avoid the divine attention of the God she had robbed and the Goddess who seemed to have taken an interest in her.