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.The glare increased, flaring outward to engulf him.Bruised, hurt, Brakpitched suddenly from the tunnel into an open place filled with the blood-huedlight.He sprawled onto solid rock which was hot to the touch.He came rolling andtwisting to a stop against a sodden hulk.He dragged himself to his hands andknees and looked at the hulk.His eyes grew less blurred.The hulk slowly tookon definition.It was Jath the Iramite.The life had been crushed out of the man's frail formby the long fall.Jath's neck had snapped.His head lolled at a twisted angle.His eyes bulged, reflecting fire.His tongue protruded between clenched teeth.Horror-struck, Brak breathed a prayer to nameless gods on the poor wretch'sbehalf.Then, from the corner of his eye he caught a strange shimmer andglanced toward it.He bit down upon his bottom lip until he tasted the salt of blood in hismouth.There lay his broadsword, its blade aglitter with the reflection of aface made of fire.Slowly Brak clambered to his feet.He turned full around.His eyes flew wide.The great room hewn from the rock at the bottom of the earth stretched intonear-limitless dark on every hand.Across its floor was strewn the effluvia ofpast suffering: rusted mine carts, rotting wooden trestles, caved-in smeltingequipment, and bleached bones scattered like a white salt.Two corpses in theforeground looked fresher, some gobbets were left on the skeletons.Rats ofimmense size, with glittering eyes, chittered and scampered in and out amongthe picked rib cages until a clink of Brak's ankle chains sent them scurryinginto the dark.But Brak's gaze was drawn past all this to an immense arch in the far wall.Beyond it, as though springing up from subterranean furnaces, great bonfiretongues of flame leaped, scorching hot, turning the rock floor beneath hisfeet to blistering heat.Suspended by wrist-ropes in the heart of this conflagration directly beyondthe arch hung a bearded ancient, a half-seen thing with limbs, robe, and headwreathed in fire.The thing's beard was flame tongued.Its hair writhed in tendrils of light andsmoke.Yet a human form was discernible.The mouth writhed as though inexquisite agony.Even across the distance of the chamber, Brak could see thatits all too human eyes were open.& Open and staring.It was an old, old man suspended in a holocaust of fire.His rope bindings didnot burn; his garments did not burn; his beard and hair did not burn; and yethe was all afire, suspended in the flame and a part of it, burning, burningbut never dying.Laughter came like delicate bells."Another guest," said a lilting feminine voice."Quite by accident, it seems.Well, he may enjoy the sight we show to those we select to be our guests downhere."Within the furnace the prisoned creature writhed at the end of its ropes, itsmouth opening and shutting as if in cries of torment.Brak thought he heard afaint moan as, numbly, he turned in the direction of the feminine voice.Shadows stirred on the chamber's far side.There was a clinking of armor.Several figures separated from darkness, becoming defined as they movedforward.Brak glimpsed helmets, breastplates, the livid faces of half-a-dozensoldiers with narrow, gem-encrusted blades drawn.The courtiers formed a ring around the girl who had spoken.She moved forwardalso, clad in pearl-sewn white slippers and a mist of rich purple cloaks.Out of Brak's mouth came a grunt of wonderment and fury: "Vian."Page 33 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"Call her by her proper title, filth," one of the courtiers yelled.The girl stood there, golden skin deepened by the firelight but her purpleeyes were colder than the great glaciers Brak had ridden across in perilouswinters.The girl laid a bangled band on the wrist of the nearest courtier."Ease a moment, Radoran," said Princess Vian.Her mouth was moist, sweetlysmiling, tempting as a poisoned fruit."This one I have seen on thoseoccasions when I have plucked a political prisoner out of the mine cells.Heis an outlander.Look at the lionskin, the blood all over him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.The glare increased, flaring outward to engulf him.Bruised, hurt, Brakpitched suddenly from the tunnel into an open place filled with the blood-huedlight.He sprawled onto solid rock which was hot to the touch.He came rolling andtwisting to a stop against a sodden hulk.He dragged himself to his hands andknees and looked at the hulk.His eyes grew less blurred.The hulk slowly tookon definition.It was Jath the Iramite.The life had been crushed out of the man's frail formby the long fall.Jath's neck had snapped.His head lolled at a twisted angle.His eyes bulged, reflecting fire.His tongue protruded between clenched teeth.Horror-struck, Brak breathed a prayer to nameless gods on the poor wretch'sbehalf.Then, from the corner of his eye he caught a strange shimmer andglanced toward it.He bit down upon his bottom lip until he tasted the salt of blood in hismouth.There lay his broadsword, its blade aglitter with the reflection of aface made of fire.Slowly Brak clambered to his feet.He turned full around.His eyes flew wide.The great room hewn from the rock at the bottom of the earth stretched intonear-limitless dark on every hand.Across its floor was strewn the effluvia ofpast suffering: rusted mine carts, rotting wooden trestles, caved-in smeltingequipment, and bleached bones scattered like a white salt.Two corpses in theforeground looked fresher, some gobbets were left on the skeletons.Rats ofimmense size, with glittering eyes, chittered and scampered in and out amongthe picked rib cages until a clink of Brak's ankle chains sent them scurryinginto the dark.But Brak's gaze was drawn past all this to an immense arch in the far wall.Beyond it, as though springing up from subterranean furnaces, great bonfiretongues of flame leaped, scorching hot, turning the rock floor beneath hisfeet to blistering heat.Suspended by wrist-ropes in the heart of this conflagration directly beyondthe arch hung a bearded ancient, a half-seen thing with limbs, robe, and headwreathed in fire.The thing's beard was flame tongued.Its hair writhed in tendrils of light andsmoke.Yet a human form was discernible.The mouth writhed as though inexquisite agony.Even across the distance of the chamber, Brak could see thatits all too human eyes were open.& Open and staring.It was an old, old man suspended in a holocaust of fire.His rope bindings didnot burn; his garments did not burn; his beard and hair did not burn; and yethe was all afire, suspended in the flame and a part of it, burning, burningbut never dying.Laughter came like delicate bells."Another guest," said a lilting feminine voice."Quite by accident, it seems.Well, he may enjoy the sight we show to those we select to be our guests downhere."Within the furnace the prisoned creature writhed at the end of its ropes, itsmouth opening and shutting as if in cries of torment.Brak thought he heard afaint moan as, numbly, he turned in the direction of the feminine voice.Shadows stirred on the chamber's far side.There was a clinking of armor.Several figures separated from darkness, becoming defined as they movedforward.Brak glimpsed helmets, breastplates, the livid faces of half-a-dozensoldiers with narrow, gem-encrusted blades drawn.The courtiers formed a ring around the girl who had spoken.She moved forwardalso, clad in pearl-sewn white slippers and a mist of rich purple cloaks.Out of Brak's mouth came a grunt of wonderment and fury: "Vian."Page 33 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"Call her by her proper title, filth," one of the courtiers yelled.The girl stood there, golden skin deepened by the firelight but her purpleeyes were colder than the great glaciers Brak had ridden across in perilouswinters.The girl laid a bangled band on the wrist of the nearest courtier."Ease a moment, Radoran," said Princess Vian.Her mouth was moist, sweetlysmiling, tempting as a poisoned fruit."This one I have seen on thoseoccasions when I have plucked a political prisoner out of the mine cells.Heis an outlander.Look at the lionskin, the blood all over him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]