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Is it because of your lies and broken promises? Is it because you are more skillful in butchery? It is because you have refined the art of terrorism?" Taylor was advancing, half crouching, toward Norden. Norden's arm swished in a swift motion. He drew an automatic pistol from his pocket and leveled it at Taylor and Masters. "Because I am the stronger!" Norden said.
Masters made a face over a distasteful duty done and turned to Pember: "Put them both in the car." He indicated Norden. "Here's handcuffs. Lock them together." Taylor and Masters watched the circling spheres. Suddenly one darted down. From its pulsating body shot a flash of flame. A human scream rent the air. "It's the darnedest thing I ever saw," Masters said with a shudder.
I overlooked Orkins as having an answer to the problem. I thought I knew it all, but I was wrong! Orkins knew more than I know about the spheres." "Sure! I should have thought of it, too. How did Orkins get away when everyone else got killed? I never asked that. I just took it for granted that he got away by accident. Orkins might have known enough to help Norden get the spheres on his side!"
Pocock and Norden are the most celebrated travellers in Egypt in the beginning of the seventeenth century; but as their object was rather the discovery and description of the antiquities of this country, what they published did not much extend our geographical knowledge: the former spent five years in his travels.
Taylor ordered Pember and Norden to bury Orkins where he had been digging, then the officer took Masters aside. "We've got a weapon," Taylor announced. Masters grunted: "Yeah? Indians had bows and arrows, too. Look at what happened to them." "This is different. A new weapon. We can beat the spheres through their emotions." "You mean fear, love, hate all that stuff?
To rise against the King was from the first a wicked deed to fight against famine, the plague and death is sin and madness. May God be with you, men!" "The burgomaster is sensible," cried a cloth-dyer. "Van Swieten and Norden think as he does, but Meister Peter rules through the Prince's favor.
I'll do my best I'll speak a good word at your trial, try to save you from the firing squad, but I'm only a captain. That's all I can do. I haven't the power to do anything more." "Then I will not help." "Do you know what we're up against?" "It looks pretty bad, doesn't it, Captain? But consider my hopeless case." "We have a chance, Norden.
But you can't tell anything about the rest o' what he says. He just babbles, sir. Something about livin' lightnin' and balls of fire. He ain't drunk, sir, so he must be crazy." "Help him get up," Taylor ordered. "Masters, you take charge of Norden. We're going back to the car." "Excuse me, sir," the sentry said, hesitantly. "But that's against orders. I can't leave. I'm to guard this gate, sir."
The maritime ones are adorned with ships in full sail, and bold sea-monsters with curly tails; the inland ones are speckled with trees and spires and hillocks. In spite of these old-fashioned oddities, the maps are remarkably accurate. They are signed by John Norden and William Kip, the master map-makers of that reign.
Then he made the final arrangements for Olaf to carry him to Seward in the Norden, for Captain Rifle's ship was well on her way to Unalaska. Thought of Captain Rifle urged him to write another letter in which he told briefly the disappointing details of his search. He was rather surprised the next morning to find he had entirely forgotten Rossland.
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