By Piers Anthony

ISBN-10: 1601251947

ISBN-13: 9781601251947

Wandering tribes of primitive people meet and struggle and love and die. while one tribe meets one other, contributors struggle within a conflict Circle. The loser needs to join the effective tribe. each one warrior is termed via his weapon. while Sol the Sword is bested via Sol of All guns, he loses his tribe, his identify, and his weapon. Re-named Sos the Rope, he joins with Sol of All guns to attempt to create whatever more than a global of conflict Circles. An early vintage from Piers Anthony, writer of the mythical Xanth sequence, Sos the Rope used to be nominated for the celebrated Hugo Award.

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No, man of all weapons. " He flung his golden bracelet at her. " Baffled but exultant, she picked up the heavy piece am squeezed it together to fit her wrist. Sos looked on, ill at ease. CHAPTER TWO Two weeks later they struck the red markers of warning in the open country to the north. The foliage did not change, but they knew there would be few animals and no men beyond the sinister line of demarcation. Even those who chose to die preferred the mountain, for that was a quick, honorable leavetaking, while the badlands were reputed to bring torture and horror.

Both were garbed conventionally: dark pantaloons cinched at waist and knee, loose white jacket reaching to hips and elbows and hanging open at the front, elastic sneakers. Both wore their hair medium: cropped above the eyebrows in front, above the ears on the sides, and above the jacket collar behind, uncombed. Both beards were short and scant. The man from the east wore a standard straight sword, the plastic scabbard strapped across his broad back. He was young and large, if unhandsome, and his black brows and hair gave him a forbidding air that did not match his nature.

The feathers spread apart evenly. He checked the other wing, keeping his touch 'light so that the bird could slip free harmlessly if it decided to fly. Neither was damaged as far as he could tell. "Take off," he urged it again, flipping his hand in the air. The bird hung tight, only spreading its wings momentarily to preserve its equilibrium. "As you wish," he said, He brought the glove to the strap over his shoulder and jostled until the bird transferred its perch to the nylon. "Stupid," he repeated, not unkindly.

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Sos the Rope (Planet Stories) by Piers Anthony

by Anthony

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