The Golden Sword by Janet Morris #SciFi #eBook — Now available on Amazon KU!

goldensword

Biology shapes reality.

The further adventures of the most beautiful courtesan in the galaxies of tomorrow.

She had the power to create planets.
The sixty carved bones of the Yris-tera
foretold her ancient fate.
Her heritage of power took her beyond
time and space and stole from her the
one man she loved.

Enslaved on the planet Silistra tomorrow’s
most beautiful courtesan unleashes the
powers of the gods.

Golden Sword Excerpt:
I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, but no sound could I coax from my parched throat.
And then I smelled it. My nostrils drank first, of the particles the air carried to me. I will never forget the strength of that odor, the coolness, the life my nose and throat received from the very air. Water. It was on my lips and in my mouth and spreading through my dust-covered innards. The feel of it as it dribbled upon my chin will stay with me as long as I live. My throat knew no longer how to swallow, my tongue had forgotten its task.
The faces in front of me sharpened, took focus. I tried with my eyes to thank them. I managed a wordless sound. I felt again the bladder’s rim against my lips, the ecstasy of the liquid in my mouth. There was an arm under my head, hands at my throat. The cloak fell away.
“Quiet, little crell, do not waste your strength.” The voice came from above and behind me. I was held high in the air. Strong arms supported me as if I weighed nothing. My abraded flesh felt tight-curled hairs, moist and warm, where he held me to him. I remembered. Cahndor, one had called another. “Will of the sand” does that word mean. And crell, one had called me. I tried to protest. I was Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi, former Well-Keepress of Astria, surely no crell. Crell is a Parset word, for nowhere else upon Silistra does such a status exist. A crell is other than chaldless, other than human; that beast of burden which walks upon two legs rather than four. But my protest came out a moan, and I sank back exhausted, my head against the dark chest of the man who held me, my gaze lost in the forest of curling black hair upon it. Tiny beads of sweat meandered among the hairs, split in two by the root shafts, and in two again.
“Will she live, Hael? What think you?” came the voice from above and behind.
A face loomed close to mine; breath tickled my cheek. It was a bearded face, and that beard was curled and dressed and beaded and gray with dust.
“Would you raise apprei here, and rest the night and day with her? If so, I could be sure of it. Without shelter and attention, I cannot say.”
“I would not lose the time,” the deeper voice of the man who held me came again.
“Then, Cahndor, I think her chances slim.” The bearded face receded from my sight. A hand touched my face, my brow, raised the lids of my eyes. I heard a roaring in my ears, a great pulsing beat in my head. It seemed unimportant what they said, what they did. Only sleep mattered to me, sleep and escape from my body.

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