Lord of the Clans Read Online Free PDF Page A

skilled with every weapon I have ever seen. I’m going to teach youabout strategy, Thrall, and trickery. You are going to be famous in the gladiator ring. Thousands will chant your name when you appear. How does that sound, eh?”
    Thrall saw Jaramin turn and gather up his things. It pained him strangely to see the stylus and the clay tablet disappear for the last time into Jaramin’s sack. With a quick, backward glance, Jaramin moved to the door and knocked on it. It opened for him. He slipped out, and the door was closed and locked.
    Blackmoore was waiting for Thrall’s response. Thrall was a fast learner, and did not wish to be struck again for hesitating in his answer. Forcing himself to sound as if he believed it, he told his master, “That sounds exciting. I am glad my master wishes me to follow this path.”
    For the first time he could remember, Thrall the orc stepped out of his cell. He gazed in wonder as, with two guards in front of him, two guards behind, and Blackmoore keeping pace, he went through several winding stone corridors. They went up a set of stairs, then across, then down a winding stair that was so small it seemed to press in on Thrall.
    Ahead was a brightness that made Thrall blink. They were approaching that brightness, and the fear of the unknown set in. When the guards ahead of him went through and into this area, Thrall froze. The ground ahead was yellow and brown, not the familiar gray of stone. Black things that resembled the guards lay on the ground, following their every movement.
    “What are you doing?” snapped Blackmoore. “Come out. Others held here would give their right arms to be able to walk out into the sunlight.”
    Thrall knew the word. “Sunlight” was what came through in small slats in his cell. But there was so much sunlight out there! And what of the strange black things? What were they?
    Thrall pointed at the black human-shaped things on the ground. To his shame, all the guards started laughing. One of them was soon wiping tears of mirth from his face. Blackmoore turned red.
    “You idiot,” he said, “those are just — By the Light, have I gotten myself an orc who’s afraid of his own shadow?” He gestured and one of the guards pricked Thrall’s back deeply with the point of a spear. Although his naturally thick skin protected him, the prod stung and Thrall lurched forward.
    His eyes burned, and he lifted his hands to cover them. And yet the sudden warmth of the . . . sunlight . . . on his head and back felt good. Slowly he lowered his hands and blinked, letting his eyes become accustomed to the light.
    Something huge and green loomed in front of him.
    Instinctively, he drew himself up to his full height and roared at it. More laughter from the guards, but this time, Blackmoore nodded in approval at Thrall’s reaction.
    “That’s a mock fighter,” he said. “It’s only made of burlap and stuffing and paint, Thrall. It’s a troll.”
    Again embarrassment flamed through Thrall. Nowthat he looked more closely, he could tell it was no living thing. Straw served the mock fighter for hair, and he could see where it was stitched together.
    “Does a troll really look like that?” he asked.
    Blackmoore chuckled. “Only vaguely,” said Blackmoore. “It wasn’t designed for realism, but for practice. Watch.”
    He extended a gloved arm and one of the guards handed him something. “This is a wooden sword,” Blackmoore explained. “A sword is a weapon, and we use wood for practice. Once you’re sufficiently trained with this, you’ll move on to the real thing.”
    Blackmoore held the sword in both hands. He centered himself, then raced at the practice troll. He managed to strike it three times, once in the head, once in the body, and once along the false arm that held a cloth weapon, without breaking stride. Breathing only slightly heavily, he turned around and trotted back. “Now you try,” he said.
    Thrall held out his hand for the weapon. His thick