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.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlsurface of the base.The muffling of the sound has to do with the dampingeffect, the insulation, so to speak, provided by the intervening material,that between the instrument and the base.There is little splintering, too, orwhat there is, better, tends to be obscured, the intervening materialproviding shielding from the bursting chips and needles of wood that wouldattend, say, the blow of an ax into wood.Too, of course, the base tends to bewashed with fluid, after each stroke, suddenly, plentifully, and this causesmany of the small particles of wood, drenched, to run down the sides of thebase.The wielder of the instrument, wearing a large, leather workman's apron,stands before his work.In this fashion, the blood, for the most part, ofwhich there is a great quantity, and which tends to leave the body withconsiderable force, sometimes to a distance of several feet, reaches him.Indeed, one cannot stand before the object of attention without being drenchedwith it.Indeed, sometimes the operator, or workman, if you prefer, is eventemporarily blinded by it, and must wipe it from his eyes with the back of aforearm.This orientation, that before, or behind, if one wished, the objectof attention, has to do with the manner in which the blade is fixed on thehaft, or handle.If it were an ax, for example, the operator, or workman, soto speak, would merely have to stand to one side or the other, each operator,or workman, in such a business, having his preferred side, some preferring theleft, others the right.One normally stands before the object of attention, ofcourse, rather than behind it, because this orientation provides a much betteraccess to it.The blow may be more accurately, and surely, delivered.Thesound, it might be mentioned, is also conditioned by the fact that the bladeis, purposefully, not ground as closely as that of an ax.It is, by intent,duller.The whole matter then has a certain roughness about it.One dares notspeak of terribleness, or brutality here, for fear of injecting valuejudgments into the narrative.My purpose is not to praise or blame, but torecount, simply to relate, what happened.There is a conjecture that the adzis used, incidentally, imperfect implement as it might seem for such apurpose, precisely because it, unlike the ax, is not a weapon.Indeed, its deliberate dullness may be intended to emphasize that fact.To dieby a weapon, you see, is regarded among certain warrior peoples as a verydesirable end.Indeed, there is a thought among many of them that it is not only honorable,but glorious, to so perish, and that those who do so perish are beloved by thegods of war, such asKragon, and are thence made welcome in a thousand halls and worlds beyond thestars, where they may feast and fight to their heart's content, until the endof time, until the stars grow cold, and the halls themselves, like the stars,grow dim and vanish.But there is no honor, you see, in dying by the adz.Itis shameful to die so.It is not a weapon.It is a tool.Indeed, it is not even wielded by a warrior, but rather, and intentionally, bya workman.And how then, if one should perish so, so shamefully, so disgracefully, couldone hope to enter into the far halls? Would one not find at the entrance thespear of Kragon barring one's way? Perhaps, at best, one might hope to glimpsethe lights of such halls from afar, set among distant snowy hills, looking upfrom one's labors, those of the lowliest of villeins, in the darkness.Abrogastes, on the throne, on the dais, in the same tent in which Ortog hadheld his court earlier, made a sign with his hand.Women cried out with misery, recoiling.Yes, it is a terrible thing to die so.Page 97 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlIn a moment, Abrogastes made another sign.It is not a sound that is easy to forget."Those!" said Abrogastes."Bring them forward!"Nine men were brought forward, the large, simple, blond-haired, blue-eyed menwho had figured in the challenge, that pertaining to the status of theWolfungs.Abrogastes regarded them, curiously."They are much the same," he said."They are one, milord!" called the priestess Huta, from the side."You set ten men on one?" Abrogastes asked Ortog, who, bound, and in thecharge of two Drisriaks, stood below the dais."One at a time," said Ortog."In some machine, one at a time, which might kill either champion, regardlessof courage or skill?"Ortog was silent.These things and their rationale, of course, had been explained to Abrogastes."And how will that improve the bloodlines?" asked Abrogastes.Ortog looked away."And how can such a thing please the gods?" asked Abrogastes.Ortog did not respond."Were there such a thing as the Ortungs," said Abrogastes, "they would beshamed.""We are shamed, my father," said Ortog."It dishonors our traditions, it mocks the ceremony of war, it shames theritual of challenge.""It permits the gods to decide," said Ortog."Do not slander the gods," said Abrogastes."Do not put upon them the businessof men.They wait upon men, to see what they will do.Men must be brave, and glorious,first, to win the favor of the gods.The friendship of the gods is not easilyearned.It is a hard thing, and requires much effort.""I think there are no gods," said Ortog."Blasphemy, milord!" cried Huta.She stood out a bit, in her white robes, withthe bloodstained sleeves, from her fellow priestesses and acolytes."These are the champion?" asked Abrogastes of Huta.Page 98 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"Yes," said Huta."And they are one?""Yes!""But one died in the device, did he not?" inquired Abrogastes."Yes, milord," said Huta."So one is dead, is he not?" inquired Abrogastes."Yes, milord," said Huta."And they are one?" asked Abrogastes."Yes, milord," said Huta."Then they are all dead," said Abrogastes."Milord?" asked Huta [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlsurface of the base.The muffling of the sound has to do with the dampingeffect, the insulation, so to speak, provided by the intervening material,that between the instrument and the base.There is little splintering, too, orwhat there is, better, tends to be obscured, the intervening materialproviding shielding from the bursting chips and needles of wood that wouldattend, say, the blow of an ax into wood.Too, of course, the base tends to bewashed with fluid, after each stroke, suddenly, plentifully, and this causesmany of the small particles of wood, drenched, to run down the sides of thebase.The wielder of the instrument, wearing a large, leather workman's apron,stands before his work.In this fashion, the blood, for the most part, ofwhich there is a great quantity, and which tends to leave the body withconsiderable force, sometimes to a distance of several feet, reaches him.Indeed, one cannot stand before the object of attention without being drenchedwith it.Indeed, sometimes the operator, or workman, if you prefer, is eventemporarily blinded by it, and must wipe it from his eyes with the back of aforearm.This orientation, that before, or behind, if one wished, the objectof attention, has to do with the manner in which the blade is fixed on thehaft, or handle.If it were an ax, for example, the operator, or workman, soto speak, would merely have to stand to one side or the other, each operator,or workman, in such a business, having his preferred side, some preferring theleft, others the right.One normally stands before the object of attention, ofcourse, rather than behind it, because this orientation provides a much betteraccess to it.The blow may be more accurately, and surely, delivered.Thesound, it might be mentioned, is also conditioned by the fact that the bladeis, purposefully, not ground as closely as that of an ax.It is, by intent,duller.The whole matter then has a certain roughness about it.One dares notspeak of terribleness, or brutality here, for fear of injecting valuejudgments into the narrative.My purpose is not to praise or blame, but torecount, simply to relate, what happened.There is a conjecture that the adzis used, incidentally, imperfect implement as it might seem for such apurpose, precisely because it, unlike the ax, is not a weapon.Indeed, its deliberate dullness may be intended to emphasize that fact.To dieby a weapon, you see, is regarded among certain warrior peoples as a verydesirable end.Indeed, there is a thought among many of them that it is not only honorable,but glorious, to so perish, and that those who do so perish are beloved by thegods of war, such asKragon, and are thence made welcome in a thousand halls and worlds beyond thestars, where they may feast and fight to their heart's content, until the endof time, until the stars grow cold, and the halls themselves, like the stars,grow dim and vanish.But there is no honor, you see, in dying by the adz.Itis shameful to die so.It is not a weapon.It is a tool.Indeed, it is not even wielded by a warrior, but rather, and intentionally, bya workman.And how then, if one should perish so, so shamefully, so disgracefully, couldone hope to enter into the far halls? Would one not find at the entrance thespear of Kragon barring one's way? Perhaps, at best, one might hope to glimpsethe lights of such halls from afar, set among distant snowy hills, looking upfrom one's labors, those of the lowliest of villeins, in the darkness.Abrogastes, on the throne, on the dais, in the same tent in which Ortog hadheld his court earlier, made a sign with his hand.Women cried out with misery, recoiling.Yes, it is a terrible thing to die so.Page 97 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlIn a moment, Abrogastes made another sign.It is not a sound that is easy to forget."Those!" said Abrogastes."Bring them forward!"Nine men were brought forward, the large, simple, blond-haired, blue-eyed menwho had figured in the challenge, that pertaining to the status of theWolfungs.Abrogastes regarded them, curiously."They are much the same," he said."They are one, milord!" called the priestess Huta, from the side."You set ten men on one?" Abrogastes asked Ortog, who, bound, and in thecharge of two Drisriaks, stood below the dais."One at a time," said Ortog."In some machine, one at a time, which might kill either champion, regardlessof courage or skill?"Ortog was silent.These things and their rationale, of course, had been explained to Abrogastes."And how will that improve the bloodlines?" asked Abrogastes.Ortog looked away."And how can such a thing please the gods?" asked Abrogastes.Ortog did not respond."Were there such a thing as the Ortungs," said Abrogastes, "they would beshamed.""We are shamed, my father," said Ortog."It dishonors our traditions, it mocks the ceremony of war, it shames theritual of challenge.""It permits the gods to decide," said Ortog."Do not slander the gods," said Abrogastes."Do not put upon them the businessof men.They wait upon men, to see what they will do.Men must be brave, and glorious,first, to win the favor of the gods.The friendship of the gods is not easilyearned.It is a hard thing, and requires much effort.""I think there are no gods," said Ortog."Blasphemy, milord!" cried Huta.She stood out a bit, in her white robes, withthe bloodstained sleeves, from her fellow priestesses and acolytes."These are the champion?" asked Abrogastes of Huta.Page 98 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"Yes," said Huta."And they are one?""Yes!""But one died in the device, did he not?" inquired Abrogastes."Yes, milord," said Huta."So one is dead, is he not?" inquired Abrogastes."Yes, milord," said Huta."And they are one?" asked Abrogastes."Yes, milord," said Huta."Then they are all dead," said Abrogastes."Milord?" asked Huta [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]