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CONAN 01 Conan Robert E. Howard
Bourne Trilogy 2 The Bourne S Ludlum Robert
CONAN 30 Conan niszczyciel Robert E. Howard
CONAN 27 Conan z Czerwonego B Robert E. Howard
CONAN 52 Conan nieposkromiony Robert E. Howard
CONAN 23 Conan obronca Robert E. Howard
CONAN 20 Conan z Aquilonii Robert E. Howard
CONAN 33 Conan wielki Robert E. Howard
CONAN 67 Conan i noce Szadiza Robert E. Howard
Dewiacja Robin Cook

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.POCKET STAR BOOKSNew York London Toronto Sydney Tokyo SingaporeThis book is a work of fiction.Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.“I Get Around.” Words and Music by Brian Wilson.Copyright © 1964 Irving Music, Inc.(BMI).All Rights Reserved.International Copyright Secured.A Pocket Star Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020Copyright © 1991 by the McCammon CorporationAll rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020ISBN: 0-671-74305-8First Pocket Books paperback printing May 199210 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.Cover art by Gerber StudioPrinted in the U.S.A.We ran like young wild furies,where angels feared to tread.The woods were dark and deep.Before us demons fled.We checked Coke bottle bottomsto see how far was far.Our worlds of magic wonderwere never reached by car.We loved our dogs like brothers,our bikes like rocket ships.We were going to the stars,to Mars we’d make round trips.We swung on vines like Tarzan,and flashed Zorro’s keen blade.We were James Bond in his Aston,we were Hercules unchained.We looked upon the futureand we saw a distant land,where our folks were always ageless,and time was shifting sand.We filled up life with living,with grins, scabbed knees, and noise.In glass I see an older man,but this book’s for the boys.I WANT TO TELL YOU SOME IMPORTANT THINGS BEFORE WE START our journey.I lived through it all.That’s one problem about relating events in first person.The reader knows the narrator didn’t get killed.So whatever might happen to me—whatever did happen to me—you can be sure I lived through it all, though I might be a little better or worse for the experience, and you can make up your own mind which.There might be some places where you’ll say, “Hey, how come he knows this event right here happened or this person said or did this or that if he wasn’t even there?” The answer to that question is that I found out enough later on to fill in the blanks, or in some cases I made up what happened, or in other cases I figured it ought to have happened that way even if it didn’t.I was born in July of 1952.I am approaching my fortieth birthday.Gosh, that’s some number, isn’t it? I am no longer, as my reviews used to say, a “promising young talent.” I am what I am.I have been writing since I was in grammar school, and thinking up stories long before I understood exactly what it was I was doing.I have been a published writer since 1978.Or is it “author”? Paperback writer, as the Beatles said.Hardback author? One thing’s for sure: I certainly have developed a hard back.I have suffered kicks and smiled at kindnesses just like any other brother or sister on our spinning home.I have been blessed, to be able to create characters and worlds out of whole cloth.Writer? Author?How about storyteller?I wanted to set my memories down on paper, where I can hold them.You know, I do believe in magic.I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians.Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by the silver filaments of chance and circumstance.But I knew it all along.When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present, and into the future.You probably did too; you just don’t recall it.See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic.We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us.We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand.But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls.We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out.We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible.Told to act our age.Told to grow up, for God’s sake.And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back.You can have seconds of it.Just seconds of knowing and remembering.When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly.Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why.When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are.For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.That’s what I believe.The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us.We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good.Things happen to us.Loved ones die.People get in wrecks and get crippled.People lose their way, for one reason or another.It’s not hard to do, in this world of crazy mazes.Life itself does its best to take that memory of magic away from us.You don’t know it’s happening until one day you feel you’ve lost something but you’re not sure what it is.It’s like smiling at a pretty girl and she calls you “sir.” It just happens.These memories of who I was and where I lived are important to me.They make up a large part of who I’m going to be when my journey winds down.I need the memory of magic if I am ever going to conjure magic again.I need to know and remember, and I want to tell you.My name is Cory Jay Mackenson.My hometown was a place called Zephyr, in south Alabama.It never got too cold there, or too hot [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]