Carter, Lin - Green Star 5 - In The Green Stars Glow

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In the Green Star’s Glow
Book 5 of the Green Star series
By Lin Carter
CONTENTS
The First Book LOST AMONG THE TREETOPS.3
Chapter1 Many Partings.4
Chapter 2 Battle Amid the Clouds.8
Chapter 3 Over the Side.11
Chapter 4 Dragon’s Blood.15
Chapter 5 The Opal Tower18
The Second Book SLAVES OF THE SCARLET HORDE.21
Chapter 6 The Warrior Women.22
Chapter 7 An Unexpected Ally.25
Chapter 8 Escape to Peril28
Chapter 9 Preparations for War32
Chapter 10 On the March.36
The Third Book IN THE OPAL TOWER..39
Chapter 11 Karn in Chains.40
Chapter 12 Beyond the Portal43
Chapter 13 The White Chamber46
Chapter 14 The Sorcerer Quoron.50
Chapter 15 To Live–Forever!53
The Fourth Book KARN AMONG THE AMAZONS.56
Chapter 16 The Mind-Search.57
Chapter 17 A Chance Discovery.60
Chapter 18 Varda.63
Chapter 19 The Eavesdropper66
Chapter 20 The Moment of Truth.69
The Fifth Book SWORDS AGAINST PHAOLON..72
Chapter 21 On the March.73
Chapter 22 Under the Knife.76
Chapter 23 Unexpected Meetings.79
Chapter 24 The Kiss.83
Chapter 25 The Ending of It87
The Aftermath.90
The First Book
LOST AMONG THE TREETOPS
Chapter 1
Many Partings
Joy held sway over the island kingdom of Komar, but over my heart there hovered a bitter cloud of
black despair.
My friends and I, with the aid of Luck and Chance and the whim of Fate, had at last succeeded in
breaking forever the iron grip of the Blue Barbarians upon the throne of Komar. The savage warrior
horde, broken and decimated by a long and bloody night of invasion, battle, and siege, had fled by ship
to sea and from there to shore. The scattered remnants of the once-mighty horde of Barbarians had slunk
into the shadows of the sky-towering forest of gigantic trees like whipped curs. Never again would they
menace the peace and security of the treetop kingdoms of the Green Star World.
Their day had passed, and a new day had dawned.
The gallant and courageous Prince Andar had been raised to the throne of his ancestors. Komar had its
freedom, and a prince of the ancient blood to reign over that freedom. A day of celebration and festival
had begun, such as the proud and age-old island realm had never known before.
In the bestowal of honors and the giving of gratitude, my friends and I were far from forgotten. Indeed,
we stood foremost in the ranks of those who had helped to free the island city from its oppressors.
Zarqa the Kalood, Janchan of Phaolon, the Goddess Arjala, Parimus the science wizard, the immortal.
sage, Nimbalim of Yoth (aye, even sly, grinning, ugly Klygon, the thief who had become a hero), each of
us in our turn were cheered and honored.
Nor was I, Karn, the savage jungle boy whose body held cupped within it the star-wandering spirit of an
Earthling, overlooked in the bestowal of honors. Long and loud rang out the cheers when Prince Andar
from the throne of his fathers called me forth to stand beneath the golden banner for the recital of my few
poor deeds.
It should have been a happy day; for me it was a day of immeasurable gloom.
You who have followed thus far the journal of my exploits, adventures, and wanderings under the Green
Star (if indeed any eye but my own will ever peruse this narrative of marvels) will understand the reason
for the pall of sadness that froze my heart within me.
For there, at the very last, on the rooftop of the palace-citadel, with our arch-foe, Delgan of the Isles, at
bay, my eyes, which had been blinded but now with sight renewed, gazed upon a sight of wondrous and
pitiful enigma.
Niamh the Fair, Niamh my beloved, so long sought, so long lost, was restored to me at last, in a flashing
instant of time. In the next breath she was torn from me again, and plunged into a desperate and unequal
struggle against the very personification of doom.
The sky craft which the mad immortal, Ralidux, had stolen from the vault of treasures on the Isle of Ruins
drifted low over the rooftop of the palace.
From the crest of the stone colossus wherein he had concealed himself, our dread enemy, Delgan,
sprang into the craft and fought with my beloved princess for the controls.
Only Zorak, the loyal and stalwart bowman of Tharkoon, of us all had the presence of mind, in that
terrible, flashing instant, to ascend the stone limbs of the giant idol and seize a fingertip hold on the tail of
the floating craft as it drifted idly away, borne on the winds of dawn.
We stood helpless, watching it float out of sight.
Zarqa and Parimus, in the air yacht of the science wizard, had flown after the weightless craft, only to
observe from a great distance as it floated from sight between the sky-tall trees of the mainland.
Their last glimpse had been one fraught with hideous possibilities.
As it drifted from view between the prodigious boles of the forest, one body had fallen from the craft to
certain death below.
But–whose?
Delgan, our azure-skinned arch-enemy, who had earned his death a thousand times over for his
treacheries and betrayals?
Or Zorak, the strong and faithful bowman who had come to the defense of Andar’s realm?
Or–most horrible possibility of all–had it been the frail and slender body of my beloved princess,
overcome by the grim strength of the traitor, Delgan?
Had he mastered her, and cruelly thrust her from the cockpit of the craft, to hurtle down to a terrible
death in the black, worm-haunted abyss that was the floor of the sky-tall forest of gigantic trees?
Search as they did, my friends returned to Komar with that question unanswered, that mystery unsolved.
And that was the reason for the black cloud of despair that hung over my heart on that joyous day of
festival and thanksgiving . . .
The time had come for us to part, my friends and I. Prince Parimus of Tharkoon, having assisted in the
conquest of the Blue Barbarians and the freeing of their Komarian subjects, gathered his bowmen, bade
us fare well, and entered his air yacht for the voyage back to his own far realm.
With him as an honored guest went the thousand-year-old sage and philosopher, Nimbalim of Yoth,
whom Janchan and Zarqa had rescued from the slave pens of Calidar, the Flying City of the Black
Immortals.
They had much in common, the science wizard and the old philosopher. Together they would delve into
the lost sciences of the Kaloodha, the Winged Men, whose world-old race was now extinct save for
Zarqa alone.
After many farewells, they departed for Tharkoon.
They had lingered only to witness the marriage of Prince Janchan of the Ptolnim and the Divine Arjala. It
was Andar of the Komarians himself who wed these comrades of mine, there on the steps below his
throne, in the great hall of his ancestral palace, ringed about by the lords and nobles of his island realm.
There we watched, solemn and yet joyful, as Baryllus, the High Priest of Karoga, god of Komar,
celebrated the holy nuptials. We stood smiling as Janchan clasped his bride to his chest and sealed her
lips with their first kiss. Oh, it was a wondrous moment for all . . . but wondrous beyond beyond belief
for Janchan of Phaolon and his mate.
She had been a living goddess in Ardha; now she was only a woman, and a bride.
I believe she had never been happier.
Then came the time of partings.
Prince Andar bade farewell to Parimus of Tharkoon and his gallant bowmen, then turned to offer
Janchan and Arjala the hospitality of his palace for their honeymoon (for strange as it seems, the custom
familiar to us on Earth is also known to the Laonese). As well, his hospitality was extended to Klygon,
Zarqa, and myself, to remain in Komar as long as we wished, as his honored guests. Weary and worn as
we were from the perils and privations through which we had all but recently passed, his invitation was
gratefully accepted. Indeed, there was little else that we could do, in all actuality, for in this strange and
beautiful and terrible world of trees as tall as Everest, where the very cities of men cling to the upper
branches like mere hornets’ nests, we had long since lost our bearings. Our ultimate goal was Phaolon
the Jewel City, but no man in all of the Komarian kingdom, least of all ourselves, knew in which direction
nor at what distance it lay.
So we made ourselves comfortable in Komar, for a time. My comrades were grateful for a chance to
rest a while and enjoy the comforts of civilization, after the terrible trials of slavery, storm, shipwreck, and
marooning we had undergone.
Not so, I.
Still the unknown fate of my beloved princess weighed upon my heart. Still the unanswered question of
which of the three had fallen from the sky-ship echoed within my weary brain, repeating itself over and
over.
Unable to sleep, despite the exertions of the day just past, I rose from my silken bed, donned my
buskins, wrapped the scarlet loincloth about me, and belted on my glassy sword.
Restless, I went out upon the balcony of my tower room to gaze forth upon the night, thinking of Niamh.
The World of the Green Star has no moon to illuminate its skies by night, as does my native Earth. It
revolves close to its sun of emerald flame, so close that, were it not for its eternal barrier of clouds which
interpose themselves between the planet and its parent star, the burning heat of those green rays would
scorch the last vestiges of life from the surface of the planet.
Alas, that same eternal and unbroken wall of clouds hide forever from view the innumerable stars of
heaven, and the slender and elfin folk of this world–the Laonese, as they call themselves–are denied the
splendors of the star-strewn firmament. Hence the nights of Lao are black as doom, in which no man
may see his path.
I stared upon the city of Komar, where it crouched upon high cliffs, girdled about with its mighty wall.
Guardsmen in the colors of Prince Andar strode the watch about the circuit of that frowning battlement,
and they bore torches in their hand to light their path.
By the light of those glimmering torches, I saw a strange and lovely thing. Fashioned all of gleaming metal
it was, but it floated upon the breeze as lightly as would a soap bubble. Slim and tapering it was, graceful
as the Flying Carpet of Arabic legend, its prow curled back to shelter its riders.
This was the sky-sled we had carried off long ago from the Pylon of Sarchimus the Wise. The extinct
Kaloodha had fashioned the flying thing a million years ago.
The moment my eyes fell upon it, I knew that I could delay no longer the satisfaction of the urge that
gnawed within me, to search for my lost beloved, though all the wide world lay between us.
With Kam of the Red Dragon, to think was to act. This trait had precipitated me into peril many times
before now, and doubtless would do so again. A wiser man, or a man less driven by his need, would
have paused, thought things out, consulted with his friends. But I sprang over the parapet and clambered
down the thick vines as if they had been a ladder.
Lightly as a great cat, I dropped to the top of the citadel wall. The guards had passed this way but a
moment before; still the light of their torches gleamed in the glistening gold metal of the sky-sled, where it
drifted idly to and fro on the breeze, tethered by its anchor-cable to a stone bench.
It was the work of a moment to glide to where the weird craft floated, to heave myself aboard. I lay flat
in one of the shallow depressions made for that purpose, studying the controls. Often I had watched as
Zarqa the
Kalood had flown the craft. The controls were few and admirably simple. There was no doubt in my
mind that I could fly the craft.
Then, swiftly and unobtrusively, making certain that I was not observed, I returned to my quarters in the
palace and took up my weapons and a warm cloak. In the great hall where the wedding-feast had
recently concluded I selected provisions of meat and pastry, and a supply of the delicious if oddly
colored foodstuff the Komarians prize, which resembles excellent cheese. There being no other beverage
to hand, I scooped up as many bottles of the effervescent, gold-colored wine of the islands as remained
unopened, and, returning to where my craft was moored, stored these provisions away in the
tail-compartment, which was locked by a clever catch whose secrets I had learned from Zarqa.
Then, buckling myself in the safety harness, I detached and drew aboard the anchor-cable and stored it
away in its place while the aerial vehicle floated out over the crooked streets and peaked roofs of
Komar.
A moment later, my touch at the sensitive controls sent the silent and weightless craft winging its way out
over the dark surface of the sea in the direction in which the sky craft had flown, bearing my beloved
princess to a nameless and unknown doom.
Living or dead, I would find her, or perish myself in the attempt.
Chapter 2
Battle Amid the Clouds
As the sky craft which Ralidux had stolen from the treasure-vaults of the Ancient Ones drifted
weightlessly across the roof of Prince Andar’s besieged palace-citadel, Niamh–the Phaolonese princess
whom I had come to love under the name of Shann of Kamadhong during my blindness, when we were
castaways together on the desert isle of Narjix in the Komarian Sea–had no sooner freed herself from
one attacker than a second thrust himself upon her.
The black superman from the Flying City, Ralidux, driven mad by his uncontrollable lust for Arjala the
Living Goddess, had carried off Niamh from our desert isle under the mistaken assumption that she was
none other than the superb young woman whom he desired above all else. Discovering his error, he had
planned to hurl her slim body over the side of the flying vessel. But Niamh, tearing free of her bonds, and
plucking from its secret sheath amid the tattered remnants of her garments, that slender, sacred knife
which is, to every woman of the Laonese race, the final defense of her chastity, turned upon her
kidnapper. .
They fought together, there in the cockpit of the sky craft, as it drifted idly over the rooftops of Komar.
At length my beloved princess succeeded in striking home: like the fang of a striking cobra, the slim bright
blade sunk to its hilt in the heart of the Black Immortal and he toppled from the cockpit to fall to the
rooftop far below.
Wrenching her blade from the heart of Ralidux in the instant of his fall, Niamh turned to seize control of
the floating air vessel. But in the same moment of time a strange man with azure skin and subtle, crafty
eyes sprang into the cockpit from the stony limbs of the colossal statue which loomed atop the palace
roof.
Niamh stared at him dazedly. They had never so much as laid eyes on each other before, had Delgan of
the Isles and the Princess of Phaolon, but this mattered little. The former Warlord of the Blue Barbarians
had seized upon this trick of fortune to make his escape, and would permit no adolescent girl to deter him
in his flight.
In one hand he bore that deadly crystal rod in which captive lightnings flickered–the zoukar, or
death-flash–which Zarqa and Janchan and I had borne off long ago in our escape from the doomed and
dying Pylon of the science magician, Sarchimus the Wise.
Leveling ,the powerful weapon at the wide-eyed girl–who crouched the length of the cockpit away, a
slim, now gory, blade clenched in one small but capable fist–the traitorous Delgan was about to direct the
furious ray of the crystal weapon against this unknown girl who stood in the way of his escape.
But then the bidding of caution made him stay his hand. The terrific power of the zoukar was a subject
with which he was not completely familiar. To loose its frightful energies within the narrow confines of the
cabin might be to damage the sky craft beyond all hopes of repair.
Therefore, with a swift motion, he thrust the crystal weapon into his girdle, and, with a tigerlike bound,
flung himself upon the young girl who opposed him.
So swiftly did the mysterious blue man leap into the cabin–and so unexpectedly did he hurl himself upon
her–that Niamh was taken by surprise. Suddenly, a hand like an iron vise clamped itself about her wrist,
while the blue man flung his other arm about her waist, lifting her from the floor of the cabin. While she
sought to plunge her slim blade into his heart, he strove to drag her to the edge of the cockpit and fling
the hapless girl over the side.
In the fury of their combat, neither Niamh nor her assailant noticed Zorak the Bowman as he scaled the
stony limbs of the colossus. He flung himself across space in an effort to reach the sky-ship before it
floated away from the palace roof. for a rescue attempt to succeed.
The outstretched fingers of the stalwart Tharkoonian brushed the tail-assembly of the flying craft . . .
slipped, then clung. A moment later, the flying craft bore him away, out over the streets of the city. Then
his dangling booted heels swung giddily above the tranquil immensity of the inland sea. And this was the
last of the flying craft which I, Darn, saw as the Green Star rose up over the horizon to flood the world of
the great trees with its emerald light.
Delgan had not dreamed that he would encounter any difficulty in overcoming the slight figure of the
adolescent girl. For, although by no means as robust or as burly as were most of the Blue Barbarians, he
was a full-grown man in his prime and possessed of a man’s strength.
But the supple girl twisted lithely in his crushing grip, as agile as a writhing serpent. The girl fought
furiously against the blue man as he struggled to thrust her over the side. Delgan soon discovered he had
taken on a young wildcat.
She raked the sharp nails of one hand down the side of his face, slashing his cheek from eye-corner to
chin. Blood spurted from his torn flesh; with a curse, he jerked his head back, fearing that with the next
swipe of her vicious nails she might blind him.
Then a small but firm knee thudded into the pit of his stomach with staggering force. With a whoosh the
air was driven out of his lungs as Niamh drove one sharp elbow into his ribs. Bent double, clutching at his
belly, face streaming with blood, Delgan stumbled in retreat until he was backed against the control panel
itself. Blinking open his eyes, which had been squeezed shut with pain, he saw the sunlight of the Green
Star flash dazzlingly from the small; glittering blade of the girl’s knife.
The gleam of the naked metal was no less deadly than the wrathful fires that. burned fiercely in the girl’s
narrowed eyes.
Pampered child of the jewelbox cities though she was, Niamh of Phaolon fought like a tigress when she
had to.
Facing her glittering blade, Delgan’s bravery ebbed. Cunning and unscrupulous, it was ever his way to
win with words or guile rather than to resort to physical action, which, in his warped view, was the way
of the brute. The wily and devious Delgan had long ago discovered that he would trick and entangle
those he sought to use in a web of words. So he tried it now, rather than trust his precious hide to the
stinging kiss of that small, chaste blade.
“Would you slay me, then, witch-girl?” he panted. “I am no enemy of yours! Think: have ever we met,
child? If not, then how could we be foes?”
“It was no friend who tried to thrust me over the side, stranger!” spat Niamh, the keen knife unswerving
in her lip.
Delgan forced a bewildered laugh.
“But you have taken everything wrong, child! I sprang aboard this flying craft to aid you in piloting it to
the palace roof, for I alone know the trick of the controls. And I leaped forward to steady you, for fear
that the impact of my leap might toss you from your feet and over the side. Then, and, I’m afraid, without
even giving me a moment to speak and to identify myself, you brought that wicked small knife into action.
Even then, although attacked without warning, I was not provoked, but kindly thought to remove the
weapon from you, lest in your hysteria you do yourself an injury . . . ”
The blue man’s words were smoothly plausible, and the bewildered, almost hurt tones with which he
uttered them came very close to disarming Niamh’s suspicions. But the girl was no fool and remembered
her own precise reactions, despite the sly-tongued villain’s attempt to befuddle her.
“If you are my friend, first toss that curious crystal weapon over the side,” she said keenly. Then, with a
small, ironic smile, she added: “For, if we are friends, we need no weapons, now, do we?”
He nodded in a friendly fashion. “Certainly I will do so, to reassure you, mistress. But the crystal rod is
no weapon; it is an instrument of the Ancients which sheds light in darkness. At any rate, I will surely do
as you wish . . . but first, I think it not too much for me to ask of you a similar token in gesture of our
friendship. Throw away that knife of yours, and I will do as you bid.”
Niamh looked at him strangely.
“Do you not know that every woman of my race bears ever on her person the sacred knife that is called
the ‘Defender of Chastity’?” she murmured, puzzledly. “Or are you some savage outlander, unfamiliar
with the code of civilization?”
Delgan, who was indeed just such a savage, albeit one who had rigorously schooled himself in the ways
of the more civilized races of his world, bit his lip in silent fury at the slip. But not so much as a muscle
twitched in his face to reveal his inward feelings.
“Of course, of course! I had forgotten!” he said, with an apologetic laugh. “Well, then, my girl, sheathe
that holy knife of yours, or put it away . . . a naked blade is not drawn between comrades, you know!”
So cleverly devised was the verbal trap he had woven about her, that Niamh–although her every impulse
screamed to retain the blade for instant use, if threatened–could not conjure up a good reason for not
putting away the little knife. Keeping a wary eye on the smiling, seemingly friendly man, she reinserted the
blade in its secret sheath, which was sewn in the lining of the garment wound about her breasts. When
she had done so, she half expected the strange blue-skinned man to hurl himself upon her. But he did not.
“There we are, then; a truce between us?” he suggested genially.
“Perhaps,” she said tentatively. “But you have not yet tossed overside the crystal rod you wear.”
“This?” he said, smiling, drawing the death-flash from his girdle. “But it is too rare and precious to throw
away, this artifact of the Ancients.” Then the deadly crystal rod. was pointed unswervingly at her heart.
“Do not move or reach for that wicked little knife of yours,” he said softly. “But do exactly as I say. The
deathly fires of lightning sleep in this rod, easy to awake, and it would be a pity to snuff out so young a
life, to sear and shrivel so delectable a soft young body.”
Niamh crimsoned and bit her lip at the mockery in his eyes, but she offered no resistance.
Then he reached for her.
Chapter 3
Over the Side
Delgan suddenly snatched back his hand with a shrill, unbelieving cry. For, out of nowhere, a
green-feathered arrow had transfixed his hand. Paling to a muddy, unhealthy hue, his thin-upped mouth
pinched with pain, Delgan stared down at his right hand. The arrow had pierced completely through the
bones of his wrist. Its gory-bladed point protruded from the other side of his arm. Red blood trickled
down his hand to drip upon the cabin floor from numb fingertips.
In the next instant a deep, quiet voice spoke from somewhere behind Niamh:
“Do not give credence to his lying words, lady, for he is a faithless traitor, and the direst foe of your
friends Janchan and Zarqa and Karn.”
Niamh turned about to see the speaker of these words, and saw a tall, bronzed bowman in the
forest-green and silver of Tharkoon. His powerful scarlet bow was at the ready, an arrow nocked in
place to be loosed upon the instant, should the blue man try to fire the zoukar he still gripped in his
uninjured hand.
While Delgan had sought to trap her in his wily web of words, the bronzed bowman had drawn himself
up with a surge of his mighty arms until he straddled the tail-assembly of the sky craft. Then he had
inched his way along the smooth, sleek fuselage of the streamlined flying vessel, until he crouched just
behind the spacious cockpit. From that vantage point he had observed all which had transpired between
the lissome girl and the smooth-tongued ex-Warlord of the Barbarian horde. His intervention had been a
timely one. So intent had Delgan been upon the slim girl he sought to ensnare with his lies and half-truths
and clever distortions of fact, his keen and watchful eyes fixed upon her elfin face, that he had not so
much as glimpsed the burly bowman crouched atop the cowling. Had he so much as lifted his fixed gaze
from Niamh’s face for an instant, the encounter might have had a very different outcome.
Now holding his bow hocked and ready in one hand, the archer from Tharkoon swung his booted legs
over the cowling and dropped like a great cat into the cockpit to stand protectively beside the
bewildered Princess of Phaolon.
“He lies, lady, I swear it!” panted Delgan, his eyes wild, his calm controlled demeanor shaken for once.
His mouth worked loosely and spittle foamed at the corners of his lips, to dribble down his chin. “He is a
renegade–an outlaw!–who seeks to seize you and deliver you into the hands of your enemies. I, I alone,
am your friend!”
His words were shrill and, for once, rang falsely on the ear. His very expression, wide-eyed, mouth
working loosely, sweat beading his features, reeked of fear. Niamh did not believe him and shrank
against the side of the towering bowman as the hysterical blue man gesticulated wildly, the death-flash
forgotten in his hand.
The sky-ship borne on the swift wings of the morning breeze, had traveled a very great distance by this
time. Indeed, the island city of Komar was by now lost from view somewhere behind them, cloaked from
sight behind a pearly veil of morning mist. The Komarian Sea was not of any great breadth in these parts;
indeed, the shoreline of the mainland was clearly in view dead ahead of their floating prow. They could
see the immense boles of the miles-tall trees soaring up out of the abyss of darkness which was the floor
of the world-encumbering forest.
The wind was carrying them directly into that mighty rampart of mountain-high trees. The eyes of Zorak
were first to spot their peril, and with a grunt of surprise, letting his red bow fall, the bowman stepped
forward to seize the controls and turn the prow aside before the hurtling craft drove into the mighty
palisade of tree-trunks.
Eyes feral with desperation, goaded into viciousness like a cornered rat, the blue man, with the arrow
through his wrist, fell into a defensive crouch as the bowman stepped forward. Lips writhing back from
his teeth, which were bared in a fighting snarl, the blue man raised the death-flash in one shaking hand.
“Back, you island dog, or I’ll blast you where you stand!” he whimpered.
“But, man, the trees!” grunted Zorak, pointing at the wall of mighty trunks which swept up toward them.
But Delgan, where he crouched near the low edge of the cockpit had his back turned against that
forward view, and had no notion of the danger that was upon them.
“An old trick,” he snarled with a shaky laugh, “to trap a clever wolf. Do not move, on peril of your life,
you hulking brute–“
Zorak gestured helplessly as a great branch thrust into their path, gold-foil leaves glittering in the light of
the Green Star. Then, ignoring the threat of the crystal rod, the bowman turned and swept Niamh into his
arms to protect the girl from injury with his own brawny body serving as her shield.
In the next instant the hurtling craft tore through the mass of foliage. Leaves huge as a schooner’s sails
whipped past them. The pointed nose of the flying ship grated against rough bark and the fabric of the
craft shuddered under the rasping impact of the glancing blow.
Delgan staggered before the buffet as one great leaf swept by him, knocking him from his feet. The
backs of his knees struck against the edge of the low cockpit with stunning force. With a screech of
blood-chilling tear the blue man fell backward over the edge of the cockpit and disappeared from view,
still clutching the zoukar in a deathlike grip.
An instant later, like a sleek projectile, the flying vessel whipped through the mesh of leaves and went
wobbling drunkenly into open air again, still reeling from the glancing blow. Zorak threw himself to the
edge of the cockpit and looked over. They were among the boles of the sky-tall forest by now, and only
摘要：

IntheGreenStar’sGlowBook5oftheGreenStarseriesByLinCarterCONTENTSTheFirstBookLOSTAMONGTHETREETOPS.3Chapter1ManyPartings.4Chapter2BattleAmidtheClouds.8Chapter3OvertheSide.11Chapter4Dragon’sBlood.15Chapter5TheOpalTower18TheSecondBookSLAVESOFTHESCARLETHORDE.21Chapter6TheWarriorWomen.22Chapter7AnUnexpect...

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