By Andre Norton
There have been 3 printings with this (uncredited) John Schoenherr hide paintings (1971, 1974, 1977).
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This publication used to be initially released sooner than 1923, and represents a duplicate of an immense old paintings, retaining a similar layout because the unique paintings. whereas a few publishers have opted to follow OCR (optical personality acceptance) expertise to the method, we think this results in sub-optimal effects (frequent typographical blunders, unusual characters and complicated formatting) and doesn't accurately defend the ancient personality of the unique artifact.
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Extra resources for Star Gate
And no 'god' would give a slave his power stick! " There had been outlaws in the Gorth of Kincar's birth. He could readily accept the idea that such men lived here also. But these "gods" were something else altogether. However, his immediate problem was to get safely out of the range of that knife, and his swift overthrow had given him a healthy respect for the one who now held it. "I am no outlaw. I am a hunter. My mord flushed the suard in their feeding ground. One shfe slew, the other I killed as it fled.
A hungry mord, Kincar recalled, was always the best hunter. No one here went so filled that he could not move mord-swift in attack. He chewed a mouthful of suard meat deliberately, savoring its fat-richness to the fullest extent. The war council had come to a decision. They would hunt for the present, work to stock the hold with what supplies they could garner, perhaps trade with the inner men for extra foodstuffs. For the moment they would not venture forth from the valley guarded by the hold.
But most of them were already settling into a half-doze that carried them through the short days of snow-time, unless their services were needed. Cim's upper eyes were fast closed when Kincar returned to his stall to collect bags and Vorken, and his lower ones regarded his master with a dull lack of interest. Vorken allowed herself to be picked up, but scrambled out of his arm to cling to his shoulder, balancing there a little uncertainly, her injured wing trailing down his back. Lorpor inspected the burn on the leathery skin and whistled softly.