A Feast Unknown (Wold Newton: Secrets of the Nine, Book 1)
Philip José Farmer
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The diaries of Lord Grandrith, the legendary Apeman, Lord of the Jungle and bastard son of Jack the Ripper. Blessed with unnatural long life, his power brings with it a gruesome side effect - one shared by his nemesis, the formidable Doc Caliban, Man of Bronze and Champion of Justice.
But these two titans have more in common than they could ever have imagined. Who are the dark manipulators of their destiny?
A brand-new edition of the controversial novel.
kinda peculiar lately. Now, I ain’t saying he’s become a Doctor Jekyll-Mr. Hyde … but …” They were silent for a while. Simmons puffed on his cigar. Rivers lit a long cigarette in a long cigarette holder. After a while, Simmons pulled some rectangles—photographs, I presumed— from the pocket of his bush jacket. He held them up so that the firelight illuminated them. He said, “Looka the whang on that wild man! Did you ever see such a prick on a white man?” Rivers took one of the photos and
coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. Copyright © 1969, 2012 by the Philip J. Farmer Family Trust. All rights reserved. Introduction & Afterword © 2012 by Art Sippo. Postscript © 1969 by Theodore Sturgeon. Renewed 1997 by the Theodore Sturgeon Literary Trust. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means
they would be forced to run away from the flames—and so away from me. In the meantime, I would go ahead in as straight a line as the topography permitted. I would travel at 30 mph until the gas gave out or I reached the foothills. I laughed. Caliban, momentarily at least, had checked himself when he had saved my life. A minute later, one of the worn old tires blew. I replaced it with an exhausted looking spare, and ten minutes afterwards a stone went through that. I continued on foot. Behind
the next-to-last ascent was a number of scattered bones of men and women. Some were very old and might have been lying out under the African sun for fifty years or more. A few seemed to be recent. The vultures, jackals, and ants had quickly stripped the flesh after their owners died falling off the face of the mountain, and the animals and the winds had scattered their bones. The mountain which had killed them was very steep and smooth. It required professional mountain-climbers’ equipment, if
been an insult and a stupid thing to say. I roared out like a male of The Folk challenging a leopard or defying a male of a strange band. I lacked the throat sac, but I have very powerful lungs. That froze everybody except Caliban, who took advantage of the paralysis to twist a man’s head until the neck snapped. Nobody paid him any attention. Noli turned slowly as his bald head and face lost much of its redness. I roared again and charged. Noli crouched with his knife up. I don’t really know