GO TO Project Gutenberg of Australia HOME PAGE

Title: The Lost Race Author: Robert E. Howard * A Project Gutenberg ofAustralia eBook * eBook No.: 0608001.html Language: English Date first posted:October 2006 Date most recently updated: October 2006 This eBook was producedby: Richard Scott Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created fromprinted editions which are in the public domain in Australia, unless acopyright notice is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with aparticular paper edition. Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Besure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading orredistributing this file. This eBook is made available at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may beviewed online at http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html To contact ProjectGutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au

GO TO Project Gutenberg of Australia HOME PAGE

The Lost Race

by

Robert E. Howard

Cororuc glanced about him and hastened his pace. He was no coward, but he did not like the place. Talltrees rose all about, their sullen branches shutting out the sunlight. The dim trail led in and out amongthem, sometimes skirting the edge of a ravine, where Cororuc could gaze down at the treetops beneath.Occasionally, through a rift in the forest, he could see away to the forbidding hills that hinted of the rangesmuch farther to the west, that were the mountains of Cornwall.

In those mountains the bandit chief, Buruc the Cruel, was supposed to lurk, to descend upon suchvictims as might pass that way. Cororuc shifted his grip on his spear and quickened his step. His hastewas due not only to the menace of the outlaws, but also to the fact that he wished once more to be in hisnative land. He had been on a secret mission to the wild Cornish tribesmen; and though he had beenmore or less successful, he was impatient to be out of their inhospitable country. It had been a long,wearisome trip, and he still had nearly the whole of Britain to traverse. He threw a glance of aversionabout him. He longed for the pleasant woodlands, with scampering deer, and chirping birds, to which hewas used. He longed for the tall white cliff, where the blue sea lapped merrily. The forest through whichhe was passing seemed uninhabited. There were no birds, no animals; nor had he seen a sign of humanhabitation.

His comrades still lingered at the savage court of the Cornish king, enjoying his crude hospitality, in nohurry to be away. But Cororuc was not content. So he had left them to follow at their leisure and had setout alone.

Rather a fine figure of a man was Cororuc. Some six feet in height, strongly though leanly built, he was,

Page 1

with gray eyes, a pure Briton but not a pure Celt, his long yellow hair revealing, in him as in all his race, atrace of Belgae.

He was clad in skillfully dressed deerskin, for the Celts had not yet perfected the coarse cloth which theymade, and most of the race preferred the hides of deer.

He was armed with a long bow of yew wood, made with no especial skill but an efficient weapon; a longbronze broadsword, with a buckskin sheath; a long bronze dagger and a small, round shield, rimmed witha band of bronze and covered with tough buffalo hide. A crude bronze helmet was on his head. Faintdevices were painted in woad on his arms and cheeks.

His beardless face was of the highest type of Briton, clear, straightforward, the shrewd, practicaldetermination of the Nordic mingling with the reckless courage and dreamy artistry of the Celt.

So Cororuc trod the forest path, warily, ready to flee or fight, but preferring to do neither just then.

The trail led away from the ravine, disappearing around a great tree. And from the other side of the tree,Cororuc heard sounds of conflict. Gliding warily forward, and wondering whether he should see some ofthe elves and dwarfs that were reputed to haunt those woodlands, he peered around the great tree.

A few feet from him he saw a strange tableau. Backed against another tree stood a large wolf, at bay,blood trickling from gashes about his shoulder; while before him, crouching for a spring, the warrior sawa great panther. Cororuc wondered at the cause of the battle. Not often the lords of the forest met inwarfare. And he was puzzled by the snarls of the great cat. Savage, blood-lusting, yet they held a strangenote of fear; and the beast seemed hesitant to spring in.

Just why Cororuc chose to take the part of the wolf, he himself could not have said. Doubtless it wasjust the reckless chivalry of the Celt in him, an admiration for the dauntless attitude of the wolf against hisfar more powerful foe. Be that as it may, Cororuc, characteristically forgetting his bow and taking themore reckless course, drew his sword and leaped in front of the panther. But he had no chance to use it.The panther, whose nerve appeared to be already somewhat shaken, uttered a startled screech anddisappeared among the trees so quickly that Cororuc wondered if he had really seen a panther. Heturned to the wolf, wondering if it would leap upon him. It was watching him, half crouching; slowly itstepped away from the tree, and still watching him, backed away a few yards, then turned and made offwith a strange shambling gait. As the warrior watched it vanish into the forest, an uncanny feeling cameover him; he had seen many wolves, he had hunted them and had been hunted by them, but he had neverseen such a wolf before.

He hesitated and then walked warily after the wolf, following the tracks that were plainly defined in thesoft loam. He did not hasten, being merely content to follow the tracks. After a short distance, hestopped short, the hairs on his neck seeming to bristle. Only the tracks of the hind feet showed: thewolf was walking erect.

He glanced about him. There was no sound; the forest was silent. He felt an impulse to turn and put asmuch territory between him and the mystery as possible, but his Celtic curiosity would not allow it. Hefollowed the trail. And then it ceased altogether. Beneath a great tree the tracks vanished. Cororuc feltthe cold sweat on his forehead. What kind of place was that forest? Was he being led astray and eludedby some inhuman, supernatural monster of the woodlands, who sought to ensnare him? And Cororucbacked away, his sword lifted, his courage not allowing him to run, but greatly desiring to do so. And sohe came again to the tree where he had first seen the wolf. The trail he had followed led away from it inanother direction and Cororuc took it up, almost running in his haste to get out of the vicinity of a wolf

Page 2

who walked on two legs and then vanished in the air.

The trail wound about more tediously than ever, appearing and disappearing within a dozen feet, but itwas well for Cororuc that it did, for thus he heard the voices of the men coming up the path before theysaw him. He took to a tall tree that branched over the trail, lying close to the great bole, along awide-flung branch.

Three men were coming down the forest path.

One was a big, burly fellow, vastly over six feet in height, with a long red beard and a great mop of redhair. In contrast, his eyes were a beady black. He was dressed in deerskins, and armed with a greatsword.

Of the two others, one was a lanky, villainous-looking scoundrel, with only one eye, and the other was asmall, wizened man, who squinted hideously with both beady eyes.

Cororuc knew them, by descriptions the Cornishmen had made between curses, and it was in hisexcitement to get a better view of the most villainous murderer in Britain that he slipped from the treebranch and plunged to the ground directly between them.

He was up on the instant, his sword out. He could expect no mercy; for he knew that the red-hairedman was Buruc the Cruel, the scourge of Cornwall.

The bandit chief bellowed a foul curse and whipped out his great sword. He avoided the Briton's furiousthrust by a swift backward leap and then the battle was on. Buruc rushed the warrior from the front,striving to beat him down by sheer weight; while the lanky, one-eyed villain slipped around, trying to getbehind him. The smaller man had retreated to the edge of the forest. The fine art of the fence wasunknown to those early swordsmen. It was hack, slash, stab, the full weight of the arm behind each blow.The terrific blows crashing on his shield beat Cororuc to the ground, and the lanky, one-eyed villainrushed in to finish him. Cororuc spun about without rising, cut the bandit's legs from under him andstabbed him as he fell, then threw himself to one side and to his feet, in time to avoid Buruc's sword.Again, driving his shield up to catch the bandit's sword in midair, he deflected it and whirled his own withall his power. Buruc's head flew from his shoulders.

Then Cororuc, turning, saw the wizened bandit scurry into the forest. He raced after him, but the fellowhad disappeared among the trees. Knowing the uselessness of attempting to pursue him, Cororuc turnedand raced down the trail. He did not know if there were more bandits in that direction, but he did knowthat if he expected to get out of the forest at all, he would have to do it swiftly. Without doubt the villainwho had escaped would have all the other bandits out, and soon they would be beating the woodlandsfor him.

After running for some distance down the path and seeing no sign of any enemy, he stopped and climbedinto the topmost branches of a tall tree that towered above its fellows.

On all sides he seemed surrounded by a leafy ocean. To the west he could see the hills he had avoided.To the north, far in the distance, other hills rose; to the south the forest ran, an unbroken sea. But to theeast, far away, he could barely see the line that marked the thinning out of the forest into the fertile plains.Miles and miles away, he knew not how many, but it meant more pleasant travel, villages of men, peopleof his own race. He was surprized that he was able to see that far, but the tree in which he stood was agiant of its kind.

Page 3

Before he started to descend, he glanced about nearer at hand. He could trace the faintly marked line ofthe trail he had been following, running away into the east; and could make out other trails leading into it,or away from it. Then a glint caught his eye. He fixed his gaze on a glade some distance down the trailand saw, presently, a party of men enter and vanish. Here and there, on every trail, he caught glances ofthe glint of accouterments, the waving of foliage. So the squinting villain had already roused the bandits.They were all around him; he was virtually surrounded.

A faintly heard burst of savage yells, from back up the trail, startled him. So, they had already thrown acordon about the place of the fight and had found him gone. Had he not fled swiftly, he would have beencaught. He was outside the cordon, but the bandits were all about him. Swiftly he slipped from the treeand glided into the forest.

Then began the most exciting hunt Cororuc had ever engaged in; for he was the hunted and men werethe hunters. Gliding, slipping from bush to bush and from tree to tree, now running swiftly, now crouchingin a covert, Cororuc fled, ever eastward, not daring to turn back lest he be driven farther back into theforest. At times he was forced to turn his course; in fact, he very seldom fled in a straight course, yetalways he managed to work farther eastward.

Sometimes he crouched in bushes or lay along some leafy branch, and saw bandits pass so close to himthat he could have touched them. Once or twice they sighted him and he fled, bounding over logs andbushes, darting in and out among the trees; and always he eluded them.

It was in one of those headlong flights that he noticed he had entered a defile of small hills, of which hehad been unaware, and looking back over his shoulder, saw that his pursuers had halted, within full sight.Without pausing to ruminate on so strange a thing, he darted around a great boulder, felt a vine orsomething catch his foot, and was thrown headlong. Simultaneously, something struck the youth's head,knocking him senseless.

When Cororuc recovered his senses, he found that he was bound, hand and foot. He was being bornealong, over rough ground. He looked about him. Men carried him on their shoulders, but such men as hehad never seen before. Scarce above four feet stood the tallest, and they were small of build and verydark of complexion. Their eyes were black; and most of them went stooped forward, as if from a lifetimespent in crouching and hiding; peering furtively on all sides. They were armed with small bows, arrows,spears and daggers, all pointed, not with crudely worked bronze but with flint and obsidian, of the finestworkmanship. They were dressed in finely dressed hides of rabbits and other small animals, and a kind ofcoarse cloth; and many were tattooed from head to foot in ocher and woad. There were perhaps twentyin all. What sort of men were they? Cororuc had never seen the like.

They were going down a ravine, on both sides of which steep cliffs rose. Presently they seemed to cometo a blank wall, where the ravine appeared to come to an abrupt stop. Here, at a word from one whoseemed to be in command, they set the Briton down, and seizing hold of a large boulder, drew it to oneside. A small cavern was exposed, seeming to vanish away into the earth; then the strange men picked upthe Briton and moved forward.

Cororuc's hair bristled at the thought of being borne into that forbidding-looking cave. What manner ofmen were they? In all Britain and Alba, in Cornwall or Ireland, Cororuc had never seen such men. Smalldwarfish men, who dwelt in the earth. Cold sweat broke out on the youth's forehead. Surely they werethe malevolent dwarfs of whom the Cornish people had spoken, who dwelt in their caverns by day, andby night sallied forth to steal and burn dwellings, even slaying if the opportunity arose! You will hear ofthem, even today, if you journey in Cornwall.

Page 4

The men, or elves, if such they were, bore him into the cavern, others entering and drawing the boulderback into place. For a moment all was darkness, and then torches began to glow, away off. And at ashout they moved on. Other men of the caves came forward, with the torches.

Cororuc looked about him. The torches shed a vague glow over the scene. Sometimes one, sometimesanother wall of the cave showed for an instant, and the Briton was vaguely aware that they were coveredwith paintings, crudely done, yet with a certain skill his own race could not equal. But always the roofremained unseen. Cororuc knew that the seemingly small cavern had merged into a cave of surprizingsize. Through the vague light of the torches the strange people moved, came and went, silently, likeshadows of the dim past.

He felt the cords of thongs that bound his feet loosened. He was lifted upright.

"Walk straight ahead," said a voice, speaking the language of his own race, and he felt a spear pointtouch the back of his neck.

And straight ahead he walked, feeling his sandals scrape on the stone floor of the cave, until they cameto a place where the floor tilted upward. The pitch was steep and the stone was so slippery that Cororuccould not have climbed it alone. But his captors pushed him, and pulled him, and he saw that long, strongvines were strung from somewhere at the top.

Those the strange men seized, and bracing their feet against the slippery ascent, went up swiftly. Whentheir feet found level surface again, the cave made a turn, and Cororuc blundered out into a fire-lit scenethat made him gasp.

The cave debouched into a cavern so vast as to be almost incredible. The mighty walls swept up into agreat arched roof that vanished in the darkness. A level floor lay between, and through it flowed a river;an underground river. From under one wall it flowed to vanish silently under the other. An arched stonebridge, seemingly of natural make, spanned the current.

All around the walls of the great cavern, which was roughly circular, were smaller caves, and beforeeach glowed a fire. Higher up were other caves, regularly arranged, tier on tier. Surely human men couldnot have built such a city.

In and out among the caves, on the level floor of the main cavern, people were going about what seemeddaily tasks. Men were talking together and mending weapons, some were fishing from the river; womenwere replenishing fires, preparing garments; and altogether it might have been any other village in Britain,to judge from their occupations. But it all struck Cororuc as extremely unreal; the strange place, thesmall, silent people, going about their tasks, the river flowing silently through it all.

Then they became aware of the prisoner and flocked about him. There was none of the shouting, abuseand indignities, such as savages usually heap on their captives, as the small men drew about Cororuc,silently eying him with malevolent, wolfish stares. The warrior shuddered, in spite of himself.

But his captors pushed through the throng, driving the Briton before them. Close to the bank of the river,they stopped and drew away from around him.

Two great fires leaped and flickered in front of him and there was something between them. He focusedhis gaze and presently made out the object. A high stone seat, like a throne; and in it seated an aged man,with a long white beard, silent, motionless, but with black eyes that gleamed like a wolf's.

Page 5

The ancient was clothed in some kind of a single, flowing garment. One claw-like hand rested on theseat near him, skinny, crooked fingers, with talons like a hawk's. The other hand was hidden among hisgarments.

The firelight danced and flickered; now the old man stood out clearly, his hooked, beak-like nose andlong beard thrown into bold relief; now he seemed to recede until he was invisible to the gaze of theBriton, except for his glittering eyes.

"Speak, Briton!" The words came suddenly, strong, clear, without a hint of age. "Speak, what would yesay?"

Cororuc, taken aback, stammered and said, "Why, why--what manner people are you? Why have youtaken me prisoner? Are you elves?"

"We are Picts," was the stern reply.

"Picts!" Cororuc had heard tales of those ancient people from the Gaelic Britons; some said that they stilllurked in the hills of Siluria, but--

"I have fought Picts in Caledonia," the Briton protested; "they are short but massive and misshapen; notat all like you!"

"They are not true Picts," came the stern retort. "Look about you, Briton," with a wave of an arm, "yousee the remnants of a vanishing race; a race that once ruled Britain from sea to sea."

The Briton stared, bewildered.

"Harken, Briton," the voice continued; "harken, barbarian, while I tell to you the tale of the lost race."

The firelight flickered and danced, throwing vague reflections on the towering walls and on the rushing,silent current.

The ancient's voice echoed through the mighty cavern.

"Our people came from the south. Over the islands, over the Inland Sea. Over the snow-toppedmountains, where some remained, to slay any enemies who might follow. Down into the fertile plains wecame. Over all the land we spread. We became wealthy and prosperous. Then two kings arose in theland, and he who conquered, drove out the conquered. So many of us made boats and set sail for thefar-off cliffs that gleamed white in the sunlight. We found a fair land with fertile plains. We found a race ofred-haired barbarians, who dwelt in caves. Mighty giants, of great bodies and small minds.

"We built our huts of wattle. We tilled the soil. We cleared the forest. We drove the red-haired giantsback into the forest. Farther we drove them back until at last they fled to the mountains of the west andthe mountains of the north. We were rich. We were prosperous.

"Then," and his voice thrilled with rage and hate, until it seemed to reverberate through the cavern, "thenthe Celts came. From the isles of the west, in their rude coracles they came. In the west they landed, butthey were not satisfied with the west. They marched eastward and seized the fertile plains. We fought.They were stronger. They were fierce fighters and they were armed with weapons of bronze, whereaswe had only weapons of flint.

Page 6

"We were driven out. They enslaved us. They drove us into the forest. Some of us fled into themountains of the west. Many fled into the mountains of the north. There they mingled with the red-hairedgiants we drove out so long ago, and became a race of monstrous dwarfs, losing all the arts of peace andgaining only the ability to fight.

"But some of us swore that we would never leave the land we had fought for. But the Celts pressed us.There were many, and more came. So we took to caverns, to ravines, to caves. We, who had alwaysdwelt in huts that let in much light, who had always tilled the soil, we learned to dwell like beasts, in caveswhere no sunlight ever entered. Caves we found, of which this is the greatest; caves we made.

"You, Briton," the voice became a shriek and a long arm was outstretched in accusation, "you and yourrace! You have made a free, prosperous nation into a race of earth-rats! We who never fled, who dweltin the air and the sunlight close by the sea where traders came, we must flee like hunted beasts andburrow like moles! But at night! Ah, then for our vengeance! Then we slip from our hiding places, ravinesand caves, with torch and dagger! Look, Briton!"

And following the gesture, Cororuc saw a rounded post of some kind of very hard wood, set in a nichein the stone floor, close to the bank. The floor about the niche was charred as if by old fires.

Cororuc stared, uncomprehending. Indeed, he understood little of what had passed. That these peoplewere even human, he was not at all certain. He had heard so much of them as "little people." Tales oftheir doings, their hatred of the race of man, and their maliciousness flocked back to him. Little he knewthat he was gazing on one of the mysteries of the ages. That the tales which the ancient Gaels told of thePicts, already warped, would become even more warped from age to age, to result in tales of elves,dwarfs, trolls and fairies, at first accepted and then rejected, entire, by the race of men, just as theNeanderthal monsters resulted in tales of goblins and ogres. But of that Cororuc neither knew nor cared,and the ancient was speaking again.

"There, there, Briton," exulted he, pointing to the post, "there you shall pay! A scant payment for thedebt your race owes mine, but to the fullest of your extent."

The old man's exultation would have been fiendish, except for a certain high purpose in his face. He wassincere. He believed that he was only taking just vengeance; and he seemed like some great patriot for amighty, lost cause.

"But I am a Briton!" stammered Cororuc. "It was not my people who drove your race into exile! Theywere Gaels, from Ireland. I am a Briton and my race came from Gallia only a hundred years ago. Weconquered the Gaels and drove them into Erin, Wales and Caledonia, even as they drove your race."

"No matter!" The ancient chief was on his feet. "A Celt is a Celt. Briton, or Gael, it makes no difference.Had it not been Gael, it would have been Briton. Every Celt who falls into our hands must pay, be itwarrior or woman, babe or king. Seize him and bind him to the post."

In an instant Cororuc was bound to the post, and he saw, with horror, the Picts piling firewood about hisfeet.

"And when you are sufficiently burned, Briton," said the ancient, "this dagger that has drunk the blood ofa hundred Britons, shall quench its thirst in yours."

"But never have I harmed a Pict!" Cororuc gasped, struggling with his bonds.

Page 7

"You pay, not for what you did, but for what your race has done," answered the ancient sternly. "Welldo I remember the deeds of the Celts when first they landed on Britain--the shrieks of the slaughtered,the screams of ravished girls, the smokes of burning villages, the plundering."

Cororuc felt his short neck-hairs bristle. When first the Celts landed on Britain! That was over fivehundred years ago!

And his Celtic curiosity would not let him keep still, even at the stake with the Picts preparing to lightfirewood piled about him.

"You could not remember that. That was ages ago."

The ancient looked at him somberly. "And I am age-old. In my youth I was a witch-finder, and an oldwoman witch cursed me as she writhed at the stake. She said I should live until the last child of the Pictishrace had passed. That I should see the once mighty nation go down into oblivion and then--and onlythen--should I follow it. For she put upon me the curse of life everlasting."

Then his voice rose until it filled the cavern. "But the curse was nothing. Words can do no harm, can donothing, to a man. I live. A hundred generations have I seen come and go, and yet another hundred.What is time? The sun rises and sets, and another day has passed into oblivion. Men watch the sun andset their lives by it. They league themselves on every hand with time. They count the minutes that racethem into eternity. Man outlived the centuries ere he began to reckon time. Time is man-made. Eternity isthe work of the gods. In this cavern there is no such thing as time. There are no stars, no sun. Without istime; within is eternity. We count not time. Nothing marks the speeding of the hours. The youths go forth.They see the sun, the stars. They reckon time. And they pass. I was a young man when I entered thiscavern. I have never left it. As you reckon time, I may have dwelt here a thousand years; or an hour.When not banded by time, the soul, the mind, call it what you will, can conquer the body. And the wisemen of the race, in my youth, knew more than the outer world will ever learn. When I feel that my bodybegins to weaken, I take the magic draft, that is known only to me, of all the world. It does not giveimmortality; that is the work of the mind alone; but it rebuilds the body. The race of Picts vanish; theyfade like the snow on the mountain. And when the last is gone, this dagger shall free me from the world."Then in a swift change of tone, "Light the fagots!"

Cororuc's mind was fairly reeling. He did not in the least understand what he had just heard. He waspositive that he was going mad; and what he saw the next minute assured him of it.

Through the throng came a wolf; and he knew that it was the wolf whom he had rescued from thepanther close by the ravine in the forest!

Strange, how long ago and far away that seemed! Yes, it was the same wolf. That same strange,shambling gait. Then the thing stood erect and raised its front feet to its head. What nameless horror wasthat?

Then the wolf's head fell back, disclosing a man's face. The face of a Pict; one of the first "werewolves."The man stepped out of the wolfskin and strode forward, calling something. A Pict just starting to lightthe wood about the Briton's feet drew back the torch and hesitated.

The wolf-Pict stepped forward and began to speak to the chief, using Celtic, evidently for the prisoner'sbenefit. Cororuc was surprized to hear so many speak his language, not reflecting upon its comparativesimplicity, and the ability of the Picts.

Page 8

"What is this?" asked the Pict who had played wolf. "A man is to be burned who should not be!"

"How?" exclaimed the old man fiercely, clutching his long beard. "Who are you to go against a custom ofage-old antiquity?"

"I met a panther," answered the other, "and this Briton risked his life to save mine. Shall a Pict showingratitude?"

And as the ancient hesitated, evidently pulled one way by his fanatical lust for revenge, and the other byhis equally fierce racial pride, the Pict burst into a wild flight of oration, carried on in his own language. Atlast the ancient chief nodded.

"A Pict ever paid his debts," said he with impressive grandeur. "Never a Pict forgets. Unbind him. NoCelt shall ever say that a Pict showed ingratitude."

Cororuc was released, and as, like a man in a daze, he tried to stammer his thanks, the chief wavedthem aside.

"A Pict never forgets a foe, ever remembers a friendly deed," he replied.

"Come," murmured his Pictish friend, tugging at the Celt's arm.

He led the way into a cave leading away from the main cavern. As they went, Cororuc looked back, tosee the ancient chief seated upon his stone throne, his eyes gleaming as he seemed to gaze back throughthe lost glories of the ages; on each hand the fires leaped and flickered. A figure of grandeur, the king of alost race.

On and on Cororuc's guide led him. And at last they emerged and the Briton saw the starlit sky abovehim.

"In that way is a village of your tribesmen," said the Pict, pointing, "where you will find a welcome untilyou wish to take up your journey anew."

And he pressed gifts on the Celt; gifts of garments of cloth and finely worked deerskin, beaded belts, afine horn bow with arrows skillfully tipped with obsidian. Gifts of food. His own weapons were returnedto him.

"But an instant," said the Briton, as the Pict turned to go. "I followed your tracks in the forest. Theyvanished." There was a question in his voice.

The Pict laughed softly. "I leaped into the branches of the tree. Had you looked up, you would haveseen me. If ever you wish a friend, you will ever find one in Berula, chief among the Alban Picts."

He turned and vanished. And Cororuc strode through the moonlight toward the Celtic village.

THE END

Page 9

About this Title

This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Standard 2.0, produced by OverDrive, Inc.

For more information about ReaderWorks, please visit us on the Web at www.overdrive.com/readerworks

Page 10

Table of Contents

page-001

page-002

page-003

page-004

page-005

page-006

page-007

page-008

page-009

page-010