Power of the Sword
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Half-brothers and blood enemies, Manfred and Shasa are caught up in a savage war to seize the sword of power in their land. The story follows them through two decades of South African history, telling of their rivalry in a deadly struggle.
pushed himself away from the wagon wheel and sauntered back towards the grandstand, his eyes instinctively sweeping the throng for the bright yellow of Centaine’s hat. She was in a circle of males. Blaine recognized Sir Garry Courtney and General Smuts amongst them, together with three other influential men, a banker, a cabinet minister in the Hertzog government and Max Theunissen’s father. ‘A pretty average sort of bunch for Madame C ourtney.’ Blaine winced at the jealous pang he could not
Goldi. Plenty of wives. Plenty of jig-jig, hey?’ He grinned lasciviously as he issued them each with a green Wenela card and a bus ticket. ‘The bus will come soon. Wait outside,’ he ordered, and promptly lost all interest in them. He had earned his guinea-a-head recruitment fee, good money easily made, and his obligation to the recruits was at an end. They waited under the scraggy thorn tree at the side of the iron-roofed trading store for forty-eight hours before the railway bus came rattling
idea of trade unionism, to combine their resources to fight the employers and the capitalist government. But it needs professional revolutionaries bound by complete loyalty to their ideals and by military-type discipline to carry the struggle to its ultimate victorious conclusion.’ It was almost a verbatim quotation from Lenin’s What is to be Done? and Hendrick had spoken in English. Even Moses looked amazed by his achievement, while the others exchanged delighted smiles as Hendrick glowered
before they reached the top the lion broke, flushing from the cover of a low clump of scrub directly ahead of them, and went away from them across the open ground at an extended catlike run. But his belly, gorged with meat, swung weightily at each stride as though he were heavily pregnant. It was long range, but the Mausers whip-cracked all along the line as they opened up on the running beast. Dust spurted wide and beyond him. All Lothar’s men except Hendrick were appalling marksmen. He could
window she could see the leather holster and the chequered butt of Twentyman-Jones’ service revolver protruding from the seat pocket, but the door was jammed. She ducked back to the gaping front door and tried to reach it over the back of the driver’s seat, but bone-hard fingers dug into her shoulders and she was dragged bodily out of the doorway. Instantly she spun in his grip, and his face was very close to hers. The thin white cotton bag covered his entire head, like the head of a KuKlux