"Get on, you blundering slacker. Menes himself is looking at
you. Ho there--what the devil?"
The overseer's hand spun Hanson around. The man's eyes, large and
opaque, stared at Hanson. He frowned cruelly. "Yeah, you're the same
one! Didn't I take the hide off your back twice already? And now you
stand there without a scar or a drop of blood!"
Hanson grunted feebly. He didn't want attention called to himself while
Ser Perth was around. "I--I heal quickly." It was no more than the
truth. Either the body they'd given him or the conjuring during the
right split second had enabled him to heal almost before a blow was
struck.
"Magic!" The overseer scowled and gave Hanson a shove that sent him
sprawling. "Blithering magic again! Magic stones that melt when you get
them in place--magic slaves that the whip won't touch! And they expect
us to do a job of work such as not even Thoth could dream up! They won't
take honest work. No, they have to come snooping and conjuring and
interfering. Wheels on rollers! Tools of steel and the gods know what
instead of honest stone. Magic to lift things instead of honest ropes
that shrink and wood that swells. Magic that fails, and rush, rush, rush
until I'm half ready to be tortured for falling behind, and--you! You
would, would you!" His voice trailed off into a fresh roar of rage as he
caught sight of other slaves taking advantage of his attention to Hanson
to relax.
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