Character and Narration
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
In the blue predawn twilight, a mist rose from the Nile surface, blowing up the read choked banks and into the ruined streets of Leon. Topless remnants of monumental architecture floated like islands of stone on a calm morning. See streamers of moisture swirled around statues of long dead Faeroes blowed past stumps of columns broken off like rotted teeth and coursed down sandstone steps worn paper thin by the passage of years, as the sky above grew translucent, streaked with amber and gold, a funerary shroud settled over the city of lions. A mantle that, disguised the approach of armed men from the desert came to scoring. 10 dark shapes, clad Greek fashion and leather. Curious is and studied kilts. Corinthian. How much perched to top their foreheads. Bowl shaped shields hung from their shoulders by grip cords of plaited temp, freeing each man to wield a short, recurve bow. They moved in earnest, silent, a company of phantoms drifting through the bog. The measure had come to Leon topless measure. The soldiers bearing this Appalachian were the most savage of Faeroes mercenaries. They were a cadre of outcast criminals in their own lands who banded together under Egypt's banner to dedicate their lives to the gods of violence. The emblem painted on their shields faces the you a jet. The all seeing eye of horrors symbolized their task as guardians of the eastern frontier. Pero paid them to be vigilant to crush any intruders before they could reach even at abandoned ruin, such as Leanne topless. And he paid them well. This time, though, the me Jay had failed their royal paymaster to a man. They froze as the rasp of metal on stone drifted through the mist. Instinctively, their eyes sought out the massive silhouette of their commander. Venetian by birth has dribble. Barca ruled the message A with the Tigers, strength of a born killer, spear, arrow, torch and sword. All this and more had touched his flesh, leaving behind the indelible scars of a lifetime spent where ageing war, he disdained a helmet. Long black hair shot through with gray fell over his face as he stood with head bowed, straining to hear the clatter came again. Bottled by a sibilant cursing, Marco looked up, his eyes turned to slits like splinters hacked from the iron gates of Tartarus, emotion and a young soldier, a Libyan edged up to his side. The Venetian dragged his index finger across his throat and a chilling pantomime, nodding. The soldier handed his bow and shield off to another, removed his helmet and drew a curved knife from the small of his back, beneath the thatch of sandy hair plastered with sweat. The young me, Jay's eyes shimmered with anticipation as he crept off to do Barca's bidding. Raids like this were nothing new. The desert folk of Sinai, the Bedouin, encroached on Egypt's borders every season liying, tribal feuds or seeking sucker from generations of drought. The message A turned most back at the walls of the ruler Ah, line of ancient fortifications stretching from pollution, um, on the coast, along the bitter lakes to the Gulf of Suez. A few, though slipped through the Madge is nets to plunder the border villages. Such was the fate of Habu, south of the veil of tomb, a lot on the shores of the great bitter lake Abou lay on the patrol route between Soleil and day dune on the gulf. It was a small village of two dozen mud brick huts clustered around a brackish well, whose inhabitants, mine salt in the nearby hills. The message a following the Bedouins trail found Habu in ruins. Barca recall the mound of severed heads in the village square. The corpse is left to rot in the merciless sun. The men were killed outright, the women raped and mutilated. Even the Children. Marcus Scout, returned as quietly as he had left. He made a show of wiping his knife onto Bedouin headscarf. You were right, the scout Jim whispered. They are the Benny Hari's. How many? Barker's voice did not carry past images year. Yimou nodded back the way he had come maybe twice our number kempt in a square some 100 yards beyond a causeway off crouching stone lions. Their pickets are asleep. Careless bastards. They're not expecting us. Barca's jaw tighten deep in his soul. He felt to be stir flexing its claws. Even the Children fan out, he ordered, raising his fist. It's a new creaked as the message a bend their bows