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Bishops move diagonally. That’s why they often turn up where the kings don’t expect them to be.
Om stuck out his long scrawny neck, stared at the body just above him, picked what he hoped was about the right spot, plunged his beak through the brown feathers between the talons, and gripped. The eagle blinked. No tortoise had ever done that to an eagle, anywhere else in history. Om’s thoughts arrived in the little silvery world of its mind: “We don’t want to hurt one another, now do we?”
One or two people, who had been watching Vorbis closely, said later that there was just time for his expression to change before two pounds of tortoise, traveling at three meters a second, hit him between the eyes. It was a revelation. And that does something to people watching. For a start, they believe with all their heart.
Brutha’s calmness was like a desert.
Death paused. “YOU HAVE PERHAPS HEARD THE PHRASE, he said, THAT HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE? “Yes. Yes, of course.” Death nodded. IN TIME, he said, YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT IS WRONG.
“Well, the way I see it, logic is only a way of being ignorant by numbers.”
Far overhead an eagle circled, looking for anything that wasn’t a tortoise.
“Your move.” The opponent looked long and hard at the board. The abbot waited to see what long-term, devious strategies were being evolved. Then his opponent tapped a piece with a bony finger. REMIND ME AGAIN, he said. HOW THE LITTLE HORSE-SHAPED ONES MOVE.
hundred years?” POSSIBLY NOT. TIME IS DIFFERENT HERE. IT IS . . . MORE PERSONAL. “Ah. You mean a hundred years can pass like a few seconds?” A HUNDRED YEARS CAN PASS LIKE INFINITY.
