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DavidEddingsRules
It was early spring and the rain still had the lingering chill of winter. A soft silvery drizle sifted down out of the night sky and wreathed around the watchtowers of Athkatla, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making the stones of the road leading up to the gate shiny and black.
A Lone Rider approached the city. He was wrapped in a heavy travelers cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long flat nose and viscious eyes.
The traveler was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and blac, and at some time his nose had been broken. He was Sparhawk.
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