The Colour of Magic (Discworld, Book 1) (UK Edition)
Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Pages: 143
ISBN: B00LLODLFU
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
UK Edition
Twoflower was a tourist, the first ever seen on the Discworld. Tourist, Rincewind decided, meant idiot. Somewhere on the frontier between thought and reality exists the Discworld, a parallel time and place which might sound and smell very much like our own, but which looks completely different. It plays by different rules. Certainly it refuses to succumb to the quaint notion that universes are ruled by pure logic and the harmony of numbers. But just because the Disc is different doesn't mean that some things don't stay the same. Its very existence is about to be threatened by a strange new blight: the arrival of the first tourist, upon whose survival rests the peace and prosperity of the land. But if the person charged with maintaining that survival in the face of robbers, mercenaries and, well, Death is a spectacularly inept wizard, a little logic might turn out to be a very good idea...
rafters and dived at the wizard, talons open and gleaming. It didn't make it. At about the halfway point the Luggage leapt from its bed of splinters, gaped briefly in mid-air, and snapped shut. It landed lightly. Rincewind saw its lid open again, slightly. Just far enough for a tongue, large as a palm leaf, red as mahogany, to lick up a few errant feathers. At the same moment the giant candlewheel fell from the ceiling, plunging the room into gloom. Rincewind, coiling himself like a spring,
rows of enormous teeth, white as bleached beechwood. 'Hrun,' he said quickly, 'there's something I ought to tell you.' Hrun turned a puzzled face to him. 'What?' he said. 'It's about numbers. Look, you know if you add seven and one, or three and five, or take two from ten, you get a number. While you're here don't say it, and we might all stand a chance of getting out of here alive. Or merely just dead.' 'Who is he?' asked Twoflower. He was holding a cage in his hands, dredged from the
finished Twoflower. 'I see! said the troll carefully. 'Personal remarks now.' He drew himself up to his full height, which was currently about four feet. 'Just because I'm made of water doesn't mean I'm made of wood, you know.' 'I'm sorry,' said Twoflower, climbing hastily out of the furs. 'You're made of dirt,' said the troll, 'but I didn't pass comments about things you can't help, did I? Oh, no. We can't help the way the Creator made us, that's my view. But if you must know, your moon here
great weather magicians. Rain clouds just give up and go away.' 'It sounds terrible,' said the water troll behind them. 'And they all die young,' said Rincewind, ignoring him. 'They just can't live with themselves.' 'Sometimes I think a man could wander across the disc all his life and not see everything there is to see,' said Twoflower. 'And now it seems there are lots of other worlds as well. When I think I might die without seeing a hundredth of all there is to see it makes me feel,' he
yet materialized. The Arch-astronomer beckoned the Master Launchcontroller to him. 'Well?' he said, filling a mere four letters with a full lexicon of anger and menace. The Master Launchcontroller went pale. 'No news, lord,' said the Launchcontroller, and added with a brittle brightness, 'except that your prominence will be pleased to hear that Garhartra has recovered.' 'That is a fact he may come to regret,' said the Arch-astronomer. 'Yes, lord.' 'How much longer do we have?' The