Page 201 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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pegs in his back was released. At that moment, Bond had to struggle to remain

standing. He was aware of the thongs at his back being cut and of the two
assistants jostling him, pushing, shouting.
Through the white heat of what felt like a thousand wounds in his body, he
James Bond OO7 - printing disabled it was time to begin the run. He fought the almost overpowering James Bond OO7 - printing disabled
realised
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discomfort, focused his mind first on Chi-Chi, then on the necessity of beating
his adversary. If you don’t win, James, Brokenclaw Lee will go on to more
evil, his mind shrieked at him. The agony shrieked back as he put one foot
forward and pulled against the rope and the buffalo skull.

He managed two steps towards the doorway of the Sacred Lodge before he
slipped and fell. As they pulled him up, he caught sight of Brokenclaw, his face
contorted in his own private hell, also being helped forward.
There was one way, and one way only. He must rid himself of the weights.
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Clenching his teeth, he kicked back and then forward. He felt the flesh being
torn, and a new highly tuned pain in the right leg.
He performed the same action with his left leg, and, this time, actually felt
the flesh give way, a terrible cutting and wrenching as the peg was torn out and

the wetness of the blood sliding down his leg.
But the peg remained attached to his right calf. With his mind still centred on
Chi-Chi and the need to win, Bond reached down, grasped the leather rope and
heaved the peg from its place. He felt the searing heat of the wounds, but was

able to stagger forward, using both legs.
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He brought his hand up to wipe the sweat from his eyes, gathered his
strength and began to move. Not far, he thought. It is not far to go. But his legs
burned as though the Medicine Man’s assistants were lashing at his calves with

red-hot pokers.
Get into a rhythm, he told himself. To hell with what you are feeling. Just get
the rhythm. The drums seemed all around him; he was aware of Indians
shouting, as though urging him on, and, slowly at first, he began to get one leg

in front of the other.
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As he reached the door, his shoulder jarred against something and he looked
to his left to see Brokenclaw, staggering, dazed but forcing his body through the
opening at the same time. They were neck and neck, Bond thought, and

somehow this seemed to give him more heart. He began to jog, but the suffering
which swept upwards through his body at each stride made him want to vomit.
He bit his lip hard, in that old trick of inflicting a new pain on himself in order

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