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Table of Contents
Responsive Web Design with HTML5 and CSS3 Second Edition
Credits
About the Author
About the Reviewers
www.PacktPub.com
Support files, eBooks, discount offers, and more
Why subscribe?
Free access for Packt account holders
Preface
What this book covers
What you need for this book
Who this book is for
Conventions
Reader feedback
Customer support
Downloading the example code
Downloading the color images of this book
Errata
Piracy
Questions
1. The Essentials of Responsive Web Design
Beginning our quest
Defining responsive web design
Responsive web design in a nutshell
Setting browser support levels
A brief note on tooling and text editors
Our first responsive example
Our basic HTML file
Taming images
Enter media queries
Amending the example for a larger screen
The shortcomings of our example
Summary
2. Media Queries – Supporting Differing Viewports
Why media queries are needed for a responsive web design
Basic conditional logic in CSS
Media query syntax
Media queries in link tags
Combining media queries
Media queries with @import
Media queries in CSS
What can media queries test for?
Using media queries to alter a design
Any CSS can be wrapped in a media query
Media queries for HiDPI devices
Considerations for organizing and authoring media queries
Linking to different CSS files with media queries
The practicalities of separating media queries
Nesting media queries 'inline'
Combine media queries or write them where it suits?
The viewport meta tag
Media Queries Level 4
Scripting media feature
Interaction media features
The hover media feature
Environment media features
Summary
3. Fluid Layouts and Responsive Images
Converting a fixed pixel design to a fluid proportional layout
Why do we need Flexbox?
Inline block and whitespace
Floats
Table and table-cell
Introducing Flexbox
The bumpy path to Flexbox
Browser support for Flexbox
Leave prefixing to someone else
Choosing your auto-prefixing solution
Getting Flexy
Perfect vertically centered text
Offset items
Reverse the order of items
How about if we want them laid out vertically instead?
Column reverse
Different Flexbox layouts inside different media queries
Inline-flex
Flexbox alignment properties
The align-items property
The align-self property
Possible alignment values
The justify-content property
The flex property
Simple sticky footer
Changing source order
Wrapping up Flexbox
Responsive images
The intrinsic problem of responsive images
Simple resolution switching with srcset
Advanced switching with srcset and sizes
Did you say the browser 'might' pick one image over
another?
Art direction with the picture element
Facilitate new-fangled image formats
Summary
4. HTML5 for Responsive Web Designs
HTML5 markup – understood by all modern browsers
Starting an HTML5 page the right way
The doctype
The HTML tag and lang attribute
Specifying alternate languages
Character encoding
Easy-going HTML5
A sensible approach to HTML5 markup
All hail the mighty <a> tag
New semantic elements in HTML5
The <main> element
The <section> element
The <nav> element
The <article> element
The <aside> element
The <figure> and <figcaption> elements
The <details> and <summary> elements
The <header> element
The <footer> element
The <address> element
A note on h1-h6 elements
HTML5 text-level semantics
The <b> element
The <em> element
The <i> element
Obsolete HTML features
Putting HTML5 elements to use
Applying common sense to your element selection
WCAG and WAI-ARIA for more accessible web applications
WCAG
WAI-ARIA
Don't use roles for semantic elements
If you only remember one thing
Taking ARIA further
Embedding media in HTML5
Adding video and audio the HTML5 way
Fallback capability for older browsers
Audio and video tags work almost identically
Responsive HTML5 video and iFrames
A note about 'offline first'
Summary
5. CSS3 – Selectors, Typography, Color Modes, and New Features
No one knows it all
Anatomy of a CSS rule
Quick and useful CSS tricks
CSS multi-column layouts for responsive designs
Fixed columns, variable width
Adding a gap and column divider
Word wrapping
Text ellipsis
Creating horizontal scrolling panels
Facilitating feature forks in CSS
Feature queries
Combining conditionals
Modernizr
Feature detection with Modernizr
New CSS3 selectors and how to use them
CSS3 attribute selectors
CSS3 substring matching attribute selectors
The 'beginning with' substring matching attribute selector
The 'contains an instance of' substring matching attribute
selector
The 'ends with' substring matching attribute selector
Gotchas with attribute selection
Attribute selectors allow you to select IDs and classes that start
with numbers
CSS3 structural pseudo-classes
The :last-child selector
The nth-child selectors
Understanding what nth rules do
Breaking down the math
nth-based selection in responsive web designs
The negation (:not) selector
The empty (:empty) selector
Do something with the :first-line regardless of viewport
CSS custom properties and variables
CSS calc
CSS Level 4 selectors
The :has pseudo class
Responsive viewport-percentage lengths (vmax, vmin, vh, vw)
Web typography
The @font-face CSS rule
Implementing web fonts with @font-face
A note about custom @font-face typography and responsive
designs
New CSS3 color formats and alpha transparency
RGB color
HSL color
Alpha channels
Color manipulation with CSS Color Module Level 4
Summary
6. Stunning Aesthetics with CSS3
Text shadows with CSS3
Omitting the blur value when not needed
Multiple text shadows
Box shadows
An inset shadow
Multiple shadows
Understanding spread
Background gradients
The linear-gradient notation
Specifying gradient direction
Color stops
Adding fallback for older browsers
Radial background gradients
Breakdown of the radial-gradient syntax
Handy 'extent' keywords for responsive sizing
Repeating gradients
Background gradient patterns
Multiple background images
Background size
Background position
Background shorthand
High-resolution background images
CSS filters
Available CSS filters
Combining CSS filters
A warning on CSS performance
A note on CSS masks and clipping
Summary
7. Using SVGs for Resolution Independence
A brief history of SVG
The graphic that is a document
The root SVG element
Namespace
The title and desc tags
The defs tag
The g element
SVG shapes
SVG paths
Creating SVGs with popular image editing packages and services
Save time with SVG icon services
Inserting SVGs into your web pages
Using an img tag
Using an object tag
Insert an SVG as a background image
A brief aside on data URIs
Generating image sprites
Inserting an SVG inline
Re-using graphical objects from symbols
Inline SVGs allow different colors in different contexts
Make dual-tone icons that inherit the color of their parent
Re-using graphical objects from external sources
What you can do with each SVG insertion method (inline, object,
background-image, and img)
Browser schisms
Extra SVG capabilities and oddities
SMIL animation
The end of SMIL
Styling an SVG with an external style sheet
Styling an SVG with internal styles
SVG properties and values within CSS
Animate an SVG with CSS
Animating SVG with JavaScript
A simple example of animating an SVG with GreenSock
Optimising SVGs
Using SVGs as filters
A note on media queries inside SVGs
Implementation tips
Further resources
Summary
8. Transitions, Transformations, and Animations
What CSS3 transitions are and how we can use them
The properties of a transition
The transition shorthand property
Transition different properties over different periods of time
Understanding timing functions
Fun transitions for responsive websites
CSS3 2D transforms
Scale
Translate
Using translate to center absolutely positioned elements
Rotate
Skew
Matrix
Matrix transformations for cheats and dunces
The transform-origin property
CSS3 3D transformations
The transform3d property
Use transforms with progressive enhancement
Animating with CSS3
The animation-fill-mode property
Summary
9. Conquer Forms with HTML5 and CSS3
HTML5 forms
Understanding the component parts of HTML5 forms
placeholder
Styling the placeholder text
required
autofocus
autocomplete
List and the associated datalist element
HTML5 input types
email
number
min and max ranges
Changing the step increments
url
tel
search
pattern
color
Date and time inputs
date
month
week
time
range
How to polyfill non-supporting browsers
Styling HTML5 forms with CSS3
Indicating required fields
Creating a background fill effect
Summary
10. Approaching a Responsive Web Design
Get designs in the browser as soon as possible
Let the design dictate the breakpoints
View and use the design on real devices
Embracing progressive enhancement
Defining a browser support matrix
Functional parity, not aesthetic parity
Choosing the browsers to support
Tiering the user experience
Practically delivering experience tiers
Linking CSS breakpoints to JavaScript
Avoid CSS frameworks in production
Coding pragmatic solutions
When a link becomes a button
Use the simplest code possible
Hiding, showing, and loading content across viewports
Let CSS do the (visual) heavy lifting
Validators and linting tools
Performance
The next big things
Summary
Index
Responsive Web Design with
HTML5 and CSS3 Second
Edition
Responsive Web Design with
HTML5 and CSS3 Second
Edition
Copyright © 2015 Packt Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored
in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure
the accuracy of the information presented. However, the information
contained in this book is sold without warranty, either express or
implied. Neither the author, nor Packt Publishing, and its dealers and
distributors will be held liable for any damages caused or alleged to
be caused directly or indirectly by this book.
Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information
about all of the companies and products mentioned in this book by
the appropriate use of capitals. However, Packt Publishing cannot
guarantee the accuracy of this information.
First published: April 2012
Second edition: August 2015
Production reference: 2200815
Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.
Livery Place
35 Livery Street
Birmingham B3 2PB, UK.
ISBN 978-1-78439-893-4
www.packtpub.com
Credits
Author
Ben Frain
Reviewers
Esteban S. Abait
Christopher Scott Hernandez
Mauvis Ledford
Sophie Williams
Commissioning Editor
Edward Gordon
Acquisition Editors
Edward Gordon
Subho Gupta
Content Development Editor
Pooja Nair
Technical Editor
Ankita Thakur
Copy Editors
Rebecca Youé
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The lost race
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The lost race
Author: Robert E. Howard
Illustrator: G. O. Olinick
Release date: June 8, 2024 [eBook #73793]
Language: English
Original publication: Indianapolis, IN: Popular Fiction Publishing
Company, 1927
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Distributed Proofreaders
Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST RACE
***
Full download Responsive Web Design with HTML5 and CSS3 Second Edition Ben Frain pdf docx
The LOST RACE
By Robert E. Howard
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales January 1927.]
Cororuc glanced about him and hastened his pace. He was no
coward, but he did not like the place. Tall trees rose all about, their
sullen branches shutting out the sunlight. The dim trail led in and out
among them, sometimes skirting the edge of a ravine, where Cororuc
could gaze down at the tree-tops beneath. Occasionally, through a
rift in the forest, he could see away to the forbidding hills that hinted
of the ranges much farther to the west, that were the mountains of
Cornwall.
In those mountains the bandit chief, Buruc the Cruel, was supposed
to lurk, to descend upon such victims as might pass that way.
Cororuc shifted his grip on his spear and quickened his step. His
haste was due not only to the menace of the outlaws, but also to the
fact that he wished once more to be in his native land. He had been
on a secret mission to the wild Cornish tribesmen: and though he had
been more or less successful, he was impatient to be out of their
inhospitable country. It had been a long, wearisome trip, and he still
had nearly the whole of Britain to traverse. He threw a glance of
aversion about him. He longed for the pleasant woodlands, with
scampering deer, and chirping birds, to which he was used. He
longed for the tall white cliff, where the blue sea lapped merrily. The
forest through which he was passing seemed uninhabited. There
were no birds, no animals; nor had he seen a sign of a human
habitation.
His comrades still lingered at the savage court of the Cornish king,
enjoying his crude hospitality, in no hurry to be away. But Cororuc
was not content. So he had left them to follow at their leisure and
had set out alone.
Rather a fine figure of a man was Cororuc. Some six feet in height,
strongly though leanly built, he was, with gray eyes, a pure Briton but
not a pure Celt, his long yellow hair revealing, in him as in all his
race, a trace of Belgæ.
He was clad in skilfully dressed deerskin, for the Celts had not yet
perfected the coarse cloth which they made, and most of the race
preferred the hides of deer.
He was armed with a long bow of yew wood, made with no especial
skill but an efficient weapon; a long bronze broadsword, with a
buckskin sheath, a long bronze dagger and a small, round shield,
rimmed with a band of bronze and covered with tough buffalo hide. A
crude bronze helmet was on his head. Faint devices were painted in
woad on his arms and cheeks.
His beardless face was of the highest type of Briton, clear,
straightforward, the shrewd, practical determination of the Nordic
mingling with the reckless courage and dreamy artistry of the Celt.
So Cororuc trod the forest path, warily, ready to flee or fight, but
preferring to do neither just then.
The trail led away from the ravine, disappearing around a great tree.
And from the other side of the tree, Cororuc heard sounds of conflict.
Gliding warily forward, and wondering whether he should see some
of the elves and dwarfs that were reputed to haunt those woodlands,
he peered around the great tree.
A few feet from him he saw a strange tableau. Backed against
another tree stood a large wolf, at bay, blood trickling from gashes
about his shoulder; while before him, crouching for a spring, the
warrior saw a great panther. Cororuc wondered at the cause of the
battle. Not often the lords of the forest met in warfare. And he was
puzzled by the snarls of the great cat. Savage, blood-lusting, yet they
held a strange note of fear; and the beast seemed hesitant to spring
in.
Just why Cororuc chose to take the part of the wolf, he himself could
not have said. Doubtless it was just the reckless chivalry of the Celt
of him, an admiration for the dauntless attitude of the wolf against
his far more powerful foe. Be that as it may, Cororuc,
characteristically forgetting his bow and taking the more reckless
course, drew his sword and leaped in front of the panther. But he had
no chance to use it. The panther, whose nerve appeared to be
already somewhat shaken, uttered a startled screech and
disappeared among the trees so quickly that Cororuc wondered if he
had really seen a panther. He turned to the wolf, wondering if it
would leap upon him. It was watching him, half crouching; slowly it
stepped away from the tree, and still watching him, backed away a
few yards, then turned and made off with a strange shambling gait.
As the warrior watched it vanish into the forest, an uncanny feeling
came over him: he had seen many wolves, he had hunted them and
had been hunted by them, but he had never seen such a wolf before.
He hesitated and then walked warily after the wolf, following the
tracks that were plainly defined in the soft loam. He did not hasten,
being merely content to follow the tracks. After a short distance, he
stopped short, the hairs on his neck seeming to bristle. Only the
tracks of the hind feet showed: the wolf was walking erect.
He glanced about him. There was no sound; the forest was silent. He
felt an impulse to turn and put as much territory between him and
the mystery as possible, but his Celtic curiosity would not allow it. He
followed the trail. And then it ceased altogether. Beneath a great tree
the tracks vanished. Cororuc felt the cold sweat on his forehead.
What kind of place was that forest? Was he being led astray and
eluded by some inhuman, supernatural monster of the woodlands,
who sought to ensnare him? And Cororuc backed away, his sword
lifted, his courage not allowing him to run, but greatly desiring to do
so. And so he came again to the tree where he had first seen the
wolf. The trail he had followed led away from it in another direction
and Cororuc took it up, almost running in his haste to get out of the
vicinity of a wolf who walked on two legs and then vanished in the
air.
The trail wound about more tediously than ever, appearing and
disappearing within a dozen feet, but it was well for Cororuc that it
did, for thus he heard the voices of the men coming up the path
before they saw him. He took to a tall tree that branched over the
trail, lying close to the great bole, along a wide-flung branch.
Three men were coming down the forest path.
One was a big, burly fellow, vastly over six feet in height, with a long
red beard and a great mop of red hair. In contrast, his eyes were a
beady black. He was dressed in deer-skins, and armed with a great
sword.
Of the two others, one was a lanky, villainous-looking scoundrel, with
only one eye, and the other was a small, wizened man, who squinted
hideously with both beady eyes.
Cororuc knew them, by descriptions the Cornishmen had made
between curses, and it was in his excitement to get a better view of
the most villainous murderer in Britain that he slipped from the tree
branch and plunged to the ground directly between them.
He was up on the instant, his sword out. He could expect no mercy;
for he knew that the red-haired man was Buruc the Cruel, the
scourge of Cornwall.
The bandit chief bellowed a foul curse and whipped out his great
sword. He avoided the Briton's furious thrust by a swift backward
leap and then the battle was on. Buruc rushed the warrior from the
front, striving to beat him down by sheer weight; while the lanky,
one-eyed villain slipped around, trying to get behind him. The smaller
man had retreated to the edge of the forest. The fine art of the fence
was unknown to those early swordsmen. It was hack, slash, stab, the
full weight of the arm behind each blow. The terrific blows crashing
on his shield beat Cororuc to the ground, and the lanky, one-eyed
villain rushed in to finish him. Cororuc spun about without rising, cut
the bandit's legs from under him and stabbed him as he fell, then
threw himself to one side and to his feet, in time to avoid Buruc's
sword. Again, driving his shield up to catch the bandit's sword in
midair, he deflected it and whirled his own with all his power. Buruc's
head flew from his shoulders.
Then Cororuc, turning, saw the wizened bandit scurry into the forest.
He raced after him, but the fellow had disappeared among the trees.
Knowing the uselessness of attempting to pursue him, Cororuc
turned and raced down the trail. He did not know if there were more
bandits in that direction, but he did know that if he expected to get
out of the forest at all, he would have to do it swiftly. Without doubt
the villain who had escaped would have all the other bandits out, and
soon they would be beating the woodlands for him.
After running for some distance down the path and seeing no sign of
any enemy, he stopped and climbed into the topmost branches of a
tall tree, that towered above its fellows.
On all sides he seemed surrounded by a leafy ocean. To the west he
could see the hills he had avoided. To the north, far in the distance
other hills rose; to the south the forest ran, an unbroken sea. But to
the east, far away, he could barely see the line that marked the
thinning out of the forest into the fertile plains. Miles and miles away,
he knew not how many, but it meant more pleasant travel, villages of
men, people of his own race. He was surprized that he was able to
see that far, but the tree in which he stood was a giant of its kind.
Before he started to descend, he glanced about nearer at hand. He
could trace the faintly marked line of the trail he had been following,
running away into the east; and could make out other trails leading
into it, or away from it. Then a glint caught his eye. He fixed his gaze
on a glade some distance down the trail and saw, presently, a party
of men enter and vanish. Here and there, on every trail, he caught
glances of the glint of accouterments, the waving of foliage. So the
squinting villain had already roused the bandits. They were all around
him; he was virtually surrounded.
A faintly heard burst of savage yells, from back up the trail, startled
him. So, they had already thrown a cordon about the place of the
fight and had found him gone. Had he not fled swiftly, he would have
been caught. He was outside the cordon, but the bandits were all
about him. Swiftly he slipped from the tree and glided into the forest.
Then began the most exciting hunt Cororuc had ever engaged in; for
he was the hunted and men were the hunters. Gliding, slipping from
bush to bush and from tree to tree, now running swiftly, now
crouching in a covert, Cororuc fled, ever eastward; not daring to turn
back lest he be driven farther back into the forest. At times he was
forced to turn his course; in fact, he very seldom fled in a straight
course, yet always he managed to work farther eastward.
Sometimes he crouched in bushes or lay along some leafy branch,
and saw bandits pass so close to him that he could have touched
them. Once or twice they sighted him and he fled, bounding over
logs and bushes, darting in and out among the trees; and always he
eluded them.
It was in one of those headlong flights that he noticed he had
entered a defile of small hills, of which he had been unaware, and
looking back over his shoulder, saw that his pursuers had halted,
within full sight. Without pausing to ruminate on so strange a thing,
he darted around a great boulder, felt a vine or something catch his
foot, and was thrown headlong. Simultaneously something struck the
youth's head, knocking him senseless.
When Cororuc recovered his senses, he found that he was bound,
hand and foot. He was being borne along, over rough ground. He
looked about him. Men carried him on their shoulders, but such men
as he had never seen before. Scarce above four feet stood the tallest,
and they were small of build and very dark of complexion. Their eyes
were black; and most of them went stooped forward, as if from a
lifetime spent in crouching and hiding; peering furtively on all sides.
They were armed with small bows, arrows, spears and daggers, all
pointed, not with crudely worked bronze but with flint and obsidian,
of the finest workmanship. They were dressed in finely dressed hides
of rabbits and other small animals, and a kind of coarse cloth; and
many were tattooed from head to foot in ocher and woad. There
were perhaps twenty in all. What sort of men were they? Cororuc had
never seen the like.
They were going down a ravine, on both sides of which steep cliffs
rose. Presently they seemed to come to a blank wall, where the
ravine appeared to come to an abrupt stop. Here, at a word from one
who seemed to be in command, they set the Briton down, and
seizing hold of a large boulder, drew it to one side. A small cavern
was exposed, seeming to vanish away into the earth; then the
strange men picked up the Briton and moved forward.
Cororuc's hair bristled at thought of being borne into that forbidding-
looking cave. What manner of men were they? In all Britain and Alba,
in Cornwall or Ireland, Cororuc had never seen such men. Small
dwarfish men, who dwelt in the earth. Cold sweat broke out on the
youth's forehead. Surely they were the malevolent dwarfs of whom
the Cornish people had spoken, who dwelt in their caverns by day,
and by night sallied forth to steal and burn dwellings, even slaying if
the opportunity arose! You will hear of them, even today, if you
journey in Cornwall.
The men, or elves, if such they were, bore him into the cavern,
others entering and drawing the boulder back into place. For a
moment all was darkness, and then torches began to glow, away off.
And at a shout they moved on. Other men of the caves came
forward, with the torches.
Cororuc looked about him. The torches shed a vague glow over the
scene. Sometimes one, sometimes another wall of the cave showed
for an instant, and the Briton was vaguely aware that they were
covered with paintings, crudely done, yet with a certain skill his own
race could not equal. But always the roof remained unseen. Cororuc
knew that the seemingly small cavern had merged into a cave of
surprizing size. Through the vague light of the torches the strange
people moved, came and went, silently, like shadows of the dim past.
He felt the cords or thongs that bound his feet loosened. He was
lifted upright.
"Walk straight ahead," said a voice, speaking the language of his own
race, and he felt a spearpoint touch the back of his neck.
And straight ahead he walked, feeling his sandals scrape on the stone
floor of the cave, until they came to a place where the floor tilted
upward. The pitch was steep and the stone was so slippery that
Cororuc could not have climbed it alone. But his captors pushed him,
and pulled him, and he saw that long, strong vines were strung from
somewhere at the top.
Those the strange men seized, and bracing their feet against the
slippery ascent, went up swiftly. When their feet found level surface
again, the cave made a turn, and Cororuc blundered out into a firelit
scene that made him gasp.
The cave debouched into a cavern so vast as to be almost incredible.
The mighty walls swept up into a great arched roof that vanished in
the darkness. A level floor lay between, and through it flowed a river;
an underground river. From under one wall it flowed to vanish silently
under the other. An arched stone bridge, seemingly of natural make,
spanned the current.
All around the walls of the great cavern, which was roughly circular,
were smaller caves, and before each glowed a fire. Higher up were
other caves, regularly arranged, tier on tier. Surely human men could
not have built such a city.
In and out among the caves, on the level floor of the main cavern,
people were going about what seemed daily tasks. Men were talking
together and mending weapons, some were fishing from the river;
women were replenishing fires, preparing garments; and altogether it
might have been any other village in Britain, to judge from their
occupations. But it all struck Cororuc as extremely unreal; the strange
place, the small, silent people, going about their tasks, the river
flowing silently through it all.
Then they became aware of the prisoner and flocked about him.
There was none of the shouting, abuse and indignities, such as
savages usually heap on their captives, as the small men drew about
Cororuc, silently eyeing him with malevolent, wolfish stares. The
warrior shuddered, in spite of himself.
But his captors pushed through the throng, driving the Briton before
them. Close to the bank of the river, they stopped and drew away
from around him.
Two great fires leaped and flickered in front of him and there was
something between them. He focused his gaze and presently made
out the object. A high stone seat, like a throne; and in it seated an
aged man, with a long white beard, silent, motionless, but with black
eyes that gleamed like a wolf's.
The ancient was clothed in some kind of a single, flowing garment.
One clawlike hand rested on the seat near him, skinny, crooked
fingers, with talons like a hawk's. The other hand was hidden among
his garments.
The firelight danced and flickered; now the old man stood out clearly,
his hooked, beaklike nose and long beard thrown into bold relief; now
he seemed to recede until he was invisible to the gaze of the Briton,
except for his glittering eyes.
"Speak, Briton!" The words came suddenly, strong, clear, without a
hint of age. "Speak, what would ye say?"
Cororuc, taken aback, stammered and said, "Why, why—what
manner of people are you? Why have you taken me prisoner? Are
you elves?"
"We are Picts," was the stern reply.
"Picts!" Cororuc had heard tales of those ancient people from the
Gaelic Britons; some said that they still lurked in the hill of Siluria, but
——
"I have fought Picts in Caledonia," the Briton protested; "they are
short but massive and misshapen; not at all like you!"
"They are not true Picts," came the stern retort. "Look about you,
Briton," with a wave of an arm, "you see the remnants of a vanishing
race; a race that once ruled Britain from sea to sea."
The Briton stared, bewildered.
"Harken, Briton," the voice continued; "harken, barbarian, while I tell
to you the tale of the lost race."
The firelight flickered and danced, throwing vague reflections on the
towering walls and on the rushing, silent current.
The ancient's voice echoed through the mighty cavern.
"Our people came from the south. Over the islands, over the Inland
Sea. Over the snow-topped mountains, where some remained, to
stay any enemies who might follow. Down into the fertile plains we
came. Over all the land we spread. We became wealthy and
prosperous. Then two kings arose in the land, and he who
conquered, drove out the conquered. So many of us made boats and
set sail for the far-off cliffs that gleamed white in the sunlight. We
found a fair land with fertile plains. We found a race of red-haired
barbarians, who dwelt in caves. Mighty giants, of great bodies and
small minds.
"We built our huts of wattle. We tilled the soil. We cleared the forest.
We drove the red-haired giants back into the forest. Farther we drove
them back until at last they fled to the mountains of the west and the
mountains of the north. We were rich. We were prosperous.
"Then," and his voice thrilled with rage and hate, until it seemed to
reverberate through the cavern, "then the Celts came. From the isles
of the west, in their rude coracles they came. In the west they
landed, but they were not satisfied with the west. They marched
eastward and seized the fertile plains. We fought. They were
stronger. They were fierce fighters and they were armed with
weapons of bronze, whereas we had only weapons of flint.
"We were driven out. They enslaved us. They drove us into the
forest. Some of us fled into the mountains of the west. Many fled into
the mountains of the north. There they mingled with the red-haired
giants we drove out so long ago, and became a race of monstrous
dwarfs, losing all the arts of peace and gaining only the ability to
fight.
"But some of us swore that we would never leave the land we had
fought for. But the Celts pressed us. There were many, and more
came. So we took to caverns, to ravines, to caves. We, who had
always dwelt in huts that let in much light, who had always tilled the
soil, we learned to dwell like beasts, in caves where no sunlight ever
entered. Caves we found, of which this is the greatest; caves we
made.
"You, Briton," the voice became a shriek and a long arm was
outstretched in accusation, "you and your race! You have made a
free, prosperous nation into a race of earth-rats! We who never fled,
who dwelt in the air and the sunlight close by the sea where traders
came, we must flee like hunted beasts and burrow like moles! But at
night! Ah, then for our vengeance! Then we slip from our hiding
places, from our ravines and our caves, with torch and dagger! Look,
Briton!"
And following the gesture, Cororuc saw a rounded post of some kind
of very hard wood, set in a niche in the stone floor, close to the bank.
The floor about the niche was charred as if by old fires.
Cororuc stared, uncomprehending. Indeed, he understood little of
what had passed. That these people were even human, he was not
at all certain. He had heard so much of them as "little people." Tales
of their doings, their hatred of the race of man, and their
maliciousness flocked back to him. Little he knew that he was gazing
on one of the mysteries of the ages. That the tales which the ancient
Gaels told of the Picts, already warped, would become even more
warped from age to age, to result in tales of elves, dwarfs, trolls and
fairies, at first accepted and then rejected, entire, by the race of men,
just as the Neandertal monsters resulted in tales of goblins and
ogres. But of that Cororuc neither knew nor cared, and the ancient
was speaking again.
"There, there, Briton," exulted he, pointing to the post, "there you
shall pay! A scant payment for the debt your race owes mine, but to
the fullest of your extent."
The old man's exultation would have been fiendish, except for a
certain high purpose in his face. He was sincere. He believed that he
was only taking just vengeance; and he seemed like some great
patriot for a mighty, lost cause.
"But I am a Briton!" stammered Cororuc. "It was not my people who
drove your race into exile! They were Gaels, from Ireland. I am a
Briton and my race came from Gallia only a hundred years ago. We
conquered the Gaels and drove them into Erin, Wales and Caledonia,
even as they drove your race."
"No matter!" The ancient chief was on his feet. "A Celt is a Celt.
Briton, or Gael, it makes no difference. Had it not been Gael, it would
have been Briton. Every Celt who falls into our hands must pay, be it
warrior or woman, babe or king. Seize him and bind him to the post."
In an instant Cororuc was bound to the post, and he saw, with horror,
the Picts piling firewood about his feet.
"And when you are sufficiently burned, Briton," said the ancient, "this
dagger that has drunk the blood of an hundred Britons, shall quench
its thirst in yours."
"But never have I harmed a Pict!" Cororuc gasped, struggling with his
bonds.
"You pay, not for what you did, but for what your race has done,"
answered the ancient sternly. "Well do I remember the deeds of the
Celts when first they landed on Britain—the shrieks of the
slaughtered, the screams of ravished girls, the smokes of burning
villages, the plundering."
Cororuc felt his short neck-hairs bristle. When first the Celts landed
on Britain! That was over five hundred years ago!
And his Celtic curiosity would not let him keep still, even at the stake
with the Picts preparing to light firewood piled about him.
"You could not remember that. That was ages ago."
The ancient looked at him somberly. "And I am age-old. In my youth
I was a witch-finder, and an old woman witch cursed me as she
writhed at the stake. She said I should live until the last child of the
Pictish race had passed. That I should see the once mighty nation go
down into oblivion and then—and only then—should I follow it. For
she put upon me the curse of life everlasting."
Then his voice rose until it filled the cavern, "But the curse was
nothing. Words can do no harm, can do nothing, to a man. I live. An
hundred generations have I seen come and go, and yet another
hundred. What is time? The sun rises and sets, and another day has
passed into oblivion. Men watch the sun and set their lives by it. They
league themselves on every hand with time. They count the minutes
that race them into eternity. Man outlived the centuries ere he began
to reckon time. Time is man-made. Eternity is the work of the gods.
In this cavern there is no such thing as time. There are no stars, no
sun. Without is time; within is eternity. We count not time. Nothing
marks the speeding of the hours. The youths go forth. They see the
sun, the stars. They reckon time. And they pass. I was a young man
when I entered this cavern. I have never left it. As you reckon time, I
may have dwelt here a thousand years; or an hour. When not banded
by time, the soul, the mind, call it what you will, can conquer the
body. And the wise men of the race, in my youth, knew more than
the outer world will ever learn. When I feel that my body begins to
weaken, I take the magic draft, that is known only to me, of all the
world. It does not give immortality; that is the work of the mind
alone; but it rebuilds the body. The race of Picts vanish; they fade
like the snow on the mountain. And when the last is gone, this
dagger shall free me from the world." Then in a swift change of tone,
"Light the fagots!"
Cororuc's mind was fairly reeling. He did not in the least understand
what he had just heard. He was positive that he was going mad; and
what he saw the next minute assured him of it.
Through the throng came a wolf; and he knew that it was the wolf
whom he had rescued from the panther close by the ravine in the
forest!
Strange, how long ago and far away that seemed! Yes, it was the
same wolf. That same strange, shambling gait. Then the thing stood
erect and raised its front feet to its head. What nameless horror was
that?
"Then the thing stood erect and raised its front feet to its
head. What nameless horror was that?"
Then the wolf's head fell back, disclosing a man's face. The face of a
Pict; one of the first "werewolves." The man stepped out of the
wolfskin and strode forward, calling something. A Pict just starting to
light the wood about the Briton's feet drew back the torch and
hesitated.
The wolf-Pict stepped forward and began to speak to the chief, using
Celtic, evidently for the prisoner's benefit. (Cororuc was surprized to
hear so many speak his language, not reflecting upon its comparative
simplicity, and the ability of the Picts.)
"What is this?" asked the Pict who had played wolf. "A man is to be
burned who should not be!"
"How?" exclaimed the old man fiercely, clutching his long beard.
"Who are you to go against a custom of age-old antiquity?"
"I met a panther," answered the other, "and this Briton risked his life
to save mine. Shall a Pict show ingratitude?"
And as the ancient hesitated, evidently pulled one way by his
fanatical lust for revenge, and the other by his equally fierce racial
pride, the Pict burst into a wild flight of oration, carried on in his own
language. At last the ancient chief nodded.
"A Pict ever paid his debts," said he with impressive grandeur. "Never
a Pict forgets. Unbind him. No Celt shall ever say that a Pict showed
ingratitude."
Cororuc was released, and as, like a man in a daze, he tried to
stammer his thanks, the chief waved them aside.
"A Pict never forgets a foe, ever remembers a friendly deed," he
replied.
"Come," murmured his Pictish friend, tugging at the Celt's arm.
He led the way into a cave leading away from the main cavern. As
they went, Cororuc looked back, to see the ancient chief seated upon
his stone throne, his eyes gleaming as he seemed to gaze back
through the lost glories of the ages; on each hand the fires leaped
and flickered. A figure of grandeur, the king of a lost race.
On and on Cororuc's guide led him. And at last they emerged and the
Briton saw the starlit sky above him.
"In that way is a village of your tribesmen," said the Pict, pointing,
"where you will find a welcome until you wish to take up your journey
anew."
And he pressed gifts on the Celt; gifts of garments of cloth and finely
worked deerskin, beaded belts, a fine horn bow with arrows skilfully
tipped with obsidian. Gifts of food. His own weapons were returned
to him.
"But an instant," said the Briton, as the Pict turned to go. "I followed
your tracks in the forest. They vanished." There was a question in his
voice.
The Pict laughed softly, "I leaped into the branches of the tree. Had
you looked up, you would have seen me. If ever you wish a friend,
you will ever find one in Berula, chief among the Alban Picts."
He turned and vanished. And Cororuc strode through the moonlight
toward the Celtic village.
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Full download Responsive Web Design with HTML5 and CSS3 Second Edition Ben Frain pdf docx

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  • 5. Table of Contents Responsive Web Design with HTML5 and CSS3 Second Edition Credits About the Author About the Reviewers www.PacktPub.com Support files, eBooks, discount offers, and more Why subscribe? Free access for Packt account holders Preface What this book covers What you need for this book Who this book is for Conventions Reader feedback Customer support Downloading the example code Downloading the color images of this book Errata Piracy Questions 1. The Essentials of Responsive Web Design Beginning our quest Defining responsive web design Responsive web design in a nutshell Setting browser support levels A brief note on tooling and text editors Our first responsive example Our basic HTML file Taming images Enter media queries Amending the example for a larger screen The shortcomings of our example
  • 6. Summary 2. Media Queries – Supporting Differing Viewports Why media queries are needed for a responsive web design Basic conditional logic in CSS Media query syntax Media queries in link tags Combining media queries Media queries with @import Media queries in CSS What can media queries test for? Using media queries to alter a design Any CSS can be wrapped in a media query Media queries for HiDPI devices Considerations for organizing and authoring media queries Linking to different CSS files with media queries The practicalities of separating media queries Nesting media queries 'inline' Combine media queries or write them where it suits? The viewport meta tag Media Queries Level 4 Scripting media feature Interaction media features The hover media feature Environment media features Summary 3. Fluid Layouts and Responsive Images Converting a fixed pixel design to a fluid proportional layout Why do we need Flexbox? Inline block and whitespace Floats Table and table-cell Introducing Flexbox The bumpy path to Flexbox Browser support for Flexbox Leave prefixing to someone else Choosing your auto-prefixing solution
  • 7. Getting Flexy Perfect vertically centered text Offset items Reverse the order of items How about if we want them laid out vertically instead? Column reverse Different Flexbox layouts inside different media queries Inline-flex Flexbox alignment properties The align-items property The align-self property Possible alignment values The justify-content property The flex property Simple sticky footer Changing source order Wrapping up Flexbox Responsive images The intrinsic problem of responsive images Simple resolution switching with srcset Advanced switching with srcset and sizes Did you say the browser 'might' pick one image over another? Art direction with the picture element Facilitate new-fangled image formats Summary 4. HTML5 for Responsive Web Designs HTML5 markup – understood by all modern browsers Starting an HTML5 page the right way The doctype The HTML tag and lang attribute Specifying alternate languages Character encoding Easy-going HTML5 A sensible approach to HTML5 markup All hail the mighty <a> tag
  • 8. New semantic elements in HTML5 The <main> element The <section> element The <nav> element The <article> element The <aside> element The <figure> and <figcaption> elements The <details> and <summary> elements The <header> element The <footer> element The <address> element A note on h1-h6 elements HTML5 text-level semantics The <b> element The <em> element The <i> element Obsolete HTML features Putting HTML5 elements to use Applying common sense to your element selection WCAG and WAI-ARIA for more accessible web applications WCAG WAI-ARIA Don't use roles for semantic elements If you only remember one thing Taking ARIA further Embedding media in HTML5 Adding video and audio the HTML5 way Fallback capability for older browsers Audio and video tags work almost identically Responsive HTML5 video and iFrames A note about 'offline first' Summary 5. CSS3 – Selectors, Typography, Color Modes, and New Features No one knows it all Anatomy of a CSS rule Quick and useful CSS tricks
  • 9. CSS multi-column layouts for responsive designs Fixed columns, variable width Adding a gap and column divider Word wrapping Text ellipsis Creating horizontal scrolling panels Facilitating feature forks in CSS Feature queries Combining conditionals Modernizr Feature detection with Modernizr New CSS3 selectors and how to use them CSS3 attribute selectors CSS3 substring matching attribute selectors The 'beginning with' substring matching attribute selector The 'contains an instance of' substring matching attribute selector The 'ends with' substring matching attribute selector Gotchas with attribute selection Attribute selectors allow you to select IDs and classes that start with numbers CSS3 structural pseudo-classes The :last-child selector The nth-child selectors Understanding what nth rules do Breaking down the math nth-based selection in responsive web designs The negation (:not) selector The empty (:empty) selector Do something with the :first-line regardless of viewport CSS custom properties and variables CSS calc CSS Level 4 selectors The :has pseudo class Responsive viewport-percentage lengths (vmax, vmin, vh, vw) Web typography
  • 10. The @font-face CSS rule Implementing web fonts with @font-face A note about custom @font-face typography and responsive designs New CSS3 color formats and alpha transparency RGB color HSL color Alpha channels Color manipulation with CSS Color Module Level 4 Summary 6. Stunning Aesthetics with CSS3 Text shadows with CSS3 Omitting the blur value when not needed Multiple text shadows Box shadows An inset shadow Multiple shadows Understanding spread Background gradients The linear-gradient notation Specifying gradient direction Color stops Adding fallback for older browsers Radial background gradients Breakdown of the radial-gradient syntax Handy 'extent' keywords for responsive sizing Repeating gradients Background gradient patterns Multiple background images Background size Background position Background shorthand High-resolution background images CSS filters Available CSS filters Combining CSS filters
  • 11. A warning on CSS performance A note on CSS masks and clipping Summary 7. Using SVGs for Resolution Independence A brief history of SVG The graphic that is a document The root SVG element Namespace The title and desc tags The defs tag The g element SVG shapes SVG paths Creating SVGs with popular image editing packages and services Save time with SVG icon services Inserting SVGs into your web pages Using an img tag Using an object tag Insert an SVG as a background image A brief aside on data URIs Generating image sprites Inserting an SVG inline Re-using graphical objects from symbols Inline SVGs allow different colors in different contexts Make dual-tone icons that inherit the color of their parent Re-using graphical objects from external sources What you can do with each SVG insertion method (inline, object, background-image, and img) Browser schisms Extra SVG capabilities and oddities SMIL animation The end of SMIL Styling an SVG with an external style sheet Styling an SVG with internal styles SVG properties and values within CSS Animate an SVG with CSS
  • 12. Animating SVG with JavaScript A simple example of animating an SVG with GreenSock Optimising SVGs Using SVGs as filters A note on media queries inside SVGs Implementation tips Further resources Summary 8. Transitions, Transformations, and Animations What CSS3 transitions are and how we can use them The properties of a transition The transition shorthand property Transition different properties over different periods of time Understanding timing functions Fun transitions for responsive websites CSS3 2D transforms Scale Translate Using translate to center absolutely positioned elements Rotate Skew Matrix Matrix transformations for cheats and dunces The transform-origin property CSS3 3D transformations The transform3d property Use transforms with progressive enhancement Animating with CSS3 The animation-fill-mode property Summary 9. Conquer Forms with HTML5 and CSS3 HTML5 forms Understanding the component parts of HTML5 forms placeholder Styling the placeholder text required
  • 13. autofocus autocomplete List and the associated datalist element HTML5 input types email number min and max ranges Changing the step increments url tel search pattern color Date and time inputs date month week time range How to polyfill non-supporting browsers Styling HTML5 forms with CSS3 Indicating required fields Creating a background fill effect Summary 10. Approaching a Responsive Web Design Get designs in the browser as soon as possible Let the design dictate the breakpoints View and use the design on real devices Embracing progressive enhancement Defining a browser support matrix Functional parity, not aesthetic parity Choosing the browsers to support Tiering the user experience Practically delivering experience tiers Linking CSS breakpoints to JavaScript Avoid CSS frameworks in production
  • 14. Coding pragmatic solutions When a link becomes a button Use the simplest code possible Hiding, showing, and loading content across viewports Let CSS do the (visual) heavy lifting Validators and linting tools Performance The next big things Summary Index
  • 15. Responsive Web Design with HTML5 and CSS3 Second Edition
  • 16. Responsive Web Design with HTML5 and CSS3 Second Edition Copyright © 2015 Packt Publishing All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews. Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy of the information presented. However, the information contained in this book is sold without warranty, either express or implied. Neither the author, nor Packt Publishing, and its dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by this book. Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the companies and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals. However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information. First published: April 2012 Second edition: August 2015 Production reference: 2200815 Published by Packt Publishing Ltd. Livery Place 35 Livery Street
  • 17. Birmingham B3 2PB, UK. ISBN 978-1-78439-893-4 www.packtpub.com
  • 18. Credits Author Ben Frain Reviewers Esteban S. Abait Christopher Scott Hernandez Mauvis Ledford Sophie Williams Commissioning Editor Edward Gordon Acquisition Editors Edward Gordon Subho Gupta Content Development Editor Pooja Nair Technical Editor Ankita Thakur Copy Editors Rebecca Youé
  • 19. Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
  • 22. The Project Gutenberg eBook of The lost race
  • 23. This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The lost race Author: Robert E. Howard Illustrator: G. O. Olinick Release date: June 8, 2024 [eBook #73793] Language: English Original publication: Indianapolis, IN: Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 1927 Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Distributed Proofreaders Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST RACE ***
  • 25. The LOST RACE By Robert E. Howard [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales January 1927.]
  • 26. Cororuc glanced about him and hastened his pace. He was no coward, but he did not like the place. Tall trees rose all about, their sullen branches shutting out the sunlight. The dim trail led in and out among them, sometimes skirting the edge of a ravine, where Cororuc could gaze down at the tree-tops beneath. Occasionally, through a rift in the forest, he could see away to the forbidding hills that hinted of the ranges much farther to the west, that were the mountains of Cornwall. In those mountains the bandit chief, Buruc the Cruel, was supposed to lurk, to descend upon such victims as might pass that way. Cororuc shifted his grip on his spear and quickened his step. His haste was due not only to the menace of the outlaws, but also to the fact that he wished once more to be in his native land. He had been on a secret mission to the wild Cornish tribesmen: and though he had been more or less successful, he was impatient to be out of their inhospitable country. It had been a long, wearisome trip, and he still had nearly the whole of Britain to traverse. He threw a glance of aversion about him. He longed for the pleasant woodlands, with scampering deer, and chirping birds, to which he was used. He longed for the tall white cliff, where the blue sea lapped merrily. The forest through which he was passing seemed uninhabited. There were no birds, no animals; nor had he seen a sign of a human habitation. His comrades still lingered at the savage court of the Cornish king, enjoying his crude hospitality, in no hurry to be away. But Cororuc was not content. So he had left them to follow at their leisure and had set out alone. Rather a fine figure of a man was Cororuc. Some six feet in height, strongly though leanly built, he was, with gray eyes, a pure Briton but not a pure Celt, his long yellow hair revealing, in him as in all his race, a trace of Belgæ.
  • 27. He was clad in skilfully dressed deerskin, for the Celts had not yet perfected the coarse cloth which they made, and most of the race preferred the hides of deer. He was armed with a long bow of yew wood, made with no especial skill but an efficient weapon; a long bronze broadsword, with a buckskin sheath, a long bronze dagger and a small, round shield, rimmed with a band of bronze and covered with tough buffalo hide. A crude bronze helmet was on his head. Faint devices were painted in woad on his arms and cheeks. His beardless face was of the highest type of Briton, clear, straightforward, the shrewd, practical determination of the Nordic mingling with the reckless courage and dreamy artistry of the Celt. So Cororuc trod the forest path, warily, ready to flee or fight, but preferring to do neither just then. The trail led away from the ravine, disappearing around a great tree. And from the other side of the tree, Cororuc heard sounds of conflict. Gliding warily forward, and wondering whether he should see some of the elves and dwarfs that were reputed to haunt those woodlands, he peered around the great tree. A few feet from him he saw a strange tableau. Backed against another tree stood a large wolf, at bay, blood trickling from gashes about his shoulder; while before him, crouching for a spring, the warrior saw a great panther. Cororuc wondered at the cause of the battle. Not often the lords of the forest met in warfare. And he was puzzled by the snarls of the great cat. Savage, blood-lusting, yet they held a strange note of fear; and the beast seemed hesitant to spring in. Just why Cororuc chose to take the part of the wolf, he himself could not have said. Doubtless it was just the reckless chivalry of the Celt of him, an admiration for the dauntless attitude of the wolf against his far more powerful foe. Be that as it may, Cororuc, characteristically forgetting his bow and taking the more reckless course, drew his sword and leaped in front of the panther. But he had
  • 28. no chance to use it. The panther, whose nerve appeared to be already somewhat shaken, uttered a startled screech and disappeared among the trees so quickly that Cororuc wondered if he had really seen a panther. He turned to the wolf, wondering if it would leap upon him. It was watching him, half crouching; slowly it stepped away from the tree, and still watching him, backed away a few yards, then turned and made off with a strange shambling gait. As the warrior watched it vanish into the forest, an uncanny feeling came over him: he had seen many wolves, he had hunted them and had been hunted by them, but he had never seen such a wolf before. He hesitated and then walked warily after the wolf, following the tracks that were plainly defined in the soft loam. He did not hasten, being merely content to follow the tracks. After a short distance, he stopped short, the hairs on his neck seeming to bristle. Only the tracks of the hind feet showed: the wolf was walking erect. He glanced about him. There was no sound; the forest was silent. He felt an impulse to turn and put as much territory between him and the mystery as possible, but his Celtic curiosity would not allow it. He followed the trail. And then it ceased altogether. Beneath a great tree the tracks vanished. Cororuc felt the cold sweat on his forehead. What kind of place was that forest? Was he being led astray and eluded by some inhuman, supernatural monster of the woodlands, who sought to ensnare him? And Cororuc backed away, his sword lifted, his courage not allowing him to run, but greatly desiring to do so. And so he came again to the tree where he had first seen the wolf. The trail he had followed led away from it in another direction and Cororuc took it up, almost running in his haste to get out of the vicinity of a wolf who walked on two legs and then vanished in the air. The trail wound about more tediously than ever, appearing and disappearing within a dozen feet, but it was well for Cororuc that it did, for thus he heard the voices of the men coming up the path
  • 29. before they saw him. He took to a tall tree that branched over the trail, lying close to the great bole, along a wide-flung branch. Three men were coming down the forest path. One was a big, burly fellow, vastly over six feet in height, with a long red beard and a great mop of red hair. In contrast, his eyes were a beady black. He was dressed in deer-skins, and armed with a great sword. Of the two others, one was a lanky, villainous-looking scoundrel, with only one eye, and the other was a small, wizened man, who squinted hideously with both beady eyes. Cororuc knew them, by descriptions the Cornishmen had made between curses, and it was in his excitement to get a better view of the most villainous murderer in Britain that he slipped from the tree branch and plunged to the ground directly between them. He was up on the instant, his sword out. He could expect no mercy; for he knew that the red-haired man was Buruc the Cruel, the scourge of Cornwall. The bandit chief bellowed a foul curse and whipped out his great sword. He avoided the Briton's furious thrust by a swift backward leap and then the battle was on. Buruc rushed the warrior from the front, striving to beat him down by sheer weight; while the lanky, one-eyed villain slipped around, trying to get behind him. The smaller man had retreated to the edge of the forest. The fine art of the fence was unknown to those early swordsmen. It was hack, slash, stab, the full weight of the arm behind each blow. The terrific blows crashing on his shield beat Cororuc to the ground, and the lanky, one-eyed villain rushed in to finish him. Cororuc spun about without rising, cut the bandit's legs from under him and stabbed him as he fell, then threw himself to one side and to his feet, in time to avoid Buruc's sword. Again, driving his shield up to catch the bandit's sword in midair, he deflected it and whirled his own with all his power. Buruc's head flew from his shoulders.
  • 30. Then Cororuc, turning, saw the wizened bandit scurry into the forest. He raced after him, but the fellow had disappeared among the trees. Knowing the uselessness of attempting to pursue him, Cororuc turned and raced down the trail. He did not know if there were more bandits in that direction, but he did know that if he expected to get out of the forest at all, he would have to do it swiftly. Without doubt the villain who had escaped would have all the other bandits out, and soon they would be beating the woodlands for him. After running for some distance down the path and seeing no sign of any enemy, he stopped and climbed into the topmost branches of a tall tree, that towered above its fellows. On all sides he seemed surrounded by a leafy ocean. To the west he could see the hills he had avoided. To the north, far in the distance other hills rose; to the south the forest ran, an unbroken sea. But to the east, far away, he could barely see the line that marked the thinning out of the forest into the fertile plains. Miles and miles away, he knew not how many, but it meant more pleasant travel, villages of men, people of his own race. He was surprized that he was able to see that far, but the tree in which he stood was a giant of its kind. Before he started to descend, he glanced about nearer at hand. He could trace the faintly marked line of the trail he had been following, running away into the east; and could make out other trails leading into it, or away from it. Then a glint caught his eye. He fixed his gaze on a glade some distance down the trail and saw, presently, a party of men enter and vanish. Here and there, on every trail, he caught glances of the glint of accouterments, the waving of foliage. So the squinting villain had already roused the bandits. They were all around him; he was virtually surrounded. A faintly heard burst of savage yells, from back up the trail, startled him. So, they had already thrown a cordon about the place of the fight and had found him gone. Had he not fled swiftly, he would have been caught. He was outside the cordon, but the bandits were all about him. Swiftly he slipped from the tree and glided into the forest.
  • 31. Then began the most exciting hunt Cororuc had ever engaged in; for he was the hunted and men were the hunters. Gliding, slipping from bush to bush and from tree to tree, now running swiftly, now crouching in a covert, Cororuc fled, ever eastward; not daring to turn back lest he be driven farther back into the forest. At times he was forced to turn his course; in fact, he very seldom fled in a straight course, yet always he managed to work farther eastward. Sometimes he crouched in bushes or lay along some leafy branch, and saw bandits pass so close to him that he could have touched them. Once or twice they sighted him and he fled, bounding over logs and bushes, darting in and out among the trees; and always he eluded them. It was in one of those headlong flights that he noticed he had entered a defile of small hills, of which he had been unaware, and looking back over his shoulder, saw that his pursuers had halted, within full sight. Without pausing to ruminate on so strange a thing, he darted around a great boulder, felt a vine or something catch his foot, and was thrown headlong. Simultaneously something struck the youth's head, knocking him senseless. When Cororuc recovered his senses, he found that he was bound, hand and foot. He was being borne along, over rough ground. He looked about him. Men carried him on their shoulders, but such men as he had never seen before. Scarce above four feet stood the tallest, and they were small of build and very dark of complexion. Their eyes were black; and most of them went stooped forward, as if from a lifetime spent in crouching and hiding; peering furtively on all sides. They were armed with small bows, arrows, spears and daggers, all pointed, not with crudely worked bronze but with flint and obsidian, of the finest workmanship. They were dressed in finely dressed hides of rabbits and other small animals, and a kind of coarse cloth; and many were tattooed from head to foot in ocher and woad. There
  • 32. were perhaps twenty in all. What sort of men were they? Cororuc had never seen the like. They were going down a ravine, on both sides of which steep cliffs rose. Presently they seemed to come to a blank wall, where the ravine appeared to come to an abrupt stop. Here, at a word from one who seemed to be in command, they set the Briton down, and seizing hold of a large boulder, drew it to one side. A small cavern was exposed, seeming to vanish away into the earth; then the strange men picked up the Briton and moved forward. Cororuc's hair bristled at thought of being borne into that forbidding- looking cave. What manner of men were they? In all Britain and Alba, in Cornwall or Ireland, Cororuc had never seen such men. Small dwarfish men, who dwelt in the earth. Cold sweat broke out on the youth's forehead. Surely they were the malevolent dwarfs of whom the Cornish people had spoken, who dwelt in their caverns by day, and by night sallied forth to steal and burn dwellings, even slaying if the opportunity arose! You will hear of them, even today, if you journey in Cornwall. The men, or elves, if such they were, bore him into the cavern, others entering and drawing the boulder back into place. For a moment all was darkness, and then torches began to glow, away off. And at a shout they moved on. Other men of the caves came forward, with the torches. Cororuc looked about him. The torches shed a vague glow over the scene. Sometimes one, sometimes another wall of the cave showed for an instant, and the Briton was vaguely aware that they were covered with paintings, crudely done, yet with a certain skill his own race could not equal. But always the roof remained unseen. Cororuc knew that the seemingly small cavern had merged into a cave of surprizing size. Through the vague light of the torches the strange people moved, came and went, silently, like shadows of the dim past. He felt the cords or thongs that bound his feet loosened. He was lifted upright.
  • 33. "Walk straight ahead," said a voice, speaking the language of his own race, and he felt a spearpoint touch the back of his neck. And straight ahead he walked, feeling his sandals scrape on the stone floor of the cave, until they came to a place where the floor tilted upward. The pitch was steep and the stone was so slippery that Cororuc could not have climbed it alone. But his captors pushed him, and pulled him, and he saw that long, strong vines were strung from somewhere at the top. Those the strange men seized, and bracing their feet against the slippery ascent, went up swiftly. When their feet found level surface again, the cave made a turn, and Cororuc blundered out into a firelit scene that made him gasp. The cave debouched into a cavern so vast as to be almost incredible. The mighty walls swept up into a great arched roof that vanished in the darkness. A level floor lay between, and through it flowed a river; an underground river. From under one wall it flowed to vanish silently under the other. An arched stone bridge, seemingly of natural make, spanned the current. All around the walls of the great cavern, which was roughly circular, were smaller caves, and before each glowed a fire. Higher up were other caves, regularly arranged, tier on tier. Surely human men could not have built such a city. In and out among the caves, on the level floor of the main cavern, people were going about what seemed daily tasks. Men were talking together and mending weapons, some were fishing from the river; women were replenishing fires, preparing garments; and altogether it might have been any other village in Britain, to judge from their occupations. But it all struck Cororuc as extremely unreal; the strange place, the small, silent people, going about their tasks, the river flowing silently through it all. Then they became aware of the prisoner and flocked about him. There was none of the shouting, abuse and indignities, such as savages usually heap on their captives, as the small men drew about
  • 34. Cororuc, silently eyeing him with malevolent, wolfish stares. The warrior shuddered, in spite of himself. But his captors pushed through the throng, driving the Briton before them. Close to the bank of the river, they stopped and drew away from around him. Two great fires leaped and flickered in front of him and there was something between them. He focused his gaze and presently made out the object. A high stone seat, like a throne; and in it seated an aged man, with a long white beard, silent, motionless, but with black eyes that gleamed like a wolf's. The ancient was clothed in some kind of a single, flowing garment. One clawlike hand rested on the seat near him, skinny, crooked fingers, with talons like a hawk's. The other hand was hidden among his garments. The firelight danced and flickered; now the old man stood out clearly, his hooked, beaklike nose and long beard thrown into bold relief; now he seemed to recede until he was invisible to the gaze of the Briton, except for his glittering eyes. "Speak, Briton!" The words came suddenly, strong, clear, without a hint of age. "Speak, what would ye say?" Cororuc, taken aback, stammered and said, "Why, why—what manner of people are you? Why have you taken me prisoner? Are you elves?" "We are Picts," was the stern reply. "Picts!" Cororuc had heard tales of those ancient people from the Gaelic Britons; some said that they still lurked in the hill of Siluria, but —— "I have fought Picts in Caledonia," the Briton protested; "they are short but massive and misshapen; not at all like you!"
  • 35. "They are not true Picts," came the stern retort. "Look about you, Briton," with a wave of an arm, "you see the remnants of a vanishing race; a race that once ruled Britain from sea to sea." The Briton stared, bewildered. "Harken, Briton," the voice continued; "harken, barbarian, while I tell to you the tale of the lost race." The firelight flickered and danced, throwing vague reflections on the towering walls and on the rushing, silent current. The ancient's voice echoed through the mighty cavern. "Our people came from the south. Over the islands, over the Inland Sea. Over the snow-topped mountains, where some remained, to stay any enemies who might follow. Down into the fertile plains we came. Over all the land we spread. We became wealthy and prosperous. Then two kings arose in the land, and he who conquered, drove out the conquered. So many of us made boats and set sail for the far-off cliffs that gleamed white in the sunlight. We found a fair land with fertile plains. We found a race of red-haired barbarians, who dwelt in caves. Mighty giants, of great bodies and small minds. "We built our huts of wattle. We tilled the soil. We cleared the forest. We drove the red-haired giants back into the forest. Farther we drove them back until at last they fled to the mountains of the west and the mountains of the north. We were rich. We were prosperous. "Then," and his voice thrilled with rage and hate, until it seemed to reverberate through the cavern, "then the Celts came. From the isles of the west, in their rude coracles they came. In the west they landed, but they were not satisfied with the west. They marched eastward and seized the fertile plains. We fought. They were stronger. They were fierce fighters and they were armed with weapons of bronze, whereas we had only weapons of flint. "We were driven out. They enslaved us. They drove us into the forest. Some of us fled into the mountains of the west. Many fled into
  • 36. the mountains of the north. There they mingled with the red-haired giants we drove out so long ago, and became a race of monstrous dwarfs, losing all the arts of peace and gaining only the ability to fight. "But some of us swore that we would never leave the land we had fought for. But the Celts pressed us. There were many, and more came. So we took to caverns, to ravines, to caves. We, who had always dwelt in huts that let in much light, who had always tilled the soil, we learned to dwell like beasts, in caves where no sunlight ever entered. Caves we found, of which this is the greatest; caves we made. "You, Briton," the voice became a shriek and a long arm was outstretched in accusation, "you and your race! You have made a free, prosperous nation into a race of earth-rats! We who never fled, who dwelt in the air and the sunlight close by the sea where traders came, we must flee like hunted beasts and burrow like moles! But at night! Ah, then for our vengeance! Then we slip from our hiding places, from our ravines and our caves, with torch and dagger! Look, Briton!" And following the gesture, Cororuc saw a rounded post of some kind of very hard wood, set in a niche in the stone floor, close to the bank. The floor about the niche was charred as if by old fires. Cororuc stared, uncomprehending. Indeed, he understood little of what had passed. That these people were even human, he was not at all certain. He had heard so much of them as "little people." Tales of their doings, their hatred of the race of man, and their maliciousness flocked back to him. Little he knew that he was gazing on one of the mysteries of the ages. That the tales which the ancient Gaels told of the Picts, already warped, would become even more warped from age to age, to result in tales of elves, dwarfs, trolls and fairies, at first accepted and then rejected, entire, by the race of men, just as the Neandertal monsters resulted in tales of goblins and ogres. But of that Cororuc neither knew nor cared, and the ancient was speaking again.
  • 37. "There, there, Briton," exulted he, pointing to the post, "there you shall pay! A scant payment for the debt your race owes mine, but to the fullest of your extent." The old man's exultation would have been fiendish, except for a certain high purpose in his face. He was sincere. He believed that he was only taking just vengeance; and he seemed like some great patriot for a mighty, lost cause. "But I am a Briton!" stammered Cororuc. "It was not my people who drove your race into exile! They were Gaels, from Ireland. I am a Briton and my race came from Gallia only a hundred years ago. We conquered the Gaels and drove them into Erin, Wales and Caledonia, even as they drove your race." "No matter!" The ancient chief was on his feet. "A Celt is a Celt. Briton, or Gael, it makes no difference. Had it not been Gael, it would have been Briton. Every Celt who falls into our hands must pay, be it warrior or woman, babe or king. Seize him and bind him to the post." In an instant Cororuc was bound to the post, and he saw, with horror, the Picts piling firewood about his feet. "And when you are sufficiently burned, Briton," said the ancient, "this dagger that has drunk the blood of an hundred Britons, shall quench its thirst in yours." "But never have I harmed a Pict!" Cororuc gasped, struggling with his bonds. "You pay, not for what you did, but for what your race has done," answered the ancient sternly. "Well do I remember the deeds of the Celts when first they landed on Britain—the shrieks of the slaughtered, the screams of ravished girls, the smokes of burning villages, the plundering." Cororuc felt his short neck-hairs bristle. When first the Celts landed on Britain! That was over five hundred years ago! And his Celtic curiosity would not let him keep still, even at the stake with the Picts preparing to light firewood piled about him.
  • 38. "You could not remember that. That was ages ago." The ancient looked at him somberly. "And I am age-old. In my youth I was a witch-finder, and an old woman witch cursed me as she writhed at the stake. She said I should live until the last child of the Pictish race had passed. That I should see the once mighty nation go down into oblivion and then—and only then—should I follow it. For she put upon me the curse of life everlasting." Then his voice rose until it filled the cavern, "But the curse was nothing. Words can do no harm, can do nothing, to a man. I live. An hundred generations have I seen come and go, and yet another hundred. What is time? The sun rises and sets, and another day has passed into oblivion. Men watch the sun and set their lives by it. They league themselves on every hand with time. They count the minutes that race them into eternity. Man outlived the centuries ere he began to reckon time. Time is man-made. Eternity is the work of the gods. In this cavern there is no such thing as time. There are no stars, no sun. Without is time; within is eternity. We count not time. Nothing marks the speeding of the hours. The youths go forth. They see the sun, the stars. They reckon time. And they pass. I was a young man when I entered this cavern. I have never left it. As you reckon time, I may have dwelt here a thousand years; or an hour. When not banded by time, the soul, the mind, call it what you will, can conquer the body. And the wise men of the race, in my youth, knew more than the outer world will ever learn. When I feel that my body begins to weaken, I take the magic draft, that is known only to me, of all the world. It does not give immortality; that is the work of the mind alone; but it rebuilds the body. The race of Picts vanish; they fade like the snow on the mountain. And when the last is gone, this dagger shall free me from the world." Then in a swift change of tone, "Light the fagots!" Cororuc's mind was fairly reeling. He did not in the least understand what he had just heard. He was positive that he was going mad; and
  • 39. what he saw the next minute assured him of it. Through the throng came a wolf; and he knew that it was the wolf whom he had rescued from the panther close by the ravine in the forest! Strange, how long ago and far away that seemed! Yes, it was the same wolf. That same strange, shambling gait. Then the thing stood erect and raised its front feet to its head. What nameless horror was that? "Then the thing stood erect and raised its front feet to its head. What nameless horror was that?"
  • 40. Then the wolf's head fell back, disclosing a man's face. The face of a Pict; one of the first "werewolves." The man stepped out of the wolfskin and strode forward, calling something. A Pict just starting to light the wood about the Briton's feet drew back the torch and hesitated. The wolf-Pict stepped forward and began to speak to the chief, using Celtic, evidently for the prisoner's benefit. (Cororuc was surprized to hear so many speak his language, not reflecting upon its comparative simplicity, and the ability of the Picts.) "What is this?" asked the Pict who had played wolf. "A man is to be burned who should not be!" "How?" exclaimed the old man fiercely, clutching his long beard. "Who are you to go against a custom of age-old antiquity?" "I met a panther," answered the other, "and this Briton risked his life to save mine. Shall a Pict show ingratitude?" And as the ancient hesitated, evidently pulled one way by his fanatical lust for revenge, and the other by his equally fierce racial pride, the Pict burst into a wild flight of oration, carried on in his own language. At last the ancient chief nodded. "A Pict ever paid his debts," said he with impressive grandeur. "Never a Pict forgets. Unbind him. No Celt shall ever say that a Pict showed ingratitude." Cororuc was released, and as, like a man in a daze, he tried to stammer his thanks, the chief waved them aside. "A Pict never forgets a foe, ever remembers a friendly deed," he replied. "Come," murmured his Pictish friend, tugging at the Celt's arm. He led the way into a cave leading away from the main cavern. As they went, Cororuc looked back, to see the ancient chief seated upon his stone throne, his eyes gleaming as he seemed to gaze back through the lost glories of the ages; on each hand the fires leaped and flickered. A figure of grandeur, the king of a lost race.
  • 41. On and on Cororuc's guide led him. And at last they emerged and the Briton saw the starlit sky above him. "In that way is a village of your tribesmen," said the Pict, pointing, "where you will find a welcome until you wish to take up your journey anew." And he pressed gifts on the Celt; gifts of garments of cloth and finely worked deerskin, beaded belts, a fine horn bow with arrows skilfully tipped with obsidian. Gifts of food. His own weapons were returned to him. "But an instant," said the Briton, as the Pict turned to go. "I followed your tracks in the forest. They vanished." There was a question in his voice. The Pict laughed softly, "I leaped into the branches of the tree. Had you looked up, you would have seen me. If ever you wish a friend, you will ever find one in Berula, chief among the Alban Picts." He turned and vanished. And Cororuc strode through the moonlight toward the Celtic village.
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