EBOOK
About
The third book in the critically acclaimed series set in Classical Athens, featuring the historically-inspired amateur detective Nicolaos.
It is the Olympics of 460 BC. Nico's best friend, Timodemus, is a competitor in the pankration, the deadly martial art of ancient Greece. Timo is hot favorite to win. His only serious rival is Parmonos from Sparta. When Parmonos is found beaten to death, it is obvious Timodemus must be the killer. Who else could have killed the second-best fighter in all Hellas but the very best? The Judges of the Games sentence Timodemus to be executed in four days' time, as soon as the Sacred Games have finished.
Complicating everything is the fact that Athens and Sparta are already at each other's throats, in the opening stages of a power struggle for control of Hellas. If an Athenian is found to have cheated at the Games by murdering a Spartan, it will be everything the hawks in Sparta need to declare open war the moment the Sacred Truce is over. And that's a war Athens cannot hope to win.
Nico and his partner in sleuthing, the annoyingly clever priestess Diotima, have four days to save their friend and avert a war that would tear their world apart. Praise for Gary Corby:
"Corby has not only made Greek history accessible--he's made it first-rate entertainment." ─Kelli Stanley, award-winning author of Nox Dormienda and City of Dragons
"Those who like their historicals with a touch of humor will welcome Australian author Corby's promising debut... Corby displays a real gift for pacing and plotting."─Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
"Energetic.... Very entertaining." ─Kirkus Reviews Gary Corby lives in Sydney, Australia, with his wife and two daughters. He blogs at A Dead Man Fell from the Sky, on all things ancient, Athenian, and mysterious. Day 1 of the 80th Olympiad of the Sacred Games
The procession wound past the Sanctuary of Zeus. They'd been walking two days, from Elis to Olympia.
"Will we get to see someone die?" Socrates asked. Like any boy, he looked forward to the violence of the struggle more than the beauty of the sport. Unlike me, Socrates had never seen death. To him, it was still a game.
"How should I know?" I said. "You can only hope."
We stood in the crowd to watch the long line file past: the athletes, their fathers and uncles and brothers, the trainers and the Ten Judges of the Games. Socrates jumped up and down to see over the shoulders of the spectators in front. That's what he got for being a twelve-year-old in a crowd of mostly men.
The team from Sparta passed by, one of the few teams I could recognize without having to ask, because Spartans march in step where others walk. At the rear of the Spartans came one of the largest men I have ever seen, a towering hulk-he was half as tall again as me, with shoulders that could have hefted an ox. The chiton he wore had enough material to double as the sail for a small boat. The blacksmith who'd made his armor must have wept for joy at the challenge, then died of exhaustion trying to cover such a chest. Despite the two-day march the large man's stride was brisk; he looked neither left nor right, and he swung his well-muscled arms in much the same style as the Titans once had done when they strode the earth.
The Athenians came next. Leading them, almost in the shadow of the huge Spartan, was Timodemus, son of Timonous, of the deme Archarnae. I waved at once and shouted, "Chaire Timodemus! Hail Timodemus!"
He smiled broadly and waved back. "Chaire Nicolaos!"
I raised my arms in a victory salute, meaning he would win his event. Other men, all Athenians, cheered for Timodemus too. Everyone knew he was one of the stars of this Olympics, a likely winner of the pankration, and Athens' best hope of a victory.
Th
It is the Olympics of 460 BC. Nico's best friend, Timodemus, is a competitor in the pankration, the deadly martial art of ancient Greece. Timo is hot favorite to win. His only serious rival is Parmonos from Sparta. When Parmonos is found beaten to death, it is obvious Timodemus must be the killer. Who else could have killed the second-best fighter in all Hellas but the very best? The Judges of the Games sentence Timodemus to be executed in four days' time, as soon as the Sacred Games have finished.
Complicating everything is the fact that Athens and Sparta are already at each other's throats, in the opening stages of a power struggle for control of Hellas. If an Athenian is found to have cheated at the Games by murdering a Spartan, it will be everything the hawks in Sparta need to declare open war the moment the Sacred Truce is over. And that's a war Athens cannot hope to win.
Nico and his partner in sleuthing, the annoyingly clever priestess Diotima, have four days to save their friend and avert a war that would tear their world apart. Praise for Gary Corby:
"Corby has not only made Greek history accessible--he's made it first-rate entertainment." ─Kelli Stanley, award-winning author of Nox Dormienda and City of Dragons
"Those who like their historicals with a touch of humor will welcome Australian author Corby's promising debut... Corby displays a real gift for pacing and plotting."─Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
"Energetic.... Very entertaining." ─Kirkus Reviews Gary Corby lives in Sydney, Australia, with his wife and two daughters. He blogs at A Dead Man Fell from the Sky, on all things ancient, Athenian, and mysterious. Day 1 of the 80th Olympiad of the Sacred Games
The procession wound past the Sanctuary of Zeus. They'd been walking two days, from Elis to Olympia.
"Will we get to see someone die?" Socrates asked. Like any boy, he looked forward to the violence of the struggle more than the beauty of the sport. Unlike me, Socrates had never seen death. To him, it was still a game.
"How should I know?" I said. "You can only hope."
We stood in the crowd to watch the long line file past: the athletes, their fathers and uncles and brothers, the trainers and the Ten Judges of the Games. Socrates jumped up and down to see over the shoulders of the spectators in front. That's what he got for being a twelve-year-old in a crowd of mostly men.
The team from Sparta passed by, one of the few teams I could recognize without having to ask, because Spartans march in step where others walk. At the rear of the Spartans came one of the largest men I have ever seen, a towering hulk-he was half as tall again as me, with shoulders that could have hefted an ox. The chiton he wore had enough material to double as the sail for a small boat. The blacksmith who'd made his armor must have wept for joy at the challenge, then died of exhaustion trying to cover such a chest. Despite the two-day march the large man's stride was brisk; he looked neither left nor right, and he swung his well-muscled arms in much the same style as the Titans once had done when they strode the earth.
The Athenians came next. Leading them, almost in the shadow of the huge Spartan, was Timodemus, son of Timonous, of the deme Archarnae. I waved at once and shouted, "Chaire Timodemus! Hail Timodemus!"
He smiled broadly and waved back. "Chaire Nicolaos!"
I raised my arms in a victory salute, meaning he would win his event. Other men, all Athenians, cheered for Timodemus too. Everyone knew he was one of the stars of this Olympics, a likely winner of the pankration, and Athens' best hope of a victory.
Th