Download E-books The Seventh Scroll: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt) PDF

By Wilbur Smith

For 4,000 years, the lavish crypt of the Pharaoh Mamose hasn't ever been found...until the 7th Scroll, a cryptic message written through he slave Taita, offers attractive Egyptologist Royan Al Simma a tantalizing clue to its location.

But it is a treasure cache others may kill to own. just one step sooner than assassins, Royan runs for her lifestyles and into the fingers of the single guy she will belief, Sir Nicholas Quenton-Harper--a bold guy who will stake his fortune and his existence to affix her hunt for the king's tomb. jointly, they'll embark on a panoramic trip to the main unique locale on the earth, the place the best secret of historic Egypt, a chilling threat and an explosive ardour are waiting.

Steeped in historic secret, drama and motion, The 7th Scroll is a masterpiece from Wilbur Smith, a storyteller on the top of his powers.

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Be courageous, my husband, assistance will come very quickly. ’ He was once twitching and convulsing in her fingers, tortured through his mortal accidents and racked by means of the trouble to talk. ‘The scroll? ’ His voice was once slightly intelligible. Royan regarded up on the holocaust that enveloped their domestic, and she or he shook her head. ‘It’s gone,’ she stated. ‘Burned or stolen. ’ ‘Don’t provide it up,’ he mumbled. ‘All our work—’ ‘It’s gone,’ she repeated. ‘No one will think us without—’ ‘No! ’ His voice was once faint yet fierce. ‘For me, my last—’ ‘Don’t say that,’ she pleaded. ‘You may be alright. ’ ‘Promise,’ he demanded. ‘Promise me! ’ ‘We don't have any sponsor. i'm by myself. i will not do it by myself. ’ ‘Harper! ’ he acknowledged. Royan leaned nearer in order that her ear touched his fire-ravaged lips. ‘Harper,’ he repeated. ‘Strong – difficult – smart man—’ and he or she understood then. Harper, in fact, used to be the fourth and final identify at the checklist of sponsors that he had drawn up. even though he was once the final at the checklist, someway she had continually recognized that Duraid’s order of choice used to be inverted. Nicholas Quenton-Harper was once his first selection. He had spoken so usually of this guy with admire and heat, and infrequently inspite of awe. ‘But what do I inform him? He doesn't recognize me. How will I persuade him? The 7th scroll is long gone. ’ ‘Trust him,’ he whispered. ‘Good guy. belief him—’ there has been a negative allure in his ‘Promise me! ’ Then she remembered the computer of their flat at Giza within the Cairo suburbs, and the Taita fabric at the hard disk drive on her computer. now not every thing was once long past. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘I promise you, my husband, I promise you. ’ notwithstanding these mutilated gains may convey no human expression there has been a faint echo of pride in his voice as he whispered, ‘My flower! ’ Then his head dropped ahead, and he died in her palms. The peasants from the village chanced on Royan nonetheless kneeling beside the pond, conserving him, whispering to him. via that point the flames have been abating, and the faint gentle of sunrise used to be superior than their fading glow. the entire senior employees from the museum and the dep. of Antiquities have been on the funeral provider within the church of the oasis. Even Atalan Abou Sin, the Minister of tradition and Tourism and Duraid’s more suitable, had pop out from Cairo in his reliable black air-conditioned Mercedes. He stood in the back of Royan and, although he was once a Moslem, joined within the responses. Nahoot Guddabi stood beside his uncle. Nahoot’s mom used to be the minister’s youngest sister, which, as Duraid had ironically mentioned, absolutely made up for the nephew’s loss of skills and adventure in archaeology and for his ineptitude as an administrator. The day used to be sweltering. open air, the temperature stood at over thirty levels, or even within the dim cloisters of the Coptic church it used to be oppressive. within the thick clouds of incense smoke and the drone of the black-clad priest intoning the traditional order of carrier Royan felt herself suffocating. The stitches in her correct arm pulled and burned, and each time she checked out the lengthy black coffin that stood in entrance of the ornate and gilded altar, the dreadful imaginative and prescient of Duraid’s bald and scorched head rose prior to her eyes and she or he swayed in her seat and needed to trap herself earlier than she fell.

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