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Page 1 of Also by Diana Gabaldon (in order of publication) THE OUTLANDER SERIES OUTLANDER DRAGONFLY IN AMBER VOYAGE. #2 An Echo in the Darkness: Turning away from the opulence of Rome, Marcus is led by a whispering voice from the past into a journey that could set him free. An Echo in the Darkness. Mark of the Lion. by Francine Rivers. ebook #2 An Echo in the Darkness: Turning away from the opulence of Rome, Marcus is led from the past into a journey that could set him free from the darkness of his soul.

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An echo in the darkness by Francine Rivers; 2 editions; First published in ; Subjects: In library, Protected DAISY, Women slaves in fiction. An echo in the darkness. by Rivers, Francine, Publication date Borrows. 4 Favorites. DOWNLOAD OPTIONS. download 1 file. Read An Echo in the Darkness by Francine Rivers for free with a 30 day free trial. Become a member today and read free for 30 days. Download to App.

With an OverDrive account, you can save your favorite libraries for at-a-glance information about availability. Find out more about OverDrive accounts. This classic series has inspired nearly 2 million readers. Both loyal fans and new readers will want the latest edition of this beloved series. This edition includes a foreword from the publisher, a preface from Francine Rivers and discussion questions suitable for personal and group use. Turning away from the opulence of Rome, Marcus is led by a whispering voice from the past into a journey that could set him free from the darkness of his soul.

Spanish eBook. Add To Cart 0. Trade Paperback Spanish Book. Trade Paperback Book. Trade Paperback Book - Slightly Imperfect. Tyndale House Publication Date: Mark of the Lion. Related Products. The Case for Easter Lee Strobel. Lee Strobel. The Logic of God: Ravi Zacharias. He had gone as far as he could by studying drawings and writings. Only by performing vivisection could he learn more. Phlegon had been well aware of his aversion to the practice, but the old physician had been adamant, closing him in a trap of reason.

You say you want to be a physician? Then tell me, good student, would you have a physician perform surgeries without firsthand knowledge of human anatomy? Charts and drawing are not the same as working on a human being. Be thankful the games give you such opportunity! Alexander watched as, one by one, the victims went down until the horrific sounds of terror and pain were deadened by the relative quietude of feeding lions.

He shook his head. No, that was one thing he would never feel regarding the games. Suddenly another sound more dangerous than the lions began to hum. Alexander recognized it quickly—the ripple of boredom, the growing swell of discontent among the spectators. The contest was over. A dark restlessness swept through the stands like a fire in a cheap tenement. The beasts heard the gates swing open and dug in their claws and teeth more fiercely as armed handlers came out to drive them back into their cages.

Alexander prayed to Mars, that the men would work quickly, and to Asklepios that there might be the flicker of life in at least one of the victims. Alexander was not interested in the drama of separating feeding animals from their kills. His gaze swept across the sand, searching for a survivor, any survivor, holding little hope that there was one. His eyes fell upon the young woman again.

No lion was near her. He found that curious, since she was far from the men driving the animals toward the gates. He saw a flicker of movement. Leaning forward, he squinted his eyes against the glare. Her fingers moved! As you wish. The guard stepped forward, put two fingers to his lips, and gave two quick, sharp whistles.

The guard made a signal to the plumed visage of Charon, who danced among the dead. Alexander watched the costumed actor leap and turn toward the fallen girl. Charon leaned down slightly, his feathered, beaked head turned as though listening intently for some sound or sign of life, all the while waving his mallet around in the air theatrically, prepared to bring it down if there was.

Seemingly satisfied that the girl was dead, he grabbed her arm and dragged her roughly toward the Door of Death. At the same moment, a lioness turned on the animal handler who was driving her toward a tunnel. The crowd came to its feet, shouting in excitement. He used his whip expertly to drive the enraged lioness back away from the child she had been eating and toward the tunnel to the cages.

The guard took advantage of the distraction and swung the gate at the Door of Death wide. Hurry up! The guard snapped his fingers and two slaves hurriedly grasped her by her arms and legs and carried her into the dimly lit corridor. Alexander said angrily as they tossed her up onto a dirty, bloodstained table. He brushed them aside, sure that these oafs had finished her off with their rough handling. The guard grinned.

Not too high for a student of Phlegon. Your coffer must be full of gold to afford his tutelage. He held out his hand. The guard took the bribe and withdrew, three coins in reserve for Charon.

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Alexander returned his attention to the girl. Her face was a raw mass of torn flesh and sand. Her tunic was drenched in blood. There was so much blood, in fact, he was sure she was dead. Leaning down, he put his ear near her lips, amazed as he felt the soft, warm exhalation of life. Motioning to his own slaves, he took a towel and wiped his hands. Give me some light, Alexander said, snapping his fingers. A torch was brought close as he bent over the girl on the slab in the dim recesses of the corridor.

This was what he had come for, his one purpose for enduring the games: He selected a slender, razor-sharp knife from its slot. His hand was perspiring. Worse, it was shaking. Sweat broke out on his forehead as well. He could feel Troas watching him critically. Alexander had to move quickly and learn all he could within the space of the few short minutes he would have until the girl died of her wounds or his procedure. Silently, he cursed the Roman law that forbade dissection of the dead, thus forcing him to this grisly practice.

But how else was he to learn what he had to know about the human body? How else could he achieve the skill he had to have to save lives? After a moment, Alexander drew back, frowning. From breasts to groin, she was marked only by superficial wounds and darkening bruises. Bring the torch closer, he ordered, leaning toward her head wounds and reassessing them. Deep furrows were cut from her hairline down to her chin.

Another cut scored her throat, just missing the pulsing artery. His gaze moved slowly down, noting the deep puncture wounds in her right forearm. The bones were broken. Far worse, however, were the wounds in her thigh where the lioness had sunk in her fangs and tried to drag her. The girl would have bled to death had not sand clogged the wounds, effectively stanching the flow of blood. Alexander drew back. One swift, skillful slice and he could begin his study.

One swift, skillful slice and he would kill her. Perspiration dripped down his temples, his heart pounded heavily. I can see that! He stepped closer and positioned the knife. He had worked on a gladiator the day before and learned more about human anatomy in the space of a few minutes than in hours of lectures. Thankfully, the dying man had never opened his eyes. Alexander closed his eyes, steeling himself. He had watched Phlegon work.

He could still hear the great physician speaking as he cut expertly. You must work quickly. Like this. They are nearly dead when you get them, and shock can take them in an instant. You must learn all you can with what little time the gods give you. The moment the heart stops, you must withdraw or risk the anger of the deities and Roman law. The man on whom Phlegon had been working had lived only a few minutes before bleeding to death on the table to which he was tied down. Troas had assisted Phlegon many times during the past and knew more about medicine than most practicing free physicians.

He was an Egyptian, dark of skin and with heavy-lidded eyes. Perhaps he held the mysteries of his race. A hundred times, perhaps more, the Egyptian said, his mouth tipping sardonically. Do you wish to stand aside? The girl moaned and moved on the table.

Take her by the wrists and ankles and hold her still. She uttered a rasping cry as her broken arm was drawn up. Yeshua, she whispered, and her eyes flickered open. She was not just a body to work on.

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She was a suffering human being. She muttered something in a strange tongue and her body relaxed. Troas took a step around the slab table and retrieved it, holding it out to him again.

She has fainted. You may work now without concern. Troas saw the imperiousness in the young, intelligent face. Swallowing his anger and pride, Troas stepped back. The gods spared her that you might learn what you need to become a physician. Be rational. By command of the proconsul, she is already dead. It was not by word of your mouth that she was sent to the lions.

Alexander took the knife from him and put it back among the other tools in his leather case. He nodded to her. As you can clearly see, her wounds have damaged no vital organs. Alexander stiffened. I would not have her die at all. His mind was in a fever. He kept seeing her as she walked across the sand, singing, her arms spreading as though to embrace the very sky.

We must get her out of here. He snapped his fingers, issuing hushed orders. You cannot do this! He nodded pointedly toward the guard. You risk death for us all if you attempt to rescue a condemned prisoner. Now stop arguing with me and remove her from here immediately. Troas saw there was no arguing with him and gestured quickly to the others. He whispered commands in a low voice as Alexander rolled the leather carrier. The guard was watching them curiously.

Taking up the towel, Alexander wiped the blood from his hands and walked calmly toward him. He leaned against the iron-grated gate and looked out at the hot sand. She was too far gone. How long will this match last? The guard assessed the opponents. Thirty minutes, maybe more.

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But there will be no survivor this time. Alexander frowned with feigned impatience and tossed the bloodstained towel aside. As he walked past the table, he picked up his leather case. He strode along the torchlit corridors, curbing the desire to hurry. His heart beat more quickly with each step.

As he came out into the sunlight, a gentle breeze brushed his face. Startled, he glanced behind. He had heard the words clearly, as though someone whispered urgently in his ear.

But no one was there. His heart pounding, Alexander turned toward his home and began to run, urged on by a still, small voice in the wind. Rome was depressing. He had forgotten the stench of the polluted Tiber and the oppressive, mingled humanity. Or maybe he had never before noticed, too involved in his own life and activities to care. Over the past few weeks since returning to the city of his birth, he had spent hours wandering the streets, visiting places he had always enjoyed before.

Downcast and needing distraction, he agreed to attend the games with Antigonus. His friend was now a powerful senator and held a place of honor on the podium. Marcus tried to still his emotions as he entered the stands and found his seat. But he could not deny he felt uncomfortable when the trumpets began blaring.

His chest tightened and his stomach became a hard knot as the procession began. He wondered if he could stomach watching them now. It was painfully clear that Antigonus was more obsessed with them than he had been when Marcus left Rome, and he was betting heavily on a gladiator from Gaul. Several women joined them beneath the canopy.

Beautiful and voluptuous, they made it apparent within moments of their arrival that they were as interested in Marcus as in the games. Something stirred in Marcus as he looked at them, but disappeared as quickly as it came. He found no amusement in their idle, vain conversation. Tell another one, one of the women laughed, obviously enjoying the crude joke Antigonus had just related to them. Everyone but Marcus. He sat silent, filled with disgust. They dress up like vain peacocks and laugh like raucous crows, he thought as he watched them all.

One of the woman moved to recline beside him. She pressed her hip against him enticingly. The games always stir me, she said with purring softness, her eyes dark.

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Repulsed, Marcus ignored her. She only sickened him further. He looked at her, making no effort to hide his feelings, but she was oblivious. She simply continued her intended seduction with all the subtlety of a tigress pretending to be a housecat.

All the while, the bloody games went on unabated. Antigonus and the women laughed, mocked, and shouted curses down on the victims in the arena. Sickened by what he was seeing, he turned to drink for escape. He drained cup after cup of wine, desperate to drown out the screams of those in the arena. And yet, no amount of the numbing liquid could hold off the image that kept coming to his mind. He had hoped the wine would deaden him. Instead, it made him more acutely aware. Around him, the masses of people grew frenzied with excitement.

Antigonus caught hold of one of the women, and they became entangled. Unbidden, a vision came to Marcus. He remembered how he had brought her to the games her first time and laughed at the burning excitement in her dark eyes. As soon as he was able, he ran—as he had in Ephesus.

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He wanted to get away from the noise, away from the smell of human blood. Pausing to get his breath, he leaned his shoulder against a stone wall and vomited. Hours after the games were over, he could still hear the sound of the hungry mob screaming for more victims. The sound echoed in his mind, tormenting him. And a terrible, black emptiness. Love's Sacred Song Book 2. Into the Whirlwind. Doctor's Lady, The. Short-Straw Bride. Karen Witemeyer. Coming Home.

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