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Terry Brooks was born in Sterling, Illinois on January 8, 1944. He received a bachelor's degree in English literature from Hamilton College and a graduate degree from the School of Law at Washington and Lee University. Before becoming a full-time writer, he was a practicing attorney for many years. His first book The Sword of Shannara (1977) was the first work of fiction to appear on the New York Times Trade Paperback Bestseller List. He made the list again with his title The High Druid'd Blade: The Defenders of Shannara. His other works include the Word and Void trilogy, The Heritage of Shannara series, Magic Kingdom of Landover series, The Voyage of the Jerle Shannara series, High Druid of Shannara series, Genesis of Shannara series, and the novelization to Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace.
(Bowker Author Biography)
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Excerpts
Excerpts
NOTE: This excerpt may not be posted on other Web sites without the permission of Lucasfilm Ltd. Tatooine The suns burned down out of a cloudless blue sky, washing the vast desert wastes of the planet in brilliant white light. The resultant glare rose off the flat, sandy surface in a wet shimmer of blistering heat to fill the gaps between the massive cliff faces and solitary outcroppings of the mountains that were the planet's sole distinguishing feature. Sharply etched, the monoliths stood like sentinels keeping watch in a watery haze. When the Podracers streaked past, engines roaring with ferocious hunger and relentless drive, the heat and the light seemed to shatter and the mountains themselves to tremble. Anakin Skywalker leaned into the curve of the raceway that took him past the stone arch marking the entry into Beggar's Canyon on the first lap of the run, easing the thruster bars forward, giving the engines a little more juice. The wedge-shaped rockets exploded with power, the right a tad harder than the left, banking the Pod in which Anakin sat sharply left to clear the turn. Swiftly, he adjusted the steering to straighten the racer, boosted power further, and shot through the arch. Loose sand whiplashed in the wake of his passing, filling the air with a gritty sheen, whirling and dancing through the heat. He ripped into the canyon, fingers playing across the controls, hands steady on the steering. It was all so quick, so instantaneous. One mistake, one misjudgment, and he would be out of the race and lucky if he weren't dead. That was the thrill of it. All that power, all that speed, just at his fingertips, and no margin for error. Two huge turbines dragged a fragile Pod over sandy flats, around jagged-edged mountains, down shadowed draws, and over heart-wrenching drops in a series of twisting, winding curves and jumps at the greatest speed a driver could manage. Control cables ran from the Pod to the engines, and energy binders locked the engines to each other. If any part of the three struck something solid, the whole of the assembly would collapse in a splintering of metal and a fiery wash of rocket fuel. If any part broke free, it was all over. A grin split Anakin's young face as he injected a bit more power into the thrusters. Ahead, the canyon narrowed and the shadows deepened. Anakin bore down on the slit of brightness that opened back onto the flats, keeping low to the ground where passage was widest. If he stayed high, he risked brushing the cliff faces on either side. That had happened to Regga in a race last month, and they were still looking for the pieces. It would not happen to him. He shoved the thruster bars forward and exploded through the gap onto the flats, engines screaming. Sitting in the Pod with his hands on the controls, Anakin could feel the vibration of the engines travel up the control cables and fill him with their music. Wrapped in his rough-made jumpsuit, his racing helmet, his goggles, and his gloves, he was wedged so closely in his seat that he could feel the rush of the wind across the Pod's skin beneath him. When he raced like this, he was never simply the driver of a Podracer, never just an additional part. Rather, he was at one with the whole, and engines, Pod, and he were bound together in a way he could not entirely explain. Each shimmy, each small throb, each tug and twist of strut and tie were apparent to him, and he could sense at any given moment exactly what was happening throughout the length and breadth of his racer. It spoke to him in its own language, a mix of sounds and feelings, and though it did not use words, he could understand everything it said. Sometimes, he thought dreamily, he could sense what it would say before it even spoke. A flash of gleaming orange metal shot past him on his right, and he watched the distinctive split-X of Sebulba's engines flare ou Excerpted from The Phantom Menace by Terry Brooks All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.