Shawn awoke with a splitting headache, and lay quietly for a while gathering his strength. Light beat through his closed eyelids. He opened them a mere slit.
He lay flat on his back in a small room roofed with stone. There were paintings on the ceiling, depictions of men and women struggling in the grip of fantastic t*****e-devices, Satanic instruments of which the Inquisition had never dreamed. Shawn turned his head.
A guard sat by the door, sword across his knees, eyeing him. Shawn catalogued the man mentally—brawny, slow, stupid. Against the further wall lay a slender figure, Lorna Rand, her rounded breasts and the lithe curves of her young body revealed in utter nudity! She was apparently unconscious, her closed eyes veiled by the auburn tangle of her hair.
The guard was less stupid
