A Game of Thrones, chapter 1-10

He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no more terrors for him. (p. 2)

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. (p. 3)

The young knight turned back to his grizzled man-at-arms. (p. 4)

He adjusted the drape of his long sable cloak. (p. 4)

A light snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones and roots and hidden sinks lying just under its crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary. (p. 5)

He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. (p. 8)

Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. (p. 8)

Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again. (p. 9)

Again and again the swords met, until Will wanted to cover his ears against the strange anguished keening of their clash. (p. 10)

A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. (p. 11)

Robb thought ha was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. It made Bran's skin prickle to think of it. (p. 13)

And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children. (p. 13)

But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. (p. 13)

He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. (p. 14)

He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell. (p. 14)

Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume. (p. 17)

A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood. (p. 18)

Every noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. (p. 24)

"I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders." (p. 27)

For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo's manse. (p. 28)

In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother "the beggar king." (p. 31)

Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs. (p. 33)

Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs. (p. 33)

The streets of Pentos were pitch-dark when they set out in Illyrio's elaborately carved palanquin. (p. 34)

"Insolent eunuch," Viserys muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse. (p. 35)

"Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night's Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel." (p. 36-37)

Her brother took her by the arm as Illyrio waddled over to the khal, his fingers squeezing so hard that they hurt. (p. 37)

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. (p. 39)

A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes. (p. 40)

A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes. (p. 40)

In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North. (p. 42-43)

When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor. (p. 44)

"I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." (p. 47)

"I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit." (p. 47)

There were times - not many, but a few - when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them. (p. 49)

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations. (p. 49)

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. (p. 50)

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. (p. 50)

He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. (p. 51)

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. (p. 52)

Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. (p.52)

He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy, from a nearby trencher and bit into it. (p. 52)

He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy, from a nearby trencher and bit into it. (p. 52)

"Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." (p. 56)

And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king. (p. 57)

Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. (p. 59)

"He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!" (p. 59)

She slid the paper in among the kindling and placed the heavier logs on top of it. (p. 62)

Luwin plucked at the chain collar where it had chafed the soft skin of his throat. (p. 63)

"Yes," Ned said in words that would brook no argument. (p. 63)

It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face. (p. 65)

Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. (p. 70)

They arrived, flushed and breathless, to find Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. (p. 71)

Nymeria stalked closer on wary feet. (p. 71)

"Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?" Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly." (p. 73)

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword." (p. 73)

Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly face, and Ser Meryn had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. (p. 77)

"You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow." (p. 83)

He stood Bran up on the sill. "How old are you, boy?" "Seven," Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly. The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove. (p. 85)

Joffrey looked as petulant as only a boy prince can look. (p. 88)