The Gorgon Slayer
Authors: Gary Paulsen
“Gorgons don’t just vanish into thin air,” Warren said.
“There’s nowhere else for her to hide.” Rick paused. “Unless she’s behind the—”
His eyes opened wide. A horrid shriek erupted from behind the stairs and clammy, leathery wings exploded into Warren’s face. He slammed his eyes shut and beat the Gorgon off, hearing Rick’s sword swish through empty air. Warren dove back, rolled on his shoulder, and came up clear, his sword slicing in every direction and his eyes fixed on his shield as he flashed it around the basement.
The Gorgon was perched on Harper’s stony arm. She was sixty pounds of boiled-down ugly with a face like a living nightmare. Snakes danced around her head, hissing and striking at Rick’s sword as he waved it in the air. Her gold-and-black eyes were slit like a cat’s, and her teeth were in worse shape than Princey’s.
With one clawed hand, she gathered the dust off the top of a pipe and threw it at Rick’s shield.
“Aagh! She messed up my shield! I can’t see a thing!”
Panic crawled across Rick’s face, the same look that was frozen on Harper’s. He dropped his shield and turned toward the Gorgon.
“Don’t look, Rick!”
YEARLING
BOOKS
YOU
WILL
ENJOY:
JOURNEY
,
Patricia MacLachlan
SHILOH
,
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
MISSING
MAY
,
Cynthia Rylant
THE
SECRET
FUNERAL
OF
SLIM
JIM
THE
SNAKE
,
Elvira Woodruff
AWFULLY
SHORT
FOR
THE
FOURTH
GRADE
,
Elvira Woodruff
THE
SUMMER
I
SHRANK
MY
GRANDMOTHER
,
Elvira Woodruff
HOW
TO
EAT
FRIED
WORMS
,
Thomas Rockwell
HOW
TO
FIGHT
A
GIRL
,
Thomas Rockwell
BEETLES
,
LIGHTLY
TOASTED
,
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
YEARLING
BOOKS
are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor’s degree from Marymount College and a master’s degree in history from St. John’s University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.
For a complete listing of all Yearling titles,
write to
Dell Readers Service,
P.O. Box 1045,
South Holland, IL 60473.
Published by
Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers
a division of
Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
1540 Broadway
New York, New York 10036
Copyright © 1995 by Gary Paulsen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
The trademarks Yearling
®
and Dell
®
are registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.
eISBN: 978-0-307-80390-0
Series design: Barbara Berger
Interior illustration by Michael David Biegel
v3.1
Dear Readers:
Real adventure is many things—it’s danger and daring and sometimes even a struggle for life or death. From competing in the Iditarod dogsled race across Alaska to sailing the Pacific Ocean, I’ve experienced some of this adventure myself. I try to capture this spirit in my stories, and each time I sit down to write, that challenge is a bit of an adventure in itself.
You’re all a part of this adventure as well. Over the years I’ve had the privilege of talking with many of you in schools, and this book is the result of hearing firsthand what you want to read about most—power-packed action and excitement.
You asked for it—so hang on tight while we jump into another thrilling story in my World of Adventure.
HAPTER
1
Warren Trumbull grunted as he pedaled up the hill. He didn’t grunt because the hill was steep —after pedaling up it every weekday since summer vacation had begun, he was used to it. He grunted because he was pedaling for speed. Along the hilltop ran a unicorn crossing.
Warren didn’t like anything mythological, and ’corns were the worst. All that stuff the MPS (Mythological Protection Society) put out about them—that they were noble and majestic and held the beauty of the universe
in their horns—was garbage. What ’corns did was pop bike tires.
He reached the crossing and sped down the other side of the hill. A shrill whinny and galloping hoofbeats sent a chill up his spine, and he pushed down on the pedal as if he were trying to drive it three feet into the asphalt. Horn hissed on rubber just as he shot away.
“Not today, pinhead!”
Warren laughed at the beautiful white stallion with the golden mane and silver horn as it pranced in frustration behind him. It was the first time in three days that his tire had escaped the ’corn. Today Princey wouldn’t threaten to fire him for being late for work. The day was shaping up nicely.
Warren worked for Prince Charming’s Damsel in Distress Rescue Agency, doing the assignments that no one else wanted—genuine damsel rescue went to the older guys. Warren was eleven, too young for a real job. He was stuck doing whatever work he could get. Working for Princey wasn’t much, but twenty bucks a day out of Princey’s grimy pockets was better than nothing.
Some of the guys were already waiting in the bleachers when Warren pedaled up—Rank Frank Divine and his admirers, and a new guy Warren had never seen before. Rank Frank leered at him as he parked beside the garbage can.
“Hey, Piggy, where’s the pinhead? You’re supposed to show up in fifteen minutes with your tire flapping!”
“Suck on a Hydra, Frank.” Warren took a seat three rows up, close to the new guy and well away from Frank and his crowd. They didn’t call him Rank Frank for nothing.
“Is Princey here yet?” he asked the new guy, who was wearing a shirt with “Rick” stitched over the pocket.
Rick something-or-other’s long head shook slowly on its long neck. “Nope.”
“Wouldn’t you know it? I’m finally on time, and Princey shows up late.”
“That’s the breaks, Piggy.”
“Don’t call me Piggy. My name is Warren.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Warren shrugged his soft, heavy shoulders. “That’s all right.”
“Okay. My name is Rick Howell. Sorry about the piggy thing.”
“Forget it.” Warren wished
he
could forget it. The problem was that the nickname fit him so well. He had pink skin and a little piggy nose, turned up at the end so that his nostrils stared everyone he talked to right in the face. His ears stuck out and up—little piggy ears. He looked a little piggy all around.
“Hey, Piggy,” Frank called, “why are you here so early? Did someone wake you up by huffing and puffing and blowing your house down?”
Everyone laughed except Warren and Rick. That Divine, he was a real funny guy.
