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A Clash of Kings

A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two

Song of Ice and Fire Band 2

George R.R. Martin

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Beschreibung

THE BOOK BEHIND THE SECOND SEASON OF GAME OF THRONES, AN ORIGINAL SERIES NOW ON HBO.

A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE: BOOK TWO

In this thrilling sequel to A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin has created a work of unsurpassed vision, power, and imagination. A Clash of Kings transports us to a world of revelry and revenge, wizardry and warfare unlike any we have ever experienced.

A comet the color of blood and flame cuts across the sky. And from the ancient citadel of Dragonstone to the forbidding shores of Winterfell, chaos reigns. Six factions struggle for control of a divided land and the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms, preparing to stake their claims through tempest, turmoil, and war. It is a tale in which brother plots against brother and the dead rise to walk in the night. Here a princess masquerades as an orphan boy; a knight of the mind prepares a poison for a treacherous sorceress; and wild men descend from the Mountains of the Moon to ravage the countryside. Against a backdrop of incest and fratricide, alchemy and murder, victory may go to the men and women possessed of the coldest steel . . . and the coldest hearts. For when kings clash, the whole land trembles.

George R. R. Martin is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including the acclaimed series A Song of Ice and Fire-A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and A Dance with Dragons-as well as Tuf Voyaging, Fevre Dream, The Armageddon Rag, Dying of the Light, Windhaven (with Lisa Tuttle), and Dreamsongs Volumes I and II. He is also the creator of The Lands of Ice and Fire, a collection of maps from A Song of Ice and Fire featuring original artwork from illustrator and cartographer Jonathan Roberts, and The World of Ice & Fire (with Elio M. García, Jr., and Linda Antonsson). As a writer-producer, Martin has worked on The Twilight Zone, Beauty and the Beast, and various feature films and pilots that were never made. He lives with the lovely Parris in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Produktdetails

Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 784
Erscheinungsdatum 01.03.2012
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-345-53541-2
Verlag Bantam Books USA
Maße (L/B/H) 23.9/15.9/3.8 cm
Gewicht 788 g

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Geniale Weiterführung der Song of Ice and Fire Reihe
von einer Kundin/einem Kunden aus Grünburg am 13.01.2016
Bewertet: Einband: Taschenbuch

George Martin gelingt mit diesem Buch ein weiteres Meisterwerk der Fantasy-Literatur. Das Buch ist trotz seiner extrem verworrenen und komplexen Geschichte ohne Mühe auch auf Englisch leicht zu lesen und zu verstehen. Es ist ein Buch, das man, wenn man es erst einmal in die Hand genommen hat, es nicht wieder schafft es wegzule... George Martin gelingt mit diesem Buch ein weiteres Meisterwerk der Fantasy-Literatur. Das Buch ist trotz seiner extrem verworrenen und komplexen Geschichte ohne Mühe auch auf Englisch leicht zu lesen und zu verstehen. Es ist ein Buch, das man, wenn man es erst einmal in die Hand genommen hat, es nicht wieder schafft es wegzulegen, und ehe man sich versieht ist es zwei Uhr morgens. Falls Sie noch zwischen der deutschen und der englischen Version schwanken, entscheiden Sie sich unbedingt für die englische, da sonst ein großer Teil der Genialität von Goerge Martins Schreibstil verloren ginge.

Episch! Einfach nur EPISCH!
von einer Kundin/einem Kunden aus Sulzbach am 04.12.2013
Bewertet: Einband: Taschenbuch

Wow, ich bin hin und weg! Dieses Buch hat mich mit solch einer Perplexität zurück gelassen, die ich kaum beschreiben kann. George Martin verdient wirklich ein dickes Lob für dieses geniale Werk, für dieses gesamte Konstrukt, diese ganze Welt, die er da erschaffen hat. Mir hat dieses Buch sehr viel besser gefallen als seine Vorgä... Wow, ich bin hin und weg! Dieses Buch hat mich mit solch einer Perplexität zurück gelassen, die ich kaum beschreiben kann. George Martin verdient wirklich ein dickes Lob für dieses geniale Werk, für dieses gesamte Konstrukt, diese ganze Welt, die er da erschaffen hat. Mir hat dieses Buch sehr viel besser gefallen als seine Vorgänger, zumal viele beschriebene Geschehnisse noch gar nicht in der Serie vorkamen, was bedeutet, dass ich richtig (ahnungslos) mitfiebern konnte, wie die Protagonisten durch ihre (lebensgefährlichen) Abenteuer stolpern. Das Buch war dramatisch und mit unerwarteten (und schrecklichen!) Plottwists und gerade, wenn man (also ich) dachte, dass gerade etwas gut lief und es doch so bleiben könnte, wurde alles wieder zerstört. (Warum, Martin, waruuum?) Ansonsten bot der Roman auch einige unglaublich witzige Dialoge (besonders wenn Lady Olenna, Tyrion oder Jaime an ihnen beteiligt waren). Wer Game of Thrones schaut, dem würde ich dringend raten, auch die Bücher zu lesen, da man durch sie noch ein besseres Verständnis für die Charas bekommt und manche einem plötzlich in ganz anderem Licht erscheinen ... Fünf Sterne von mir!

Bisher bestes Buch der Reihe
von einer Kundin/einem Kunden aus Zürich am 14.06.2012
Bewertet: Einband: Taschenbuch

Nicht dass die Geschichte bis jetzt schlecht gewesen wäre, ganz im Gegenteil! Allerdings übertrifft dieses Buch m.M.n. alle bisher erschiene Bänder. Was mir besonders gefällt, ist dass viele wichtige Entwicklungen bei den Charakteren stattfinden (die Geschichte kommt schnell vorwärts) und dabei einige doch sehr überraschende Wen... Nicht dass die Geschichte bis jetzt schlecht gewesen wäre, ganz im Gegenteil! Allerdings übertrifft dieses Buch m.M.n. alle bisher erschiene Bänder. Was mir besonders gefällt, ist dass viele wichtige Entwicklungen bei den Charakteren stattfinden (die Geschichte kommt schnell vorwärts) und dabei einige doch sehr überraschende Wendepunkte enthalten sind. Dies wird, wie gewohnt, in hohem Niveau erzählt. Vor allem aber, gibt es praktisch keine langatmige Passagen/Kapitel, wie das leider in den nachfolgenden Bücher zum Fall wird.


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  • ARYA

    At Winterfell they had called her "Arya Horseface" and she'd thought  nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy Lommy Greenhands had  named her "Lumpyhead."

         Her head felt lumpy when she touched it. When Yoren had dragged her  into that alley she'd thought he meant to kill her, but the sour old man had

    only held her tight, sawing through her mats and tangles with his dagger. She  remembered how the breeze sent the fistfuls of dirty brown hair skittering  across the paving stones, toward the sept where her father had died. "I'm  taking men and boys from the city," Yoren growled as the sharp steel scraped

    at her head. "Now you hold still, boy." By the time he had  finished, her scalp was nothing but tufts and stubble.

         Afterward he told her that from there to Winterfell she'd be Arry the  orphan boy. "Gate shouldn't be hard, but the road's another matter. You got a  long way to go in bad company. I got thirty this time, men and boys all bound  for the Wall, and don't be thinking they're like that bastard brother o'  yours." He shook her. "Lord Eddard gave me pick o' the dungeons, and I didn't  find no little lordlings down there. This lot, half o' them would turn you over  to the queen quick as spit for a pardon and maybe a few silvers. The other  half'd do the same, only they'd rape you first. So you keep to yourself and  make your water in the woods,alone. That'll be the hardest part, the pissing, so don't drink no more'n you  need."

         Leaving King's Landing was easy, just like he'd said. The Lannister guardsmen on the gate were stopping everyone, but Yoren called one by name and their wagons were waved through. No one spared Arya a glance. They were looking for a highborn girl, daughter of the King's Hand, not for a skinny boy with his hair chopped off. Arya never looked back. She wished the Rush would rise and wash the whole city away, Flea Bottom and the Red Keep and the Great Sept and  everything, and everyone too, especially Prince Joffrey and  his mother. But she knew it wouldn't, and anyhow Sansa was still in the city

    and would wash away too. When she remembered that, Arya decided to wish for  Winterfell instead.

         Yoren was wrong about the pissing, though. That wasn't the hardest part at all; Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part. Orphan boys. Yoren had  plucked some from the streets with promises of food for their bellies and shoes  for their feet. The rest he'd found in chains. "The Watch needs good men," he  told them as they set out, "but you lot will have to do."

         Yoren had taken grown men from the dungeons as well, thieves and poachers and rapers and the like. The worst were the three he'd found in the black cells who must have scared even him, because he kept them fettered hand and foot in the back of a wagon, and vowed they'd stay in irons all the way to the Wall. One  had no nose, only the hole in his face where it had been cut off, and the gross  fat bald one with the pointed teeth and theweeping sores on his cheeks had eyes like nothing human.

         They took five wagons out of King's Landing, laden with supplies for the Wall: hides and bolts of cloth, bars of pig iron, a cage of ravens, books and paper and ink, a bale of sourleaf, jars of oil, and chests of medicine and spices. Teams of plow horses pulled the wagons, and Yoren had bought two coursers and a half-dozen donkeys for the boys. Arya would have preferred a real horse, but the donkey was better than riding on a wagon.

         The men paid her no mind, but she was not so lucky with the boys. She was two years younger than the youngest orphan, not to mention smaller and skinnier,  and Lommy and Hot Pie took her silence to mean she was scared, or stupid, or

    deaf. "Look at that sword Lumpyhead's got there," Lommy said one morning as  they made their plodding way past orchards and wheat fields. He'd been a dyer's  apprentice before he was caught stealing, and his arms were mottled green to

    the elbow. When he laughed he brayed like the donkeys they were riding.  "Where's a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him a sword?"

         Arya chewed her lip sullenly. She could see the back of Yoren's faded black  cloak up ahead of the wagons, but she was determined not to go crying to him

    for help.

         "Maybe he's a little squire," Hot Pie put in. His mother had been a baker  before she died, and he'd pushed her cart through the streets all day, shouting  "Hot pies! Hot pies!" "Some lordy lord's little squire boy, that's  it."

         "He ain't no squire, look at him. I bet that's not even areal sword. I bet it's just some play sword made of tin."

         Arya hated them making fun of Needle. "It's castle-forged steel, you stupid," she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, "and you better shut your mouth."

         The orphan boys hooted. "Where'd you get a blade like that, Lumpyface?" Hot  Pie wanted to know.

         "Lumpyhead," corrected Lommy. "He prob'ly stole it."

         "I did not!" she shouted. Jon Snow had given her Needle. Maybe she  had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn't going to let them call Jon a  thief.

         "If he stole it, we could take it off him," said Hot Pie. "It's not his

    anyhow. I could use me a sword like that."

         Lommy egged him on. "Go on, take it off him, I dare you."

         Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer. "Hey, Lumpyface, you gimme that  sword." His hair was the color of straw, his fat face all sunburnt and  peeling. "You don't know how to use it."

         Yes I do, Arya could have said. I killed a boy, a fat boy like  you, I stabbed him in the belly and he died, and I'll kill you too if you don't  let me alone. Only she did not dare. Yoren didn't know about the  stableboy, but she was afraid of what he might do if he found out. Arya was  pretty sure that some of the other men were killers too, the three in the  manacles for sure, but the queen wasn't looking for them, so it  wasn't the same.

         "Look at him," brayed Lommy Greenhands. "I bet he's going to cry now. You  want to cry, Lumpyhead?"

         She had cried in her sleep the night before, dreaming of herfather. Come morning, she'd woken red-eyed and dry, and could not have shed  another tear if her life had hung on it.