The Golden Maze
Act I "You cannot map a wound that is still bleeding," said the official, his voice flat as the salt pans outside the window, "and you certainly cannot sell the map to the capital before the tax collector arrives with his ledgers and his hunger." Kourosh Musavi did not answer, but he felt the familiar, cold weight of the bronze razor in his pocket, the heirloom his father had used to shave the...
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