title: Feet of Clay
author:  Terry Pratchett 
description: A flat platter of a planet spinning atop the backs of four giant elephants perched on the shell of an immense turtle: it's no surprise that life on Discworld is far from mundane. Pratchett's 17th Discworld novel picks up where his last, Men at Arms, left off, following Ankh-Morpork City Watch Commander Samuel Vimes and his fellow cops as they strive to maintain a semblance of order in a city as infamous for its intrigues as for its ethnic diversity. An elderly priest is killed, then the harmless old curator of the Dwarf Bread Museum is found beaten to death with one of his own exhibits. Investigation reveals a link to the city's golems?silent, tireless workers built of clay and brought to life with magic. There's a rash of golem suicides, and Vimes uncovers a plot that could topple the government. Pratchett's latest is full of sly puns and the lively, outrageous characters his readers expect. Those new to Discworld?which first appeared in Pratchett's The Colour of Magic, 1983?will have no trouble keeping up with the action. This is fantasy served with a twist of Monty Python, parody that works by never taking itself too seriously. Author tour; U.K. and translation rights: Ralph Vicinanza. <br />Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.
zlib_text: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Terry Pratchett
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Feet of Clay
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Novel of Discworld®
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a warm spring night when a fist knocked at the door so hard that the
  hinges bent.
  
  A man opened it and peered out into the street. There was mist coming off the
  river and it was a cloudy night. He might as well have tried to see through
  white velvet.
  
  But he thought afterwards that there had been shapes out there, just beyond
  the light spilling out into the road. A lot of shapes, watching him carefully.
  He thought maybe there’d been very faint points of light…
  
  There was no mistaking the shape right in front of him, though. It was big and
  dark red and looked like a child’s clay model of a man. Its eyes were two
  embers.
  
  “Well? What do you want at this time of night?”
  
  The golem handed him a slate, on which was written:
  
  WE HEAR YOU WANT A GOLEM.
  
  Of course, golems couldn’t speak, could they?
  
  “Hah. Want, yes. Afford, no. I’ve been 