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The Battle of the Labyrinth

The Battle of the Labyrinth

Titel: The Battle of the Labyrinth Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Rick Riordan
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whinnied, columns of red flame billowing out his nostrils. I wondered if it hurt his sinuses.
    “What are they for?” I asked.
    Eurytion scowled. “We raise animals for lots of clients. Apollo, Diomedes, and . . . others.”
    “Like who?”
    “No more questions.”
    Finally we came out of the woods. Perched on a hill above us was a big ranch house—all white stone and wood and big windows.
    “It looks like a Frank Lloyd Wright!” Annabeth said.
    I guess she was talking about some architectural thing. To me it just looked like the kind of place where a few demigods could get into serious trouble. We hiked up the hill.
    “Don’t break the rules,” Eurytion warned as we walked up the steps to the front porch. “No fighting. No drawing weapons. And don’t make any comments about the boss’s appearance.”
    “Why?” I asked. “What does he look like?”
    Before Eurytion could reply, a new voice said, “Welcome to the Triple G Ranch.”
    The man on the porch had a normal head, which was a relief. His face was weathered and brown from years in the sun. He had slick black hair and a black pencil moustache like villains have in old movies. He smiled at us, but the smile wasn’t friendly; more amused, like Oh boy, more people to torture!
    I didn’t ponder that very long, though, because then I noticed his body . . . or bodies. He had three of them. Now, you’d think I would’ve gotten used to weird anatomy after Janus and Briares, but this guy was three complete people. His neck connected to the middle chest like normal, but he had two more chests, one to either side, connected at the shoulders, with a few inches in between. His left arm grew out of his left chest, and the same on the right, so he had two arms, but four armpits, if that makes any sense. The chests all connected into one enormous torso, with two regular but very beefy legs, and he wore the most oversized pair of Levis I’d ever seen. His chests each wore a different color Western shirt—green, yellow, red, like a stoplight. I wondered how he dressed the middle chest, since it had no arms.
    The cowherd Eurytion nudged me. “Say hello to Mr. Geryon.”
    “Hi,” I said. “Nice chests—uh, ranch! Nice ranch you have.”
    Before the three-bodied man could respond, Nico di Angelo came out of the glass doors onto the porch. “Geryon, I won’t wait for—”
    He froze when he saw us. Then he drew his sword. The blade was just like I’d seen in my dream: short, sharp, and dark as midnight.
    Geryon snarled when he saw it. “Put that away, Mr. di Angelo. I ain’t gonna have my guests killin’ each other.”
    “But that’s—”
    “Percy Jackson,” Geryon supplied. “Annabeth Chase. And a couple of their monster friends. Yes, I know.”
    “Monster friends?” Grover said indignantly.
    “That man is wearing three shirts,” Tyson said, like he was just realizing this.
    “They let my sister die!” Nico’s voice trembled with rage. “They’re here to kill me!”
    “Nico, we’re not here to kill you.” I raised my hands. “What happened to Bianca was—”
    “Don’t speak her name! You’re not worthy to even talk about her!”
    “Wait a minute.” Annabeth pointed at Geryon. “How do you know our names?”
    The three-bodied man winked. “I make it my business to keep informed, darlin’. Everybody pops into the ranch from time to time. Everyone needs something from ole Geryon. Now, Mr. di Angelo, put that ugly sword away before I have Eurytion take it from you.”
    Eurytion sighed, but he hefted his spiked club. At his feet, Orthus growled.
    Nico hesitated. He looked thinner and paler than he had in the Iris-messages. I wondered if he’d eaten in the last week. His black clothes were dusty from traveling in the Labyrinth, and his dark eyes were full of hate. He was too young to look so angry. I still remembered him as the cheerful little kid who played with Mythomagic cards.
    Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword. “If you come near me, Percy, I’ll summon help. You don’t want to meet my helpers, I promise.”
    “I believe you,” I said.
    Geryon patted Nico’s shoulder. “There, we’ve all made nice. Now come along, folks. I want to give you a tour of the ranch.”
    Geryon had a trolley thing—like one of those kiddie trains that take you around zoos. It was painted black and white in a cowhide pattern. The driver’s car had a set of longhorns stuck to the hood, and the horn sounded like a cowbell. I figured

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