John Farris

Near-naked, flagrantly male, the Minotaur loomed out of the dark places of Greek mythology. Roaring, bull-headed, the creature advanced. The razor-sharp Cretan axe swung murderously, slicing through the air, through flesh, through bone. One by one its enemies died. Out of the past too came the plague – long-dormant seeds awakening to destroy. The victims would be legion, their deaths horrible. Yet behind the killing lay a plan, a purpose. A malign twentieth-century intelligence was calling up this hideous visitation.

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