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He clenched his fist on the ring with all the frail strength of his arm。
At the crash of impact； pain detonated in his skull。 Incandescent agony yowled and yammered through his head； shredded him like claws ferociously tearing the tissue of his brain。 Foul rode the pain as if it were a tidal wave； striving to break down or climb over the seawall of his will。 But he was too numb to break。 His hands and feet were blind； frozen； his forehead was already inured to harm； and the black swelling in his lip was familiar to him。 The green； ghastly cold could not bend the rigor of his bones。 Like a dead man； he was stiff with resistance。
Lord Foul tried to enter him； tried to merge with him。 The offer was seductively sweet…a surcease from pain； a release from the long unrest which he had miscalled his life。 But he was harnessed to himself in a way that allowed no turning aside； no surrender。 He was Thomas Covenant； Unbeliever and leper。 He refused。
Abruptly； his pain fell into darkness。 Harm； injury； crushing； assault…all turned to ashes and blew away on windless air。 In their place came his own numbness； his irreparable lack of sensation。 In the great； unlimited abyss； he found that he could see himself。
He was standing nowhere； surrounded by nothing； he was staring as if in dumb inprehension at his hands。
At first they seemed normal。 They were as gaunt as sticks； and the two missing digits of his right hand gave him a sense of loss； unwholeness； that made him groan。 But his ring was intact； it hung inertly on his index finger； an argent circle as perfect and inescapable as if it had some meaning。
But as he watched； dim purple spots began to appear on his hands…on his fingers； the backs of his knuckles； the heels of his palms。 Slowly； they spread and started to suppurate； they bulged slightly like blisters； then opened to show abscesses under his skin。 Fluid oozed from the sores as they grew and spread。 Soon both his hands were covered with infection。
They became gangrenous； putrescent； the cloying stench of live； rotten flesh poured from them like the effluvium of some gnawing fungus； noisome and cruel。 And under the infection； the bones of his fingers began to gnarl。 Unmarrowed； flawed by rot； stressed by tendons whose nerves had died； leaving them perpetually taut； perpetually clenched against each other； the bones twisted； broke； and froze at crooked angles。 In the rot and the disease； his hands maimed themselves。 And the black； sick swelling of gangrene began to eat its way up his wrists。
The same pressures； the same fetid and uncontrollable tension of muscles and thews…bereft of volition by the rot in his nerves…bowed his forearms so that they hung grotesquely from his elbows。 Then pus began to blossom like sweat from the abscessed pores of his upper arms。 When he twitched his robe aside； he found that his legs were already contorted to the knees。
The assault horrified him； buried him in misery and self…loathing。 He was wearing his own future； the oute of his illness…the destination of the road down which every leper fared who did not either kill himself or fight hard enough to stay alive。 He was seeing the very thing which had first determined him to survive； all those long months ago in the leprosarium； but now it was upon him； virulent and immedicable。 His leprosy was in full rank flower； and he had nothing left for which to fight。
Nevertheless he was on his home ground。 He knew leprosy with the intimacy of a lover； he knew that it could not happen so swiftly； so pletely。 It was not real。 And it was not all of him。 This heinous and putrescent gnawing was not the sum total of his being。 Despite what the doctors said…despite what he saw in himself…he was more than that； more than just a leper。
No； Foul！ he panted bitterly。 It's not that easy。
〃Tom。 Tom！〃 a stricken voice cried。 It was familiar to him…a voice as known and beloved as health。 〃Give it up。 Don't you see what you're doing to us？〃
He looked up； and saw Joan standing before him。 She held their infant son； Roger； in her hands； so that the child was half extended like an offering toward him。 Both of them appeared just as they had been when he had last seen them； so long ago； Joan had the same look of torn grief in her face； the expression that begged him to understand why she had already decided to divorce him。 But she was inexplicably naked。 His heart wept in him when he saw the lost love of her loins； the unwillingness of her breasts； the denied treasure of her face。
As he gazed at her； purple stains began to show through the warmth of her skin。 Abscesses suppurated on her breasts； sickness oozed from her nipples like milk。
Roger was puling pathetically in her hands。 When he turned his helpless infant head toward his father； Covenant saw that his eyes were already glazed and cataractal； half blinded by leprosy。 Two dim magenta spots tainted his cheeks。
Foul！ Covenant shrieked。 Damn you！
Then he saw other figures pressing forward behind Joan。 Mhoram was there； Lena and Atiaran were there； Bannor and Hile Troy were there。 Mhoram's whole face had fallen into yellow rot and running chancrous sores； his eyes cried out through the infection as if they were drowning in a quagmire of atrocious wrong。 All Lena's hair had fallen out； and her bald scalp bristled with tubercular nodules。 Atiaran's eyes were drowning in milky blindness。 The grotesque gnarling of Banner's limbs entirely crippled him。 Troy's eyeless face was one puckered mass of gangrene； as if the very brain within his skull were festering。
And behind these figures stood more of the people Covenant had known in the Land。 All were mortally ill； rife and hideous with leprosy。 And behind them crowded multitudes more； numberless victims…all the people of the Land stricken and destitute； abominable to themselves； as ruined as if Covenant had brought a plague of absolute virulence among them。
At the sight of them； he erupted。 Fury at their travail spouted up in him like lava。 Volcanic anger； so long buried under the weight of his plex ordeal； sent livid； fiery passion geysering into the void。
Foul！ he screamed。 Foul！ You can't do this！
〃I will do it；〃 came the mocking reply。 〃I am doing it。〃
Stop it！
〃Give me the ring。〃
Never！
〃Then enjoy what you have brought to pass。 Behold！ I have given you panions。 The solitary leper has remade the world in his own image； so that he will not be alone。〃
I won't let you！
The Despiser laughed sardonically。 〃You will aid me before you die。〃
〃Never！ Damn you！ Never！〃
Fury exalted Covenant…fury as hot as magma。 A rage for lepers carried him beyond all his limits。 He took one last look at the victims thronging innumerably before him。 Then he began to struggle for freedom like a newborn man fighting his way out of an old skin。
He seemed to be standing in the nowhere nothingness of the abyss； but he knew that his physical body still knelt on the floor of the thronehall…With a savage effort of will； he disregarded all sensory impressions； all appearances that prevented him from perceiving where he was。 Trembling； je