Taran Sentence Examples

Taran glanced at him, wishing him gone.

But Taran wanted no favors from any man, even one who may have been a good man, had he been the son of any other.

Taran watched him fade into the forest with a warrior's stealth.

Taran reached the lagging man and hacked him down, leapt over the body and one of the snapping traps, and continued.

Taran saw the two struggling figures teeter dangerously close to the edge of a pit.

Breathing hard, Taran eased off her.

He lifted his chin to the men holding Taran in place, and they released him.

He circled Taran in consideration.

The hair on the back of Taran's neck rose in warning.

Taran shifted at the threat of the underground.

Taran tensed, the movement enough to snap one of the rusted fetters.

Taran roared again and beat on the walls.

Taran sought to remember the wise words of his friend.

Taran braced himself and opened his eyes.

At the sound of steel on leather, Taran lowered himself into a crouch.

The tension was heavy enough to make Taran lower his stance further.

Taran trailed the two from the room, ignoring the hushed exchange of words.

Taran stepped into a cavernous bedchamber lit by low burning hearths and scented by the white flowers sitting in each window.

The woman's features were flushed, the man gesturing in Taran's general direction.

Sensing her growing distress, Taran crossed to the door leading from the bedchamber into the hallway and opened it.

The silver-haired man turned at Taran's low command.

Taran lowered his arm, twitching in irritation.

When a strip of yellow lit the edge of the night sky, Taran returned to his perch in a large window facing the sunrise.

Sirian waited, his dark eyes going from Rissa to Taran, where they settled.

Taran nodded and stripped off his tunic and excess weapons before dropping into a fighting stance opposite his challenger.

Taran's attention swept to the walls behind him, and he felt a pang of yearning and regret.

Taran waited only a moment longer before approaching.

Taran met her blows and then attacked without his brute force, instead assessing her ability to react.

His eyes were on Taran.

Sirian's gaze returned to hers, and the two exchanged a look that made the hair on the back of Taran's neck rise once more.

Taran stayed the sudden urge to challenge Sirian to a round.

Taran obeyed before Sirian contradicted her.

Taran felt Sirian's hard gaze again.

Aside from the dark moods of Rissa and Sirian, Taran sensed nervousness in the guards.

Taran nudged his horse forward into a slow trot.

Taran met the first attacker head on with his sword and sought to turn his horse with his legs.

Taran shoved his way through the attackers, hacking as he went, determined to reach Rissa.

Taran glared back and dispatched his attackers before hacking down the man between them.

Taran cursed the animal again under his breath and blocked two strikes before they broke free of the footmen.

Irritated with her spirit, Taran leapt from the horse and pursued, his long strides quickly cutting the distance between them.

Taran's intensity did not waver as he held her gaze.

Taran understood the look intimately.

Taran, I know who and what you are, even if you choose to deceive me!

Taran glanced warily toward him as he led the horse toward stables nestled along one wall of the stone fortress.

Taran strained to hear his response.

Taran handed off the horse to a stable hand and turned to watch as Sirian took Rissa's arm, leading her into a squat stone building at the center of the fortress.

Taran remained in the hall and paced as he studied the guards.

Taran glanced at him, taking in familiar cocoa features.

Taran's gaze lingered on the door before returning to Allin.

Taran dwelled on their words and hers.

Taran leaned against the wall opposite the closed door, pensive.

Through the mistresses Memon kept and shared with his men, Taran had learned of nothing but a desire for gold and magic waters.

Taran watched him until he disappeared around a corner.

Taran nudged the door closed but rested his palm on the hilt of a dagger.

Taran's jaw tightened as he took in the right side of her face, which blazed red as if struck.

I wanted Sirian to be wrong, but the attack today…I can't take that chance, Taran.

You will answer to me, Taran.

Taran snatched the back of her neck and dragged her back.

Taran suppressed a roar of fury and frustration.

Taran's masculine, virile scent lingered in her clothes, on her skin.

He speaks highly of Taran, says he is an honorable man.

Vara trusts no one, much as you do, but he trusts Taran.

What she knew - -that Taran was meant to kill her - -she could never tell him without revealing the demon.

Taran did not understand the need for her to return so soon, but the woman was beyond any man's control.

Taran knew instinctively what could cause such a reaction from Sirian, and it involved the foolish woman.

Taran snagged the arm of a guard jogging by.

Taran released him and turned to stare hard at Sirian, whose calm features hid any emotion he might feel.

Taran turned on his heel, retreating into the squat building once more.

She saw her death at the hands of Taran, not in the hands of the barbarians!

Taran would kill her, and Taran was not present.

Taran towered over her.

The attackers reached her as she sat in stunned stillness at Taran's feet.

She sought to right her reeling senses, registering Taran's scent.

Taran dumped her before the king's party, and she pushed herself up.

Shuddering, she looked toward Taran, the sense of betrayal raw.

The women were hungry, and she saw them watch Taran with a familiar light in their eyes.

She wisely chose not to meet the challenging gaze of a restlessly shifting man among the king's company but focused on Taran's leg.

She raised her head enough to look past Taran's leg.

Taran bowed his head in deference to his master.

The seated king eyed Taran as Memon approached Rissa.

Taran stepped aside, and Rissa tensed further as the man squatted before her.

Taran grabbed her wrist and dragged her a short distance away from the party.

Taran, if my blood is joined, my people will die!

I swear to you, Taran, I will do anything!

Her eyes went to Taran, and she couldn't help but feel both grateful and surprised.

Taran led her down a street lined with small inns before spotting the one marked as Memon said.

And Taran gave a predatory smile.

Taran breathed deeply, allowing his senses to fill with the woman gazing up at him.

Taran captured them and pinned them above her head.

Taran ignored it, his hand traveling down her body.

Taran pushed himself up with a curse, determined to tear the messenger apart for the disturbance.

The ship's captain belted orders to his sun burnt crew, and Taran turned, his dark hair tossed in the sea breeze.

Taran looked down at his own richly spun wool and linen clothing, pitying the men on the beach.

Taran felt someone watching him and peered between two of his father's men to see the youth his age with glowing green eyes.

With a quick glance to make sure none of his father's men paid him any heed, Taran stole away to the far side of the beach, trailing the barbarian youth.

He stopped, and Taran slowed.

Taran shrugged, and the boy approached, reaching out to rub his clothing between his hands.

Taran smiled and pulled off his mantle, handing it to the boy.

Pity for the boy increased as Taran studied the bruises on the youth's arms and face.

Taran accepted it and put it on, drawing a proud smile from the youth.

Vara was still for only a moment before he whirled and grabbed Taran, pulling him toward the forest.

Vara gave a flurry of urgent words in the foreign tongue, succeeding in dragging him to the edge of the forest before Taran yanked free.

Alarmed, Taran turned in time to see the man with eyes the color of Vara's strike his father down.

Taran struggled to keep up, acutely aware of the sounds of men crashing through the forest behind him.

Taran held onto the boy, numb and terrified, as they rode long and hard, away from the beach, away from his slain father.

Taran dismounted, hands shaking.

The youth was scared, which only terrified Taran

Taran called, scared, as the men dragged him outside.

The barbarian ignored Taran and snatched Vara by the scruff, only to backhand him hard.

Taran watched him drop, growing even angrier.

The barbarian muttered and grabbed Taran.

Taran accepted, never believing anything could make him ally with the devil he meant to kill.

Taran knew dozens of ways to kill a man.

Taran sensed the tension between the two men.

Memon's son had always sheltered Taran from Memon's wrath.

Memon paid his son no heed, focused completely on Taran.

There is something about her that affects them, Taran said.

Taran looked at Memon hard.

I've seen what Taran describes.

Taran glanced at Vara.

The image of Taran's face flashed before her closed eyes, and with it a sense of frustration, fear, anger, and, most damning of all, desire.

Taran will save me, the demon said.

Taran tensed, expecting an order to have him seized and thrown underground.

Hilden waved Taran forward.

At Hilden's silence, Taran opened his eyes, irritated by the brightness.

Taran complied and rolled up his sleeve to display his bandaged forearm.

Hilden waited until he was gone before moving closer to Taran.

He motioned for Taran to follow and led him up the stairs into Rissa's expansive chambers.

Taran paced as he waited.

Hilden might defer to him in her absence, but Taran knew where the loyalty of most of the men lay.

Taran glanced at him, noticing how haggard the older man suddenly appeared.

Taran all but spat the words.

Taran accepted it, once again unsettled by the darkness clinging to the book.

Taran's large frame blocked her path to the door.

Taran made no move toward her.

Taran snatched her wrists and trapped her against him, forcing her arms crossed behind her.

Yes, Taran would claim Tiyan, for Taran would kill her to get it.

I know you've already betrayed me, Taran.

You are no better than they are, Taran!

Taran opened his eyes beneath the eye-band, the heat of a hot morning sun on his face.

Regaining control of himself, Taran turned to face her without removing his eye-band.

Interested in the strong reaction, Taran pushed his eye- band up to see her.

Taran glanced toward the darkened figure near the door.

Taran straightened with a frown.

Taran said nothing, angered that Memon was capable of as many secrets as Rissa.

Taran saw Sirian's shrewd manipulations in the convenient location of the army.

You are not immune to her, Taran.

Taran flinched at the vision the words created.

Taran gripped and un-gripped the dagger in his hand, unable to convince himself.

Taran followed at a distance.

Taran's gaze lingered on her as he reached the foot of the stairwell.

Taran resisted the draw with effort and stepped into the buzzing night.

Itching for the feel of battle, Taran broke into a jog toward the battle.

At the familiar voice, Taran released him and turned.

Taran threw himself into the fight eagerly and was pleased when Allin joined him at his side.

Sirian paced a small underground cell beside the one Taran had occupied his first night in the city.

Taran can defeat him.

Taran shot her an angry look and pushed her past him, pinning her still against the wall with one arm.

Taran drew her closer, pressing her body between his and the alley.

When she refused to meet his gaze or speak, Taran drew her again to his body and wrapped his arms around her.

Taran said nothing, simply tightened his grip around her.

She pondered the idea numbly until it was replaced with the vision from her dream, the one where Taran killed her.

Taran spent the night on the wall, fighting with the men who had treated him like a brother for a kingdom he wanted but would never have.

Taran suppressed a grimace.

Taran drew a deep breath and steeled himself against what confrontation was certain to await him.

Taran lowered his eye-band at the bright light streaming through her windows.

Taran moved closer to her, watching her clean and bandage her forearm with practiced efficiency.

Taran sank into a squat beside her, studying her as she spoke.

I cannot command an army, Taran.

Taran listened, disturbed by her story.

Taran touched her face before dropping his hand to hers.

Taran dropped his knees to the floor.

Though his eyes were closed against the light, Taran traced his fingers over her firm features, down her neck, shoulder, and to the bandaged arm.

Taran leaned forward to give the woman a chaste kiss on her forehead before turning away.

She didn't doubt Taran's ability to defend her kingdom - -if he ever got the chance.

Taran needs tonight to repair our defenses.

I freed Taran from the catacombs.

Taran wouldn't take an oath to me, even after all I'd done for him.

Taran felt anger bubble within him.

Taran stilled his response as the older man bristled.

Taran sighed and threw himself into a chair at one end of the table.

Taran slapped him on the shoulder.

Taran didn't expect the guard to understand, especially since he hadn't thought everything through yet.

Taran closed the door, intent on returning to the book.

Taran waved the grizzled man in and retreated to the bed, pulling the book free.

Taran considered the old warrior, itching to return to the book.

Taran watched the door close and then opened the book where he left off, determined to find a way to help Tiyan's warlord.

Tell Taran, I will see him in two days' time.

Taran closed the book.

Taran closed the book again, disturbed.

Taran threw himself onto his back in front of the fire, exhausted.

Taran was quiet, pensive once again.

At the frown on his face, Taran's stomach sank further.

Taran sat up, his mind working quickly.

We need to repair the walls, Taran said.

Taran handed him the bladder.

Taran's gaze returned to the barrel.

Taran wrestled the barrel out and pried its top open.

There's a place for you in all this, Taran.

Sirian waited for him to speak, and Taran glared at the older man, unwilling to break the silent battle.

Taran rose and drew a deep breath.

Maybe, just maybe, Taran could drive the demon out of Rissa into Memon.

Taran had spent half his life in this place with nothing but darkness and Jame, his friend.

Most are no better than he is, but Taran was an innocent child when he came to me.

Taran fought madness because he feared I wouldn't survive without him.

She admired Taran's strength, yet she resented him, for he wasn't damned as she was.

I cannot see what comes, but I know what kind of a man Taran is.

The image of Taran crossed her mind, and she admired him more for his ability to survive such a place.

As she drifted into sleep, she was both comforted and tormented by memories of Taran's touch.

You ask much of me, Taran.

Taran's gaze went to where the dark ocean met the sky in the distance.

Taran said with no heat.

I don't understand peace, Taran!

My father killed my family as well, Taran, and you've never extended the hand to me that I did to you!

Taran watched the tormented emotions crossing Vara's eyes.

Taran had never known how selfish his own anger was.

Taran took a deep breath, relieved.

Taran looked at the ocean once more.

Taran tossed his reins to the page that darted from the stables before jogging the narrow stairwell leading to the top of the walls.

They walked to the tent, and her gaze settled on Taran, who awaited them in the shade of the tent with two of her advisors.

Tiyan didn't need her or the demon, and neither would Taran.

Taran bowed to Memon, whose dark chuckle was anything but assuring.

Taran said nothing, and she held her tongue.

Memon's smile faded, and he studied Taran.

Vara stepped away, and Taran met her gaze at last.

Taran lowered the bow, ignoring the stunned look on the faces of the wall guards on either side of him.

Taran strode away, turmoil making his gut clench.

Taran wiped the sweat from his brow and blew out a breath.

Taran gazed into the inky black eyes, ignoring the urge to look as the creature slithered beneath the skin on Memon's neck.

Whatever position you desire, my loyal Taran.

Taran glanced at him.

Taran is more of a son than you've ever been.

Taran gave him a warning look, and the man took his place with his father's guard, silent.

Memon faced him, and Taran met the dark gaze.

Taran bit his tongue, wanting more than anything to refuse.

Taran followed his gaze.

Taran trailed him and his personal guard, answering questions dutifully.

Taran left him for the dungeon, only to find Sirian was already gone.

Hilden appeared among the servants, and Taran waved him over.

Taran cursed and glanced around, catching sight of Sirian.

Hilden bowed, and Taran turned to Memon.

Taran, she'll die before the last of the light fades from the sky!

Taran was silent, struck by the words.

Taran watched him and rubbed the back of his neck, squinting at the lightened sky near the sunset.

Taran returned to the great hall.

Avoiding the possessed king, Taran took his place directing the great hall's activities.

Taran glanced at Memon, who was frozen once again as he communicated silently with the demon.

Taran crossed the chamber, fearful of what he'd see.

Taran flinched, hands clenching and unclenching as he tried not to reach out to her, to grab her and run to the Springs.

Taran's sharp gaze fell to Hilden, who was frowning.

Memon looked up, and Taran forced himself to approach.

Taran followed his quick pace toward the door, watching as the advisors rose from their seats at the tables to join their master.

Taran kept his gaze steady, his heart pounding.

Taran escaped before the madman changed his mind.

Taran obeyed but didn't eat, his eyes darting around the great hall.

Taran bit his tongue, wishing he'd paid more attention to his words and less to the memories.

Taran waited on edge, fury and sorrow fresh within him.

Taran ducked his head to prevent demon or madman from seeing the hatred in his eyes.

Taran smiled tightly as the grizzled warrior bowed, recalling how much had changed since he first lay eyes on the man.

Taran tore out of the great hall, followed closely by the madman, whose agitated demon swam visibly beneath his skin.

Taran's skin crawled with the charge of magic in the confined chamber, and he watched Memon bend over Rissa.

Taran's attention snapped to the man, and he withdrew the bow at this back.

Taran shouted at Sirian.

Taran drew the bow back and released the arrow, watching it pierce the unconscious woman's chest.

Heart racing, Taran went.

Hilden barked, all but tearing the bow from Taran's shoulder.

Her broken body clenched in his arms, Taran staggered up the stairs and raced through the hold, shouting at people who got in his way.

Taran held his gaze, and Vara nodded in deference before wheeling the horse toward the northern wall.

Afraid of what he'd find, Taran strode to the center of the city.

Taran tied the band around his eyes, as much to protect them from the sun as hide the tears in his eyes.

Taran asked, looking around.

Taran looked around again.

Taran quickly assessed he was the prince despite his subdued appearance.

Taran watched them for a long moment before reminding himself of his surroundings.

You saved me, my Taran.

Taran of Landis inched his way down the ancient tree, oblivious to the rough bark nipping at his moist skin.

The son of the ruler of the kingdom of Landis had men enough yet came himself to visit whenever Taran was away more than a few days.

Taran straightened the satchels strapped across his chest, his gaze returning to the walls of Tiyan.

The woman fought him, and Taran struggled to stabilize himself, finally wrapping his arm around her neck and forcing her head against him.

Battle lust made Taran eager for another fight, but he forced himself to calm, realizing he now had an entry into the heart of Tiyan.

Taran had heard of Tiyan's magic whispered by more than the people of Landis.

Taran breathed deeply of the sweet honey musk that made heat skitter across his blood.

Taran closed and barred the door, facing the woman in time to see her enter the bathing chamber and close the door.

Taran settled into a comfortable morning with the good-natured warriors of Tiyan.

Taran doubted the people of Tiyan would spit on an elder like Jame as the people of Landis did.

Taran resisted the urge to protect her as he might Jame from Landis warriors, reminding himself of what he felt in her presence earlier.

Irritated at the rebuke, Taran prepared himself.

Surprised, Taran resisted the urge to rest his chin atop her head, or nuzzle her cheek, or smell her hair.

Taran, if you'll not take an oath to Landis or Tiyan, will you take an oath to me?

I wanted Sirian to be wrong, but the attack today…I can't take that chance, Taran.

The dreams of his betrayal were followed by the dreams of Tiyan's walls toppling and of her impending death at the hands of a man she knew was Taran.

She felt the uneasy truce between the two parties in the ensuing silence, understood their hospitality toward Taran was dangerously tepid.

Taran had heard the quiet rumors about Vara's growing independence and couldn't help but wonder if Vara would help him plot against his own father.

Taran waited uneasily on the sweeping stairs of the ancient hold in the center of Tiyan.

Bastion gave Taran a distasteful look before swiftly moving away.

With neither of Tiyan's estranged leaders present, Taran's mind shifted to how he might exploit the situation.

At the direct admission, Taran paused in his movement.

Taran never expected Rissa to act against Sirian, or Tiyan to be divided by a civil war.

Hilden was right about many things, among them the walls of Tiyan needed to remain if Taran hoped to claim the kingdom one day.

Battle lust surged into his blood, and Taran darted forward with them.

She wiped her face as she went, and she dwelled angrily on the second traitor within her walls, Taran.

Taran, whose golden eyes made her blood heat and whose touch brought a warm tingle of anticipation to her body…it was ironic that the two men she loved in her life would betray her.

She was unable to accept her fate - -her death and Taran's destiny as Tiyan's leader - - without the peace of knowing Tiyan was safe with Taran.

Tell him I am the ruler of Tiyan, and he is invited to a feast in his honor in three days' time, Taran instructed.

The warlord Taran invites you into Tiyan's walls in three days' time for a feast.

Ready the army to accompany me to Tiyan, in case Taran seeks to betray me.

Her death would save both her people and Taran, the man fated to rule Tiyan.

Taran shivered at the mention, not wanting to imagine the strong warlord of Tiyan broken by the catacombs.

The Landis prince struggled to control his raw emotion, his own soul as tormented as Taran's.

Taran's gait slowed as he approached, dread sinking into his stomach.

Taran watched Memon's men depart the great hall, leaving him alone with two of his personal guard.

Taran cleared his throat before saying through gritted teeth, "There are animals and plants that dwell only in darkness, and an underwater river that almost drowned me when I found it."

Taran snatched Rissa's bloodied body and backpedaled.

With reluctance, Taran trotted away in the direction of the walls.

Taran signaled the archers first, then watched as Tiyan's warriors melted from the meadow to the south side of the city.

Taran's gaze went as often there as it did toward the Springs, but none of Landis's men challenged Vara to join the battle.

Dismayed by the amount of fallen bodies wearing Tiyan's colors, Taran overlooked the messenger from the north the first time until he'd reached the walls.

Taran stood over Memon's body, his gaze taking in the blood splattered in both cells.

Taran in the meadow…arrows…red and black dancing across her eyelids…drowning…Hilden pulling her from the Springs…