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Fallon
This page contains an index of all the individuals in the database with the surname of Fallon. Selecting the person’s name will take you to that person’s individual page.
| Given Name | Birth | Death | Partner | Parents |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Arthur John, Doctor | 1928-04-23 | 1991-02-26 | Dowe, [Living] | Fallon, Harrison Goodenough Connor, Eva Gladys |
| Harrison Goodenough | about 1898 | 1990-05-03 | Connor, Eva Gladys | |
| [Living] | Fallon, Arthur John Doctor Dowe, [Living] | |||
| [Living] | Fallon, Arthur John Doctor Dowe, [Living] | |||
| [Living] | Garlick, [Living] | Fallon, Arthur John Doctor Dowe, [Living] | ||
| [Living] | Fallon, [Living] ( Fallon ), [Living] | |||
| [Living] | Fallon, [Living] ( Fallon ), [Living] | |||
| [Living] | ( Fallon ), [Living] | Fallon, Arthur John Doctor Dowe, [Living] | ||
| [Living] | Fallon, [Living] ( Fallon ), [Living] |


{{profile.public_repos}} Public Repos {{profile.followers}} Followers {{profile.following}} Following
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Greetings visitor, this is my profile presented as a directory-based cli
To view details of a directory, use command details
To navigate, use command cd 'path'
To move up a directory, use command cd ..
To view the contents of a directory, use command ls -la
To seek help, use command :help
Hope you have fun playing around with this.


Twitter rolls out global 'hide replies' feature to give users more control
by ReutersTwitter is globally launching a feature for users to hide certain replies on their tweets, in order to give people more control over their conversations on the site, the company said on Thursday.
The feature, which has previously been tested in the United States, Canada, and Japan, is part of Twitter’s efforts to clean up abusive content and make the social media platform more user-friendly.
During testing, the company found that people mostly hid replies they found “irrelevant, off-topic or annoying,” Suzanne Xie, director of product management at Twitter, said in a blog post on Thursday.
Users will still be able to see and engage with hidden replies by pressing an icon that will appear on the tweets. Xie said in the blog post that some people did not want to hide replies due to fear of retaliation and said Twitter would continue to get feedback on the issue.
Twitter will also check with users who use the feature whether they want to block the replier.
Xie said that while people were curious to see how public figures, such as politicians and journalists, would use the feature, those people were so far not hiding replies “very often.”
She also said that Twitter would be looking at new controls, including options around who can reply to or see certain conversations, to see if those would lead to healthier discussions.


{% extends "layout.html" %} {% block title %} {% if g.user and g.user.is_registered %} {{ g.user.name }} {% else %} Welcome {% endif %} — {% endblock %} {% block content %} {% if not g.user.is_registered %}
This is where you can send a postcard to any - or a specific - OpenStreetMap contributor, or receive a postcard. Make OSM feel more personal, be more connected to other mappers by exchanging hand-written cards. Share your personal code (below) to establish personal connection with somebody.
Please fill in your name and address to start using the service. By registering you consent to storing your personal data. It won't be shared with anybody except for other registered users of this website.
{% else %}


Important lesson to learn from Osho
Important lesson to learn from Osho
Important lesson to learn from Osho
- There is no need for any competition with anybody.  Accept yourself.
- Life in itself has no meaning. Life is an opportunity to create meaning.
- Try to understand the word ‘faith’ does not mean ‘belief’. Belief is dogma … Faith is personal


[gecode-users] gecode on a red hat cluster with gcc 4.1.2
Guido Tack
tack at gecode.org
Thu May 6 16:03:59 CEST 2010
My first try would be to compile the code on a desktop machine and then ship the executable to the cluster (provided it's an x86 cluster, of course). That way, you could simply link everything statically, and you're independent of the actual cluster environment.
I haven't tried compiling Gecode with gcc < 4.2 for a long time, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't just some components that wouldn't compile, but data structures in the very core of Gecode. Some things (mostly in the set constraints module, I think) were even miscompiled, so the code would simply crash although it was actually correct. That's why we decided not to support old versions of gcc any longer.
Cheers,
Guido
Peter Vanhee wrote:
> Hi all,
>
> We're trying hard to compile gecode on a red hat cluster, however, we had to install
> the gcc 4.4.3 in order to compile gecode, while the official gcc version for Redhat
> installed in the cluster is gcc 4.1.2. However, besides the fact that updating gcc
> is a tricky task, we ran into various gecode-unrelated problems.
>
> Are there any workarounds to installing gecode using 4.1.2 ? (e.g. by removing
> some of the components that are not crucial but need +4.2), or is this simply impossible?
>
> Thanks for the help,
> Peter
> _______________________________________________
> Gecode users mailing list
> users at gecode.org
> https://www.gecode.org/mailman/listinfo/gecode-users
--
Guido Tack, http://www.cs.kuleuven.be/~guido.tack/
More information about the users
mailing list


General test support
[Testing]
Classes | |
| class | Test::ind |
| Simple class for describing identation. More... | |
| class | Test::PropKinds |
| Iterator for propagation kinds. More... | |
| class | Test::Options |
| Commandline options. More... | |
| class | Test::Base |
| Base class for all tests to be run. More... | |
Variables | |
| std::ostringstream | Test::olog |
| Stream used for logging. | |
| Options | Test::opt |
| The options. |
Variable Documentation
| std::ostringstream Test::olog |


Do not make security decisions based on parameters that are sent by the client. Using client-accessible data to make security decisions allows the users to access and modify it. Therefore, an attacker would be able to bypass security measures.
The following code illustrates a servlet that accepts user-supplied input. Unfortunately, the application obtains the user's ID from the client which allows an attacker to tamper with data that influences security decisions.
public void doGet(HttpServletRequest request,
HttpServletResponse response) throws ServletException, IOException{
String userID = request.getParameter("userid");
...
}
The following code illustrates a servlet that accepts user-supplied input. Because the application obtains the user's ID from the user's session, it is not possible for an attacker to tamper with such data.
public void doGet(HttpServletRequest request,
HttpServletResponse response) throws ServletException, IOException{
Session sess = request.getSession();
String userID = (String)sess.getAttribute("userid");
...
}


The AlertComponent
is created using the AlertService
.
Listed below are the customization options that can be provided to the AlertService
when calling the alert()
, confirm()
, and prompt()
methods.
See Examples tab for more information.
| Name | Description |
|---|---|
cancelButtonClass: string | string[]
|
The custom CSS class to add to the cancel button. |
cancelButtonText: string = 'Cancel'
|
The text to display on the cancel button. |
confirmButtonClass: string | string[]
|
The custom CSS class to add to the confirmation button. |
confirmButtonText: string = 'Ok'
|
The text to display on the confirmation button. |
content: string
|
The content to display in the component. See Examples tab. |
cssClass: string
|
The custom CSS class to add to the component. |
longPress: boolean
|
Whether closing the component requires a long press. See Examples tab. |
title: string
|
The title for the component. |
| Name | Description | Parameters |
|---|---|---|
alert
|
Creates an instance of the AlertComponent with the type of Alert and returns a Subject<{ type: string, data: any }> . |
options: DialogOptions
|
confirm
|
Creates an instance of the AlertComponent with the type of Confirm and returns a Subject<{ type: string, data: any }> . |
options: DialogOptions
|
prompt
|
Creates an instance of the AlertComponent with the type of Prompt and returns a Subject<{ type: string, data: any }> . |
options: DialogOptions
|


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- com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals - package com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals
-
- compare() - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonEquals
-
Compares the source with the comparate and returns a JsonCompareResult.
- compareNode(LazyObject, LazyObject) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonEquals
-
Compares two JSON objects, starting from the root level.
- compareNode(LazyArray, LazyArray) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonEquals
-
Compares two JSON arrays, starting from the root level.
- compareNode(LazyObject, LazyObject, String) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonEquals
-
Compares two JSON objects.
- compareNode(LazyArray, LazyArray, String) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonEquals
-
Compares two JSON arrays.
- compareTo(JsonRoot, Set<String>, Map<String, String>) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonRoot
-
Compares this JsonRoot with another JsonRoot object.
- compareTo(JsonRoot) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonRoot
-
Compares this JsonRoot with another JsonRoot object.
- compareToWithIgnore(JsonRoot, Set<String>) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonRoot
-
Compares this JsonRoot with another JsonRoot object.
- compareToWithPrune(JsonRoot, Map<String, String>) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonRoot
-
Compares this JsonRoot with another JsonRoot object.
- compareValues(LazyObject, LazyObject, String, String) - Method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonEquals
-
Compares the values at the end of the JSON hierarchy (i.e.
- Constants - Class in com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals
-
- Constants() - Constructor for class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.Constants
-
- create() - Static method in class com.github.kvnxiao.jsonequals.JsonChildren
-
Creates a new JsonChildren instance.


Bugs
Kill (off)
Structures
100
10
1
Nothing in queue
cancel
Upgrades
Tier 0
Reset Colony
Full Reset
Ok
Cancel


{% extends 'base.html' %} {% load static i18n %} {% block javascript %} {% endblock javascript %} {% block breadcrumb %}
{% endblock breadcrumb %} {% block tabs %} {% include 'meetings/includes/menu.html' with meeting=meeting active='settings' %} {% endblock tabs %} {% block content %}{% trans 'Delete this meeting' %}
{% trans 'Once you delete a meeting, there is no going back. Please be certain.' %}
{% trans "There's already evaluation data associated with this decision making meeting." %}


Akka.Dispatch.SysMsg Namespace
Classes
| Class | Description | |
|---|---|---|
| ActorTask |
Class ActorTask.
|
|
| CompleteFuture |
Class CompleteFuture.
|
|
| Create | ||
| DeathWatchNotification |
Class DeathWatchNotification.
|
|
| Escalate |
Class Escalate.
|
|
| Failed |
Class Failed.
|
|
| NoMessage |
Class NoMessage.
|
|
| Recreate |
Class Recreate.
|
|
| Restart |
Class Restart.
|
|
| Resume |
Class Resume.
|
|
| Stop |
Class Stop.
|
|
| StopChild |
INTERNAL
|
|
| Supervise |
Class Supervise.
|
|
| Suspend |
Class Suspend.
|
|
| Terminate |
Class Terminate.
|
|
| Unwatch |
Class Unwatch.
|
|
| Watch |
Class Watch.
|


--- layout: post title: Super Simple date: 2009-10-18 15:28:15.000000000 -04:00 type: post published: true status: publish categories: - breakfast & brunch - recipes tags: - breakfast & brunch - easy - granola bars - oatmeal - raisins - sweetened condensed milk - wheat germ meta: {} author: login: sophie email<EMAIL_ADDRESS>display_name: Pika first_name: '' last_name: '' ---
It doesn't get much easier than this- just mix and bake.
Milk and Cereal Bars
makes 16
adapted from the lovely Nigella
Preheat oven to 350°. Line a 9x13” pan (or 2 8x6” pans) with parchment paper.
Mix all ingredients in a large bowl. Press mixture into prepared pan, and bake 20-25 minutes. Edges should be lightly browned. Cool completely before cutting into 16 bars.
The verdict:
These breakfast bars are sweet and chewy. They stay together nicely after cutting (which has often been an issue for me in granola bar recipes) and have a caramel-y, milky taste from the sweetened condensed milk. It tastes a lot like a bowl of oatmeal and raisins with milk, but in a handy to-go form. Try substituting different mix-ins- craisins, sliced almonds, coconut, etc.


Film review by Kevin Patterson
PI Rating: ***1/2 (out of four) R, 1998 Director/Screenplay: Darren Aronofsky Starring Cast: Sean Gullette, Mark Margolis.
I think it's pretty safe to say that few films nowadays feature an isolated, obsessed math whiz as a lead character, and even fewer put such a character in a suspense film in which theoretical mathematics and Jewish mysticism figure prominently into the plot. Darren Aronofsky, in his feature-film debut PI, does both, crafting a surreal psychological thriller of considerable intelligence that examines the paper-thin line between genius and insanity.
The main character of PI is Max Cohen (Sean Gullette), a recent college graduate who seems to have turned his apartment into a theoretical mathematics laboratory. Complex computer machinery is everywhere, set up by Max to perform calculations designed to predict the performance of the stock market. Max believes that literally everything can be explained by distinct mathematical patterns, and it is his ambition to discover them. He is extremely private and not very friendly: when someone knocks at the door, he usually looks out the peephole and pretends not to be home until they go away. He is also beset by cluster headaches, for which he is constantly popping pills and self-administering steroid injections, in quick, mechanical motions that seem to have become disturbingly routine. Lately, his headaches have become harder to control, occasionally causing him to pass out and experience strange nightmares that are not too different from his everyday life.
Part of Aronofsky's achievement in PI is the filming technique he uses to get the audience to identify with Max, who would probably be played as a one-dimensional arrogant jerk by most filmmakers. The film is shot in a grainy black and white, and its soundtrack is full of ominous buzzes and whirrs. The cutting is often rapid, with the film sometimes sped up during Max's narration in which he states his theories about nature and mathematical patterns. There are also numerous close-ups on the machinery in Max's apartment and on complex number charts. The total effect of all this is to make the film seem like a cross between an old "Outer Limits" episode and a "Nova" special, and the audience is swept up in the sense that Max might really be close to some amazing discovery and isn't just some insane crackpot.
Max's already strange lifestyle takes a turn for the stranger when his program suddenly locks up and spits out a 216-digit number. Soon afterwards, he finds himself being pursued both by Jewish Cabalists, who think the number might be the numerical equivalent of the ancient Hebrew name of God, and by Wall Street types who think Max may have actually found the mysterious pattern in the stock market. Max, reflecting on the fact that there are some mathematical patterns which are known to have curious applications in nature, decides that he may well be onto something and goes after it with increasing rigor, all the while becoming more paranoid as the audience is left to wonder which of the on-screen events are real and which are delusional fantasy.
The problem, of course, is that once you get into such strange notions as trying to find a single pattern to the entire universe, the line between scientific breakthrough and delusional fantasy becomes increasingly hard to draw, and this more than anything else is the central concern of the film and the message underlying Max's descent into obsession and paranoia. As Max's former professor (Mark Margolis) points out, it isn't hard to pick a pattern--any pattern--and decide you're finding it everywhere you look. And if Max may be prone to delusion, then what of the investors and the Cabalists? Are they visionaries on the verge of an earth-shattering discovery, or are they just hacks whose pursuit of knowledge has spun out of control?
PI eventually makes its way to an ending that, while effective on a symbolic level, seemed a little hasty and dramatically incomplete. But overall, I would have to say that PI is one of the more uniquely satisfying experiences I've had at the movies lately: it's fascinating to watch, and leaves the audience with ample food for thought (I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've come out of a movie wanting to do research on Jewish mysticism). It's a remarkable debut for Aronofsky, and personally I can't wait to see what he does next.

The Internet Movie Database accepts no responsibility for the contents of the
review and has no editorial control. Unless stated otherwise, the copyright
belongs to the author.
Please direct comments/criticisms of the review to relevant newsgroups.
Broken URLs inthe reviews are the responsibility of the author.
The formatting of the review is likely to differ from the original due
to ASCII to HTML conversion.
Related links: index of all rec.arts.movies.reviews reviews


Projeto desenvolvido a partir de um outro projeto publicado no github e adaptado para fazer CRUD de certificados digitais em uma prova de processo seletivo na Soluti.
linnk original abaixo:
This is just a simple demo for using JWT (JSON Web Token) with Spring Security and Spring Boot. This solution is partially based on the blog entry REST Security with JWT using Java and Spring Security and the demo project Cerberus. Thanks to the authors!
This demo is build with with Maven 3 and Java 1.8.
Just start the application with the Spring Boot maven plugin (mvn spring-boot:run
). The application is
running at http://localhost:8080.
There are three user accounts present to demonstrate the different levels of access to the endpoints in
the API and the different authorization exceptions:
Admin - admin:admin
User - user:password
Disabled - disabled:password (this user is disabled)
There are three endpoints that are reasonable for the demo:
/auth - authentication endpoint with unrestricted access
/persons - an example endpoint that is restricted to authorized users (a valid JWT token must be present in the request header)
/protected - an example endpoint that is restricted to authorized users with the role 'ROLE_ADMIN' (a valid JWT token must be present in the request header)
I've written a small Javascript client and put some comments in the code that hopefully makes this demo understandable.
I'm using bcrypt to encode passwords. Your can generate your hashes with this simple tool: Bcrypt Generator
Actually this demo is using an embedded H2 database that is automatically configured by Spring Boot. If you want to connect to another database you have to specify the connection in the application.yml in the resource directory. Here is an example for a MySQL DB:
spring:
jpa:
hibernate:
# possible values: validate | update | create | create-drop
ddl-auto: create-drop
datasource:
url: jdbc:mysql://localhost/myDatabase
username: myUser
password: myPassword
driver-class-name: com.mysql.jdbc.Driver
Hint: For other databases like MySQL sequences don't work for ID generation. So you have to change the GenerationType in the entity beans to 'AUTO' or 'IDENTITY'.
You can find a reference of all application properties here.
This project has a docker image. You can find it at https://hub.docker.com/r/hubae/jwt-spring-security-demo/.
If you have project related questions please take a look at the past questions or create a new ticket with your question.
If you have questions that are not directly related to this project (e.g. common questions to the Spring Framework or Spring Security etc.) please search the web or look at Stackoverflow.
Sorry for that but I'm very busy right now and don't have much time.
 Thanks to him!
https://youtu.be/mD3vmgksvz8
Stephan Zerhusen
The code is released under the MIT license.
Please feel free to send me some feedback or questions!


{% extends 'base.html' %} {% import 'macros.html' as macro %} {% block content %}
Finance
Business
Technology
Love & Relationships
General


Thank You IBM!
Posted on 2004-08-03T23:35:28:00-07
I just wanted to say thanks to IBM for Open Sourcing Cloudscape .
 Keep up the good work!
Permalink
|
Comments
( 0 )
|
Printlink
LinuxWorld, IDs, and Privacy
Posted on 2004-08-03T17:05:54:00-07
Today Jonathan Moore and I headed over to LinuxWorld after lunch to see what
kind of cool hardware and Linux hacks they had on the expo floor.
Only $15 to get in the door so I figure why not.
I'm a bit of a privacy freak. When you're trading some security for liberty
there are situations where it might be worth it. In situations of extreme
violence having the police by your side might be a good idea.
I think we can all agree that trading liberty for nothing isn't worth it.
This country was *founded* on liberty after the British were abusing their
colonial powers. Every true American should cherish their liberty and think
long and hard about just turning them over for no reason.
That said, I decided I didn't want to give LinuxWorld my ID when I just wanted
to walk around the show room floor.
I just wanted to walk in, give them cash, get a badge, and explore the show
room.
Not so fast. They won't let me on the show room floor without ID.
When I asked why they mentioned it was for "security reasons." How in the world
could it be for security reasons? Its not like they're doing a background check
on all registrations. All of the 911 terrorists had valid IDs!
Their real agenda is to build a database so that they can spam members and sell
the database of LinuxWorld users to other companies.
This country is turning into a police state. More and more places are starting
to require that I hand over my bags or submit to a search upon leaving the
premise.
CompUSA on the corner of Market and 3rd on SF requires that everyone submit to a
bag search upon leaving the building. Of course I tell them I'm not going to
submit to an unconstitutional bag search and they point to the EULA I agreed to
when I walk in the building which essentially says:
"By entering CompUSA you agree to have your bad searched when leaving."
... or words to that effect.
I'm not a terrorist. I'm not a criminal! I refuse to be treated like one when
I'm trying to patronize your store!
LinuxWorld is a perfect example. I'm in a position to recommend hardware to a
number of companies. These contracts usually are greater than $20k. I was
specifically going to talk to IBM about some of their 1U rack mount servers
(thinking about migrating away from Dell).
Obviously thats not going to happen now.
Permalink
|
Comments
( 3 )
|
Printlink
My Blog as a Time Machine
Posted on 2004-08-01T19:05:47:00-07
I'm starting to realize that my blog is a bit of a time machine. For example I
can create a blog entry to warn myself about something that WILL happen in the
future.
My current NTP blog entry is a good example. I wrote this for myself as
much as for the people who read my blog (or find me via Google).
I know for sure that NTP on Debian is going to bite me sometime in the future
and I'm going to forget WHY. Then I'm going to (of course) go to Google or my
aggregator and search for NTP and then find my blog post.
I've done this about a dozen times now and its saved me a TON of time!
Permalink
|
Comments
( 1 )
|
Printlink
NTP in Debian
Posted on 2004-08-01T18:54:05:00-07
The Network Time Daemon (NTP Daemon) implementation within Debian leaves a
lot to be desired.
First off they don't include it with a working config. You have to create your
own /etc/ntpd.conf. To make matters worse the configuration doesn't accept DNS
names so you have to manually enter IPs. Fun. I can understand that they might
not want to provide ONE configuration and overwhelm one or two NTP servers but
they can provide a dynamic config that balances load among all available
servers. There is of course the public serves list but you have to Google
for it.
All you really need to do here is enter a list of servers:
server time.nist.gov
server <IP_ADDRESS>
Note that it will complain that time.nist.gov is invalid. I added this in the
hope that they will start providing DNS name support.
As of Debian testing the command 'ntptimeset' has been removed and I believe
replaced with just a standard 'ntpd'. In order to have it reload your time once
you update the configuration file you just restart the daemon.
The package naming is also a bit confusing. Most systems should just install
'ntp-simple'.
Don't get me wrong. I love Debian. If anything this is constructive criticism.
I just expect more from my distribution.
Permalink
|
Comments
( 1 )
|
Printlink
Loosing the War on Terrorism
Posted on 2004-07-28T15:49:35:00-07
Sven Jaschan, self-confessed author of the Netsky and Sasser viruses, is
responsible for 70 percent of virus infections in 2004, according to a six-month
virus roundup published Wednesday by antivirus company Sophos.
The 18-year-old Jaschan was taken into custody in Germany in May by police who
said he had admitted programming both the Netsky and Sasser worms, something
experts at Microsoft confirmed. (A Microsoft antivirus reward program led to the
teenager's arrest.) During the five months preceding Jaschan's capture, there
were at least 25 variants of Netsky and one of the port-scanning network worm
Sasser.
Graham Cluley, senior technology consultant at Sophos, said it was staggering
that one person could be responsible for so many infections. Richard Starnes,
president of security industry group ISSA UK, was also impressed: "Is he going
to put this on his CV?" he asked.
... and this is why we can't win the war on terrorism.
This isn't as much a criticism of the Bush administration as it is pessimism for
the future of humanity.
When this much power is in the hands of one individual, and its distributed, we
have a problem.
The Unabomber Manifesto goes into this in depth (the man might be insane but
he has a point). Can we as a society move forward with our technological
progress without destroying the planet?
I don't know but I sure hope so.
Permalink
|
Comments
( 0 )
|
Printlink
Pretty Log4J
Posted on 2004-07-26T20:57:43:00-07
I've been a big fan of Log4J for a while now but haven't migrated any code
over for one central reason. The following line of code:
final static Logger logger = Logger.getLogger( "some.name" );
... is amazingly ugly and difficult to work with.
Most people use Log4J with a logger based on the classname:
So we would probably see:
static Logger logger = Logger.getLogger( "org.apache.commons.feedparser.locate.FeedLocator" );
Which is amazingly verbose. A lot of developers shorten this to:
static Logger logger = Logger.getLogger( FeedLocator.class );
But this still leaves us with cut and paste errors.
What if we could just reduce it to:
static Logger logger = Logger.getLogger();
Impossibe you say! We wouldn't have the classname so we can't use any filters!
Wrong... The java.lang.Exception stacktrace can provide us with the hint we
need. The method body would be simple:
Exception e = new Exception();
String category = e.getStackTrace()[1].getClassName();
return Logger.getLogger( category );
Now of course the Exception class could be a bottleneck but the key point here
is that this only gets called once per class in the system. Even if ALL your
code was using a Logger your system would still bootup in less than a second.
For the added flexibility and reduction in code verbosity and management I think
its worth it.
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Saudis: Bin Laden associate surrenders
Posted on 2004-07-14T03:06:41:00-07
(CNN) -- A longtime associate of al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden surrendered to
Saudi Arabian officials Tuesday, a Saudi Interior Ministry official said.
But it is unclear what role, if any, Khaled al-Harbi may have had in any terror
attacks because no public charges have been filed against him.
The Saudi government -- in a statement released by its embassy in Washington --
called al-Harbi's surrender "the latest direct result" of its limited, one-month
offer of leniency to terror suspects.
This is great! I hope this really starts to pay off. Creative solutions to
terrorism that don't involve violence.
How refreshing!
Are you paying attention Bush administration?
http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/07/13/binladen.aide/
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FOAFKey: FOAF, PGP, Key Distribution, and Bloom Filters
Posted on 2004-07-03T22:24:56:00-07
FOAF/LOAF and bloom filters have a lot of interesting properties for social
network and whitelist distribution.
I think we can go one level higher though and include GPG/OpenPGP key
fingerpring distribution in the FOAF file for simple web-of-trust based key
distribution.
What if we used FOAF and included the PGP key fingerprint(s) for identities?
This could mean a lot. You include the PGP key fingerprints within the FOAF
file of your direct friends and then include a bloom filter of the PGP key
fingerprints of your entire whitelist (the source FOAF file would of course need
to be encrypted ).
Your whitelist would be populated from the social network as your client
discovered new identities and keys and would be distributed in your bloom filter
included in your FOAF. You could create direct friends and then a graph of
trust relationships directly outside to 2 degrees of transitivity stored in the
bloom.
This would essentially enable transparennt key distribution with a low
probability of a MITM attack and without any central PKI infrastructure (bye bye
Verisign!).
Now imagine your applications have transparent support for using your FOAFKey
store. You're at ETech and your ZeroConf install noticed an advertised FOAFKey
files on the network. You fetch the FOAFKey file because its advertised as
being on your whitelist. This allows you to automatically discover new keys and
extend your whitelist. Since FOAF files are available via URLs you can
periodically aggregate them and import them into your social network. You can
of course do the same within with BlueFOAF if it were extended to support this.
You now have a SPAM-free whitelist, social networking capabilities, full
encryption and key distribution capabilities without any MITM attacks (or at
least a low probability that even Ashcroft could break in if done correctly).
All of this could be bootstrapped off a few manual key verifications.
This could go a LONG way to yielding secure key distribution and totally
pervasive crypto and secure communications channels everywhere. The real reason
PGP didn't take off was because it wasn't easy. FOAF and social networking
could be both easy and FUN! Imagine IM and chat programs having support for
this. If this were an OS level feature or an OSS stdlib then applications like
Mozilla, Evolution, GAIM, etc could add support and incorporate security and
social networking capabilities.
SUPPLEMENTAL: // created on 2004-07-05T11:43:25:00-07
Just wanted to clarify a few things.
The PGP public key itself isn't included in the foaf just your fingerprint and
those of your friends. The real key is fetched from a public key server.
SUPPLEMENTAL: // created on 2004-07-06T18:19:24:00-07
NOTE: I wanted to fact check this post to see if there is prior art out there
but I don't think it is. Excuse my laziness but I have the flu right now :)
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Mozilla Exceptions (mexception)
Posted on 2004-07-04T20:30:46:00-07
For some reason I never released this code.
I developed it while working on NewsMonster and just forgot I think
It's an extension for Mozilla that allows you to see all runtime exceptions
(with full stack traces) that are unhandled by Mozilla.
Just install it and if your code generates an unhandled exception it will show
up in the logs and on the console.
Very handy for doing any hardcore Mozilla development.
http://peerfear.org/download/mexception.tar.gz
http://peerfear.org/download/mexception.xpi
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Ron Regan Jr is My Kinda Guy
Posted on 2004-06-28T23:13:08:00-07
Now that the country is awash in Reagan nostalgia, some observers are predicting
that you will enter politics. Would you like to be president of the United
States?
I would be unelectable. I'm an atheist. As we all know, that is something
people won't accept.
What would you do if Senator Kerry asked you to be his vice president?
I would question his sanity.
Do you ever go to church?
No. I visit my wife's sangha.
So you sometimes practice Buddhism?
I don't claim anything. But my sympathies would be in that direction. I admire
the fact that the central core of Buddhist teaching involves mindfulness and
loving kindness and compassion.
So lets get this straight.
I like this guy! He's my kinda Regan!
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Al Qaeda member surrenders
Posted on 2004-06-28T14:13:25:00-07
RIYADH, Saudi Arabia (CNN) -- One of Saudi Arabia's most wanted militants has
turned himself into the authorities, the first senior suspect to surrender under
a one-month government amnesty announced last week.
Othman Al-Omari, number 19 on Saudi Arabia's most wanted list of 26, accepted
King Fahd's offer of amnesty, which was made last week, according to Saudi
sources Monday.
Al-Omari, who turned himself in on Sunday night, was a business partner of
Shaban Al Shihri -- the first al Qaeda member to accept the offer when he turned
himself in Friday.
http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/06/28/saudi.omari/
When I first saw this I was really upset. I thought that it would certainly
lead to more violence if they just let terrorists off the hook.
Now thinking about it some more maybe this is a brilliant idea!
First off it's a creative solution to the problem of terrorism. I don't
subscribe to the theory that more violence is the solution to violence (IE the
Bush Doctrine).
All you have to do is get a few terrorists to surrender (and have them
cooperate) to take down the rest and learn a LOT about your enemy.
Torture obviously doesn't work and in this situation.
Time will tell if this strategy works. Once you know the identity of a
terrorist you could essentially have him under house arrest for the rest of his
life.
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Mission Accomplished!
Posted on 2004-06-28T08:54:39:00-07
BAGHDAD, Iraq (CNN) -- Members of Iraq's interim government took an oath of
office Monday just hours after the United States returned the nation's
sovereignty, two days ahead of schedule.
Led by Iraq's interim Prime Minister Ayad Allawi, each member of the new
government placed a hand on the Koran and promised to serve with sincerity and
impartiality. Iraqi flags lined the wall behind them.
Iraq! Now with 100% less Coalition Provisional Authority! Act now and get a
free Weapon of Mass Destruction (offer only available in Syria, Jordan, Saudi
Arabia, Pakistan, Syria and Iran).
Also check out our new Puppet Government! Keeps the kids occupied for hours!
http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/meast/06/28/iraq.handover/
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Java3D - Half Right
Posted on 2004-06-27T16:09:33:00-07
SUN has announced that Java3D will be released in a different manner than any
other SUN project in existence.
We announce the availability of the source code for the Java 3D API on
java.net. We are involving developers in the evolution of the Java 3D API.
Come join the Java 3D projects on java.net, and download the source code for
the core Java 3D API, vecmath, the Java 3D core utilities, and the Java 3D
program examples.
The key thing here is that they have provided the core utils under a BSD license
and even have the CVS available .
Good job SUN! You're headed in the right direction!
Here's the only problem:
We are releasing the source code for the j3d-core and vecmath projects under
separate research and commercial license. The research license is the Java
Research License (JRL). The commercial license is the Java Distribution
License (JDL), a no-fee license that allows a vendor to ship a compatible
version of Java 3D with or without modification.
The majority of the code is still proprietary and under a non OSI-approved
license .
Specifically the following clauses:
A. License Grant. Subject to the conditions contained herein, Sun grants to
You a non-exclusive, non-transferable, worldwide, and royalty-free license to
do the following for Your Research Use only
and
B. Residual Rights. You may use any information in intangible form that you
remember after accessing the Technology, except when such use violates Sun's
copyrights or patent rights.
... which is a bit confusing. How am I supposed to know everything that SUN has
every copyrighted or patented.
I think I'll keep this as source under glass for right now and won't be
contributing to Java3D a all.
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Reverse Psychology
Posted on 2004-06-26T14:44:54:00-07
I really hope SUN doesn't Open Source Java at JavaOne this year. It would be a
terrible decision and seriously hurt the tech industry. Also, it would hurt SUN
and I'm sure their responsible enough to realize this.
(Lets hope that works!)
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Kerry's Disgusting Ad
Posted on 2004-06-26T12:21:43:00-07
A few days ago Kerry sent around this ad:
Yesterday, the Bush-Cheney campaign, losing any last sense of decency, placed
a disgusting ad called "The Faces of John Kerry's Democratic Party" as the
main feature on its website. Bizarrely, and without explanation, the ad places
Adolf Hitler among those faces.
The Bush-Cheney campaign must pull this ad off of its website. The use of
Adolf Hitler by any campaign, politician or party is simply wrong.
Which of course is a mistake.  Not a masterpiece by any means.) and there are shots of Hitler in
there, but only from the MoveOn contest from a few months back.
Here's the problem.
 This video was uploaded to MoveOn for a few
hours during an *open* contest with the public. They removed it soon after.
The real problem with the video is that they take sections of speeches made by
leading Democrats when they are clearly angry (they have the right to be) and
splice them together to make us sound like raging lunatics.
They even go so low as to include Dean. I'm sorry but aren't you running
against Kerry? This might be a better use of your time.
... and of course we have people that pick up on this mistake and run with
it:
I'm not sure whether this is malice or incompetence on the part of the Kerry
Campaign -- and I suspect the answer is incompetence -- but it doesn't bode well
for them either way.
I don't like it either. It would be nice if Kerry were to issue an correction
and change their criticisim to the use of this MoveOn video since its not an
official entry and MoveOn appologized for it.
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What would Baby Jesus Think?
Posted on 2004-06-25T15:31:01:00-07
"On Tuesday, Cheney, serving in his role as president of the Senate, appeared in
the chamber for a photo session. A chance meeting with Sen. Patrick J. Leahy
(Vt.), the ranking Democrat on the Judiciary Committee, became an argument about
Cheney's ties to Halliburton Co., an international energy services corporation,
and President Bush's judicial nominees. The exchange ended when Cheney offered
some crass advice.
'Fuck yourself,' said the man who is a heartbeat from the presidency."
Wonder what the moral majority has to say about this?
It isn't profanity! Its a freedom praise!
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A3699-2004Jun24.html
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Americans and Freedom
Posted on 2004-06-24T16:10:25:00-07
When we Americans first began, our biggest danger was clearly in view: we knew
from the bitter experience with King George III that the most serious threat to
democracy is usually the accumulation of too much power in the hands of an
Executive, whether he be a King or a president. Our ingrained American distrust
of concentrated power has very little to do with the character or persona of the
individual who wields that power. It is the power itself that must be
constrained, checked, dispersed and carefully balanced, in order to ensure the
survival of freedom. In addition, our founders taught us that public fear is the
most dangerous enemy of democracy because under the right circumstances it can
trigger the temptation of those who govern themselves to surrender that power to
someone who promises strength and offers safety, security and freedom from fear.
It is an extraordinary blessing to live in a nation so carefully designed to
protect individual liberty and safeguard self-governance and free
communication. But if George Washington could see the current state of his
generation's handiwork and assess the quality of our generation's stewardship at
the beginning of this twenty-first century, what do you suppose he would think
about the proposition that our current president claims the unilateral right to
arrest and imprison American citizens indefinitely without giving them the right
to see a lawyer or inform their families of their whereabouts, and without the
necessity of even charging them with any crime. All that is necessary, according
to our new president is that he - the president - label any citizen an "unlawful
enemy combatant," and that will be sufficient to justify taking away that
citizen's liberty - even for the rest of his life, if the president so
chooses. And there is no appeal.
What would Thomas Jefferson think of the curious and discredited argument from
our Justice Department that the president may authorize what plainly amounts to
the torture of prisoners - and that any law or treaty, which attempts to
constrain his treatment of prisoners in time of war is itself a violation of the
constitution our founders put together.
What would Benjamin Franklin think of President Bush's assertion that he has the
inherent power - even without a declaration of war by the Congress - to launch
an invasion of any nation on Earth, at any time he chooses, for any reason he
wishes, even if that nation poses no imminent threat to the United States.
I want my country back! I can't wait until November.
http://drudgereport.com/gore.htm
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Why Windows isn't Unix
Posted on 2004-06-18T17:48:19:00-07
I first heard about this from one of the developers of the hit game SimCity, who
told me that there was a critical bug in his application: it used memory right
after freeing it, a major no-no that happened to work OK on DOS but would not
work under Windows where memory that is freed is likely to be snatched up by
another running application right away. The testers on the Windows team were
going through various popular applications, testing them to make sure they
worked OK, but SimCity kept crashing. They reported this to the Windows
developers, who disassembled SimCity, stepped through it in a debugger, found
the bug, and added special code that checked if SimCity was running, and if it
did, ran the memory allocator in a special mode in which you could still use
memory after freeing it.
... and by Unix I mean mission critical, rock solid, fast, clean, flexible, etc.
Granted this is a GREAT idea for the desktop but sooner or later it falls down.
Sooner or later the chasm between Linux and Windows in terms of quality is just
going to be so great that the market switches to Linux overnight.
All bets are off to what that date is though. I always seem to be right on
these issues just that I'm years too soon.
My bet is by 2006 Linux will have 10% of the desktop market. By 2008 it will
ahve 15% of the market. Apple will have about 15% of the market with OSX and
Windows with the remaining 70%.
There ... it's public. Let's see what happens in 2008.
http://www.joelonsoftware.com/articles/APIWar.html
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Microsoft, IE and Bloat
Posted on 2004-06-17T16:11:40:00-07
Zawodny threads off of Scoble on the IE issue:
I have to say, when I first read that I nearly fell off my chair laughing.  But we all know that Microsoft is
full of smart people who care about what they're doing. So something really
doesn't compute here.
Last time I checked, IE wasn't even close to feature parity with Mozilla's
browsers. No popup blocking, no tabbed browsing, etc.
Does the IE team really not know what their product is missing?
Perhaps. It's highly likely that they just don't know.
The bigger issue here is that Microsoft products can't fail and they can't
succeed. Microsoft has 40-50 billion in the bank. There's no incentive to
build a kickass product. The IE team can wait 2-3 years for IE 7.0, put it into
Longhorn, and still make their 6 figure salaries and watch their options vest.
This is a recipe for failure.
Microsoft continually fails to find the "next big thing" and when they do
finally come around they end up building an inferior product. The only way they
ever succeed in the market is by using their monopoly position to give them an
edge.
Right now IE has a lot of momentum just because it isn't BAD enough for people
to move away. The disparity between FireFox/Mozilla is starting to grow and
sooner or later one vendor (Dell, HP, Compaq?) is going to distribute FireFox
instead of IE with new machines.
The sky will fall and maybe the IE team will be fired. One can only hope. They
certainly deserve it for letting IE 6.0 decompose for so long without an update.
How long before Mozilla is bundled to run directly emulate the MSHTML control?
Sounds like we're making progress here:
http://www.iol.ie/~locka/mozilla/mozilla.htm
Here is a screenshot of IE hosting the Mozilla gecko control.
Internet Explorer viewing a page with the Mozilla Gecko control
If you can't view the above image it's because you're on a version of Internet
Explorer that doesn't support PNGs. How ironic! Time to upgrade to FireFox
!
SUPPLEMENTAL: // created on 2004-06-17T16:29:43:00-07
Credit goes to Brad Neuberg for pointing out the IE COM gecko control and
taking the screenshot.
SUPPLEMENTAL: // created on 2004-06-17T16:41:53:00-07
Another note. I didn't mention that the above Mozilla hosted within IE is
running a XUL application called Mozilla Amazon Browser (MAB) which is a
Mozilla-specific application.
... running in IE. Awesome!
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Atom Link Model
Posted on 2004-06-17T12:12:18:00-07
Article from Mark Pilgrim about the Atom link mechanism:
Atom is an emerging XML vocabulary and protocol for syndication and
editing. Atom has a coherent linking model to express a number of different
types of links. Atom borrows heavily from the <link> element in HTML, although
they are not identical.
Which I might add seems very similar to my RSS 1.0 mod_link proposal:
http://xml.com/pub/a/2004/06/16/dive.html
The mod_link module supports the syndication of site link information along
with RSS 1.0 XML feeds. The W3C HTML link mechanism provides the original
inspiration for this module. (July 22, 2002)
http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/link/
Abstract linking is a very important property for RSS
The mod_link spec wasn't adopted within RSS 1.0 due to a number of reason the
most important being that we were right in the middle of the RSS 1.0/2.0 wars
and attention was focused elsewhere. For a time it was adopted by Blogger's RSS
1.0 feeds thanks to Steve Jenson .
Just wanted to point that out. When I released the RSS 1.0 link module it was
somewhat controversal. I guess I was right considering it was eventually
adopted by Atom.
Good times! Good times!
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 There had been argument for the past half hour, near enough. Outside, the sun was past its noon peak. The trade winds cut the heat a little; stiff yellow curtains fastened over the tall windows bulged and snapped at gusts. Three hours back in the Tarasin Palace, the dice still bouncing in his head, and he wanted to kick something. Or somebody. He tugged at the scarf tied around his neck; it felt as though the rope that had given him the scar under that scarf was back and tightening slowly. “Love of the Light, are you all blind? Or just deaf?”
The room Tylin had provided was large, with green walls and high blue ceiling, and no furnishings but gilded chairs and small tables set with pearlshell, yet it was crowded even so. It seemed so, anyway.  He suspected Elayne or Nynaeve had spoken to her. They were there, too, seated to either side of the Queen, somehow in clean dresses and apparently even bathed, though they had only been out of his sight for minutes at a stretch since returning to the palace. They almost matched Tylin for regal dignity in their bright silks; he was not sure who they wanted to impress, with all that lace and elaborate embroidery. They looked ready for a royal ball, not a journey. He himself was still in his muck, with his dusty green coat hanging open and the silver foxhead caught in the neck of his half undone shirt. Knotting the leather cord had shortened it, but he wanted the medallion touching his skin. He was around women who could channel, after all.
Truth, those three women could probably have crowded the room by themselves. Tylin could have done it by herself, so far as he was concerned; if Nynaeve or Elayne had spoken to her, it was a very good thing that he was going. They three could have done it alone, but . . .
“This is preposterous,” Merilille announced. “I’ve never heard of any Shadowspawn called a gholam. Have any of you?” That was directed to Adeleas and Vandene, Sareitha and Careane. Facing Tylin, the cool-eyed Aes Sedai serenity of all five made a fair job of turning their high-backed armchairs into thrones. He could not understand why Nynaeve and Elayne just sat like lumps, coolly serene too, but absolutely silent. They knew, they understood, and for some reason, Merilille and that lot slathered their tongues with meekness for them, now. Mat Cauthon, on the other hand, was a hairy-eared lout who needed to be kicked, and from Merilille on down, they were all ready to do the kicking.
“I saw the thing,” he snapped, “Elayne saw the thing, Reanne and the Wise Women saw it. Ask any of them!”
Gathered at one end of the room, Reanne and the five surviving Wise Women shrank back like huddling hens, afraid of actual questions. All but Sumeko, anyway; thumbs tucked behind her long red belt, the round woman kept frowning at the Aes Sedai, then shaking her head, frowning, then shaking her head. Nynaeve had had a considerable talk with her in the privacy of the cabin on the boat coming back, and Mat thought that had something to do with her newfound attitude. He had caught mention of Aes Sedai more than once; not that he had been trying to eavesdrop. The rest seemed to be wondering whether they should offer to fetch tea. Only Sumeko had even appeared to consider the offer of a chair. Sibella, flapping bony arms in shock, had nearly fainted.
“No one denies the word of Elayne Aes Sedai, Master Cauthon,” said Renaile din Calon Blue Star in a cool deep voice. Even had the dignified woman in silks to match the red-and-yellow floor tiles not been named to him earlier, the old memories meshed into his own would have identified her as Windfinder to the Mistress of the Ships by the ten fat gold rings in her earlobes, those in each ear connected by a golden chain and half-hidden by the narrow wings of white in her straight black hair. The medallions clustered along the finer chain that ran to her nose ring would tell him what clan she came from among other things. So would the tattoos on her slim dark hands. “What we question is the danger,” she continued. “We do not like leaving the water without good cause.”
Nearly twenty Sea Folk women stood gathered behind her chair, a riot of colorful silks and earrings and medallions on chains for the most part. The first odd thing he had noticed about them was their attitude toward the Aes Sedai. They were perfectly respectful, on the surface at any rate, but he had never before seen anyone look at Aes Sedai smugly. The second odd thing came from those other men’s memories; he did not know a great deal about the Sea Folk from them, but enough. Every Atha’an Miere, man or woman, began as the lowest deckhand whether they were destined one day to become the Master of the Blades or the Mistress of the Ships herself, and every step of the way between, the Sea Folk were sticklers for rank to make any king or Aes Sedai look a sloven. The women behind Renaile were a peculiar lot by any measure—Windfinders to Wavemistresses rubbing shoulders with Windfinders from soarers, by their medallions—but two wore bright blouses of plain wool above the dark oily breeches of deckhands, each with a single thin ring in her left ear. A second and third ring in the right indicated they were being trained as Windfinders, but with two more to earn, not to mention the nose ring, it would be a long while yet that either would find herself called to haul sail whenever the deckmaster needed her, and find the deckmaster’s flail across her rump if she did not move quickly enough. Those two did not belong in this gathering by any memory he had; normally, the Windfinder to the Mistress of the Ships would not even have spoken to one of them.
“Very much as I said, Renaile,” Merilille said, icily condescending. She had certainly noticed those smug glances. That tone did not change as she shifted her attention to him. “Do not grow petulant, Master Cauthon. We are willing to listen to reason. If you have any.”
Mat gathered patience; he hoped he could find enough. Maybe if he used both hands and both feet. “Gholam were created in the middle of the War of the Power, during the Age of Legends,” he began from the beginning. Almost from the beginning of what Birgitte had told him. He turned, facing each group of women as he spoke. Burn him if he was going to let one bunch think they were more important. Or that he was bloody pleading with them. Especially since he was. “They were made to assassinate Aes Sedai. No other reason. To kill people who could channel. The One Power won’t help you; the Power won’t touch a gholam. In fact, they can sense the ability to channel, if they’re within, say, fifty paces of you. They can feel the power in you, too. You won’t know the gholam until it’s too late. They look just like anybody else. On the outside. Inside . . . Gholam have no bones; they can squeeze themselves under a door. And they’re strong enough to rip a door off steel hinges with one hand.” Or rip out a throat. Light, he should have let Nalesean stay in bed.
Suppressing a shiver, he pressed on. The women, all of them, watched him, almost not appearing to blink. He would not let them see him shiver. “There were only six gholam made—three male and three female; at least, that’s what they look like. Apparently even the Forsaken were a little uneasy about them. Or maybe they just decided six was enough. Either way, we know one is in Ebou Dar, probably kept alive since the Breaking in a stasis-box. We don’t know if any others were put into that box, but one is more than enough. Whoever sent him—and it had to be one of the Forsaken—knew to follow us across the river. He had to have been sent after the Bowl of the Winds, and by what he said to me, to kill Nynaeve or Elayne, maybe both.” He spared them a quick look, soothing and sympathetic; nobody could feel easy knowing that thing was after them. In return he received a puzzled frown from Elayne, just the smallest wrinkling of her forehead, and from Nynaeve a slight wave of the hand, an impatient wave, to get on with it.
“ . . . To continue,” he said, shooting the pair of them a glare. It was very hard not to sigh, dealing with women. “Whoever sent the gholam has to know the Bowl is here in the Tarasin Palace, now.  Maybe a lot of you. I can’t protect all of you at once. Maybe he’ll get the Bowl, too. And that’s on top of Falion Bhoda; small chance she’s alone, even with Ispan a prisoner, so that means we have the Black Ajah to worry about, as well. Just in case the Forsaken and gholam aren’t enough for you.” Reanne and the Wise Women drew themselves up even more indignantly than Merilille and her friends at mention of the Black Ajah, and the Aes Sedai, stiffening and gathering skirts, looked ready to stalk out in a huff. Press on; that was all he could do. “Now . . . Now do you see why you all have to leave the palace and take the Bowl somewhere the gholam doesn’t know about? Somewhere the Black Ajah doesn’t know? Do you see why it has to be done now?”
Renaile’s sniff would have startled geese in the next room. “You merely repeat yourself, Master Cauthon. Merilille Sedai says she has never heard of this gholam. Elayne Sedai says there was a strange man, a creature, but little else. What is this . . . stasis-box! You have not explained that. How do you know what you claim to know? Why should we go any further from the water than we are on the word of a man who creates fables from air?”
Mat looked to Nynaeve and Elayne, though with little hope. If they would only open their mouths, this could been have been finished long since, but they gazed back at him, practicing expressionless Aes Sedai masks till their jaws must be creaking. He could not understand their silence. A bare-bones account of events in the Rahad had been all they gave, and he was willing to bet they would not have mentioned the Black Ajah at all had there been any other way to explain showing up in the palace with an Aes Sedai bound and shielded. Ispan was being held in another part of the palace, her presence known only to a handful. Nynaeve had forced some concoction down her throat, a foul-smelling mix of herbs that bulged the woman’s eyes going down and had her giggling and stumbling in short order, and the rest of the Knitting Circle occupied the room with her for guards. Unwilling guards, but very assiduous; Nynaeve had made it extremely clear that should they let Ispan get away, they had best start running before she laid hands on them again.
He very carefully did not look toward Birgitte, standing beside the door with Aviendha. The Aiel woman wore an Ebou Dari dress; not the plain wool she had returned in, but a silver-gray silk riding dress that jarred with her plain-sheathed horn-handled belt knife. Birgitte had been quick to shed her own dress for her usual short coat and wide trousers, these dark blue and dark green. A quiver already hung at her hip. She was the source of everything he knew about gholam—and stasis-boxes—except what his eyes had seen in the Rahad. And he would not have revealed that on a hot grill.
“I read a book once that talked about—” he began, and Renaile cut him off.
“A book,” she sneered. “I will not abandon the salt for a book Aes Sedai do not know.”
Suddenly it struck Mat that he was the only man present. Lan had gone off at Nynaeve’s command, gone as tamely as Beslan had at his mother’s. Thom and Juilin were packing to leave. Had probably finished packing by now. If there was any use to it; if they ever did leave. The only man, surrounded by a wall of women who apparently intended to let him beat his head against that wall till his brains were scrambled. It made no sense. None. They looked at him, waiting.
Nynaeve, in yellow-slashed lace-trimmed blue, had pulled her braid over her shoulder so it hung down between her breasts, but that heavy gold ring—Lan’s ring, he had learned—was carefully positioned to show anyway. Her face was smooth, and her hands rested in her lap, yet sometimes her fingers twitched. Elayne, in green Ebou Dari silk that made Nynaeve seem covered up despite the smoky lace collar under her chin, gazed back at him with eyes like cool pools of deep blue water. Her hands lay in her lap too, but now and again she would begin to trace the thread-of-gold embroidery that covered her skirts, then immediately stop. Why did they not say something? Were they trying to get back at him? Was it just a case of “Mat wants to be in charge so much, let him see how well he can do without us”? He might have believed it of Nynaeve, any time but this anyway, but not of Elayne, not anymore. So why?
Reanne and the Wise Women did not huddle away from him as they did from the Aes Sedai, but their manner toward him had changed. Tamarla gave him a decently respectful nod. Honey-haired Famelle went so far as a friendly smile. Strangely, Reanne blushed, a pale stain. But they did not count as opposition, really. The six women had not said a dozen unprompted words between them since entering this room. Every one would jump if Nynaeve or Elayne snapped her fingers, and keep jumping until told to stop.
He turned to the rest of the Aes Sedai. Faces infinitely calm, infinitely patient. Except . . . Merilille’s eyes flickered past him toward Nynaeve and Elayne for one instant. Sareitha began slowly smoothing her skirts under his gaze, seemingly unaware of doing so. A dark suspicion bloomed in his mind. Hands moving on skirts. Reanne’s blush. Birgitte’s ready quiver. A murky suspicion. He did not really know of what. Just that he had been going about this the wrong way. He gave Nynaeve a stern look, and Elayne a sterner.
Slowly he walked toward the Sea Folk. He just walked, but he heard someone with Merilille sniff, and Sareitha muttered, “Such insolence!” Well, he was about to show them insolence. If Nynaeve and Elayne did not like it, they should have taken him into their confidence. Light, but he hated being used. Especially when he did not know how, or why.
 She frowned, stroking a knife set with moonstones thrust behind her sash. She was a handsome woman rather than pretty, somewhere in her middle years, and under different circumstances he might have enjoyed looking at her eyes. They were large black pools a man could spend an evening just gazing into. Under different circumstances. Somehow, the Sea Folk were the fly in the cream pitcher, and he had not a clue how to pluck it out. He managed to keep his irritation under control. Barely.
“You can all channel, I understand,” he said quietly, “but that doesn’t mean much to me.” As well be straight from the start. “You can ask Adeleas or Vandene how much I care whether a woman can channel.”
Renaile looked past him toward Tylin, but it was not to the Queen she spoke. “Nynaeve Sedai?” she said dryly, “I believe there was no mention in your bargain of my having to listen to this young oakum picker.  So his irritation was not that well under control. A man could only take so much.
Gasps rose among the women behind her. Something over a thousand years ago a Sea Folk woman had called an Essenian soldier a son of the sands just before trying to plant a blade in his ribs; the memory lay tucked inside Mat Cauthon’s head, now. It was not the worst insult among the Atha’an Miere, but it came close. Renaile’s face gorged with blood; hissing, eyes bulging in fury, she leaped to her feet, that moonstone-studded dagger flashing in her fist.
Mat snatched it out of her hand before the blade could reach his chest and shoved her back into her chair. He did have quick hands. He could still hold on to his temper, too.  All right; maybe he could not hold it. “Nynaeve and Elayne need you, or I’d leave you for the gholam to crack your bones and the Black Ajah to pick over what’s left. Well, as far as you’re concerned, I’m the Master of the Blades, and my blades are bare.” What that meant exactly, he had no idea, except for having once heard, “When the blades are bare, even the Mistress of the Ships bows to the Master of the Blades.” “This is the bargain between you and me.
That was no way to go on, not with the Windfinder to the Mistress of the Ships. Not with a bilgeboy off a broken-backed darter, for that matter.  “It is agreed, under the Light!” she growled. Her eyes nearly started out of her head. Her mouth worked, confusion and disbelief suddenly chasing one another across her face. This time, the gasps sounded as if the wind had ripped the curtains down.
“It is agreed,” Mat said quickly, and touching fingers to his lips, he pressed them to hers.
After a moment, she did the same, fingers trembling against his mouth. He held out the dagger, and she stared dully at it before taking it from him. The blade went back into its jeweled sheath.  At least, not until the terms were fulfilled. Murmurs began among the women behind her chair, rising, and Renaile stirred herself to clap her hands once. That silenced Windfinders to Wavemistresses as quickly as the two deckhands in training.
“I think I have just made a bargain with a ta’veren,” she said in that cool, deep voice. The woman could teach Aes Sedai how to pull themselves together quickly. “But one day, Master Cauthon, if it pleases the Light, I think you will walk a rope for me.”
He did not know what that meant, except that she made it sound unpleasant. He made his best leg. “All things are possible, if it pleases the Light,” he murmured. Courtesy paid, after all. But her smile was disturbingly hopeful.
When he turned back to the rest of the room, you would have thought he had horns and wings, for the stares. “Is there any further argument?” he asked in a wry tone, and did not wait for answers. “I thought not. In that case, I suggest you pick out some spot well away from here, and we can be on our way as soon as you bundle up your belongings.”
They made a show of discussion. Elayne mentioned Caemlyn, sounding at least half-serious, and Careane suggested several remote villages in the Black Hills, all easily reached by gateway. Light, anywhere was easily reached by gateway. Vandene spoke of Arafel, and Aviendha suggested Rhuidean, in the Aiel Waste, with the Sea Folk women growing glummer the farther from the sea were the places named. All a show. To Mat, at least, that was clear by Nynaeve’s impatient fiddling with her braid despite the suggestions coming hot and fast.
“If I may speak, Aes Sedai?” Reanne said timidly at last. She even raised her hand. “The Kin maintain a farm on the other side of the river, a few miles north. Everyone knows it is a retreat for women who need contemplation and quiet, but no one connects it to us. The buildings are large and quite comfortable, if there’s any need to stay long, and—”
“Yes,” Nynaeve broke in. “Yes, I think that sounds just the thing. What do you say, Elayne?”
“I think it sounds wonderful, Nynaeve. I know Renaile will appreciate staying close to the sea.” The other five sisters practically piled on top of her saying how agreeable it sounded, how superior to any other suggestion.
Mat rolled his eyes to the heavens. Tylin was a study in not seeing what lay under her nose, but Renaile snapped at it like a trout taking a lacewing. Which was the point, of course. For some reason she was not to know that Nynaeve and Elayne had had everything arranged beforehand. She led the rest of the Sea Folk women out to gather whatever belongings they had brought before Nynaeve and Elayne could change their minds.
Those two would have followed Merilille and the other Aes Sedai, but he crooked a finger at them. They exchanged glances—he would have had to talk an hour to say as much as passed in those looks—then, somewhat to his surprise, came to him. Aviendha and Birgitte watched from the door, Tylin from her chair.
“I am very sorry to have used you,” Elayne said before he could get a word out. Her smile flashed that dimple at him. “We did have reasons, Mat; you must believe that.”
“Which you do not need to know,” Nynaeve put in firmly, flipping her braid back over her shoulder with a practiced toss of her head that made the gold ring bounce on her bosom. Lan must be insane. “I must say, I never expected you to do what you did. Whatever in the world made you think of trying to bully them? You could have ruined everything.”
“What’s life if you don’t take a chance now and then?” he said blithely. As well by him if they thought it was planned instead of temper. But they had used him again without telling him, and he wanted a bit back for that. “Next time you have to make a bargain with the Sea Folk, let me make it for you. Maybe that way, it won’t turn out as badly as the last one.” Spots of color blooming in Nynaeve’s cheeks told him he had hit the mark squarely. Not bad shooting blindfolded.
Elayne, though, just murmured “A most observant subject” in tones of rueful amusement. Being in her good books might turn out less comfortable than being in her bad.
They swept toward the door without letting him say more. Well, he had not really thought they would explain anything. Both were Aes Sedai to the bone. A man learned to live with what he had to.
Tylin had all but slipped from his mind, but he had not from hers. She caught him up before he took two steps. Nynaeve and Elayne paused at the door with Aviendha and Birgitte, watching. So they saw when Tylin pinched his bottom. Some things, nobody could learn to live with. Elayne put on a face of commiseration, Nynaeve of glowering disapproval. Aviendha fought laughter none too successfully, while Birgitte wore her grin openly.
“Nynaeve thinks you are a little boy needing protection,” Tylin breathed up at him.  Her smoky chuckle made that the dirtiest comment he had ever heard. The four women by the door got to watch his face turn beet red. “I will miss you, pigeon. What you did with Renaile was magnificent. I do so admire masterful men.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” he muttered. To his shock, that was simple truth. He was leaving Ebou Dar just in time. “But if we meet again, I’ll do the chasing.”
She chortled at him, and those dark eagle’s eyes almost glowed. “I admire masterful men, duckling. But not when they try being masterful with me.” Seizing his ears, she pulled his head down where she could kiss him.
He never saw Nynaeve and the others go, and he walked out on unsteady legs, tucking his shirt back in. He had to return to fetch his spear from the corner, and his hat. The woman had no shame. Not a scrap of it.
He found Thom and Juilin, coming out of Tylin’s apartments, followed by Nerim and Lopin, Nalesean’s stout man, who each lugged a large wicker pannier made for a packsaddle. Loaded with his belongings, he realized. Juilin carried Mat’s unstrung bow and had his quiver slung on one shoulder. Well, she had said she was moving him.
“I found this on your pillow,” Thom said, tossing him the ring he had bought what seemed a year ago. “A parting gift, it seems; there were loversknots and some other flowers strewn over both pillows.”
Mat jammed the ring onto his finger. “It’s mine, burn you. I paid for it myself.”
The old gleeman knuckled his mustaches and coughed in a failed effort to stifle a sudden wide grin. Juilin snatched off that ridiculous Taraboner hat and became engrossed in studying the inside of it.
“Blood and flaming—!” Mat drew a deep breath. “I hope you two spared a moment for your own belongings,” he said levelly, “because as soon as I grab Olver, we’re on our way, even if we happen to leave a moldy harp or a rusty sword-breaker behind.” Juilin tugged at the corner of his eye with one finger, whatever that was supposed to mean, but Thom actually frowned. Insults to Thom’s flute or his harp were insults to himself.
“My Lord,” Lopin said mournfully. He was a dark, balding man, rounder than Sumeko, and his black Tairen commoner’s coat, tight to the waist then flaring, like Juilin’s, fit very tightly indeed. Normally almost as solemn as Nerim, now he had reddened eyes, as though he had been weeping. “My Lord, is there any chance I might remain to see Lord Nalesean buried? He was a good master.”
Mat hated saying no. “Anybody left behind might be left for a long time, Lopin,” he said gently. “Listen, I’ll need someone to help look after Olver. Nerim has his hands full with me.  If you’d like, I will take you on myself.” He had grown used to having a manservant, and these were hard times for a man hunting work.
“I would like that very much, my Lord,” the fellow said lugubriously. “Young Olver reminds me much of my youngest sister’s son.”
Only, when they entered Mat’s former rooms, the Lady Riselle was there, much more decently clothed than when he had last seen her, and quite alone.
“Why should I have kept him tied to me?” she said, that truly marvelous bosom heaving with emotion as she planted her fists on her hips. The Queen’s duckling, it seemed, was not supposed to take a snappish tone with the Queen’s attendants. “Clip a boy’s wings too far, and he will never grow to a proper man. He read his pages aloud sitting on my knee—he might have read all day, had I allowed it—and did his numbers, so I let him go. Why are you in such a bother? He promised to return by sunset, and he seems to set a great store by his promises.”
Propping the ashandarei in its old corner, Mat told the other men to drop their burdens and go find Vanin and the remaining Redarms. Then he left Riselle’s spectacular bosom and ran all the way to the rooms Nynaeve and the other women shared. They were all there, in the sitting room, and so was Lan, with his Warder’s cloak already draped down his back and saddlebags on his shoulders. His saddlebags and Nynaeve’s, it seemed. A good many bundles of dresses and not-so-small chests stood about the floor. Mat wondered if they would make Lan carry those, too.
“Of course you have to go find him, Mat Cauthon,” Nynaeve said. “Do you think we would just abandon the child?” To hear her, you would have thought that was exactly what he had intended.
Suddenly he was deluged with offers of help, not just Nynaeve and Elayne proposing to put off going to the farm, but Lan and Birgitte and Aviendha offering to join the search. Lan was stone cold about it, grim as ever, but Birgitte and Aviendha . . .
“My heart would break if anything happened to that boy,” Birgitte said, and Aviendha added, just as warmly, “I have always said you do not care for him properly.”
Mat ground his teeth. In the streets of the city, Olver might well elude eight men until he appeared back at the palace at sunset. He did keep his promises, but small chance he would give up one moment of freedom he did not have to. More eyes would mean a quicker search, especially if all of the Wise Women were brought into it. For the space of three heartbeats he hesitated. He had his own promises to keep, though he was wise enough not to put it that way.
“The Bowl is too important,” he told them. “That gholam is still out there, and maybe Moghedien, and the Black Ajah for sure.” The dice thundered in his head. Aviendha would not appreciate being lumped in with Nynaeve and Elayne, but he did not care right then. He addressed Lan and Birgitte. “Keep them safe until I can reach you. Keep all of them safe.”
Startlingly, Aviendha said, “We will. I promise.” She fingered the hilt of her knife. Apparently she did not understand she was one of those to be kept safe.
Nynaeve and Elayne did.   No dimple here.
Lan and Birgitte understood, too.
 The odd thing was, she suddenly looked very sad, and then just as suddenly, her jaw set as though she was preparing to walk through a stone wall and make a large hole.
Birgitte gave Elayne a fond look, but it was to Mat she spoke. “I will,” she said. “Honor’s truth.”
Mat tugged at his coat uncomfortably. He still was not sure how much he had told her while drunk. Light, but the woman could soak it up like dry sand. Even so, he gave the proper response for a Barashandan lord, accepting her pledge. “The honor of blood; the truth of blood.” Birgitte nodded, and from the startled looks he received from Nynaeve and Elayne, she still kept his secrets close. Light, if any Aes Sedai ever found out about those memories, they might as well know he had blown the Horn as well; foxhead or no foxhead, they would stretch him out till they dug out every last why and how.
As he was turning to go, Nynaeve caught his sleeve. “Remember the storm, Mat. It’s going to break soon; I know it. You take care of yourself, Mat Cauthon. Do you hear me? Tylin has directions for the farm, when you get back with Olver.”
Nodding, he made his escape, the dice in his head like echoes of his running boots. Was it during the search that he was supposed to take care of himself, or while getting the directions from Tylin? Nynaeve and her Listening to the Wind. Did she think a little rain was going to melt him? Come to think, once they used the Bowl of the Winds, it would rain again. It seemed years since rain last fell. Something tugged at his thoughts, something about the weather, and Elayne, which made no sense, but he shrugged it off. One thing at a time, and the one thing right now was Olver.
The men were all waiting in the Redarms’ long room near the stables, everyone on their feet except Vanin, who lay sprawled on one of the beds with his fingers laced over his belly. Vanin said a man had to take rest when he could. He swung his boots over and sat up when Mat entered, though. He cared about Olver as much as any of the others; Mat was just afraid the man was going to start teaching him how to steal horses and poach pheasants. Seven sets of eyes focused on Mat intently.
“Riselle said Olver’s wearing his red coat,” he told them. “He gives them away, sometimes, but any urchin you see in a good red coat probably knows where Olver last was. Everybody goes in a different direction. Make loops out from the Mol Hara, and try to be back after about an hour. Wait till everybody is back before you go out again. That way, if somebody finds him, the rest of us won’t still be looking tomorrow. Does everybody understand?” They nodded.
Sometimes it amazed him.  Square-jawed Harnan with that tattoo on his cheek and more elsewhere, who had been a soldier all his life. Juilin with his bamboo staff and his sword-breaker on his hip, who thought himself as good as any lord even if the idea of carrying a sword himself still made him uneasy, and fat Vanin, who made Juilin look a bootlicker by comparison. Skinny Fergin, and Gorderan, nearly as wide in the shoulders as Perrin, and Metwyn, whose pale Cairhienin face still looked like a boy’s despite being years older than Mat. Some of them followed Mat Cauthon because they thought he was lucky, because his luck might keep them alive when the swords were out, and some for reasons he was not really sure of, but they followed. Not even Thom had ever more than protested an order of his. Maybe Renaile had been more than luck. Maybe his being ta’veren did more than dump him in the-middle of trouble. Suddenly he felt . . . responsible . . . for these men. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Mat Cauthon and responsibility did not go together. It was unnatural.
“Take care of yourselves, and look sharp,” he said. “You know what’s out there. There’s a storm coming.” Now why had he said that? “Move. We’re wasting light.”
The wind still blew strongly, sweeping dust across the Mol Hara Square with its statue of a long-dead queen posing above the fountain, but there was no other sign of a storm. Nariene had been noted for her honesty, but not enough to have been depicted completely bare-chested. The afternoon sun burned high in a sky without a cloud, but people rushed through the square as quickly as they had in the morning cool. That was gone, wind or no, down here on the ground. The paving stones seemed a griddle under his boots.
Glaring across the square at The Wandering Woman, Mat headed toward the river. Olver had not gone off with the street urchins half as often while they were staying at the inn; he had been too content ogling the serving girls and Setalle Anan’s daughters. So much for the dice telling him he had to move into the palace. Anything he had done since leaving—anything he wanted to do, he amended, thinking of Tylin and her eyes; and her hands—any of it could have been done just as well from there.
He tried to move quickly, dodging impatiently around trundling carts and wagons, cursing at lacquered sedan chairs and coaches that nearly ran him down, eyes darting in search of a red coat close to the ground, but the bustle in the streets slowed him to a meander. Which was just as well, in truth. No point dashing by the boy without seeing him. Wishing he had brought Pips out of the palace stables, he frowned at the people streaming past; a man on horseback could have moved no faster in the throng, but up in the saddle, he could have seen farther. Then again, asking questions from a saddle would have been awkward; not many folk actually rode inside the city, and some people had a tendency to shy away from anyone on a horse.
Always the same question. The first time he asked was at a bridge just below the Mol Hara, of a fellow selling honey-baked apples from a tray hanging from a strap around his neck. “Have you seen a boy, about so high, in a red coat?” Olver liked sweets.
 “Seen a thousand boys. Don’t remember no coat, though. Would my Lord like one apple, or two?” He scooped up two with bony fingers and pushed them at Mat; the way they gave under his fingers, they were softer than any baking could account for. “Did my Lord hear about the riot?”
“No,” Mat said sourly, and pushed on. At the other end of the bridge, he stopped a plump woman with a tray of ribbons. Ribbons held no fascination for Olver, but her red petticoats flashed beneath a skirt sewn up nearly to her left hip, and the cut of her bodice revealed rounded cleavage to equal Riselle’s. “Have you seen a boy . . . ?”
He heard about the riot from her, too, and from half the people he asked. That rumor, he suspected had begun with events at a certain house in the Rahad that very morning. A wagon driver with her long whip coiled around her neck even told him the riot had been across the river, once she allowed as how she never noticed boys unless they ran under her mules. A square-faced man who sold honeycomb—incredibly dry-looking honeycomb—said the riot had been down near the light tower at the end of the Bay Road, on the eastern side of the mouth of the bay, which was about as likely a place for rioting as the middle of the bay itself. There were always a thousand rumors in any city, if you listened, and he was forced to listen to snatches of all of them, it seemed. One of the most remarkably pretty women he had ever seen, standing outside a tavern—Maylin was a serving girl at The Old Sheep, but her only task seemed to be standing outside to attract customers, which she certainly did—told him there had been a battle that morning, in the Cordese Hills west of the city, she thought. Or maybe in the Rhannon Hills, across the bay. Or maybe . . . Remarkably pretty, Maylin, but not very bright; Olver might have watched her for hours, so long as she never opened her mouth. But she could not remember seeing any boy in a . . . What color coat had he said, again? He heard about riots and battles, he heard about enough strange things seen in the sky or the hills to populate the Blight. He heard that the Dragon Reborn was about to descend on the city with thousands of men who could channel, that the Aiel were coming, an army of Aes Sedai—no, it was an army of Whitecloaks; Pedron Niall was dead, and the Children intended to avenge him, though why in Ebou Dar was not exactly clear. You might have thought the city would be hip-deep in panic with all the tales floating around, but the fact was, even those who told a tale usually only half-believed it. So he heard all sorts of nonsense, but not a word about any boy in a red coat.
A few streets from the river, he began hearing thunder, great hollow booms that seemed to roll in from the sea. People looked up curiously at the cloudless sky, scratched their heads, and went on about their business. So did he, questioning every seller of sweets or fruit he saw, and every pretty woman afoot. All to no avail. Reaching the long stone quay that ran the whole length of the river side of the city, he paused, studying the gray docks stretching out into the river and the ships tied to them. The wind blew strong, heaving vessels at their mooring lines, grinding them against the stone docks despite the bags stuffed with wool hung down between for fenders. Unlike horses, ships did not interest Olver except as a way to go from here to there, and ships were men’s business in Ebou Dar even if the lading they carried often was not. Women on these docks would either be merchants keeping an eye on their goods or hard-armed members of the cargo-loader’s guild, and there would be no sweet-sellers here.
About to turn away, he realized almost no one was moving. The docks usually bustled, yet on every ship he could see, crewmen lined the rails and had climbed into the rigging to stare toward the bay. Barrels and crates stood abandoned while shirtless men and wiry women in green leather vests crowded together at the ends of the docks to peer between the ships, south, toward the thunder.
Hesitating only a moment, he trotted out along the nearest dock. At first, ships tied to the long fingers of stone to the south blocked his view of anything except the smoke. Because of the way the shoreline lay, though, each dock stuck out farther than the next down; once he pushed into the murmuring crowd at the end, the broad river made an open path of choppy green water to the wave-tossed bay.
At least two dozen ships were burning out on the wide expanse of the bay, maybe more, engulfed in flame from end to end. A number of others had already settled, only a bow or stern still above water and that sliding under. Even as he looked, the bow of a broad two-masted ship flying a large banner of red and blue and gold, the banner of Altara, suddenly flew apart with a roar, a boom like thunder, and fast-thickening tendrils of smoke wafted away on the wind as the vessel began settling by the head. Hundreds of vessels were in motion, every craft in the bay, three-masted Sea Folk rakers and skimmers and two-masted soarers, coastal ships with their triangular sails, river ships under sail or sweep, some fleeing upriver, most trying to beat out to sea. Scores of other ships swanned into the bay before the wind, great bluff-bowed vessels as tall as any of the rakers, crashing through the rolling waves, throwing aside spray. His breath caught as he suddenly made out square, ribbed sails.
 “It’s the flaming Seanchan!”
“Who?” demanded a stern-faced woman crowded next to him. A dark blue woolen dress of fine cut marked her a merchant as much as did the leather folder she carried for her bills of lading or the guild pin over one breast, a silver quill pen. “It’s the Aes Sedai,” she announced in tones of conviction. “I know channeling when I see it. The Children of the Light will do for them, just as soon as they arrive. You’ll see.”
A lanky, gray-haired woman in a grimy green vest twisted around to confront her, fingering the wooden hilt of her dagger.
Mat left them waving their arms and shouting at one another, and pushed clear of the crowd, running for the quay. Already he could see three—no, four—huge creatures circling over the city to the south on great pinions like those of a bat. Figures clung to the creatures’ backs, apparently in some sort of saddles. Another flying creature appeared, and more. Below them, flame suddenly fountained above the rooftops with a roar.
People ran now, buffeting Mat as he struggled through the streets. “Olver!” he shouted, hoping to be heard above other shouts from every side, and the screams. “Olver!”
Abruptly, everybody seemed to be heading the other way, battering past him. Stubbornly he forced on against the tide. And came to a street where what all those folk fled from was made plain.
A Seanchan column rushed by, a hundred or more men in helmets like insects’ heads and armor of overlapping plates, all riding animals like cats the size of horses, but covered in bronze scales rather than fur. Leaning forward in their saddles, blue-streamered lances slanted, they galloped toward the Mol Hara without looking to either side. Though “gallop” was not quite the word for the way those creatures moved; the speed was right, but they . . . flowed. It was time to be gone; past time. As soon as he found—
As the end of column went by a flash of red, waist high, caught his eye among the crowd in the street beyond the intersection. “Olver!” He darted across almost on the heels of the last scaled creature, pushing into the crowd in time to see a wide-eyed woman snatch up a little girl in a red dress and ran with the child clutched to her bosom. Wildly, Mat pressed ahead, shouldering people aside when they Bumped into him, Bumping into more than a few himself. “Olver! Olver!”
Twice more he saw a column of fire rise briefly above the rooftops, and smoke drifted to the sky in a dozen places. Several times he heard those booming roars, much closer than the bay, now. Inside the city, he was sure; more than once the ground quivered beneath his boots.
And then the street was clearing again, people fleeing in every direction, down alleys and into houses and shops, for Seanchan on horses were coming. Not all were armored men; near the head of that small thicket of lances rode a dark woman in a blue dress. Mat knew the large red panels on her skirts and bosom were worked with silver lightning. A silver leash, gleaming in the sun, ran from her left wrist to the neck of a woman in gray, a damane, who trotted beside the sul’dam’s horse like a pet dog. He had seen more of Seanchan at Falme than he wanted to, but unconsciously he paused at the mouth of an alleyway, watching. The roars and fires had showed that somebody in the city was trying to fight back, at least, and now he was going to see such an attempt.
The Seanchan were not the only reason everyone else had gotten out of sight. At the other end of the street, a good hundred mounted men swung long-pointed lances down. They wore baggy white breeches and green coats, and the gold cords on the officer’s helmet glittered. With a collective shout, a hundred or more of Tylin’s soldiers hurled themselves toward the city’s attackers. They outnumbered the Seanchan in front of them by at least two to one.
“Bloody fools,” Mat muttered. “Not like that. That sul’dam will—”
The only movement among the Seanchan was the woman in the lightning-marked dress raising her hand to point, as one might launch a hawk, or send off a hound. The golden-haired woman at the other end of the silvery leash took a small step forward. The foxhead medallion cooled against his chest.
Underneath the head of the Ebou Dari charge, the street suddenly erupted, paving stones and men and horses flying into the air with a deafening roar. The concussion knocked Mat flat on his back, or maybe it was the way the ground seemed to leap from under his feet. He pulled himself up in time to see the front of an inn across the way suddenly collapse into the street in a cloud of dust, exposing the rooms within.
Men and horses lay everywhere, pieces of men and horses, those still alive thrashing, around a hole in the ground half as wide as the street. Screams from the wounded filled the air. Fewer than half the Ebou Dari staggered to their feet, dazed and stumbling. Some seized up the reins of horses as wobbly-legged as they, heaving themselves into saddles, kicking the animals into some semblance of a run. Others just ran afoot. All away from the Seanchan. Steel they could face, but not this.
Running, Mat realized, seemed a particularly fine idea right then. A glance back down the alley showed dust and rubble piled at least a story high. He darted down the street ahead of the fleeing Ebou Dari, keeping as close to the walls as possible, hoping none of the Seanchan would think he was one of Tylin’s soldiers. He should never have worn a green coat.
The sul’dam apparently was not satisfied. The foxhead went cool again, and from behind another roar hammered him to the pavement, pavement that jumped up to meet him. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard masonry groan. Above him, the white-plastered brick wall began leaning outward.
 He had time for that. And just time to realize, as brick and timbers crashed down on him, that the dice in his head had just stopped dead.


Puppy raisers are an extremely important part of our program. We rely on volunteer puppy raisers here in Oklahoma to help our puppies develop skills that are critical for becoming quality service dogs. In return, they enjoy the experience of having these delightful creatures in their lives and of contributing in a special way to our mission of helping people with disabilities live more independent, quality lives.
If you are intersted in becoming a puppy raise, here is what is expected:
Occasionally we will help a person with disabilities to train their own dog. The application process is the same and the dog must meet our criteria. For more
Other programs: Service Dogs, Pen Pals Prison Program, Therapy Dogs


Gladia is out on the lawn chair,she felt it before sitting to make sure it wasn't damp. She laid apon the lawn chair looking up at the stars that covered the night sky. Gladia was from Solaria. Thou the Solaria star wasn't out she wondered where it is. But now she lived on Auroa.You see on Auroa,it is custom to have two to three robots on hand at all times. One of Gladia's robots was Daneel. Another was Giskard (and its nearly impossible to say it right!) All robots live by three laws.
In the end of the chapter Gladia is on her way to a meeting with a man named Madumus.


Next: push, Previous: listp, Up: Conses Dictionary
make-list
size &key initial-element ⇒ list
size—a non-negative integer.
initial-element—an object. The default is nil.
list—a list.
Returns a list of length given by size, each of the elements of which is initial-element.
(make-list 5) ⇒ (NIL NIL NIL NIL NIL) (make-list 3 :initial-element 'rah) ⇒ (RAH RAH RAH) (make-list 2 :initial-element '(1 2 3)) ⇒ ((1 2 3) (1 2 3)) (make-list 0) ⇒ NIL ;i.e., () (make-list 0 :initial-element 'new-element) ⇒ NIL
Should signal an error of type type-error if size is not a non-negative integer.