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The Sword of Shannara Mass Market Paperback – July 12, 1983
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Long ago, the wars of the ancient Evil ruined the world. In peaceful Shady Vale, half-elfin Shea Ohmsford knows little of such troubles. But the supposedly dead Warlock Lord is plotting to destroy everything in his wake.The sole weapon against this Power of Darkness is the Sword of Shannara, which can be used only by a trueheir of Shannara. On Shea, last of the bloodline,rests the hope of all the races.
Thus begins the enthralling Shannara epic,a spellbinding tale of adventure, magic, and myth . .
- Print length736 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherDel Rey
- Publication dateJuly 12, 1983
- Dimensions4.12 x 1.5 x 6.8 inches
- ISBN-100345314255
- ISBN-13978-0345314253
- Lexile measure1160L
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From the Publisher

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Child of Light | Small Magic | |
More from Terry Brooks | The electrifying first novel of an all-new fantasy series from the legendary author behind the Shannara saga, about a human girl struggling to find her place in a magical world she’s never known. | Escape to worlds full of adventure and magic in the first-ever Terry Brooks short-story collection, featuring both new and fan-favorite stories from all three of his major literary worlds: Shannara, Magic Kingdom, and The Word and the Void. |
Editorial Reviews
From the Inside Flap
From the Back Cover
Lord is plotting to destroy everything in his wake.
The sole weapon against this Power of Darkness is the Sword of Shannara, which can be used only by a true heir of Shannara. On Shea, last of the bloodline, rests the hope of all the races.
Thus begins the enthralling Shannara epic, a spellbinding tale of adventure, magic, and myth...
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
There was a slight chill in the evening air, and Flick clutched the collar of his open wool shirt closer to his neck. His journey ahead lay through forests and rolling flatlands, the latter not yet visible to him as he passed into the forests, and the darkness of the tall oaks and somber hickories reached upward to overlap and blot out the cloudless night sky. The sun had set, leaving only the deep blue of the heavens pinpointed by thousands of friendly stars. The huge trees shut out even these, and Flick was left alone in the silent darkness as he moved slowly along the beaten path. Because he had traveled this same route a hundred times, the young man noticed immediately the unusual stillness that seemed to have captivated the entire valley this evening. The familiar buzzing and chirping of insects normally present in the quiet of the night, the cries of the birds that awoke with the setting of the sun to fly in search of food—all were missing. Flick listened intently for some sound of life, but his keen ears could detect nothing. He shook his head uneasily. The deep silence was unsettling, particularly in view of the rumors of a frightening black-winged creature sighted in the night skies north of the valley only days earlier.
He forced himself to whistle and turned his thoughts back to his day’s work in the country just to the north of the Vale, where outlying families farmed and tended domestic livestock. He traveled to their homes every week, supplying various items that they required and bringing bits of news on the happenings of the Vale and occasionally the distant cities of the deep Southland. Few people knew the surrounding countryside as well as he did, and fewer still cared to travel beyond the comparative safety of their homes in the valley. Men were more inclined to remain in isolated communities these days and let the rest of the world get along as best it could. But Flick liked to travel outside the valley from time to time, and the outlying homesteads were in need of his services and were willing to pay him for the trouble. Flick’s father was not one to let an opportunity pass him by where there was money to be made, and the arrangement seemed to work out well for all concerned.
A low-hanging branch brushing against his head caused Flick to start suddenly and leap to one side. In chagrin, he straightened himself and glared back at the leafy obstacle before continuing his journey at a slightly quicker pace. He was deep in the lowland forests now and only slivers of moonlight were able to find their way through the thick boughs overhead to light the winding path dimly. It was so dark that Flick was having trouble finding the trail, and as he studied the lay of the land ahead, he again found himself conscious of the heavy silence. It was as if all life had been suddenly extinguished, and he alone remained to find his way out of this forest tomb. Again he recalled the strange rumors. He felt a bit anxious in spite of himself and glanced worriedly around. But nothing stirred on the trail ahead nor moved in the trees about him, and he felt embarrassingly relieved.
Pausing momentarily in a moonlit clearing, he gazed at the fullness of the night sky before passing abruptly into the trees beyond. He walked slowly, picking his way along the winding path that had narrowed beyond the clearing and now seemed to disappear into a wall of trees and bushes ahead. He knew that it was merely an illusion, but found himself glancing about uneasily all the same. A few moments later, he was again on a wider trail and could discern bits of sky peeking through the heavy trees. He was almost to the bottom of the valley and about two miles from his home. He smiled and began whistling an old tavern song as he hurried on. He was so intent on the trail ahead and the open land beyond the forest that he failed to notice the huge black shadow that seemed to rise up suddenly, detaching itself from a great oak tree on his left and moving swiftly toward the path to intercept him. The dark figure was almost on top of the Vale man before Flick sensed its presence looming up before him like a great, black stone which threatened to crush his smaller being. With a startled cry of fear he leaped aside, his pack falling to the path with a crash of metal, and his left hand whipped out the long thin dagger at his waist. Even as he crouched to defend himself, he was stayed by a commanding arm raised above the figure before him and a strong, yet reassuring voice that spoke out quickly.
“Wait a moment, friend. I’m no enemy and have no wish to harm you. I merely seek directions and would be grateful if you could show me the proper path.”
Flick relaxed his guard a bit and tried to peer into the blackness of the figure before him in an effort to discover some semblance of a human being. He could see nothing, however, and he moved to the left with cautious steps in an attempt to catch the features of the dark figure in the tree-shadowed moonlight.
“I assure you, I mean no harm,” the voice continued, as if reading the Valeman’s mind. “I did not mean to frighten you, but I didn’t see you until you were almost upon me, and I was afraid you might pass me by without realizing I was there.”
The voice stopped and the huge black figure stood silently, though Flick could feel the eyes following him as he edged about the path to put his own back to the light. Slowly the pale moonlight began to etch out the stranger’s features in vague lines and blue shadows. For a long moment the two faced one another in silence, each studying the other, Flick in an effort to decide what it was he faced, the stranger in quiet anticipation.
Then suddenly the huge figure lunged with terrible swiftness, his powerful hands seizing the Valeman’s wrists, and Flick was lifted abruptly off the solid earth and held high, his knife dropping from nerveless fingers as the deep voice laughed mockingly up at him.
“Well, well, my young friend! What are you going to do now, I wonder? I could cut your heart out on the spot and leave you for the wolves if I chose, couldn’t I?”
Flick struggled violently to free himself, terror numbing his mind to any thought but that of escape. He had no idea what manner of creature had subdued him, but it was far more powerful than any normal man and apparently prepared to dispatch Flick quickly. Then abruptly, his captor held him out at arm’s length, and the mocking voice became icy cold with displeasure.
“Enough of this, boy! We have played our little game and still you know nothing of me. I’m tired and hungry and have no wish to be delayed on the forest trail in the chill of the evening while you decide if I am man or beast. I will set you down that you may show me the path. I warn you—do not try to run from me or it will be the worse for you.”
The strong voice trailed off and the tone of displeasure disappeared as the former hint of mockery returned with a short laugh.
“Besides,” the figure rumbled as the fingers released their iron grip and Flick slipped to the path, “I may be a better friend than you realize.”
“The figure moved back a step as Flick straightened himself, rubbing his wrists carefully to restore the circulation to his numbed hands. He wanted to run, but was certain that the stranger would catch him again and this time finish him without further thought. He leaned over cautiously and picked up the fallen dagger, returning it to his belt.
Product details
- Publisher : Del Rey; Reissue edition (July 12, 1983)
- Language : English
- Mass Market Paperback : 736 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0345314255
- ISBN-13 : 978-0345314253
- Lexile measure : 1160L
- Item Weight : 12.5 ounces
- Dimensions : 4.12 x 1.5 x 6.8 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #56,948 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,097 in Sword & Sorcery Fantasy (Books)
- #1,971 in Science Fiction Adventures
- #3,337 in Epic Fantasy (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Terry Brooks is the New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty-five books, including the Genesis of Shannara novels Armageddon's Children and The Elves of Cintra; The Sword of Shannara; the Voyage of the Jerle Shannara trilogy: Ilse Witch, Antrax, and Morgawr; the High Druid of Shannara trilogy: Jarka Ruus, Tanequil, and Straken; the nonfiction book Sometimes the Magic Works: Lessons from a Writing Life; and the novel based upon the screenplay and story by George Lucas, Star Wars(R): Episode I The Phantom Menace.(tm) His novels Running with the Demon and A Knight of the Word were selected by the Rocky Mountain News as two of the best science fiction/fantasy novels of the twentieth century. The author was a practicing attorney for many years but now writes full-time. He lives with his wife, Judine, in the Pacific Northwest.
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Reviewed in the United States on October 18, 2022
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Only Shea can control the mystical talisman known as the Sword of Shannara. The magic and myth has so been ingrained in the beliefs and attitudes of the lands and it's people, that only a Shannara heir can now wield the weapon against the Warlock Lord and defeat him. Shea sets out with the aid of his brother Flick, close friend Menion Leah, prince of the nearby city-state of Leah, and new allies, human, Dwarf, and Elf, as well as a mystic named Allanon, to recover the Sword and prevent the Warlock Lord from taking control of the known world.
The Sword of Shannara is a fantasy classic that is also infamous. The novel is the cause of much controversy, to say the least. The book is derided by critics ranging from everyday readers, to “Tolkien scholars” like Tom Shippey, for having “stolen” it's storyline from Tolkien, by “plagiarizing” The Lord of the Rings.
I used to think this way. From my own cursory looks at the text, and my readings of summaries and reviews, I wavered about whether to read the book or not. I kept hearing how good it sounded and the concept is rather interesting. But, I wondered to myself, if it's just a knockoff of Tolkien's Middle Earth cosmology, then what's the point of wasting time on it?
I finally read the book, and I must say that I wonder who in the world calls this a “knockoff” or “plagiarism” of The Lord of the Rings? Are there similarities in characters and settings? Yes, there are. But so what?! Does that really matter? Tolkien's work, and C. S. Lewis' for that matter, are so influential and popular, that they have become a part of our culture. Of course, such stories and themes will influence later literary and cinematic works.
For those who think that I am giving Brooks too much of a pass, well, I can most certainly understand the criticism. The author does does rely a tad too much on the use of the basic storyline of LOTR as a template. Sword might have been a better work had it not been so very derivative of Tolkien's work. But the book is so different after the first two hundred pages, that, despite the small continuing similarities, Sword takes on it's own, distinct, feel.
I admit that I became annoyed at the way that the books dovetailed with each other too heavily at times, but I am more lenient for three reasons. First of all, as already pointed out, the elements of the two books that are in common, are overblown. The similarities are there, yes, but the differences are more than enough to make the Terry Brooks' story it's own separate tale.
The second reason is that the books are very different afterward. Sword, and the rest of the Shannara series, is far more original than people think at first glance, and the different history which was hinted at several times in Sword is later fleshed out even further. The “Four Lands” becomes a vivid, separate place with it's own mythology. I know this not only from what I have read about the rest of the books in the series, but from having read one myself. Years ago, long before I had read LOTR, heard of Sword, or heard of the withering criticism leveled against it.
A large part of this narrative which is spoken of in this book, and expanded upon in later works, is the identity and location of the world. The Four Lands is our world, not in the past, but in the future. At first, there were only two species of Men. The regular humans, and the magical Elves that predated Men, and lived in hidden realms in nature that were unknown except for in various folklore accounts.
Then the “Great Wars” came, as the characters in the books call them. In these conflagrations, a combination of conventional armed conflict, and what is implied to be the use of thermonuclear weapons, results in most of the known world being obliterated. Only the Four Lands which seem to be based around the Pacific Northwestern United States where author Terry Brooks lives, seems to have survived. Besides the Elves and faerie creatures, the Humans were divided into several groups. There were humans who escaped the holocaust unchanged, and there were other groups who underwent physical changes and mutations as a result of the nuclear energies loosed upon the world. These were named after vaguely-remembered creatures from the various legends in the pre-holocaust world. Such creatures as Dwarfs, Gnomes, or Trolls, for instance, among other groups.
As is readily seen, the author took a great deal of time putting thought into how to make the world he was creating his very own, and not just a carbon-copy of Middle Earth. Robert Jordan similarly used a Tolkienesque influence to tell a story occurring after a cataclysmic event that nearly destroyed the world. So have other authors. Terry Brooks was the first, and paved the way, for which he deserves credit.
The final reason that I am lenient on the sometimes all too-closely mirrored plot-lines in the works is that Terry Brooks did a great service to the genre of fantasy. So many tales are based in part on Tolkien's Middle Earth cosmology. To be sure, many of these works were a tad too derivative of LOTR, but not all. Ranging from some of David Eddings works (which I don't recommend, by the by) to the first book of The Wheel of Time series (which I do recommend), and others. There are great stories that would have received blistering attacks, and perhaps not have been tried, had The Sword of Shannara not been published and received the most withering of such attacks first. After Brooks, fairly or not, (I say unfairly) no one else is seen as so unfairly close, except maybe Eragon or some others.
Don't get me wrong, The Sword of Shannara does not hold a candle to The Lord of the Rings, or many of the books in Jordan's Wheel of Time series. The quality of writing is not as developed here, nor does it have the poetic beauty of Tolkien's. For that matter, the book is full of fantasy cliches. Every cliché that was developing in fantasy since Tolkien first published LOTR was stuffed in here. The author perhaps overused various fantasy conventions. He did use them well, however, it should be noted. It wasn't as refined as the works of Jordan and especially Tolkien, but it was and is a fun read. But none of this should really matter. Sword is not being judged compared to Tolkien.
If we judged that way, almost no book would ever be able to rise to a high level of literary value or entertainment. The point of a proper critique is to judge the book on it's own merits. Judge it for what it is, in other words, not what it is not. It is perfectly fine to mention, as I have, where the book could be improved via a comparison to a better work, but not to degrade the story due to it's not being said work. Judge the work for what it is, and then you find the true worth of the story. By that standard, The Sword of Shannara is a fun fantasy tale. One that is well worth reading.
Years later, after rereading Katherine Kurtz's Deryni Chronicles on Kindle, I recalled "The Sword of Shannara" -- aware that it had become a bit of a cottage industry -- and looked for it on Amazon. I became hesitant about rreading it, as I said above, after reading some of the blistering criticisms of it on this site, most of which were based upon the similarites between this and "Lord of the Rings." I don't like wasting my time on bad books, and if I were to believe some of the reviews, I might have had to endure such a close ripoff of Tolkien that the characters might be named "Frudo Buggins," "Gindolf," or "Scowron." I feared that much of an imitation.
I pushed forward and purchased the book and was more than pleasantly surprised. Of course the book borrows some of the benchmarks of "Lord of the Rings," just as Tolkien, a linguist and literature expert, borrowed archetypes from classic epics, ballads, and folklore. Yes, there's a pair of innocent types who undertake a great quest, there are elves, there is an ovewhelming, ominous presence, and a crazed, obsessed, pathetic little character who briefly comes into posession of an important talisman, but when you look deeper, the comparisons begin to fade. For example, Allanon, the wizard-like leader of the group, is far darker than the fatherly Gandalf; Hendel is a much more rounded character than Gimli; the Warlock King is a far different person than the omnipresently evil Sauron. And the tone of the story and set of adventures undergone by the chaacters is farther from Tolkien than you might imagine.
I am not dismissing the similarities. Brooks himself has admitted to them. There are plenty of points of reference between the two works. But the charges of "imitation" and near-plagiarism are simply not accurate.
I have more of a problem with the unevenness of the writing style. Brooks picks and chooses when to describe things. We have a good description of the "thing" that attacks Flick and Shea in the marsh early on. We know how the Warlock King looks; we can visualize Allanon; we can see Balionor's city and the details of the final battle. But the description of the mysterious beast that attacks the travellers in the ruins of an ancient city is horribly inadequate -- what does he mean when he says it's a mass of metal, flesh, hair, etc.? And there are too many times where he seems to be giving the Cliff's Notes versions of the journey -- they walked, and talked, and got to know each other; they escaped by making the goblins think they were being attacked -- in other words, I'd like to know what was said, what was done, that type of thing. And another reviewer spoke of Brooks's habit of summarizing the story every two or three pages.
However, these quibbles really didn't get in the way of my enjoyment of the novel. As frustrated as I might get with the style, I was invested enough in the story and the characters to continue. I would certainly recommend this to others.
Top reviews from other countries


It's not a poor book or poorly written but it's just too similar to Lord of the Rings and I just couldn't get away from that.
I hope I can revisit at a later date as I'm sure the saga will be worth it in the end.

Good: Dungeons and Dragons-esque, swords and spells fantasy action. There is always some event happening next that compels the reader to investigate. Not much - if any - thought required. The mind can be put in neutral gear.
Summary:
Very much and American take on a fantasy novel, and of its era - it could easily be the script for an 80’s movie, complete with prosthetic monsters and the like.
It doesn’t demand much attention or philosophical input, which is actually nice for a change - just keep turning the pages.
The language is oftentimes annoying: “he glared with sorrow and hatred”. That is not a direct quote, but certainly the gist of it.
The plots rely heavily and convenient timing and cliff hangers. Very Hollywood-style.
The world feels like an afterthought with little grounding. Even though Tolkien’s Middle Earth isn’t real, it feels unfathomably deep and alive. I don’t think this is a fair comparison.
Also, Dwarfs (Dwarves!) live in trees now. Sad times.
This would be the best novel ever for a 14 year-old.
However, I am enjoying it for what it is. It is in no way challenging to the reader, but the author isn’t trying to be some pretentiously philosophical smarty-pants.

Sadly I persevered 2 thirds through. No female characters except 2 thirds through who was a pretty pink princess character. The most important character goes AWOL halfway through book.
For fantasy I recommend Stephen Donaldson's first trilogies.
