All his life, Jamak Spijun had been baked by the burning southern sun. His face resembled a strangely shaped, dried fruit, and his skin and hair were nearly black, as were his eyes. He wore the colors of the clan, orange and white, throughout the year, though the Far Haradrim usually reserved such dress for feasts and holi- days. The curved sword in his sash and his dark steel breast plate were of the finest Haradan manufacture. When fully equipped for battle, the lord of the Kindilaar looked like nothing more than the corpse of a long dead warlord.
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| - All his life, Jamak Spijun had been baked by the burning southern sun. His face resembled a strangely shaped, dried fruit, and his skin and hair were nearly black, as were his eyes. He wore the colors of the clan, orange and white, throughout the year, though the Far Haradrim usually reserved such dress for feasts and holi- days. The curved sword in his sash and his dark steel breast plate were of the finest Haradan manufacture. When fully equipped for battle, the lord of the Kindilaar looked like nothing more than the corpse of a long dead warlord.
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| - All his life, Jamak Spijun had been baked by the burning southern sun. His face resembled a strangely shaped, dried fruit, and his skin and hair were nearly black, as were his eyes. He wore the colors of the clan, orange and white, throughout the year, though the Far Haradrim usually reserved such dress for feasts and holi- days. The curved sword in his sash and his dark steel breast plate were of the finest Haradan manufacture. When fully equipped for battle, the lord of the Kindilaar looked like nothing more than the corpse of a long dead warlord.
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