Random

9 Princes in Amber, Ch. 3:

The one bore a wily-looking little man, with a sharp nose and a laughing mouth and a shock of straw-colored hair. He was dressed in something like a Renaissance costume of orange, red and brown. He wore long hose and a tight-fitting embroidered doublet. And I knew him. His name was Random.

9 Princes in Amber, Ch. 3:

But I knew that on the one hand he was nobody’s fool; he was resourceful, shrewd, strangely sentimental over the damnedest things; and on the other hand, his word wasn’t worth the spit behind it, and he’d probably sell my corpse to the medical school of his choice if he could get much for it. I remembered the little fink all right, with only a touch of affection, perhaps for a few pleasant times it seemed we had spent together. But trust him? Never.

9 Princes in Amber, Ch. 4:

He was a little guy, maybe five-six in height, weighing perhaps one thirty-five.

9 Princes in Amber, Ch. 4:

“You’re thinking,” he said while I thought, “’How far can I trust Random this time? He is sneaky and mean and just like his name, and he will doubtless sell me out If someone offers him a better deal. ‘ True?”

9 Princes in Amber, Ch. 4:

He was a homicidal little fink, who I recalled had always been sort of a rebel. Our parents had tried to discipline him in the past, I knew, never very successfully.