"Darksaber (Kevin Anderson)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Kevin J)

his breathmask. "Can't talk now. Have to concentrate. Wait until they're
preoccupied, and I'll explain more."

Up ahead, Luke slumped forward in his Tusken disguise. Han knew his
friend was expending an incredible amount of energy to lull the Sand People
into ignoring their two unwanted guests. Luke was able to use his abilities to
muddle the minds of weak individuals, but never before had Han seen his friend
manipulate so many minds at once.

The trick was to keep the Sand People from noticing them; then it was
easy for Luke to divert a few stray thoughts. If someone sounded an alarm and
all the Sand People focused on the intruders, though, not even a Jedi Master
would be able to keep up the charade. Then there would be a fight.

Tucked under his tattered robes, Han carried his trusty blaster pistol.
He didn't know if he and Luke could take on the entire band of Raiders-but
they would make a good accounting of themselves if circumstances ever came to
that.

The lead rider reached the peak of the sand mountain. The bantha's wide
feet trampled the wind-sharpened edge atop the dune. The air was still, as if
stunned. The sands glittered like a billion miniature novas.

Han adjusted the corroded niters over his eyes. The other banthas plodded
up, surrounding their leader, who raised his cloth-wrapped arm, brandishing a
wicked-looking gaffi stick. Behind the Tusken leader, his single passenger sat
slumped and sullen, though it was difficult to understand the body language of
these masked and alien people.

Han sensed somehow that this withdrawn passenger was the center of the
ceremony. Was some kind of honor being bestowed, Han wondered, or was this man
being exiled from the tribe?

The passenger slid off the lead bantha, letting himself drop from the
shaggy beast. He clung to the woolly fur as if in desperation, but no sounds
came from his bandaged face, not even the guttural grunts and snorts the
Tuskens used as language. Head down, his eye tubes pointed toward the churned
sand where bantha footprints had trampled the pristine dune, the passenger
stood dejected in front of the lead rider.

The leader waited beside his mount, holding the upraised gaffi stick; the
other Sand People climbed down from their banthas. They thrashed their own
weapons in the air. Han and Luke copied the gestures, trying to blend in.

In his disguise Luke moved slowly and wearily. This mission was taking a
heavy toll on the Jedi Knight, and Han hoped they would reach their
destination soon.

The forlorn passenger hesitated at the edge of the dune, gazing across
the sweeping ocean of loose sands that spread to the horizon. The Sand People