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

stood at attention and raised their gaffi sticks high.

While they concentrated on the intensity of the moment, Luke's voice
buzzed in Han's ear. "All right, they're distracted," he said. "I can explain.
The lone Tusken Raider lost his bantha three days ago. A krayt dragon killed
it, and unfortunately our friend there got away."

"What do you mean, unfortunately?" Han mumbled, hoping his voice wouldn't
carry over the restless sounds of the Sand People.

"The Tusken Raiders have a very close relationship with their banthas,"
Luke said. "It is a mental bonding, a symbiosis, almost like a marriage. They
become part of each other, bantha and Tusken. When one member of the pair is
killed, the other is incomplete-like an amputee." Unconsciously, Luke flexed
his cyborg hand. "He has no place in Tusken society, though he is more an
object of pity than of hatred. Many believe he should have died beside his
bantha, no matter what the circumstances."

"So, are they just going to kill him?" Han asked.

"Yes and no," Luke said. "They believe the spirit of the dead bantha must
decide. If the spirit wishes for him to bond with another mount, our friend
will find a free wild bantha in the desert, join with it, and return in
triumph to the tribe, where he will be fully accepted-even highly revered.
However, if the bantha's spirit wants his rider to join him in death, then the
outcast will wander hopelessly in the desert until he dies."

Han barely shook his head. "Doesn't sound like his chances are too hot."

Luke said, "Probably not-but that is their way."

The Sand People waited for the exile to make the first move. Finally,
with a single anguished cry that might have been triumph or challenge, he
plunged down the steep and shifting slope of the dune. The Sand People tilted
their heads toward the burning sky and let out a loud ululating cry that made
Han shudder.

The Tusken Raiders thrashed their gaffi sticks to wish their companion
well. The banthas raised up their squarish, shaggy heads and bellowed in
unison, a rumbling, growling cry that shook the Dune Sea.

The lone Raider waded down the steep slope. Dusty golden sand flew up
around him as his feet and legs sank in. His robes flapped behind him as he
plodded on. He tripped and tumbled, flailing his arms, and finally jabbed his
gaffi stick deep into the uncertain surface, one arm thrust out to gain
balance, leaving a swath of disturbed sand behind him.

The exiled Raider heaved himself to his feet again. Sand trickled from
his flowing cloaks, but still he marched ahead, not looking back. A few of the
banthas bellowed again. The sound was swallowed up in the empty vastness. The