"Anthony Piers - Sos the Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

"I am sorry this had to pass," Sol said sincerely.
The nameless one nodded curtly. No more was said for a time. They took turns in the shower compartment, also set in the central column, and dried and changed clothing, indifferent to the presence of the girl.
Bandaged on head and leg, they shared the supper the girl prepared. She had quietly folded down the dining table from the north face and set up stools, while she kept her feet and ferried dishes from range and refrigerator-the last of the fixtures of the column. They did not inquire the source of the spiced white meat or the delicate wine; such things were taken for granted, and even looked down upon, as was the hostel itself.
"What is your objective in life?" the nameless one inquired as they lingered over the ice cream, and the girl washed the dishes.
"I mean to fashion an empire."
"A tribe of your own? I have no doubt you can do it."
"An empire. Many tribes. I am a skilled warrior-better in the circle than any I have seen. Better than the masters of tribes. I will take what my arm brings me-but I have not encountered any I wish to keep, except yourself, and we did not contest for mastery. Had I known how good you were, I would have set different terms."
The other chose to ignore the compliment, but it pleased him. "To build a tribe you need honorable men, proficient in their specialties, who are capable of fighting for you and bringing others into your group. You need young ones, as young as yourself, who will listen to advice and profit from it. To build an empire you need more."
"More? I have not even found young warriors that are worthwhile. Only incompetent amateurs and feeble oldsters."
"I know. I saw few good fighters in the east, and had you found any in the west you would not have traveled alone. I never lost an engagement, before." He was silent a moment, remembering that he was no longer a warrior. To cover up the hurt that grew in him, he spoke again. "Haven't you noticed how old the masters are, and how careful? They will not fight at all unless they believe they can win, and they are shrewd at such judgments. All the best warriors are tied to them."
"Yes," Sol agreed, perturbed. "The good ones will not contend for mastership, only for sport. It makes me angry."
"Why should they? Why should an established master risk the work of a lifetime, while you risk only your service? You must have stature. You must have a tribe to match his; only then will any master meet you in the circle."
"How can I form a decent tribe when no decent men will fight?" Sol demanded, growing heated again. "Do your books answer that?"
"I never sought mastery. But if I were building a tribe, or an empire especially, I would search out promising youths and bind them to myself, even though they were not proficient in the circle yet. Then I would take them to some private place and teach them all I knew about combat, and make them practice against each other and me until they were fully competent. Then I would have a respectable tribe, and I would take it out to meet and conquer established tribes."
"What if the other masters still refused to enter the circle?" Sol was quite interested in this turn of the discussion.
"I would find some way to persuade them. Strategy would be required-the terms would have to appear even, or slightly in favor of the other party. I would show them men that they wanted, and bargain with them until they were ashamed not to meet me."
"I am not good at bargaining," Sol said.
"You could have some bright tribesmen bargain for you, just as you would have others to fight for you. The master doesn't have to do everything himself; he delegates the chores to others, while he governs over all."
Sol was thoughtful. "That never occurred to me. Fighters with the weapons and fighters with the mind." He pondered some more. "How long would it take to train such a tribe, once the men were taken?"
"That depends upon how good you are at training, and how good the men are that you have to work with. How well they get along. There are many factors."
"If you were doing it, with the men you have met in your travels."
"A year."
"A year!" Sol was dismayed.
"There is no substitute for careful preparation. A mediocre tribe could perhaps be formed in a few months, but not an organization fit to conquer an empire. That would have to be prepared for every contingency, and that takes times. Time and constant effort and patience."
"I do not have patience."
The girl finished her work and returned to listen. There were no compartments within the cabin, but she had gone around the column to the shower stall and changed. She now wore an alluring gown that accentuated a fine cleavage and a narrow waist.
Sol remained thoughtful, not seeming to notice the girl though she drew her stool close to him. "Where would there be a suitable place for such training, where others would not spy and interfere?"
"In the badlands."
"The badlands! No one goes there!"
"Precisely. No one would come across you there, or suspect what you were doing. Can you think of a better situation?"
"But it is death!" the girl said, forgetting her place.
"Not necessarily. I have learned that the kill-spirits of the Blast are retreating. The old books call it 'radiation, and it fades in time. The intensity is measured in Roentgen and it is strongest in the center. It should be possible to tell by the plants and animals whether a given area within the markers has become safe. You would have to be very careful about penetrating too far inside, but near the edge-"
"I would not have you go to the mountain," Sol broke in. "I have need of a man like you."
"Nameless and weaponless?" He laughed bitterly. "Go your way, fashion your empire, Sol of all instruments. I was merely conjecturing."
Sol persisted. "Serve me for a year, and I will give you back a portion of your name. It is your mind I require, for it is better than mine."
"My mind!" But the black-haired one was intrigued. He had spoken of the mountain, but did not really want to die. There were many curious things remaining to be fathomed, many books to be studied, many thoughts to be thought. He had employed his weapon in the circle because it was the established method of manhood, but despite his erstwhile prowess and physique he was a scholar and experimenter at heart.
Sol was watching him. "I offer-Sos."
"Sos-the weaponless," he said, mulling it over. He did not like the sound of it, but it was a reasonable alternative, close to his original name. "What would you want me to do, in return for the name?"
"The training, the camp, the building of empire you described-I want you to do it for me. To be my fighter of the mind. My advisor."
"Sos the advisor." The notion grew on him, and The name sounded better. "The men would not listen to me. I would need complete authority, or it would come to nothing. If they argued, and I with no weapon-"
"Who argues, dies," Sol said with absolute conviction. "By my hand."
"For one year-and I keep the name?"
"Yes."
He thought of the challenge of it, the chance to test his theories in action. "I accept the offer."
They reached across the table and shook hands gravely. "Tomorrow we begin the empire," Sol said.
The girl looked up. "I would come with you," she said. Sol smiled, not looking at her. "She wants your bracelet again, Sos."
"No." She was troubled, seeing her hints come to nothing. "Not-without-"
"Girl," Sol reminded her sternly, "I want no woman. This man fought well; he is stronger than many who still bear weapons, and a scholar, which I am not. You would not be shamed to wear his emblem."
She thrust out her lip. "I would come-myself."
Sol shrugged. "As you wish. You will cook and wash for us, until you take a man. We will not be staying in a cabin always, though." He paused, thinking of something. "Sos, my advisor-is this wise?"