"Robert E. Howard - Conan - Shadows in the Moonlight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Robert E)

"All but me, damn you!" cried the other. "Oh, I've dreamed of such a meeting as this, while I
crawled on my belly through the brambles, or lay under rocks while the ants gnawed my flesh, or
crouched in the mire up to my mouth - I dreamed, but never hoped it would come to pass. Oh, gods
of Hell, how I have yearned for this!"
The stranger's bloodthirsty joy was terrible to behold. His jaws champed spasmodically, froth
appeared on his blackened lips.
"Keep back!" ordered Shah Amurath, watching him narrowly.
"Ha!" It was like the bark of a timber wolf. "Shah Amurath, the great Lord of Akif! Oh, damn
you, how I love the sight of you -you, who fed my comrades to the vultures, who tore them between
wild horses, blinded and maimed and mutilated them -at, you dog, you filthy dog!" His voice rose
to a maddened scream, and he charged.
In spite of the terror of his wild appearance, Olivia looked to see him fall at the first
crossing of the blades. Madman or savage, what could he do, naked, against the mailed chief of


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Akif?"
There was an instant when the blades flamed and licked, seeming barely to touch each other
and leap apart; then the broadsword flashed past the saber and descended terrifically on Shah
Amurath's shoulder. Olivia cried out at the fury of that stroke. Above the crunch of the rending
mail, she distinctly heard the snap of the shoulder-bone. The Hyrkanian reeled back, suddenly
ashen, blood spurting over the links of his hauberk; his saber slipped from his nerveless fingers.
"Quarter!" he gasped.
"Quarter?" There was a quiver of frenzy in the stranger's voice. "Quarter such as you gave
us, you swine!"
Olivia closed her eyes. This was no longer battle, but butchery, frantic, bloody, impelled by
an hysteria of fury and hate, in which culminated the sufferings of battle, mas-icre, torture, and
fear-ridden, thirst-maddened, hunger-haunted flight. Though Olivia knew that Shah Amurath deserved
no mercy or pity from any living creature, yet she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her
ears, to shut out the sight of that dripping sword that rose and fell with the sound of a
butcher's cleaver, and the gurgling cries that dwindled away and ceased.
She opened her eyes, to see the stranger turning away from a gory travesty that only vaguely
resembled a human being. The man's breast heaved with exhaustion or passion; his brow was beaded
with sweat; his right hand was splashed with blood.
He did not speak to her, or even glance toward her. She saw him stride through the reeds that
grew at the water's edge, stoop, and tug at something. A boat wallowed out of its hiding-place
among the stalks. Then she divined his intention, and was galvanized into action.
"Oh, wait!" she wailed, staggering up and running toward him. "Do not leave me! Take me with
you!"
He wheeled and stared at her. There was a difference in his bearing. His bloodshot eyes were
sane. It was as if the blood he had just shed had quenched the fire of his frenzy.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"I am called Olivia. I was bis captive. I ran away. He followed me. That's why he came here.
Oh, do not leave me here! His warriors are not far behind him. They will find his corpse - they
will find me near it - oh!" She moaned in her terror and wrung her white hands.
He stared at her in perplexity.
"Would you be better off with me?" he demanded. "I am a barbarian, and I know from your looks
that you fear me."