"Robert E. Howard - Conan - The Hour of the Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Robert E)

"The very outlines of the land are changed. It is like some familiar thing seen in a dream,
fantastically distorted."
"Howbeit," answered Orastes, tracing with his forefinger, "here is Belverus, the capital of
Nemedia, in which we now are. Here run the boundaries of the land of Nemedia. To the south and
southeast are Ophir and Corinthia, to the east Brythunia, to the west Aquilonia."
"It is the map of a world I do not know," said Xaltotun softly, but Orastes did not miss the
lurid fire of hate that flickered in his dark eyes.
"It is a map you shall help us change," answered Orastes. "It is our desire first to set
Tarascus on the throne of Nemedia. We wish to accomplish this without strife, and in such a way
that no suspicion will rest on Tarascus. We do not wish the land to be torn by civil wars, but to
reserve all our power for the conquest of Aquilonia.
"Should King Nimed and his sons die naturally, in a plague for instance, Tarascus would mount
the throne as the next heir, peacefully and unopposed."
Xaltotun nodded, without replying, and Orastes continued.
"The other task will be more difficult. We cannot set Valerius on the Aquilonian throne
without a war, and that kingdom is a formidable foe. Its people are a hardy, war-like race,
toughened by continual wars with the Picts, Zingarians and Cimmerians. For five hundred years
Aquilonia and Nemedia have intermittently waged war, and the ultimate advantage has always lain
with the Aquilonians.
"Their present king is the most renowned warrior among the western nations. He is an
outlander, an adventurer who seized the crown by force during a time of civil strife, strangling
King Namedides with his own hands, upon the very throne. His name is Conan, and no man can stand
before him in battle.
"Valerius is now the rightful heir of the throne. He had been driven into exile by his royal
kinsman, Namedides, and has been away from his native realm for years, but he is of the blood of
the old dynasty, and many of the barons would secretly hail the overthrow of Conan, who is a
nobody without royal or even noble blood. But the common people are loyal to him, and the nobility
of the outlying provinces. Yet if his forces were overthrown in the battle that must first take
place, and Conan himself slain, I think it would not be difficult to put Valerius on the throne.
Indeed, with Conan slain, the only center of the government would be gone. He is not part of a
dynasty, but only a lone adventurer."
"I wish that I might see this king," mused Xaltotun, glancing toward a silvery mirror which
formed one of the panels of the wall. This mirror cast no reflection, but Xaltotun's expression
showed that he understood its purpose, and Orastes nodded with the pride a good craftsman takes in
the recognition of his accomplishments by a master of his craft.
"I will try to show him to you," he said. And seating himself before the mirror, he gazed
hypnotically into its depths, where presently a dim shadow began to take shape.
It was uncanny, but those watching knew it was no more than the reflected image of Orastes'
thought, embodied in that mirror as a wizard's thoughts are embodied in a magic crystal. It
floated hazily, then leaped into startling clarity - a tall man, mightily shouldered and deep of
chest, with a massive corded neck and heavily muscled limbs. He was clad in silk and velvet, with
the royal lions of Aquilonia worked in gold upon his rich jupon, and the crown of Aquilonia shone
on his square-cut black mane; but the great sword at his side seemed more natural to him than the
regal accouterments. His brow was low and broad, his eyes a volcanic blue that smoldered as if
with some inner fire. His dark, scarred, almost sinister face was that of a fighting-man, and his
velvet garments could not conceal the hard, dangerous lines of his limbs.
"That man is no Hyborian!" exclaimed Xaltotun.
"No; he is a Cimmerian, one of those wild tribesmen who dwell in the gray hills of the
north."
"I fought his ancestors of old," muttered Xaltotun. "Not even the kings of Acheron could