"Lee Killough - The Leopard's Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Killough Lee)

Jeneba locked her knees to keep them from trembling. "Yes.. but I don't care about the healing herbs
and plants you normally show to men who win. This time they must be the prize." She gestured at
Mseluku and the warriors.
A hiss of surprise, human and wachiru, ran around the common. Wachiru heads shook. The
deep-voiced one said, "No."
 Jeneba lifted her chin and forced her voice louder, despite a drought-dry mouth. "You have no right to
them. Tomo Silla dishonorably exchanged them for his own life after you out-wrestled him." She ignored
the Dase hisses of disbelief to watch the wachiru spokesman. "Pick your best wrestler to answer my
challenge."
The spokesman turned away, vanishing. She heard his voice, though, talking at the other half-men.
They gibbered back shrilly.
Between his captors, Mseluku said, "Jeneba, this is madness. You can't win. You'll be eaten like the
rest of us."
The cold creeping through her bones agreed with him. She could win, the leopard said, but... what
could the answer to the riddle be? She sighed hopelessly. She would never guess; there were too few
clues!
The wachiru spokesman reappeared. "We accept. I will wrestle you."
Jeneba swallowed. "Shall we meet in the morning?"
His eye gleamed. "We wrestle now."
Now? Her heart lurched. But she had been traveling all day and fighting the last several, with little rest.
She needed sleep. "I'm not ready yet. We must wait until morning."
"Now," the half-man repeated.
"Half-bloods," a warrior sister spat.
Mseluku said gently, "Niece, unlike nobles, wachiru aren't compelled by honor to wait until their
opponent is prepared before fighting."
She swallowed again. "May I have a few minutes to speak to my gods, half-man?"
The wachiru considered. "Yes."
Her mind raced. If she could not answer the leopard's riddle, then she would have to fight another
way, which meant, first, keeping away from the wachiru. She still felt the grip on her hair as that other
lifted her off her feet. She looked down at the sword. Perhaps it could be useful in one way.
While the warriors watched aghast, she pulled the blade free and sawed off the long, painstakingly
twisted and oiled ropes of her hair until nothing remained on her scalp but fuzz too short for anyone to
grab. Next she untied her tsara at the shoulder and waist and unwrapped it, and likewise removed her
gold and silver arm bands. She debated over her talisman but finally decided there must be nothing the
wachiru might use for a handhold. She folded it up in her tsara along with her sword and armbands.
Finally, she rubbed the shorn ropes of hair all over her, covering her skin with the heavy oil dressing.
After drying her palms in the dust, Jeneba straightened. "I'm ready."
The wachiru bared his teeth showing fangs.
The other half men backed toward the racks pulling Mseluku with them leaving the center clear of all
but moonlight, Jeneba and her opponent. Crouching Jeneba warily circled the wachiru, moving toward
his arm. He side-hopped a few steps, too, but then spun and vanished. Jeneba froze, holding her breath
and sending darting glances around her. Where was he? Her hands felt sweaty and it was a effort not to
wipe them on her thighs.
"Behind you," Mseluku called.
An arm closed around her throat. The hours of wrestling practice repaid themselves. Jeneba tucked
her chin in the crook of the elbow and grabbing the wrist with one hand and the elbow with the other,
pushed up on the elbow, slipping out from under the arm. Rather than release him, however, she held on,
moving around him dragging the arm with her until it twisted behind him. She was reaching to hook his
ankle with her foot when the wachiru suddenly leaped high into the air, whirling free and vanishing again.
Jeneba glanced toward Mseluku, but other wachiru were brandishing clubs at him and the warriors.