"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 26 - City of the Living Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

forward to meet his enemy. Blade had no trouble recognizing the chief for what he was. He wore only
soiled white breeches and sandals, and his only sign of rank was a wide copper band around his left arm
just above the elbow. Yet the villagers stepped aside to make a path for him, and although he was a small
man, he carried himself so that he seemed eight feet tall. The Shoba might take anything else from his
people, but not their pride.

The discussion between the chief and the Aygoon was short, and Blade couldn't hear a word of it. Then
the soldiers went into action. They plunged into the ranks of the villagers and one by one hauled out
twelve young men. These were promptly dragged off behind the wagons and chained together.

Then the Aygoon clapped his hands together and shouted a single word. A ripple went through the
villagers, and the soldiers promptly raised their muskets and arrows. The tension-filled silence lasted
another moment; then the chief slowly nodded. Twenty men turned silently and walked back through the
gate.

They were back out in a few minutes. Eighteen of them staggered under the weight of bulging sacks of
grain. Two carried wooden trays covered with white cloths. On each tray was stacked a pile of small
metal bars. Even from a hundred yards away, Blade could not mistake the sheen of pure gold.

The men laid the sacks and the gold at the feet of the Aygoon and stepped back. The Aygoon tapped
each bag and the two stacks of gold with his sword, nodded, and started to turn away. Blade could
almost feel the tension go out of the air. In spite of the ominous beginning, the day's business was ending
peacefully. The Shoba's men weren't the type to provoke a fight purely for their own amusement-just
about what Blade would have expected if they were as well-trained as they seemed to be.

Then, in a single moment, the peace came in an end. A small head appeared over the top of the wall in
the middle of the section battered by the cannon. The child seemed to recognize somebody among the
twelve young men now shackled to the wagons and let out a shrill scream. The Aygoon shouted and
dropped into a fighting stance, sword raised in both hands. Then he shouted again, and half a dozen of
the musketeers raised their weapons and let fly. Their muskets weren't particularly accurate, but there
were enough of them and the range was short. The child's head turned into red paste and dropped out of
sight.

A rumble of anger went through the crowd of villagers, punctuated with shrill cries. The rest of the
musketeers leveled their pieces, and the archers drew. The chief turned and gestured frantically to his
people. Apparently the child's appearance on the wall was a serious breach of one of the Shoba's rules
for the tribute-collection days. Only by keeping totally calm could the villagers prevent a massacre.

The angry rumble died into silence. The Aygoon shifted his sword to one hand and seemed to be looking
over the people in front of him. Then his free hand shot out, pointing. Again soldiers tramped forward and
plunged into the crowd. There was a flurry of movement as they seized someone; then they were coming
out into the open again.

They were half carrying, half dragging a slender, darkhaired young woman in a leather skirt and tunic.
She cried out as they ripped off the tunic, leaving her bare to the waist.

At the sight of the woman, the village chief quivered all over, as if he'd been struck with a whip. At her
cry, he let out a cry of his own, with agony in it as if he'd been stabbed.

"Twana! No!"