"Andre Norton - Warlock Trilogy - Storm over Warlock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

and they had avoided the crater at a very wide circle. But if they would obey him now, he just might have a
chance.

There! That had been a sound, and the smell was stronger. The Throg must be coming to him. Again Shann
whistled, holding in his mind his hatred for the beetle-head, the need for finishing off that alien. If the
animals could pick either thoughts or emotions out of their human companion, this was the time for him to
get those unspoken half-orders across.

Shann slammed his hand hard against the ground, sent his body rolling, his stunner up and ready.

And now he could see that grotesque thing, swaying weakly back and forth on its thin legs, yet holding a
blaster, bringing that weapon up to center it on him. The Throg was hunched over and perhaps to Taggi
presented the outline of some four-footed creature to be hunted. For the wolverine male sprang for the
hard-shelled shoulders.

Under that impact the Throg sagged forward. But Taggi, outraged at the nature of the creature he had
attacked, squalled and retreated. Shann had had his precious seconds of distraction. He fired, the core of
the stun beam striking full into the flat dish of the alien’s face.

That bolt, which would have shocked a mammal into insensibility, only slowed the Throg. Shann rolled
again, gaining a temporary cover behind the wrecked ship. He squirmed under metal hot enough to scorch
his jacket and saw the reflection of a second blaster shot which had been fired seconds late.

Now the Throg had him tied down. But to get at the Terran the alien would have to show himself, and
Shann had one chance in fifty, which was better than that of three minutes ago—when the odds had been
set at one in a hundred. He knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. Taggi’s distaste was too
manifest; Shann had been lucky that the animal had made one abortive attack.

Perhaps the Terran’s escape and Taggi’s action had made the alien reckless. Shann had no clue to the
thinking processes of the non-human but now the Throg staggered around the end of the plate, his digits,
which were closer to claws than fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The Terran snapped another shot from
his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy down. But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back,
the beetle-head could easily pick him off.

A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly accuracy on the domed, hairless head of the
Throg. His armored body crashed forward, struck against the ship, and rebounded to the ground. Shann
darted forward to seize the blaster, kicking loose the claws which still grasped it, before he flattened back
to the cliff, the strange weapon over his arm, his heart beating wildly.

That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by chance; it had been hurled with intent and aimed
carefully at its target. And no Throg would kill one of his fellows. Or would he? Suppose orders had been
issued to take a Terran prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then, why a rock and not a
blaster bolt?

Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the Throg flyer provided him with protection from
any overhead attack. Under that shelter he waited for the next move from his unknown rescuer.

The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on the carapace of the inert Throg, shuffling
ungainly along that horny ridge. Cradling the blaster, the Terran continued to wait. His patience was
rewarded when that investigating clak-clak took off uttering an enraged snap or two. He heard what might