"Smith, Wilbur - [Egyptian 03] - Warlock(txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

Tord Naja drove warily, hugging the south bank of the dry riverbed.
Every now and then he glanced upwards at the crest of the hills,
.L..s until at last he recognized the tower of wind-blasted rock that
leaned slightly askew against the skyline, and grunted with satisfaction.
A little further on he reached the point where a faint footpath left the
wadi bottom and wound up the steep slope to the foot of the ancient
watchtower.
With a curt word to his lance-bearer he jumped down from the
footplate, and adjusted the cavalry bow over his shoulder. Then he
unslung the clay fire-pot from the rail of the chariot, and started up the
pathway. It was so well disguised that if he had not memorized every

turn and twist he would have lost his way a dozen times before he
reached the top.
At last he stepped out on to the upper rampart of the tower. It had
been built many centuries ago and was in ruinous condition. He did not
approach the edge for there was a precipitous drop into the valley below.
Instead he found the bundle of dry faggots hidden in the niche of the
wall where he had left it and dragged it into the open. Quickly he built
up a tiny pyramid of the kindling, then blew on the charcoal nuggets in
the fire-pot, and when they glowed he crumbled a handful of dried grass
on to them. They burst into flame and he lit the small signal beacon.
He made no attempt to hide himself but stood out where a watcher
below would see him illuminated on the height of the tower. The flames
died away as the kindling was consumed. Naja sat down to wait in the
darkness.
A short while later he heard a pebble rattle on the stony path below
the walls and he whistled sharply. His signal was returned, and he stood
up. He loosened the bronze blade of his sickle sword in its scabbard and
nocked an arrow in the bow, standing ready for an instant draw.
Moments later a harsh voice called to him in the Hyksosian language.
He replied fluently and naturally in the same tongue, and the footsteps
of at least two men sounded on the stone ramp.
Not even Pharaoh knew that Naja's mother had been Hyksosian. In
the decades of their occupation the invaders had adopted many of the
Egyptian ways. With a dearth of their own women to choose from, many
of the Hyksos had taken Egyptian wives, and over the generations the
blood-lines had become blurred.
A tall man stepped out on to the rampart. He wore a skull-hugging
basinet of bronze, and multicoloured ribbons were tied in his full beard.
The Hyksos dearly loved bright colours.
He opened his arms. ‘The blessing of Seueth on you, cousin,' he
growled, as Naja stepped into his embrace.
‘And may he smile on you also, Cousin Trok, but we have little
time,' Naja warned him, and indicated the first light fingers of the dawn
stroking the eastern heavens with a lover's touch.
‘You are right, coz.' The Hyksosian general broke the embrace, and
turned to take a linen-wrapped bundle from his lieutenant, who stood
close behind him. He handed it to Naja, who unwrapped it as he kicked