"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 3 - Sword Of Bheleu" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

feel that he owed the King anything, but there was no reason he shouldn't take
pity on him.
That being the case, he did not wish to antagonize the ancient
wizard-priest. However, he also was hesitant to turn over the Dûsarran loot.
He sat, debating with himself what he should do next.
"You said you had brought me things; let me see them." The dry, deathly
voice cut through his meditating.
"Forgive me, O King, but I am reluctant to give you what I brought, lest
you perform your magic and cause these many deaths we spoke of."
"I asked only to see them."
He could hardly refuse such a request, under the circumstances. Perhaps
the old wizard could tell him what some of the items were, what magic they
possessed.
"First," he said, "there is the sword. I pulled it from a burning altar
in a ruined temple, apparently dedicated to Bheleu, god of destruction. It
appears to have great power-or at least, some power." He remembered the
seeming ease with which the King had turned the blood-red gem black and
decided to forego guesses as to relative magical might.
"It is the Sword of Bheleu, true token of the god," the Forgotten King
said.
 Garth was startled; the old man rarely volunteered information. He
looked at the shadowed eyes and thought he might have seen a glint. Was the
ancient actually showing signs of excitement?
Interested now himself, the overman reached down and lifted the sack
onto the table, then thrust a hand into it.
The first item he brought out was wrapped in cloth. "This is the gem
from the altar of Tema, the goddess of the night," he explained. "I keep it
concealed because it has hypnotic properties that can snare the unwary." He
placed the head-sized bundle on the table beside the sword.
At the other table, Frima sucked in her breath.
"What is it?" Saram whispered.
"He robbed Tema! That's sacrilege!"
"It is?"
"Of course it is!"
Saram would have said something further, but Garth was bringing a second
stone out of the bag. This one was unwrapped and gleaming black, apparently a
faceted and polished chunk of obsidian.
"This," the overman said, "came from the altar of the god of darkness
and of the blind; I don't recall his names offhand." He plunged his hand in
again and pulled out a small pouch.
"The altar of P'hul was empty, save for dust; I brought you some of the
dust." He tossed the pouch beside the two stones-and dragged out a larger and
obviously much heavier pouch. He opened it and poured coins out on the table
top. They were all gold, but encrusted with something dark brown and powdery.
"This is what I found on the altar of Aghad; the stains are dried
blood." A bitter note crept into his voice as he added, "At least two people
died while I visited that temple, for no reason but to amuse the Aghadites."
Firma interjected, "You slew their high priest, though."
He turned, reminded of her presence. "I would prefer that I had slain
the entire cult, as I did Bheleu's. Come here, girl." He beckoned.