"Lawrence Watt-Evans - War Surplus 01 - The Cyborg And The Sorcerers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

nerve cell to the next, and serve to slow down messages to and from the brain; Slant's nervous system
had been completely rewired, and the synapses bridged or eliminated, so that his reaction time was
measured in millionths of a second instead of hundredths. In an ordinary human this would put intolerable
strains on the body, as the brain would not be able to regulate itself at such a pace, but in Slant's
computer-assisted system, with his steel-braced skeleton and restructured muscles, there were no such
problems. In less time than it would take a normal man to register that something had been said, let alone
to interpret or react to it, Slant had turned control over to his combat persona and was in motion, moving
with blurring speed.

The edge of his right hand caught one man in the belly, causing serious and possibly fatal internal injuries;
one heel struck out to his left, catching a second guard in the crotch. This motion served to spin Slant
around, so that he faced the third and final member of the trio of guards who had accompanied him from
his cell. This individual was reacting to the sudden assault reflexively, in the way he had been conditioned
to react; he was reaching for his sword. That meant Slant could deal with him in any number of ways; the
right hand reaching across for the sword hilt was out of action and served to block the motion of the left,
so that the entire right half of the man's body was unprotected. Vaguely aware that his dominant
personality did not want to kill unnecessarily, he passed up several fatal or crippling blows and instead
brought the heel of his left hand against the side of the guard's head; the man went down immediately,
almost certainly unconscious, but unless he fell wrong he could expect to survive with nothing worse than
a mild concussion.

There were two other guards in the room, at the door to the entrance corridor, and eight wizards. None
were making threatening moves in his direction—at least, not yet.

Without any conscious thought, he knew that his next priorities were weapons and flight. His own
weapons were not in evidence, nor did any of his enemies have any firearms visible; he had not been
trained in archaic weaponry and therefore did not choose to acquire a sword. A knife, garrote, or other
device used in modern espionage would have been far more to his liking.

Flight was called for, but he did not yet know where his ship would be landing, or exactly when. It might
be a good idea to try and get out of the building, in case the ship brought down the ceiling.

That meant leaving the room through the guarded door, which meant getting past the two guards. They
were too far away to take by hand, by surprise; even he couldn't cross the intervening distance that fast.
If he tried it, one might get him while he took care of the other. He needed a missile, or a distraction.

First, he had to get away from the three downed guards and the wizards; they might get in his way. He
followed through on his left-handed head blow, having thought this out before it landed, and used the
momentum to give him a start in his dash not for the door but for the nearest wall. The wooden benches
that stood along the sides of the room would do for weaponry in lieu of better, and the oil lamps would
be useful if flung, as either missiles or diversions.

He never reached the bench he was aiming for; he stumbled halfway there, though he saw nothing that
could have tripped him, and fell. He caught himself before he hit the floor and landed in a crouch, but
when he tried to rise and continue his run he found himself unable to do so. Something invisible was
holding him down.

That was the wizards' doing, of course; he knew that immediately. He would have to eliminate them—all
of them—if he was to escape unhampered. He considered methods of doing that