"Zelazny, Roger - Amber 06 - Trumps Of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

forehead to be found by drawing an imaginary line from the right ear to the left
eye and another from the left ear to the right eye. They aim the killing blow an
inch or two above the junction of this X. My uncle taught me that. He didn't
work in a slaughterhouse, though. He just knew how to kill things.
So I spun forward and to the side as it sprang, and I struck a hammer blow
at the death spot. It moved even faster than I'd anticipated, however, and when
my fist struck it, it was already rushing by. Its neck muscles helped it to
absorb the force of my blow.
This drew the first sound from it, though--a yelp. It shook its head and
turned with great speed then, and it was at me again. Now a low, rumbling growl
came up from its chest and its leap was high. I knew that I was not going to be
able to sidestep this one.
My uncle had also taught me how to grab a dog by the flesh on the sides of
its neck and under the jaws. You need a good grip if it's a big one, and you've
got to get it just right. I had no real choice at the moment. If I tried a kick
and missed it would probably take off my foot.
My hands shot forward and snaked upward and I braced myself when we met. I
was sure it outweighed me and I had to meet its momentum as well.
I'd had visions of losing fingers or a hand, but I got in under the jaw,
caught hold and squeezed. I kept my arms extended and leaned into the impact. I
was shaken by the force of its lunge, but I was able to maintain my grip and
absorb it.
As I listened to the growls and regarded the slavering muzzle a foot or so
away from my face I realized that I hadn't thought much beyond this point. With
a dog, you might be able to bash its head against anything hard and handy; its
carotids are too deeply buried to rely on direct pressure to take it out. But
this thing was strong and my grip was already beginning to slip against its
frantic twisting. As I held its jaws away from me and kept pushing it upward, I
also realized that it was taller than I was when extended along the vertical. I
could try for a kick at its soft underside, but I would probably go off balance
as well as lose my grip, and then my groin would be exposed to its teeth.
But it twisted free of my left hand, and I had no choice but to use my
right or lose it. So I pushed as hard as I could and retreated again. I had been
looking for a weapon, any weapon, but there was nothing handy that would serve.
It lunged again, coming for my throat, coming too fast and high for me to
manage a kick to its head. I couldn't get out of its way either.
Its forelegs were level with my midriff, and I hoped that my uncle had been
right about this one too, as I seized them and twisted backward and inward with
all of my strength, dropping to one knee to avoid those jaws, chin lowered to
protect my throat, my head drawn back. Bones popped and crunched as I twisted
and its head lowered almost immediately to attack my wrists. But by then I was
already rising, thrusting forward, springing up.
It went over backward, twisted, and almost caught itself. When its paws
struck the floor, however, it made a sound halfway between a whimper and a snarl
and collapsed forward.
I was about to try for another blow to the skull when it recovered its
footing, moving faster than I'd thought it could. It raised its right foreleg
immediately upon standing and balanced itself on three legs, still growling,
eyes fixed on my own, saliva dampening its lower jaw. I moved slightly to my
left, certain that it was about to rush me yet again, angling my body,