"Adams, Robert - Horseclans 01 - The Coming of the Horseclans" - читать интересную книгу автора (Adams Robert)

The thought was closer now, stronger. "You and what clan of two-legs, Mousekiller?"

Aloud, the Cat Chief ripped out a muted snarl. Every horse and mule on the picket line commenced to whinny and pull at the moorings, eyes rolling white.

"Easy, old friend, easy," thought Milo. "Can't you see that your son is teasing you? The clanshorses know you, but the others over there don't. Look what your snarl did. For sun's sake, let them know you've a full belly, before they stampede."

Obediently, the big animal stood and slowly strolled toward the picket line, beaming soothing thoughts ahead of him. Milo sensed Steeltooth and others of the clans-horses greeting the wanderer.

The huddled girl had not moved, and, thinking her yet asleep, Milo began to draw on his short boots. However, when he chanced to glance down, he could see that her eyes were wide open and fixed on the massive bulk of the cat, who was now working his way along the picket line, touching noses with each animal unacquainted with him.

"Master," she whispered, "what is that? It's as big as ... as a pony!"

Milo smiled reassuringly, squatted, and patted her grubby hand. "His name, in speech, would be Horsekiller. He's a Prairie Cat, Chief of the Cat Clan and an old friend. You've not seen him earlier because he and one of his sons have been scouting our rear to determine the numbers, speed, and route of the pursuit. When he's done mindspeaking the new animals. I'll introduce you."

Mara's brow wrinkled. "I have heard of these Prairie Cats. Is it true that you barb . . . uhh, nomads can really converse with them?"

"Quite true," Milo nodded. "He and I were just discussing, among other things, you; he feels that, for a human female, you are not unattractive and will throw healthy kittens. I agree."

"Naturally." Horsekiller projected his thought as he ambled back to Milo, picking a path among the sleeping raiders. "Any intelligent creature would agree with me, Friend War Chief. I don't know what it is to be wrong." "Nor," came the other thought which was now quite near, "what it is to be modest."

Milo mindspoke. "Horsekiller, can you reach this female's mind?"

After a moment, the cat replied, "Only the surface, Friend Milo. She has a mind-shield. I've touched but one other like it and . . . ahhh, pardon me." The Cat Chief stalked around Milo to Mara. He licked the little woman's hand, then crouched and laid his big head in her lap. The cat's demeanor was one of adoration, nothing less. Milo was shocked; he had never seen the Cat Chief behave so toward any two-leg.

"Friend Milo," Horsekiller chided him, "you have not yet mounted this female. You should. She wants you to." He had not personalized the transmission and Mara flushed.

So, thought Milo to himself, she can mindspeak; now I wonder.. ..

But Horsekiller went on. "Ah, you foolish two-legs, sometimes I wonder how I can bear to be around you. You waste so much of your lives. Life should be lived, Friend Milo, not frittered away on trivialities."

"My, my," thought Milo, "Horsekiller is become a philosopher in his old age."

The Cat Chief ignored the sarcasm. "Were you truly wise, Friend Milo, you would push this female onto her belly and sink your teeth into her neck and enter her body and . . . ahhhh . . . there are few things so enjoyable." The cat sighed. "It is on a plane with crouching in the snow on a crackling cold morning and feeling hot, fragrant blood spurt onto your nose as you tear your first mouthful from a new-killed fawn; or catching delicious little mice on a flower covered prairie under a warm, spring sky; or .. ."

Milo chuckled aloud, then mindspoke. "Horsekiller, you're a hedonist."

"He's a duty old cat!" announced the third mindspeak-er. "All he can think of is eating and making kittens, and then he wonders that I fail to respect him."

Horsekiller's ears went back in folds against his brawny neck and smoldering anger purged his mind of sensuality. Prairie Cats were every bit as hot-blooded and quicktempered as the human clansmen, this Milo knew well. And the last thing needed at this juncture was a spitting, squalling, cat fight, so Milo quickly interjected, "We're still in the land of the Blackhairs, with much danger behind and ahead. Horsekiller, as Cat Chief, you know better than to carry family squabbles on a raid."

Then he turned to the "smaller" catЧthe cub weighed over 150 pounds, and his paws, larger even than his sire's, attested to the fact that he had yet to fill out. "Stop harassing your chief, Swimmer, or you'll be eating cold beef on herd-guard with your fellow kittens, until your mental maturity matches your physical. Understood?"

"I was only teasing." The yellow-brown cat sulked. "Can't I have any fun, Friend War Chief?"

"On a raid? No, definitely not, Swimmer," Milo affirmed. "Unless you want your pelt pegged out for curing behind some Blackhair's cabin."

The young cat shuddered. "Stop, please! I'll regurgitate all that fine venison. That was an obscene thing to suggest."

"But true, nonetheless," put in Horsekiller. "It is said that the king of the Blackhairs has his seat of ruling covered by a large robe made of pelts of Prairie Cats."