"04 - Storm Season (a)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

EXERCISE IN PAIN

by Robert Lynn Asprin

There must be trouble. Saliman had been gone far too long for his mission to be
going smoothly. Some might have had difficulty judging the passage of time
during the period of time between sundown and sunrise, but not Jubal. His early
years as a gladiator in the Rankan capital had included many sleepless nights
before arena days, or Blood Days as those in the trade called them; he knew the
darkness intimately. Each phase of the night had its own shade, its own texture
and he knew them all ... even with his eyes blurred with sweat and tears of pain
as they were now.

Too long. Trouble.

The twin thoughts danced in his mind as he tried to focus his concentration, to
formulate a contingency plan. If he was right; if he was now alone and wounded
what could he do? He couldn't travel far pulling himself painfully along the
ground with his hands. If he encountered one of those who hunted him, or even a
random townsperson with an old grudge, he couldn't defend himself. To fight, a
man needed legs, working legs. He knew that from the arena,

too. The oft-repeated words of his arena instructor sprang into his mind,
crowding out all other thoughts.

"Move! Move, damn you! Retreat. Attack. Retreat. Circle. Move! If you don't
move, you're dead. If I don't kill you myself, your next opponent will! Move! A
still fighter's a dead fighter. Now move! move?"

A half-heard sound wrenched Jubal's fevered thoughts back to the present. His
hand dropped to his dagger hilt as he strained to penetrate the darkness with
his erratic vision.

Saliman?

Perhaps. But in his current state he couldn't take any chances. As his ally knew
his exact location, the information could have been forced out of him by Jubal's
enemies. Sitting propped against a tree with his legs stretched out before him,
Jubal cast about looking for new cover. Not two paces away was a patch of knee
high weeds. Not much, but enough.

The ex-gladiator allowed himself to fall sideways, catching himself on one hand
and easing his body the rest of the way to the ground. Then it was reach, pull;
reach, pull, slowly making his way towards and finally into the weed patch.
Though he used his free hand to maintain his balance, once one of the broken
arrowshafts protruding from his knees scraped along the ground, sending a sheet
of red agony through his mind. Still, he kept his silence, though he could feel
sweat running off his body.