"09 - Synthetic Men of Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burroughs Edgar Rice)

"And now that we are your prisoners," inquired The Warlord, "what do you intend
doing with us?"
"I shall take you to my superiors. They will decide. What are your names?"
"This is Vor Daj. I am Dotar Sojat."
"You are from Helium, and you were going to Phundahl. Why?"
"As I have told you, we are panthans. We are looking for employment."
"You have friends in Phundahl?"
"None. We have never been there. If another city had been in our path, we should
have offered our services there. You know how it is with panthans."
The man nodded. "Perhaps you will have fighting yet."
"Would you mind telling me," I asked, "what manner of creatures your warriors
are? I have never seen men like them."
"Nor anyone else," he said. "They are called hormads. The less you see of them,
the better you will like them. Now that you must admit that you are my
prisoners, I have a suggestion to make. Bound as you are, the trip to Morbus
will be most uncomfortable; and I do not wish to subject two such courageous
fighting men to unnecessary discomfort. Assure me that you will not try to
escape before we reach Morbus and I will remove your bonds."
It was evident that the dwar was quite a decent fellow. We accepted his offer
gladly, and he removed our bonds himself; then he bade us mount behind a couple
of his warriors. It was then that I first had a close view of the woman riding
on one of the malagors in front of a hormad. Our eyes met, and I saw terror and
helplessness mirrored in hers. I saw, too, that she was beautiful; then the
great birds took off with a terrific flapping of giant wings, and we were on our
way to Morbus.
CHAPTER IV
THE SECRET OF THE MARSHES
HANGING IN A NET on one side of the malagor upon which I was mounted was one of
the heads we had struck off in our fight with the hormads. I wondered why they
were preserving such a grisly trophy, and attributed it to some custom or
superstition requiring the return of a body to its homeland for final disposal.
Our course lay south of Phundahl, which the leader was evidently seeking to
avoid; and ahead I could see the vast Toonolian Marshes stretching away in the
distance as far as the eye could see Ц a labyrinth of winding waterways
threading desolate swampland from which rose occasional islands of solid ground,
with here and there a darker area of forest and the blue of tiny lakes.
As I watched this panorama unfolding before us, I heard a voice suddenly
exclaim, querulously, "Turn me over. I can't see a thing but the belly of this
bird." It seemed to come from below me; and, glancing down, I saw that it was
the head hanging in the net beneath me that was speaking. It lay in the net,
facing upward toward the belly of the malagor, helpless to turn or to move
itself. It was a gruesome sight, this dead thing speaking; and I must confess
that it made me shudder.
"I can't turn you over," I said, "because I can't reach you; and what difference
does it make anyway? What difference does it make whether your eyes are pointed
in one direction or another? You are dead, and the dead cannot see."
"Could I talk if I were dead, you brainless idiot? I am not dead, because I
cannot die. The life principle is inherent in me Ц in every tissue of me. Unless
it be totally destroyed, as by fire, it lives; and what lives must grow. It is
the law of nature. Turn me over, you stupid clod! Shake the net, or pull it up