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

and turn me."
Well, the manners of the thing were very bad; but it occurred to me that I
should probably feel irritable if my head had been lopped off; so I shook the
net until the head turned upon one side so that it might look out away from the
belly of the malagor.
"What are you called?" it asked.
"Vor Daj."
"I shall remember. In Morbus you may need a friend. I shall remember you."
"Thanks," I said. I wondered what good a friend without a body could do me. I
also wondered if shaking the net for the thing would outweigh the fact that I
had lopped its head off. Just to be polite, I asked what its name might be.
"I am Tor-dur-bar," it replied. "I am Tor-dur-bar, himself. You are very
fortunate to have me for a friend. I am really outstanding. You will appreciate
this when you come to Morbus and learn to know many of us hormads."
Tor-dur-bar is four-million-eight in the language of you Earthmen. It seemed a
peculiar name, but then everything about these hormads was peculiar. The hormad
in front of me had evidently been listening to our conversation, for he half
turned his head; and said, disparagingly, "Pay no attention to Tor-dur-bar. He
is an upstart. It is I who am remarkable. If you wish a powerful friend Ц well,
you need look no farther. I cannot say more; I'm too modest. But if at any time
you need a real friend, just come to Teeaytan-ov." (That is eleven-hundred-seven
in your language.)
Tor-dur-bar scoffed disgustedly "'Upstart' indeed! I am the finished product of
a million cultures, or more than four million cultures, to be exact. Teeaytan-ov
is scarcely more than an experiment."
"If I should loosen my net, you would be a finished product," threatened
Teeaytan-ov.
Tor-dur-bar commenced to scream, "Sytor! Sytor! Murder!"
The dwar, who had been flying at the head of his strange detachment, wheeled his
malagor and flew back alongside us. "What's wrong here?" he demanded.
"Teeaytan-ov threatens to dump me into the Toonolian Marshes," cried
Tor-dur-bar. "Take me away from him, Sytor."
"Quarreling again, eh?" demanded Sytor. "If I hear any more out of either of
you, you both go to the incinerator when we get back to Morbus; and,
Teeaytan-ov, see that nothing happens to Tor-dur-bar. You understand?"
Teeaytan-ov grunted, and Sytor returned to his post. We rode on in silence after
this, and I was left to speculate upon the origin of these strange creatures
into whose hands I had fallen. The Warlord rode ahead of me and the girl a
little to my left. My eyes wandered often in her direction; and my sympathy went
out to her, for I was sure she, too, was a prisoner. To what terrible fate was
she being borne? Our situation was quite bad enough for a man; I could only
guess how much worse it might be for a woman.
The malagors flew swiftly and smoothly, My guess would be that they flew at a
speed of more than four hundred haads a zode (about sixty miles an hour). They
appeared tireless; and flew on, hour after hour, without rest. After circling
Phundahl, we had flown due east; and late in the afternoon approached a large
island rising from the surrounding morass. One of the innumerable winding
waterways skirted its northern boundary, widening here to form a small lake on
the shore of which lay a small walled city which we circled once before
descending to a landing before its main gate, which faced the lake. During our