"Camp & Lin Carter - Conan Of Cimmeria - 01 - The Curse Of The Monolith" - читать интересную книгу автора (Camp L. Sprague de)

"And so, my good barbarian, farewell. You will forgive this
person for turning his back upon you during your last moments.
For your demise is a pity in a way, and I should not enjoy
witnessing it. Had you had the advantages of a Khitan
upbringing, you would have mad an admirable servant say, a
bodyguard for me. But things are as they are."

After a mocking bow of farewell, the Khitan withdrew to the lower
slope of the hill. Conan wondered if the Duke's plan was to
leave him trapped against the shaft until he perished of
starvation and thirst. If his men marked his absence before
dawn, they might look for him. But then, since he had stolen out
of the camp without leaving word of his going, they would not
know whether to be alarmed by his absence. If he could only get
word to them, they would scour the countryside for him and make
short work of the treacherous little duke. But how to get word?

Again he threw his massive strength against the force that held
him crushed against the column, but to no avail. HE could move
his lower legs and arms and even turn his head somewhat from side
to side. But his body was firmly gripped by the iron mail that
clothed it.

Now the moon brightened. Conan observed that, about his feet and
elsewhere around the base of the monument, grisly remains of
other victims were scattered. Human bones and teeth were heaped
like old rubbish; he must have trodden upon them when the
mysterious force pulled him up against the shaft.

In the stronger light, Conan was disquieted to see that these
remains were peculiarly discolored. A closer look showed that
the bones seemed to have been eaten away here and there, as if
some corrosive fluid had dissolved their smooth surfaces to
expose the spongy structure beneath.

He turned his head from side to side, seeking some means of
escape. The words of the smooth-tongued Khitan seemed to be
true, but now he could discern pieces of iron held against the
curiously stained and discolored stone of the column by the
invisible force. To his left he sighted the shovel, the crowbar,
and the rusty bowl of a helmet, while on the other side a time-
eaten dagger was stuck against the stone. Yet once more he
hurled his strength against this impalpable force...

From below sounded an eery piping sound a mocking, maddening
tune. Straining his eyes through the fickle moonlight, Conan saw
that Feng had not left the scene after all. Instead, the duke
was sitting on the grass on the side of the hill, near its base.
HE had drawn a curious flute from his capacious garments and was