"L. Sprague De Camp - The Goblin Tower" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

back to the scaffold.

As the king mounted the stairs, his gaze roved hither and yon.
He smiled and nodded as his eye caught those of acquaintances
in the crowd. To many, he seemed altogether too cheerful for a
man about to lose his head.

As, with a steady step, Jorian reached the platform of the
scaffold, the two halberdiers who had preceded him snapped to
attention and brought their right fists up to their chests, over
their hearts, in salute. Behind him came the Mulvanian holy man
and the high priest of Zevatas.

On the far, western side of the platform, a few feet from the
edge, rose the block, freshly carved and shining with new red
paint. Between the flagpoles on the western side, a length of
netting, a yard high, was stretched to make sure that the head
should not roll off the platform.

Leaning on his ax, the headsman stood beside the block. Like
Jorian, he was stripped to breeks and shoes. Although not so tall
as the king, the executioner was longer of arm and even more
massive of torso. Despite the hood, Jorian knew that his slayer
was Uthar the butcher, who kept a stall near the South Gate.
Since Xylar was too small and orderly a city-state to support a
full-time executioner, it hired Uthar from time to time for the
task. Jorian had personally consulted the man before approving
the choice.

"The great trick, Sire," Uthar had said, "be to let the weight of
the ax do the work. Press not; give your whole attention to
guiding the blade in its fall. A green headsman thinks he needs
must help the blade; so he presses, and the stroke goes awry. The
blade be heavy enough to sever any man's neckтАФeven so mighty
a one as Your Majesty'sтАФif suffered to fall at its natural speed. I
promise Your Majesty shan't feel a thing. Your soul will find
itself in its next incarnation before you wite what has happened."

Jorian now approached the headsman with a grin on his face.
"Hail, Master Uthar!" he cried in a hearty voice. "A lovely day, is
it not? By Astis' ivory teats, if one must have one's head cut off, I
can imagine no fairer day whereon to have the deed performed."

Uthar dropped to one knee. "YouтАФYour MajestyтАФ'tis a fine
day, surelyтАФYour Majesty will forgive me for any pain or
inconvenience I cause him in the discharge of my duties?"
 "Think nothing of it, old man! We all have our duties, and we
all come to our destined ends. My pardon is yours, so long as
your edge be keen and your arm be true. You promised that I
should not feel a thing, remember? I shouldn't like you to have to