"Dave Duncan - The Seventh Sword - 1 - The Reluctant Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

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 The Reluctant Swordsman

the dealings that had just been completed around him. There was no hurry; the Nameless could bring no offerings and hence were low priority for
the attendants.


Yes, the handiwork of the Goddess! His prayers had been answered by a highrank swordsman, the man had come-incredibly!-incognito and hence
safely, and he had even avoided the two bored swordsmen posturing by the center arch, who might just possibly have guessed from his long hair
that he was a swordsman. Praise to the Goddess!


Honakura began to amble in the right direction, nodding his head to the bows he received. By law, a Nameless One could only be questioned by
priests or searched by swordsmen, but it was not unknown for junior swordsmen to torment such for sport. The little priest wondered what the
reaction would be if some were to try that and discover that they were dealing with a swordsman of the Seventh. It would be an entertaining
incident to watch. Fortunately, in the present case, the man's rank had not yet been revealed.


At last he reached his objective.


The man was very large indeed-even kneeling, he carried his eyes not much beneath Honakura's. Swordsmen were rarely large, for speed was more
important to them than strength. If this man also had agility he would be formidable, but then he was, reputedly, a Seventh, and there could be none
more formidable. Apart from the black rag around his head, he wore only a dirty scrap of black loincloth. He was filthy and sweat-streaked, yet his
size and youth made him impressive still. His hair was also black, hanging to his shoulders, and his eyes were utterly black, the pupils lost in the
iris. Forceful eyes... bearing anger they would strike dread. Looking into them now, Honakura saw other things: pain and fear and despondency.
Those came often to the Goddess in the eyes of supplicants-the sick, the dying, the bereaved, the lost-but rarely had he seen them so intense, and
their presence in the eyes of this huge and healthy youngster was a staggering shock to him. Awry indeed!


"Let us go over to a more private place," he said quickly. "My lord?"


The young man rose effortlessly, rising over the little priest as dawn climbs the sky. He was very big and when he moved he rippled. Even for a
swordsman he was young to be a Seventh, probably younger than Priest Jannarlu of the Third.


They walked to the end of the facade, and Honakura motioned to the plinth of a badly corroded statue. The swordsman sat without argument. His
apathy was astonishing.


"Let us dispense with formalities for the moment," Honakura said quietly, remaining on his feet, "for we are not unobserved. I am Honakura, priest
of the seventh rank."


"I am Shonsu, swordsman, and also of the Seventh." His voice was in keeping with the rest of him, massive. Distant thunder. He raised a hand to
remove the rag, and Honakura shook his head.