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

distant sky above. The temple was busy, with many priests, priestesses, pilgrims, and other worshipers moving over the shining mosaics of the
pavement, yet their tiny figures were dwindled to dust specks by its immensity, and the vast space seemed filled with a still peace.


Inevitably, as he drew near, the swordsman became conscious only of the majesty of the statue, the Goddess Herself, the shape of a robed woman
sitting cross-legged with Her hands on Her knees and Her long hair spilling down. Huge and ominous and majestic, She loomed more and more
enormous as he approached. At last he reached the edge of the dais and threw himself on the ground in reverence.


An exorcism called for many priests and priestesses, for chanting, dancing, gesturing, ritual, and solemn ceremony. Honakura stood to one side and
allowed Perandoro of the Sixth to officiate, for it was a rare opportunity. He himself had led an exorcism only once. The swordsman crouched on
his knees within the circle, head down and arms outstretched as he had been instructed-put a tablecloth on that back, and it would hold a dinner for
three. Other priests and priestesses watched covertly as they went about their business. Pilgrims were shunted tactfully to the sides. It was very
impressive.


Honakura paid little attention to the preliminaries. He was busy planning his next move against the unspeakable Hardduju. A sword was easy-he


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 The Reluctant Swordsman

could get one from Athinalani in the armory. A blue kilt for a Seventh was no problem, either, and a hairclip was a trivial detail. But swordsmen
sported distinctive boots, and to send for a pair of those, especially in the size required, would certainly provoke suspicion. Furthermore, he was
fairly sure that the rituals of dueling required that his new champion obtain a second, and that could make things complicated. It might be that he
would have to spirit this dangerous young man out of sight for a day or two while the preparations were put in hand, but so far his presence was a
secret. Honakura felt great satisfaction that the Goddess had not only answered the priests' prayers in this fashion, but had also entrusted him with
the subcontracting. He felt sure that Her confidence was not misplaced. He would see that there were no mistakes.


Then the chant rose to its climax, and a chorus of, "Avaunt!" The swordsman's head came up, first looking wildly around, and then up at the
Goddess.


Honakura frowned. The dolt had been told to keep his head down.


"Avaunt!" proclaimed the chanters once more, their rhythm just a fraction off perfection. The swordsman jerked upright on his knees, head back
and eyes so wide that the whites were showing all around. The drummers went ragged on their beat, and a trumpeter flubbed a note.


"Avaunt!" cried the chorus a third time. Perandoro raised a silver goblet full of holy water from the River and cast the contents over the
swordsman's head.


He spasmed incredibly, leaping straight from his knees into the air and coming down on his feet. The dirty loincloth fluttered to the floor, and he
stood there naked, with his arms raised, his head back, water dribbling down his face and chest. He shrieked the loudest noise that Honakura had
ever heard uttered by a human throat. For perhaps the first time in the age-old history of the temple, one voice drowned out the chorus, the lutes
and flutes, and the distant roar of the Judgment. It was discordant, bestial, horrifying, and full of soul-destroying despair. It reverberated back from
the roof. It went on for an incredible, inhuman, unbelievable minute, while the singers and musicians became hopelessly tangled, the dancers