"Raymond E. Feist - Conclave of Shadows 3 - Exile's Return" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

reach was slammed across the face with the makeshift weapon. Kaspar heard bone
crack. The man went down silently.
The other swordsman was quick to react, raising his sword and shouting
somethingтАФan insult, battle cry, or prayer to a god, Kaspar didn't know which. All
the former duke knew was that he had perhaps three or four seconds to live. Instead of
moving away from the attacker, Kaspar threw himself at the man, coming up hard
against him as the sword fell through empty air.
He got his shoulder under the man's armpit and the momentum of the missed
blow carried the nomad over Kaspar's shoulder. Kaspar's powerful arms pushed up
hard and the man spun through the air, landing hard upon the ground. The breath
seemed to explode out of his body and Kaspar suspected he might have cracked his
spine.
Kaspar sensed more than saw that two archers were unlimbering their bows, so
he sprang forward, and with a diving shoulder roll, came to his feet holding the
closest man's sword. The nomad who had held the binding leather was trying to come
to his feet and draw his own sword at the same time as Kaspar stepped by him,
smashing the man's head with the flat of the blade. The man fell over without a sound.
Kaspar might not be the swordsman Tal Hawkins had been, but he had trained as
a soldier most of his life, and now he was in his element, in-close brawling. He ran at
the three riders, two with bows and one with a slender lance, that man leveling his
weapon as he put his heels to his horse's barrel. The animal might not be a seasoned
warhorse but it was well trained. It leapt forward as if sprinting from the starting line
in a race and Kaspar barely avoided being trampled. He almost took the point of the
man's lance in the chest, but with a quick move to the left evaded it. Had the horse
started only a yard or two farther back, he would have been moving too fast for
Kaspar's next move, which was to continue twisting and reaching up with his left
hand, grab the rider by the back of his robe and yank him from the saddle.
Kaspar didn't wait to see the man hit the ground, but used his momentum to keep
turning until he was facing the closest rider, who was trying to draw his bow. Kaspar
reached out with his left hand and grabbed the man's ankle. He yanked it back and
then up and the bowman fell from the saddle.
Kaspar spun, looking for the last opponent, or to see if one of those he had
unhorsed had regained his footing. He turned twice before accepting his situation.
Slowly he stood up and let the sword fall from his fingers.
The last bowman had calmly moved his horse away a few yards, and now sat
quietly in the saddle, drawing a bead on Kaspar. It was hopeless. Unless he was a
terrible shot, Kaspar would never avoid the arrow pointing at his chest.
The man smiled and nodded, and said something that Kaspar took as 'good', then
flicked his gaze to someone behind Kaspar.
Suddenly one of the riders he had embarrassed smashed his forearm into the back
of Kaspar's neck, driving him to his knees. Kaspar tried to turn as he heard metal
clanking, and he realized someone was approaching with his discarded manacles.
Before he could get his head around, cold iron slammed into the point of his jaw.
Bright lights exploded behind his eyes for an instant before he lapsed into
unconsciousness.
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Kaspar's jaw throbbed. His neck hurt and he felt sore all over his body. He was
disoriented for a moment, then remembered the confrontation with the nomads. He
blinked, trying to clear his vision, then realized it was night. From the variety of aches
he experienced when he tried to move, he assumed the riders had spent a fair amount