"Eric Flint - The Philosophical Strangler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

Or rather, lounged before us. Astonishing sight! Here we had a mighty king, his death at hand, all
his protectors destroyed (save oneтАФa moment, please), and all he could do was laze about on a divan,
chewing a fig. I was rather offended, actually.
But we'll get back to him. First, there was the matter of the final bodyguard. Even as foretold, this
wight was there: a smallish man, though very well-knit in his proportions.
"You'll be Iyesu, master of the martial arts," said Greyboar. The man bowed courteously.
"Well, be on your way. There's no point in a useless fracas. It's your boss we've business with."
Iyesu smiled, like an icon.
"I fear not," he replied. "Rather do I suggest that you depart at once, lest I be forced to demonstrate
my incomparable skills upon your hapless body. For know, barbarian, that I am the supreme master of
all the ancient arts of the SouthтАФI speak of the blows, the strikes, the kicks, the holds, the throws, the
leaps, the bounds, the springs, eschewing not, of course, the subtle secrets of the vulnerable portions of
the musculature and nerves. Observe, and tremble."
And so saying, Iyesu leapt and capered about, engaging in bizarre and flamboyant exercises. Many
boards and bricks set up on stands to one side of the room were shattered and pulverized with sundry
blows of well-nigh every part of his body.
"As you can see," he concluded, "your crude skills cannot begin to compare with mine."
"No doubt," replied Greyboar, "for I possess no such skills, other than professional fingerwork. Of
the martial arts, as you call them, I am as ignorant as a newborn babe. A simple workingman, I, who
worked as a lad plucking chickens, as a stripling rending lambs, as a youth dismembering steers. A
meatpacker, employed now in a related but much more lucrative trade."
Iyesu gibbered his disgust. "The insult to my person!" he cried, and sprang into action. And a pretty
sight it was, too, to see him bounding and scampering about, landing many shrewd and cunning blows
of the open hand, the fist, the knee, the elbow and the foot upon those diverse portions of Greyboar's
anatomy which he imagined to be vulnerable.
So great was his interest that Greyboar stood immobile for no little time.
"Most proficient!" marveled the strangler. Then, recalling his duty, Greyboar seized Iyesu in mid-
leap and pulverized his spine and that was that.
"Master, I am undone!"
Iyesu's shriek stirred the King to a flurry of activity. He raised his head from its pillow.
"Can you do nothing?"
"The probability is small, Your Highness. Indeed, were it not for my incomparable training in the
mystic arts of bodily control, I would already be dead. The spine is rather central to all human
endeavor. But I shall make the attempt."
And so saying, the master of the martial arts slithered his way to Greyboar's side and tried a few
blows.
 " 'Tis as I feared, the leverage is no longer available. On the other hand," he mused, "there are
possibilities for the future. Perhaps even a new school!"
"Too late, I suppose, to prevent my assassination?"
"Indeed so, master. Even the great Ashokai required four years to found his school. I fear it shall
take me longer. There are, it must be admitted, certain obstacles to overcome." Here he seized
Greyboar's ankle and attempted a throw. "Just as I predicted," he complained, flipping and flopping
about, "it's the leverage."
"So be it," yawned the King. Greyboar advanced and seized his neck. "Yet do I regret the truncation
of my philosophic endeavor."
Greyboar's fingers halted in mid-squeeze. A great fear seized my heart.
"What philosophic endeavor?" demanded the strangler.
"Greyboar!" I shouted. "Burke the bugger and let's be off!"
"One moment. What philosophic endeavor?"
The King stared up at the strangler. "Surely you are not interested in such matters?" he wheezed.