"Alan Dean Foster - The Empire of T'ang Lang" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

blades pierced clear through the castle-man's body. With easy strength, T'ang automatically
absorbed the recoil. He pulled the mortally wounded youth toward him. Desperately, writhing
and squirming, the castle-man shifted his rapier. He jabbed, missed, and jabbed again.

To the majority of inhabitants in Tang's world that rapier was death. Even the Moving
Mountains, whose size would seem to protect them, feared that blade.

It hit once, skidding harmlessly off Tang's gleaming armor. It was a last pass.

T'ang inspected his pinioned, helpless victim. His method for the coup de grace was
efficient and rarely varied. He went for the skull. The castle-man was lucky. He died instantly.
Others had not been so fortunate. T'ang was not especially concerned whether or not his
victims were dead before he began eating.

The flesh of the castle-man had been good, juicy, and succulent, if spare. Having completed
his meal, T'ang absently shoved the cleaned skeleton off the side of his platform. He did not
bother to watch it go crashing to the earth below.

He finished cleaning his utensils, ascertained once more the position of the sun, and set
himself again.

It was late afternoon, almost evening, when the encounter took place.

Two of the Moving Mountains came into view. Although they were not as tall as the
light-eater T'ang sat upon, they massed many, many more times. Only the Bodikiddartha
itself was greater.

T'ang had thought occasionally about the Moving Mountains. Were they intelligent? It
seemed not. They moved about too much, with a great deal of wasted motion and energy.
The city-builders were as active, but there was visible purpose behind everything they did.
Not here.

Their great, mooning eyes were simple. None possessed a thousandth of the power of
concentration T'ang could muster. He had seen them several times before, but they had not
seen him. He feared only their clumsiness.

But today, with the sun dying near the horizon, it was to be different. Perhaps he still could
have avoided them. Perhaps not. Each massed many million times his body weight. And
although they could not move nearly as fast as T'ang, they had great reach. Still, it was their
bulk that was most impressive.

T'ang never doubted the force of his mind. He would not run and scramble to avoid them!
He'd picked his platform and he was going to stay there. If they wished a confrontation, so
be it. He would not be the one to run and hide! He was T'ang Lang, the killer, emperor.

They saw him together, it seemed. In their ponderous, clumsy way they turned (so slow,
thought T'ang, so slow!) and stared across at him. From his high platform, T'ang could return
their stare eye to eye.

Those faces тАФ monstrous, distorted, bloated things! Obscenities beyond imagining! T'ang