"David Gemmel - Troy 01 - Lord of the Silver Bow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

Brought to you by Winterborn
Lord of the Silver Bow (Troy Book #1)

By David Gemmel


PROLOGUE
____________________

To sleep is to die.
He clung to the driftwood as the raging seas hurled him high and then plunged him deep into the
storm-dark valleys between the waves. Lightning flashed, followed by deafening thunderclaps.
Another wave lashed him, spinning the driftwood, almost tearing him clear. Sharp splinters pierced his
bleeding hands as he tightened his grip. Salt spray stung his swollen eyes.
Earlier in the night, after ferocious winds had swept the galley against hidden rocks, splintering the
hull, four men had grasped this length of shattered deck. One by one the storm had leached out their
strength and then plucked them loose, their despairing death cries swept away by the wind.
Now only the man called Gershom remainedтАФthanks to arms and shoulders strengthened by months
of labor in the copper mines of Kypros, wielding pick and hammer and bearing on his back sacks of ore.
Yet even his prodigious strength was failing.
The sea lifted him once more, the length of decking pitching suddenly. Gershom hung on as a wave
crashed over him.
The sea no longer felt cold. It seemed to him like a warm bath, and he could feel it calling to him: Rest
now! Come with me! Sleep now! Sleep in the Great Green.
To sleep is to die, he told himself again, squeezing his bloodied hands against the jagged wood. Sharp,
lancing pain cut through his exhaustion.
A body floated by head-down. A wave caught it, flipping the corpse. Gershom recognized the dead
man. He had won three copper rings in the bone game the night before last, when the galley had been
drawn up on a small stretch of beach below a line of towering cliffs. The sailor had been happy then.
Three rings, though not a princely sum, was enough to purchase a good cloak or hire a young whore for
the night. He did not look happy now, dead eyes staring up at the rain, mouth slack and open.
Another wave crashed over Gershom. Ducking his head against the planking, he hung on. The wave
carried the dead man away, and Gershom saw the body sink below the water.
Lightning ripped across the sky once more, but the thunder did not come immediately. The wind
eased, and the sea calmed. Gershom hitched himself across the driftwood, managing to lift his leg
across the broken planks. Carefully he rolled to his back and shivered in the cold night air.
The rain was torrential, washing the salt from his face and eyes and beard. He stared at the sky. A shaft
of moonlight showed through a break in the storm clouds. Looking to the left and right, he could see
no sign of land. His chances of survival were bleak. All the trade ships held to the coastline. Few
ventured out into deeper water.
The storm had arrived with sickening speed, strong winds gusting down from the high cliffs. The galley
had been making for a bay where they would shelter for the night. Gershom, rowing on the starboard
side, had not been worried at first. He knew nothing of the sea and thought this might be normal.
Then, seeing the anxious looks on the faces of the rowers, he glanced back. The ferocity of the gusts
increased, heeling the ship sideways and driving it farther from the shore. Gershom could see the
headland that marked the entrance to the bay. It seemed so close. The rhythm of the rowers began to
fail. Two oars crashed together on his side, throwing the line into disorder. One broke away. With the
oars no longer working in unison, the galley turned beam-on to the wind, driven around by the rowers
on the port side.
A large wave broke over the side, swamping Gershom and the starboard rowers. The heavily laden