"David Gemmell - The Damned 02 - The Swords Of Night And Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

Chapter One
F irst there was darkness, complete and absolute. No sounds to disconcert him, no conscious thoughts
to concern him. Then came awareness of darkness and everything changed. He felt a pressure against his
back and legs, and a gentle thudding in his chest. Fear touched him.

Why am I in the dark? In that instant a bright, powerful image filled his mind.

A man snarling with hatred, leaping at him, spear raised. The face disappearing in a spray of
crimson as a sword blade half severed the skull. More warriors attacking him. There was no
escape.

His body jerked spasmodically, his eyes flaring open. There were no painted warriors, no screaming
enemies yearning for his death. Instead he found himself lying in a soft bed and staring up at an ornate
ceiling, high and domed. He blinked and took a deep breath, his lungs filling with air. The sensation was
exquisite - and somehow unnatural.

Confused, the man sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Sunshine was streaming through a high, arched
opening to his right. It was so bright and painful that he raised his arm to shield his eyes from the
brilliance. Then he saw the dark blue tattoo upon his forearm. It was of a spider, and both ugly and
threatening. His eyes adjusting to the brightness, he stood and padded naked across the room. A cool
breeze rippled against his skin, causing him to shiver. This too, in its own way, was confusing. The feeling
of cold was almost alien.

The opening led to a semicircular balcony high above a walled garden. Beyond the garden lay a town,
nestling in a mountain valley, the buildings white, with red-tiled roofs. He gazed at the snow-capped
peaks beyond the town, and the brilliant blue sky above them. Slowly he scanned the rugged landscape.
There was nothing here that tugged at his memory. It was all new.

He shivered again, and walked back into the domed room. There were rugs upon the floor, some
embroidered with flowers, others with angular emblems he did not recognize. The room itself was also
unfamiliar. On a table nearby he saw a water jug and a long-stemmed crystal goblet. He reached for the
jug. As he did so he caught sight of his reflection in a curved mirror on the wall behind the table. Cold,
sapphire blue eyes stared back at him, from a face both stern and forbidding. There was something about
the reflected man that was unrelentingly savage. His gaze travelled down to the tattoo of a snarling
panther upon the chest.

He knew then that a third tattoo was upon his back, an eagle with flaring wings. Though why these
violent images were etched upon his body he had no idea at all.

Becoming aware of a gnawing emptiness in his stomach, he recognized - as if from ancient memory -
the symptoms of hunger. Filling the crystal goblet with water he drank deeply, then looked around the
room. On another narrow table, alongside the door, he saw a shallow bowl, filled with dried fruit, slices
of honey-dipped apricot, and figs. Carrying the bowl back to the bed he sat down and slowly ate the
fruit, expecting at any moment that memories would come flooding back.

But they did not.

Fear flared in him, but he quelled it savagely. тАШYou are not a man given to panic,тАЩ he said, aloud.

How would you know? The thought was unsettling.