"Deathworld 3 - Harry Harrison V1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

"What you say?" the warrior growled, shaking his head over Jason's incomprehensible burble of words.

Jason tapped his chest and said, "Sure, me speak in-between tongue just as good as you speak in-between tongue."

This apparently satisfied the warrior because he turned and pushed his way through the throng. For the first time, Jason had a chance to examine the passing men who had just been a blur in the background before. All males, and all warriors, dressed in numerous variations on a single theme. High boots, swords, half armor and helms, spears and short bows decorated in weird and colorful patterns. Beyond them and on all sides were rounded structures colored the same yellowish gray as the sparse grass that covered the plains. Something moved through the crowd, and the men gave way to a swaying beast and rider. Jason recognized the creature from the description given by the survivors of the massacre, of the mounts that had been ridden during the attack.

It was homelike in many ways, yet twice as big as any horse, and covered with shaggy fur. The creature's head had an equine appearance, but it was disproportionately tiny and set at the end of a moderately long neck. It had long limbs, especially the forelegs, which were decidedly longer than the hind legs, so that its back sloped downward from the withers to the rump, terminating in a tint, flicking tail. The strong, thick toes on each foot had sharp claws that dug into the ground as the beast paced by, guided by the rider who sat just behind the forelimbs at the highest point on the humped back.

A harsh blast on a metallic horn drew Jason's attention and he turned to see a compact group of men striding toward his cage. Three soldiers with lowered lances led the way, followed by another with a dangling standard of some kind on a pole. Warriors with drawn swords walked alertly, surrounding the two central figures. One of them was the lancejabber who had prodded Jason to life. The other, a head taller than his companions, had a golden helm and breastplate inset with jewels, while curling horns sprouted from both sides of his helm.

He had more than that, Jason saw when he approached the cage. The look of the hawk, or a great jungle cat secure in his rule. This man was the leader and he knew it, accepted it automatically. He, a warrior, leader of warriors. His right hand rested on the pommel of his bejeweled but efficient-looking sword while he stroked the sweep of his great red mustachios with the scarred knuckles of his left hand. He stopped close to the bars and stared imperiously at Jason, who tried, but failed, to return the other's gaze with the same intensity. His cramped position inside the cage and his battered, scruffy appearance did not help his morale.

"Grovel before Temuchin," one of the soldiers ordered, and buried the butt end of his lance in the pit of Jason's stomach.

It might have been easier to grovel, but Jason, bent double with the pain, kept his head up and his eyes fixed on the other.

"Where are you from?" Temuchin asked, his voice so used to command that Jason found himself answering at once.

"From far away, a place you do not know."

"Another world?"

"Yes. Do you know about other worlds?"

"Only from the songs of the jongleurs. Until the first ship came down, I did not think they were true. They are."

He snapped his fingers and one of the men handed him a blackened and twisted recoilless rifle. "Can you make this spout fire again?" he asked.

"No." It must have been one of the weapons of the first expedition.

"What about this?" Temuchin held up Jason's own gun, its cable dangling where it had been torn from his power holster.

"I don't know." Jason was just as calm as the other. Let him just get his hands on the gun. "I will have to look at it closely."

"Burn this one, too," Temuchin said, throwing the gun aside. 'Their weapons must be destroyed by fire. Now tell me at once, other-world man, why do you come here?"

He'd make a good poker player, Jason thought. I can't read his cards and he knows all of mine. Then what should I tell him? Why not the truth?

"My people want to take metal from the ground," he said aloud. "We harm no one, we will even pay-"

"No." There was a flat finality to the sound. Temuchin turned away.

"Wait, you haven't heard everything."

"It is enough," he said, halting for a moment and speaking over his shoulder. "You will dig and there will be buildings. Buildings make a city and there will be fences. The plains are always open." And then he added in the same flat voice.

"Kill him."

As the band of men turned. to follow Temuchin, the standard-bearer passed in front of the cage. His pole was topped with a human skull and Jason saw that the banner itself was made up of string after string of human thumbs, mummified and dry, knotted together on thongs.