"Robert E. Howard - Conan - Drums of Tobalku" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Robert E)

Tilutan's girdle had become unwound in the fight, and now the end dangled about his feet. He
tripped, stumbled, fell headlong, throwing out his arms to save himself. The scimitar flew from
his hand.
Amalric, galvanized, caught up the scimitar and took a reeling step forward. The desert swam
darkly to his gaze. In the dusk before him he saw Tilutan's face suddenly ashy. The wide mouth
gaped, the whites of the eyeballs rolled up. The giant froze on one knee and a hand, as if
incapable of further motion. Then the scimitar fell, cleaving the round, shaven head to the chin,
where its downward course was checked with a sickening jerk.
Amalric had a dim impression of a face divided by a widening red line, fading in the
thickening shadows. Then darkness caught him with a rush.
Something soft and cool was touching Amalric's face with gentle persistence. He groped
blindly and his hand closed on something warm, firm and resilient. Then his sight cleared and he
looked into a soft oval face, framed in lustrous black hair. As in a trance he gazed unspeaking,
hungrily dwelling on each detail of the full red lips, dark violet eyes, and alabaster throat.
With a start he realized the vision was speaking in a soft musical voice. The words were strange,
yet possessed an illusive familiarity. A small white hand holding a dripping bunch of silk was
passed gently over his throbbing head and face. He sat up dizzily.
It was night, under the star-splashed skies. The camel still munched its cud; a horse
whinnied restlessly. Not far away lay a hulking dark figure with its cleft head in a horrible
puddle of blood and brains. Amalric looked up at the girl who knelt beside him, talking in her
gentle, unknown tongue. As the mists cleared from his brain, he began to understand her. Harking
back into half-forgotten tongues he had learned and spoken in the past, he remembered a language
used by a scholarly class in a southern province of Koth.
"Who are you, girl?" he demanded, prisoning a small hand in his own hardened fingers.
"I am Lissa." The name was spoken with almost the suggestion of a lisp. It was like the
rippling of a slender stream.
"I am glad you are conscious. I feared you were not alive."
"A little more and I wouldn't have been," he muttered, glancing at the grisly sprawl that had
been Tilutan. She paled, refusing to follow his gaze. Her hand trembled, and in their nearness,


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Amalric thought he could feel the quick throb of her heart.
"It was horrible," she faltered. "Like an awful dream. Anger -and blows - and blood--"
"It might have been worse," he growled.
She seemed sensitive to every changing inflection of his voice or mood. Her free hand stole
timidly to his arm.
"I did not mean to offend you. It was very brave for you to risk your life for a stranger.
You are noble as the knights about which I have read."
He cast a quick glance at her. Her wide clear eyes met his, reflecting only the thought she
had spoken. He started to speak, then changed his mind and said another thing. "What are you doing
in the desert?"
"I came from Gazal," she answered. "I - I was running away. I could not stand it any longer.
But it was hot and lonely and weary, and I saw only sand, sand - and the blazing blue sky. The
sands burned my feet, and my sandals were worn out quickly. I was so thirsty, my canteen was soon
empty. And then I wished to return to Gazal, but one direction looked like another. I did not know
which way to go. I was terribly afraid, and started running in the direction in which I thought
Gazal to be. I do not remember much after that. I ran until I could run no further, and I must