"Robert E. Howard - Conan - Hour of the Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Robert E)

within, he said, slowly: "Awake, Xaltotun!"

The lips of the man moved mechanically. "Xaltotun!" he repeated in a groping whisper.

"You are Xaltotun!" exclaimed Orastes, like a hypnotist driving home his suggestions. "You are
Xaltotun of Python, in Acheron."

A dim flame flickered in the dark eyes.

"I was Xaltotun," he whispered. "I am dead."

"You are Xaltotun!" cried Qrastes. "You are not dead! You live!"

"I am Xaltotun," came the eery whisper. "But I am dead. In my house in Khemi, in Stygia, there I
died."

"And the priests who poisoned you mummified your body with their dark arts, keeping all your
organs intact!" exclaimed Orastes. "But now you live again! The Heart of Ahriman has restored your
life, drawn your spirit back from space and eternity." ' "The Heart of Ahriman!" The flame of
remembrance grew stronger. "The barbarians stole it from me!"

"He remembers," muttered Orastes. "Lift him from the case."

The others obeyed hesitantly, as if reluctant to touch the man they had recreated, and they seemed
not easier in their minds when they felt firm muscular flesh, vibrant with blood and life, be-
neath their fingers. But they lifted him upon the table, and Orastes clothed him in a curious dark
velvet robe, splashed with gold stars and cresent moons, and fastened a cloth-of-gold. fillet
about his temples, confining the black wavy locks that fell to his shoulders. He let them do as
they would, saying nothing, not even when they set him in a carven throne-like chair with a high
ebony back and wide silver arms, and feet like golden claws. He sat there motionless, and slowly
intelligence grew in his dark eyes and made them deep and strange and luminous. It was as if long-
sunken witch-lights floated slowly up through midnight pools of darkness.



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Orastes cast a furtive glance at his companions, who stood staring in morbid fascination at their
strange guest. Their iron nerves had withstood an ordeal that might have driven weaker men mad. He
knew it was with no weaklings that he conspired, but men whose courage was as profound as their
lawless ambitions and capacity for evil. He turned his attention to the figure in the ebon-black
chair. And this one spoke at last.

"I remember," he said in a strong, resonant voice, speaking Nemedian with a curious, archaic
accent. "I am Xaltotun, who was high priest of Set in Python, which was in Acheron. The Heart of
AhrimanтАФI dreamed I had found it againтАФwhere is it?"

Orastes placed it in his hand, and he drew breath deeply as he gazed into the depths of the
terrible jewel burning in his grasp.