"Robert E. Howard - Conan - Rogues In The House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Robert E)

stepped out on that narrow band. If any had been near or awake, they
would have witnessed the bizarre sight of a man moving carefully along the
ledge, carrying a kicking, half-naked wench under his arm. They would have
been no more puzzled than the girl.

Reaching the spot he sought, Conan halted, gripping the wall with his free
hand. Inside the building rose a sudden clamor, showing that the body had
at last been discovered. His captive whimpered and twisted, renewing her
importunities. Conan glanced down into the muck and slime of the alleys
below; he listened briefly to the clamor inside and the pleas of the wench;
then he dropped her with great accuracy into a cesspool. He enjoyed her
kickings and flounderings and the concentrated venom her profanity for a
few seconds, and even allowed himeself a low rumble of laughter. Then he
lifted his head, listened to the growing tumult within the building, and
decided it was time for him to kill Nabonidus.

3

It was a reverberating clang of metal that roused Murilo. He groaned and
struggled dazedly to a sitting position. About him all was silence and
darkness, and for an instant he was sickened with the fear that he was blind.
Then he remembered what had gone before, and his flesh crawled. By the
sense of touch he found that he was lying on a floor of evenly joined stone
slabs. Further groping discovered a wall of the same material. He rose and
leaned against it, trying in vain to orient himself. That he was in some sort of
a prison seemed certain, but where and how long he was unable to guess.
He remembered dimly a clashing noise and wondered if it had been the iron
door of his dungeon closing on him, or if it betokened the entrance of an
executioner.

At this thought he shuddered profoundly and began to feel his way along
the wall. Momentarily he expected to encounter the limits of his prison, but
after a while he came to the conclusion that he was travelling down a
corridor. He kept to the wall, fearful of pits of other traps, and was presently
aware of something near him in the blackness. He could see nothing, but
either his ears had caught a stealthy sound, or some subconscious sense
warned him. He stopped short, his hair standing on end; as surely as he
lived, he felt the presence of some living creature crouching in the darkness
in front of him.

He thought his heart would stop when a voice hissed in a barbaric accent:
"Murilo! Is it you?"

"Conan!" Limp from the reaction, the young nobleman groped in the
darkness, and his hands encountered a pair of great naked shoulders.

"A good thing I recognized you," grunted the barbarian. "I was about to
stick you like a fattened pig."

"Where are we, in Mitra's name?"