"Robert Jordan - Conan 02 - The Invincible" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

womb, within which floated the misshapen form of one unborn.

Before the table Imhep-Aton made arcane gestures, muttered incantations known to but a handful
human. The homunculus twitched within the pellucid womb. Agony twisted its deformed face as the pitiful
jaws creaked painfully open.

"Who calls?"

Despite the gurgling distortion of that hollow cry, there was an impenousness to it that told Imhep-Aton
who spoke across the countless miles from ancient Khemi, in Stygia, through another such monstrosity.
Thoth-Amon, master mage of the Black Ring.

"It is I, Imhep-Aton. All is in readiness. Soon Amanar will be cast into the outer dark."

"Then Amanar still lives. And the One Whose Name May Not Be Spoken yet profanes the honor of Set.
Remember your part, and your blame, and your fate, should you fail."

Sweat dampened Imhep-Aton's forehead. It had been he who brought Amanar into the Black Ring. He
remembered once seeing a renegade priest given to Set in a dark chamber far beneath Khemi, and
swallowed bile.

"I will not fail," he muttered, then forced strength into his words so the homunculus could hear and
transmit. "I will not fail. That which I came to secure will be in my hands in five days. Amanar and the
One Whose Name May Not Be Spoken will be delivered into the power of Set."

"That you are given this chance of redemption is not of my will. If you fail...."

"There will be no failure. An ignorant barbarian thief who knows no more of reality than a gold coin
will-"

The horrible, hollow voice from the twisted shape in the glass vessel cut him off. "I care naught for your
methods. Set cares naught. Succeed, or pay."

The grotesque mouth snapped shut, and the homunculus curled tighter into a fetal ball. The
communication was ended.

Imhep-Aton scrubbed damp palms down the front of his purple robe. Some measure of what had been
sucked out of him these minutes past, he could regain at the expense of the two girls awaiting his desires.
But they knew their place in the scheme of things, if not the brevity of that place. There was little to be
gained from such. Not so the thief. The Cimmerian thought himself Imhep-Aton's equal, if not, from some
strange barbarian perspective, his superior. The mere fact that he was alive would remind the mage of
this time when he stank with fear-sweat. Once the pendants were safely in hand this Conan would find
not gold, but death, as his payment.



Chapter IV
 The alabaster walls of Tiridates' palace stood five times the height of a man, and atop them guardsmen of
the King's Own marched sentry rounds in gilded half-armor and horsehair-crested helms. Within, when
the sun was high, peacocks strutted among flowers from lands beyond the ken of man, the hours were