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

flame-filled eyes watched him with-what?-amusement? "Prepare the next sacrifice, Sitha."

The bound woman spasmed in ever greater frenzy as scaly hands lifted her from the tiled floor. Amanar
hurried from the chamber.

A Turanian with a pointed beard stood eyeing the S'tarra nervously, his slight plumpness and loose
yellow robes contrasting sharply with the empty red eyes and ring mail of the guards. The man craned to
look beyond the mage into the sacrificial chamber, and Amanar closed the door firmly. He had few
human servants who could be trusted beyond the Keep; it was not yet time for them to learn what they
served.

"Why have you left Aghrapur, Tewfik?" he snapped.

The plump man put on a fawning smile and washed his hands in front of his chest. "It was not my fault,
master, I beg you to understand that."

"What do you babble about, man?"

"That which you set me to watch, master. It is no longer in the strongrooms of King Yildiz."

Amanar blanched. Tewfik, taking it for rage, cringed, and the S'tarra guardsmen stirred uneasily, but the
thaumaturge was quaking inside. He gripped the Turanian's robes with iron fingers, pulling the man erect.
"Where is it now? Speak, man, for your life!"

"Shadizar, master! I swear!"

Amanar glared at him and through him. Morath-Aminee had known the import of this message. The
god-demon must know of what was now in Shadizar. A new hiding place must be found, but first he
must secure within his power that which was gone. That which must be kept from Morath-Aminee at all
costs. And to do that, he must risk bringing it within the very grasp of the god-demon. The risk! The
risk!

He was not aware that he still carried the sacrificial knife until he slid it into the Turanian's ribs. He looked
into the face that now stared open hate at him, and felt regret. Human servants were useful in so many
ways that S'tarra could not be. Too useful to be thrown away casually.

The mage felt something thump against his chest and looked down. Jutting from his black robe was a
knife hilt from which Tewfik's hand fell away. Contemptuously Amanar hurled the dying man from him.
He plucked the knife free, held up its bloodless blade before the man on the stone floor, whose mouth
was filling with his own blood.

"Fool," Amanar said. "You must kill my soul before mortal weapon can harm me."

He turned away. The guards' desire for fresh meat would dispose of what remained of Tewfik. If Amanar
were to have the time he needed, Morath-Aminee must be kept satiated. More prisoners must be
brought. More sacrifices for the Eater of Souls. He reentered the sacrificial chamber to attend to the first
of these.