"Robert Jordan - Wheel of Time 11 - Knife of Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

Trom stood in the center of the courtyard with his bared sword raised
overhead, blade parallel to the ground, and unlike Valda, he spoke the
words exactly as they were written. УUnder the Light, we are gathered to
witness Trial Beneath the Light, a sacred right of any Child of the
Light. The Light shines on truth, and here the Light shall illuminate
justice. Let no man speak save he who has legal right, and let any who
seek to intervene be cut down summarily. Here, justice will be found
under the Light by a man who pledges his life beneath the Light, by the
force of his arm and the will of the Light. The combatants will meet
unarmed where I now stand,Ф he continued, lowering the sword to his
side, Уand speak privately, for their own ears alone. May the Light help
them find words to end this short of bloodshed, for if they do not, one
of the Children must die this day, his name stricken from our rolls and
anathema declared on his memory. Under the Light, it will be so.Ф

As Trom strode to the side of the courtyard, Valda moved toward the
center in the walking stance called Cat Crosses the Courtyard, an
arrogant saunter. He knew there were no words to stop blood being shed.
To him, the fight had already begun. Galad merely walked out to meet
him. He was nearly a head taller than Valda, but the other man held
himself as though he were the larger, and confident of victory.

His smile was all contempt, this time. УNothing to say, boy? Small
wonder considering that a blademaster is going to cut your head off in
about one minute. I want one thing straight in your mind before I kill
you, though. The wench was hale the last I saw her, and if sheТs dead
now, IТll regret it.Ф That smile deepened, both in humor and disdain.
УShe was the best ride I ever had, and I hope to ride her again one day.Ф

Red-hot, searing fury fountained inside Galad, but with an effort he
managed to turn his back on Valda and walk away, already feeding his
rage into an imagined flame as his two teachers had taught him. A man
who fought in a rage, died in a rage. By the time he reached young
Bornhald, he had achieved what Gareth and Henre had called the oneness.
Floating in emptiness, he drew his sword from the scabbard Bornhald
proffered, and the slightly curved blade became a part of him.

УWhat did he say?Ф Dain asked. УFor a moment there, your face was
murderous.Ф

Byar gripped DainТs arm. УDonТt distract him,Ф he muttered.

Galad was not distracted. Every creak of saddle leather was clear and
distinct, every ringing stamp of hoof on paving stone. He could hear
flies buzzing ten feet away as though they were at his ear. He almost
thought he could see the movements of their wings. He was one with the
flies, with the courtyard, with the two men. They were all part of him,
and he could not be distracted by himself.