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

Valda waited until he turned before drawing his own weapon on the other
side of the courtyard, a flashy move, the sword blurring as it spun in
his left hand, leaping to his right hand to make another blurred wheel
in the air before settling, upright and rock-steady before him, in both
hands. He started forward, once more in Cat Crosses the Courtyard.

Raising his own sword, Galad moved to meet him, without thought assuming
a walking stance perhaps influenced by his state of mind. Emptiness, it
was called, and only a trained eye would know that he was not simply
walking. Only a trained eye would see that he was in perfect balance
every heartbeat. Valda had not gained that heron-mark sword by
favoritism. Five blademasters had sat in judgment of his skills and
voted unanimously to grant him the title. The vote always had to be
unanimous. The only other way was to kill the bearer of a heron-mark
blade in fair combat, one on one. Valda had been younger then than Galad
was now. It did not matter. He was not focused on ValdaТs death. He
focused on nothing. But he intended ValdaТs death if he had to Sheathe
the Sword, willingly welcoming that heron-mark blade in his flesh, to
achieve it. He accepted that it might come to that.

Valda wasted no time with maneuvering. The instant he was within range,
Plucking the Low-hanging Apple flashed toward GaladТs neck like
lightning, as though the man truly did intend to have his head in the
first minute. There were several possible responses, all made instinct
by hard training, but ByarТs warnings floated in the dim recesses of his
mind, and also the fact that Valda had warned him of this very thing.
Warned him twice. Without conscious thought, he chose another way,
stepping sideways and forward just as Plucking the Low-hanging Apple
became the LeopardТs Caress. ValdaТs eyes widened in surprise as his
stroke missed GaladТs left thigh by inches, widened more as Parting the
Silk laid a gash down his right forearm, but he immediately launched
into the Dove Takes Flight, so fast that Galad had to dance back before
his blade could bite deeply, barely fending off the attack with
Kingfisher Circles the Pond.

Back and forth they danced the forms, gliding this way then that across
the stone paving. Lizard in the Thorn-bush met Lightning of Three
Prongs. Leaf on the Breeze countered Eel Among the Lily Pads, and Two
Hares Leaping met the Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. Back and forth
as smoothly as a demonstration of the forms. Galad tried attack after
attack, but Valda was as fast as a viper. The Wood Grouse Dances cost
him a shallow gash on his left shoulder, and the Red Hawk Takes a Dove
another on the left arm, slightly deeper. River of Light might have
taken the arm completely had he not met the draw-cut with a desperately
quick Rain in High Wind. Back and forth, blades flashing continuously,
filling the air with the clash of steel on steel.

How long they fought, he could not have said. There was no time, only
the moment. It seemed that he and Valda moved like men under water,
their motions slowed by the drag of the sea. Sweat appeared on ValdaТs