"Raymond Kaminski - The Amazons of Somelon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kaminski Raymond)

wisdom, and that was probably the only thing that prevented her from
challenging his position as master of the Horlas. And she was the only one
strong enough to challenge him. No man could resist Allukah. No man but Micar.

Micar turned to his right, meeting the flint-hard stare of Amurti, the son
Allukah had borne him during the four-day pursuit of the Carabor tribe. That
was during the War of Clocks. Allukah had left the saddle only long enough to
squat, while a thrashing Amurti struggled out into the light. Then, leaving
him in the protection of some blue Boroka nomads, she caught up with the
Horlas again.

Amurti shared his mother's ruddy, pockmarked skin, and his beaten-copper
helmet poured out the same straggly, reddish-black mane of hair. Yet, when
Allukah first came to Micar's great but those many long years ago, she was
light skinned and fair. Micar hadn't touched her since she changed. He
consoled himself with his other twenty-six wives, and that suited Allukah. She
came out only at night to pillage and roam. The daylight hours were spent in
her special caves-with her special collection of pets.
At every impatient twitch of Amurti's body, the necklace around his neck
clicked and rattled against his flashing breastplate. It was a long, looping
string of molars, one for each man Amurti had freed from this earthly
struggle. To prove his courage, he. extracted these enamel jewels from the
squealing jaws of his victim before cutting off the head with a single slice
of his axe. Unlike the other Horlas, who shunned armor as clumsy and the
sanctuary of cowards, Amurti wore a breastplate of tooled copper. Inscribed on
the soft metal were important scenes from his short life: his birth, his first
kill, his first marriage. One very large panel was left empty: his future.
Amurti insisted he wore the breastplate solely for decoration. In truth, the
thin, soft metal offered almost no protection from even a sharp stick. Rather,
he wanted to show them all--the Teutites, the Horlas, everybody-that Horlas
weren't just a savage pack of stinking barbarians. He wanted to show them that
the Horlas deserved respect, that they were capable of building as well as
destroying. Amurti's mother had filled his head with these useless, romantic
notions, and Micar realized that Amurti fully intended to one day rule the
Horlas. That was the reason for the empty panel on the breastplate. And that
was also the reason why Micar nursed a feeble hope for Amurti to fall glorious
and dead in battle. It would spare Micar the everlasting shame of having to
kill his own son.

To either side of Amurti were the twins, Cular and Mishla, who were born
identical and remained that way until a well aimed lance plucked Mishla's eye
from its socket. Inconsolable, he had refused to eat or fight until Cular
struck out his own eye and made them twins again. Despite their wounds, the
image of Micar was branded into their face.

The two brothers were archers, and they insisted that a single eye enhanced
their aim by heightening their concentration on every shot. Each carried a bow
carved out of the supple leg bones of the mad magician Praxus who had
kidnapped them while they were infants and kept them in bondage until they
grew big enough to turn on him. Both twins wore helmets that once were skulls