"C M Kornbluth - Thirteen O'Clock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

jets of steam and squirted melted rock in their eyes. Squalling in terror the dragons flapped into the air
and lumbered off Southward.

"That's ocean," grinned the general. "They'll never come back-trying to find new homes, I suspect."

In an incredibly short time the field was littered with the flopping chunks that had been hewed from the
Krakens. Living still they were, but powerless. The general shook his hand warmly. "You're on your own
now," he said. "Good luck, boy. For a civilian you're not a bad egg at all." He walked away.

Glumly Peter surveyed the colossal fortress of Almarish. He walked aimlessly up to its gate, a huge thing
of bronze and

silver, and pulled at the silken cord hanging there. A gong sounded and the door swung open. Peter
advanced hopelessly in a sort of audience chamber. "So!" thundered a mighty voice.

"So what?" asked Peter despondently. He saw on a throne high above him an imposing figure. "You
Almarish?" he asked listlessly.

"I am. And who are you?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm Peter Packer of Braintree, Mass. I don't even expect you to believe me. The
throne lowered slowly and jerkily, as if on hydraulic pumps. The wizard descended and approached
Peter. He was a man of about forty, with a full brown beard reaching almost to his belt.

"Why," asked the sorcerer, "have you come bearing arms?"

"It's the only way I could come," said Peter. "Let me first congratulate you on an efficient, well-oiled set
of political machinery. Not even back in the United States have I seen graft carried to such a high degree.
Secondly, your choice of assistants is an eye-opener. Your Mr. Pike is the neatest henchman I've ever
seen. Thirdly, produce the person of Miss Meli-cent or I'll have to use force."
 "Is that so?" rumbled Almarish. "Young puppy! I'd like to see you try it. Wrestle with me-two falls out of
three. I dare you!"

Peter took off his coat of blue serge. "I never passed up a dare yet," he said. "How about a mat?" -
"Think I'm a sissy?" the sorcerer jeered.

Peter was stripped for action. "Okay," he said. Slowly Almarish advanced on him, grappling for a hold.
Peter let him take his fore-arm, then shifted his weight so as to hurl the magician over his shoulder. A
moment later Peter was astonished to find himself on the floor underneath the wizard. "Haw!" grunted
Almarish, rising. "You still game?" He braced himself. "Yep!" snapped Peter. He hurled himself in a flying
tackle that began ten feet away from the wizard and ended in a bone-crushing grip about the knees. Peter
swarmed up his trunk and cruelly twisted an arm across his chest. The magician yelped in sudden agony,
and let himself fall against the floor. Peter rose, grinning. "One all," he said cheerfully.

Almarish grappled for the third fall; Peter cagily backed away. The wizard hurled himself in a bruising
body-block against Peter, battering him off his feet and falling on the

young man. Instinctively Peter bridged his body, arcing it off the floor. Almarish, grunting fiercely,
gripped his arm and turned it slowly, as though he were winding a clock. Peter snapped over, rolling on
the wizard's own body as a fulcrum. He had his toe in his hand, and closed his fist with every ounce of