"Keith Laumer - Bolos 6 - Cold Steel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

Twostone in the back, his talons drawing blood.
Twostone staggered for a moment, but quickly caught himself, turning, knife held high in a
gesture of defiance. He turned his head at right angles to Whitestar, focusing one eye on the lord,
and a sound came from his throat, a low chattering that in the Tersae was an expression of
amusement. In context it was a sign of continued calm and reason, despite his wounds. The
Tersae blood ran hot. A warrior could too easily lose themselves in that heat, forget the mission,
forget their clan-brothers, and waste their lives on the battlefield. A good warrior knew how to
maintain the balance, even when their own blood painted the enemy's blade.
You are truly a fine warrior, Twostone. It will be a shame to lose you.
The two circled, each looking for some weakness in their opponent. Finally, Whitestar simply
grew tired of looking. He feinted an attack causing Twostone to step backwards, then again, and
again, never letting the warrior find balance, focusing his attention on Whitestar's blade. Then
Whitestar struck, not with his blade, but with a flying kick, his talons digging into Twostone's
blade-arm, pushing it aside. He squeezed, feeling skin tear beneath his claws, until the blade
clattered to the forest floor, then released, twisted in midair to strike with his blade, bringing it
against Twostone's throat. He held the blade there and he grabbed Twostone's arm and spun him
around.
Twostone ended up with his back against Whitestar's left shoulder, the knife tight against his
skin. "My life is my lord's," he gasped, "my blood is my lord's. Take them, in the name of the
Ones Above."
"I take your life," responded Whitestar, "I take your blood. I give you back your blood. I give
you back your life, Sacred Warrior Twostone, to serve the Ones Above." He lowered the knife,
stepped in front of Twostone, and held it across his own chest in salute.
Twostone bowed, folding his arms behind his back like a new hatchling, a gesture of extreme
supplication and humility. "How may my unworthy life serve the Ones Above?"
"Rise, Twostone. You have been bested by your lord, but you fought honorably, and well.
You are worthy. Tonight we strike the devils in their nests. Tonight you will carry the Fist of the
Ones Above. We will barter your life for a thousand and twenty-four of the enemy's lives."
Twostone nodded his head sharply in gratitude.
"Go to your fire, and we will speak later." He turned to the circle of observers. "Make way for
the Sacred Warrior!" The circle parted and Twostone stepped through, and with that, the
ceremony was ended. The crowd immediately began to disperse. A few looked disappointed that
no more blood had been spilled, a few others paused to compliment Whitestar's skill and
prowess.
Only old Scarbeak lingered at his side as Whitestar headed back to the Lord's Burrow. "You
should take a new name, my lord. 'Bloodtalon' would suit you well."
"Such a name would only fire the young warriors, old one. I fight too many challenges as it
is. Tonight our Great War begins. I should be reviewing our plans, not holding a knife to my own
warrior's throat."
"So speaks the lord. I forgot for a moment the recent challenge of your eldest hatchling. It
was thoughtless of me. It pains one to take blood from one's own brood, or one's own clan."
Whitestar dismissed him with a click of his jaw. "You meant only to compliment me, old one.
I did what had to be done, and with luck, Blackspike will yet recover and take my place as lord of
the clan."
They walked past the stream, where young females soaked weaver-vines and beat them
between rocks to extract the useful fibers. A few young males crouched, watching them
cautiously from a distance.
"You don't know these young ones, elder. The fire burns strong in them. They have no
wisdom at the fight." He was not speaking of his son, but he could have been.
"Wisdom comes with age."