"Eric Van Lustbader - Sunset Warrior 5 - Dragons on the Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lustbader Eric van)

grip the highest parapet of the temple. Its iridescent wings folded in upon themselves, its long scaled neck
bent, the large-boned, trapezoidal head almost touching the stone flooring, the amber intelligent eyes
impaling the minister and the Rosh'hi in their unwavering gaze.

The two men stood transfixed as the Dai-San dismounted over the arch of the Kaer'n's neck. He was
impossibly tall, wrapped in a cape of an unidentifiable material the color of night. His high curious helm
was studded with gems that gave off a lambent illumination not unlike starlight. His faceted armor was
unlike anything Ojime had ever dreamed of. A veritable galaxy of mythical beasts was embossed into the
metal with such consummate skill that they appeared to be alive. What unknown artisans had fashioned
this fantastic second skin he had no idea, but he longed to touch it, to don it, to investigate for himself its
efficacy, the heady sense of invulnerability it must surely engender. Oh, what he could do with such
armor!

The Dai-San's face was human-like, but in a multitude of ways it was vastly different. For one thing, his
hooded eyes were faceted. It was almost as if one were being scanned by a company of people all with
different personalities, differing points of view. His prominent nose seemed sculpted out of granite, his
cheeks to have been scraped from the depths of the howling deserts. His mouth was like a dagger of ice,
slashed horizontally across the lower half of his face. He was, in short, like no other creature either man
had ever met.

'Dai-San,' Oaylinn said softly, with a small, ceremonial bow. 'It was good of you to come.'

The Dai-San's terrifying mouth split into what might, in others, have been a smile. 'It is good to see you
again, my friend.'

Qaylinn lifted a hand briefly in Ojime's direction. 'May I introduce High Minister Ojime. He represents
the lay portion of Bujun society.'

When the Dai-San fixed Ojime in the glare of those inhuman orbs, the minister blanched. He was adept
at reading people; this was, after all, a talent that had served him well in his climb up the political ladder.
But this was another story. He tried to fix his sights into the depths of those eerie eyes, because he knew
that the soul of each man and woman was written in those individual depths. What he saw now appalled
him. Rather than the blank wall he had imagined, he encountered a hall of mirrors which threw back on
him the excesses and sins of his own soul, so that he felt a line of sweat creep down his spine and his
stomach turned to ice. He bowed deeply, if only to free himself of the terrible images that had danced
before his gaze. He felt sick to his stomach, but he hid his distaste deep down as Qaylinn ushered the
Dai-San into the sanctuary of the temple. Through the Hall of Secrets they went with its peculiar curved
walls and massive thousand-year cedar columns, down the Corridor of Remembrance where the scrolls
of the founding Rosh'hi hung in hand-carved niches, until at length they came to the Chamber of Prayer.

The last dying rays of the sun touched the thick stone sill of the high narrow west windows so that slices
of crimson stained the tea-green walls, illuminating in electric fashion the raised platform from which hung
a vertical scroll in stark black and white. The running calligraphy upon it had been written by Qaylinn's
greatgrandfather, who had founded this temple long ago.

'Please excuse us for not offering you hot tea, Dai-San,' Qaylinn said, bowing again, 'but our purpose is
urgent and time is very short.' He went to the platform and, kneeling at the spot directly beneath the
scroll, pressed two of the short wooden boards. Ojime, almost morbidly fascinated by the Dai-San,
switched his gaze momentarily to the Rosh'hi. Lifting aside the boards, Qaylinn reached into the space
beneath and, a moment later, lifted out an object swathed in layers of sueded leather. He rose, holding it