"McCay, Bill - Stargate Rebellion" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCay Bill)

Hathor's smile became twisted. The question might have been "Who sent
you?" Sebek probably suspected one of his rivals in the succession.
Thoth, he was sure, didn't have the resources-human or testicular-to set
an assassin on him, much less a trained female killer. But if Sebek's
lieutenant had checked with Thoth, as Hathor had fully expected, he'd
have gotten wholehearted confirmation of the "gift." Because Thoth
wasn't a free agent anymore. He was acting in support of-indeed, at the
orders of-the champion who was going to save and restore Ra's empire. So
Hathor took Sebek's unfinished question as "Who are you?" She thought it
was only fair to let him know. So Hathor stepped away for a moment,
removing a package from under the divan. Apparently, these warrior
types had yet to realize that Tuat's housekeeping staff were part of the
administrative staff-and owed fealty to Thoth. Hathor removed one of the
pectoral necklaces that converted into god heads. As she resumed her
position, one foot on Sebek's throat, she settled the necklace around
her neck and activated the smart metal mask. The faintly glowing
goldflecked material formed itself into the semblance of a cat's
head-the ancient sign of Hathor. Sebek's eyes bulged in shocked
recognition as he stared up at her. The mask was the last thing he saw.
Hathor bore down with her foot, crushing his trachea. As Sebek writhed
in his death throes, Hathor returned to the package she'd arranged to be
preset, removing a warrior's kilt and donning it. She waited until the
crocodile god was truly and irretrievably dead before she headed to the
chamber entrance. Hathor had never doubted her ability to murder Sebek.
That had been the easy part of this incursion. Now she faced the real
challenge-stepping back into the room where the men-at-arms were taking
their recreation, and uniting all there in fealty to her. Her breath
sounded very loud in her helmet as she pressed the tab to unmask. She
wanted the warriors to see her face-to recognize the face of the woman
Sebek had taken off for his pleasure returning as the warrior who had
killed him. There remained only one final touch. She reached into the
satchel and removed the knife. The blade was of a miracle alloy,
sharpened down to the thickness of a molecule. A razor would seem
hopelessly clumsy beside it. Hathor hefted the blade. If she didn't
succeed in overawing the crowd out there, she'd need the weapon to slash
at attackers, perhaps to use on herself if the beasts tried to use her
as Sebek had. But she had a more practical use for the knife right now.
She rested the heel of one hand under the corpse's jaw, forcing his head
back. Then she began slicing through the flesh and cartilage of the
throat. Ignoring the gore that billowed forth, she worked with the same
practical moves as a housewife preparing a chicken. The only problem
was the neck bones. Thrusting the tip of the knife between two of the
cervical vertebrae, she twisted until they popped apart. Then all she
had to do was saw away at the flap of skin that still held Sebek's head
to his body. Hathor wiped her knife on the corpse's kilt, then held up
the head at arm's length to assess her handiwork. The slash was a bit
ragged, and it was still dripping blood. Luckily, like most warriors
Sebek affected the long side-lock of youth. The hair provided a
convenient handle. Knife in one hand, Sebek's head in the other, Hathor
kicked open the door and strode down the short hallway to the main