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

chamber. The revels again halted as the warriors realized what she was
carrying. Hathor hurled her bloody burden into their midst. "I and I
alone killed this one," she chanted in a loud voice, invoking the
ceremony of assassination and offering a tacit challenge to all in the
room. "There can be but one Sebek, and I have proven my worth by the
severest of means." Still keeping her knife at the cuard position, she
moved her free hand up to the tumbler switch on her pectoral necklace.
"But I will not take Sebek's place," she went on, diverging from the
ancient ceremonial. "For my own worth and position are greater than
Sebek's. I am legend. I am Hathor." She triggered the transformation of
the biomorphic metal, the cat's head forming over her features. The
gleaming mask panned back and forth over the assemblage of fighting men,
its eyes glowing green as Hathor intently studied them for any trace of
hostile action. Sebek's followers sat in stunned silence. Their leader
had stepped away to enjoy a ripe handmaid. But the maid had returned as
a warrior woman bearing Sebek's head. She laid claim to a name
legendary even in their ferocious community. But the grisly proof of
that claim had been thrown almost contemptuously to bounce among them.
Hathor could almost follow their thoughts from the looks on the
warriors' faces. Sebek had been a deadly master of arms and tactics.
That was why this assemblage of fighting men had chosen to follow him.
But Sebek's strength and craft had obviously been overcome by this
interloper. A grizzled warrior came to the obvious conclusion. He
slowly sank to his knees and made obeisance to Hathor. Others followed,
until at last the whole room had abased itself in fealty. Beneath her
cat mask Hathor's lips stretched in a fierce grin as she tossed away her
knife. A legend can be a useful thing, she thought. A sharper weapon
than the best-forged blade. Hathor emerged from her ablutions clad only
in a towel draped over her shoulders. As a member of a society based on
beauty and used to scant clothing, she had no problem. But she noticed
that Thoth turned away from her displayed body. After what had happened
to Sebek, almost all of her new followers had become very careful with
their eyes. She felt very good, her muscles reacting at their accustomed
capabilities. And certainly she had worked up a sweat this morning.
Hathor was, of course, not taking over Sebek's position in the godhead.
But she had decreed that her followers would not be allowed the
traditional round of assassinations to determine who the new Sebek would
be. Her faction couldn't afford the waste of good warriors. Instead,
Hathor had invited all those interested in becoming the crocodile god to
meet her in single combat. Her practical response to the problem had
had several useful results. Considerably fewer candidates had come
forward to battle for the Sebek position. And her success in handling
them-in a non-lethal way-had greatly increased her standing among her
own warriors. Besides, when the stories of the single combats got
out-men being the gossips they are-her skill at the martial arts would
spread among the other factions as well. Having consolidated her
factional position and arranged a fresh influx of propaganda for her
legend, Hathor prepared to reach out to another group that could help
her establish supremacy over Ra's empire. Thoth had brought her the
administrative mass of Ra's empire. While the present military men