"Ashley McConnel - Highlander Scimitar" - читать интересную книгу автора (McConnell Ashley)

depth of the whole thing. It appeared to be more formal than a mere
box: rather, it appeared to be a case specifically designed for
something, something long and flat and narrow. Like one of the weapons
on the wall.

"What is it?"

MacLeod's hand hovered at the corner, as if reluctant to lift the lid.
He had, Joe realized suddenly, the same introspective look on his face
that it had worn earlier, when he was moving through the meditative
forms of the exercise. He sat back to watch, fascinated, wondering what
MacLeod was thinking, what he was remembering. It was obvious that he
recognized the container.

Joe wanted, very badly, to ask again what the thing was, what it
contained, what memories it triggered. He suspected that he knew, but
suspicion wasn't enough; he was supposed to know. It was his business,
after all. He was a Watcher; Duncan MacLeod was his assigned subject.

But there was more to their relationship than that. Duncan MacLeod was
his friend, as well. So he kept silent, refusing to intrude, knowing
that his curiosity would be satisfied eventually.

MacLeod's fingers drifted over the glossy wood, as if caressing it, and
then, as if he had reached a sudden decision, he set the wooden case
back on the desk and flipped back the lid to display the contents.

"My God!" The Watcher was unable to restrain his surprise. He rose to
his feet, leaning over to get a closer look.

The box held a scimitar, a long curved blade set in a worn black leather
scabbard. At first glance it didn't appear particularly prepossessing;
it was inlaid with no rubies or emeralds, no enamel on the guard. The
sword had a hilt of plain rough silver, bent back at a right angle, with
a ring set where the pommel should be. The scabbard, too, was decorated
for part of its length with silver, worked in a fine embroidered wire.

Then MacLeod took the hilt in his hand and slid it free of the cracked
and dusty leather, lifted the sword up to the light.

The damascened blue-gray metal shone like triumph, catching the light in
ripples, as if the steel was viewed through water, or oil. Along the
back, near the hilt, the blade had been chiseled out in arabesques and
inlaid with gold; along its length, more gold inlay set off an
inscription in flowing Arabic characters.

Joe drew a reverent breath. "That's beautiful."

"Yes," MacLeod agreed absently. He rose. stepped away from the desk,
and slashed at the air, his wrist twisting. He put his back into it;