"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 02 - Saber and Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

"Nia, nia," Shkai'ra said chidingly as the mate swung her wooden club back for
a blow. Ten-Knife hissed defiance with arched back and bottled tail. "That's
my cat."

The long curve of her saber flicked free; the captain turned at the sound, and
she smashed the smaller Fehinnan sword loose from his grip with a harsh rasp
of metal on metal. Snarling, the mate feinted Shkai'ra with her oak belaying
pin, then leaped back from the bright sword edge as it hissed back and forth
with negligent speed.

Its not a fight unless you push it," Shkai'ra said helpfully.

The captain left his first mate to deal with the tall red head for a moment,
staring at the small woman at bay at the rail. "You pay passage, mofoar?

"Passage, or you try and sell me?" The woman's voice was steady, her Fehinnan
clear.

"'f you got no coin, you a slave-or you can go over 't side agin."

She looked around at the ring of sailors and nodded. Then she grinned, threw
the boathook at one of the crew and somersaulted backward over the side of the
ship and into the water, taking the knife with her.

Baiwun, she'd rather drown than be a slave. Not an ekafrek, that one, Shkai'ra
thought, edging back as a few of the sailors turned her way. The oak railing
touched the small of her back.

Ten-Knife tripped another sailor by running under his feet and skittered down
into the hold.

"Rayab! Check t' water, get 't slave back," the captain snapped. "Lissayaz!
Don't go after t' animal, see t' Tahm an' t'others!" He wrenched his small
sword free from the wood of the deck. Then he turned back to Shkai'ra, weapon
held point up. It was a Fehinnan infantry shortsword, a leaf-shaped blade with
a central blood-gutter and a circular guard at the hilt.
Shkai'ra let her sword's tip make small circles in the air and set herself
against the rail; her left hand drew the long double-edged knife she wore
across the small of her back.

"You! Your animal cost'us that slave! You fishfukkin' for'n-"

He paused; the foreigner was taller than any of the Fehinnans onboard, and he
had seen enough fighters to know the coiled look of a warrior.

Any sailor could fight, and there were weapons and corselets in the arms
locker, but . . . that meter length of saber looked sharp enough to part a
hair.

"I'll pay gild for the blow I struck you," she said reasonably; her Fehinnan