"Michael Moorcock - The Runestaff 3 - The Sword of The Dawn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

"Who are you?" Hawkmoon cried, and it came to
him then that the Dark Empire had broken through at

last, that there were men hidden everywhere in the
reeds ready to attack Castle Brass.

He thundered through the reeds in pursuit of the
red-jerkined man, saw him clearly now as he flung him-
self into the lagoon and began to swim for the bank.

"Stop!" Hawkmoon called, but the man swam on.

Hawkmoon's horse plunged again into the water and
it foamed white. The man was already wading onto the
opposite bank, glanced back to see that Hawkmoon
was almost upon him, turned right round and drew a
bright, slender sword of extraordinary length.

But it was not the sword that astonished Hawkmoon
mostЧit was the impression that the man had no face!
The whole of the head beneath the long, fair, dirty hair
was blank. Hawkmoon gasped, drawing his own sword.
Was it some alien inhabitant of this world?

Hawkmoon swung himself from his saddle, sword
ready, as the horse clambered onto the bank, stood
legs astraddle facing his strange antagonist, laughed
suddenly as he realized the truth. The man was wearing
a mask of light leather. The mouth and eye slits were
very thin and could not be distinguished at a distance.

"Why do you laugh?" the masked man asked in a
braying voice, his sword on guard. "You should not
laugh, my friend, for you are about to die."

"Who are you?" Hawkmoon asked. "I know you for
a boaster only."

"I am a greater swordsman than you," replied the
man. "You had best surrender now."

"I regret I can't accept your word on the quality of
my swordsmanship or your own," Hawkmoon replied
with a smile. "How is it that such a master of the blade
is so poorly attired, for instance?"

With his sword he indicated the man's patched red
jerkin, his trousers and boots of cracked leather. Even
his bright sword had no scabbard, but had been drawn
from a loop of cord attached to a rope belt on which