"C. L. Moore - Shambleau" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore C. L)

nameless denizens of unnamed planets-a typical Lakkdarol mob. When the first of them turned the
corner and saw the empty street before them there was a faltering in the rush and the foremost
spread out and began to search the doorways on both sides of the street.
"Looking for something?" Smith's sardonic call sounded clear above the clamor of the mob.




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They turned. The shouting died for a moment as they took in the scene before them-tall Earthman
in the space-ex-plorer's leathern garb, all one color from the burning of savage suns save for the
sinister pallor of his no-colored eyes in a scarred and resolute face, gun in his steady hand and
the scarlet girl crouched behind him, panting.
The foremost of the crowd-a burls y Earthman in tattered leather from which the Patrol insignia
had been ripped away-stared for a moment with a strange expression of incredulity on his face
overspreading the savage exultation of the chase. Then he let loose a deep-throated bellow,
"Shambleau!" and lunged forward. Behind him the mob took up the cry again, "Shambleau!
Shambleau! Sham-bleau!" and surged after.
Smith, lounging negligently against the wall, arms folded and gun-hand draped over his left
forearm, looked incapable of swift motion, but at the leader's first forward step the pistol swept
in a practiced half-circle and the dazzle of blue white heat leaping from its muzzle seared an arc
in the slag pavement at his feet. It was an old gesture, and not a man in the crowd but
understood it. The foremost recoiled swift-ly against the surge of those in the rear, and for a
moment there was confusion as the two tides met and struggled. Smith's mouth curled into a grim
curve as he watched. The man in the mutilated Patrol uniform lifted a threatening fist and
stepped to the very edge of the deadline, while the crowd rocked to and fro behind him.

"Are you crossing that line?" queried Smith in an omin-ously gentle voice.

"We want that girl!"

"Come and get her!" Recklessly Smith grinned into his face. He saw danger there, but his defiance
was not the fool-hardy gesture it seemed. An expert psychologist of mobs from long experience, he
sensed no murder here. Not a gun had appeared in any hand in the crowd. They desired the girl
with an inexplicable bloodthirstiness he was at a loss to understand, but toward himself he sensed
no such fury. A mauling -he might expect, but his life was in no danger. Guns would have
appeared before now if they were coming out at all. So he grinned in the man's angry face and
leaned lazily against the wall.
Behind their self-appointed leader the crowd milled im-patiently, and threatening voices began to
rise again. Smith heard the girl moan at his feet.
"What do you want with her?" he demanded.

"She's Shambleau! Shambleau, you fool! Kick her out of there-we'll take care of her!"

"I'm taking care of her," drawled Smith.
"She's Shambleau, I tell you! Damn your hide, man, we never let those things live! Kick her out
here !"
The repeated name had no meaning to him, but Smith's innate stubbornness rose defiantly as the