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

She has risen soundlessly. He turned to face her, sheath-ing his gun and stared at first with
curiosity and then in the entirely frank openness with which men regard that which is not wholly
human. For she was not. He knew it at a glance, though the brown, sweet body was shaped like a
woman's and she wore the garment of scarlet-he saw it was leather-with an ease that few unhuman
beings achieve toward clothing. He knew it from the moment he looked into her eyes, and a shiver
of unrest went over him as he met them. They were frankly green as young grass, with ,slit-like,
feline pupils that pulsed unceasingly, and there was a look of dark, animal wisdom in their depths-
that look of the beast which sees more than man.

There was no hair upon her face-neither brows nor lashes, and he would have sworn, that the tight
scarlet tur-ban bound around her head covered baldness. She had three fingers and a thumb and her
feet had four digits apiece too, and all sixteen of them were tipped with round claws that
sheathed back into the flesh like a cat's. She ran her tongue over her lips-a thin, pink, flat
tongue as feline as her eyes -and spoke with difficulty. He felt that that throat and tongue had
never been shaped for human speech.

"Not-afraid now," she said softly, and her little teeth were white and pointed as a kitten's.

"What did they want you for?" he asked her curiously. "What had you done? Shambleau is that your
name?"
"I-not talk, your-speech," she demurred hesitantly.
"Well, try to-- I want to know. Why were they chasing you? Will you be safe on the street now, or
hadn't you better get indoors somewhere? They looked dangerous."

"I-go with you." She brought it out with difficulty.



Say you!" Smith grinned. "What are you, anyhow? You look like a kitten to me."


"Shambleau." She said it somberly.
"Where d'you live? Are you a Martian?"
"I come from-from far-from long ago-far country-" "Wait!" laughed Smith. "You're getting your
wires cross-ed. You're not a Martian?"
She drew herself up very straight beside him, lifting the turbaned head, and there was something
queenly in the poise of her.

"Martian?" she said scornfully. "My people-are-are -you have no word. Your speech-hard for me."


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"What's yours? I might know it-try me."
She lifted her head and met his eyes squarely, and there was in hers a subtle amusement-he could
have sworn it.
"Som e day I-speak to you in-my own language," she promised, and the pink tongue flicked out over