"H. Warner Munn - The Ship from Atlantis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Munn H Warner)

which he had always worn. Gwalchmai weighed it thoughtfully and
slipped it on his finger.

He dimly remembered sitting on the old man's lap and pulling on the
long white beard which had entranced him. Merlin had laughed and called
him Hawk of Battle. He had been very small. Now Merlin was gone and
Gwalchmai possessed his tools.

Here were his books of spells limned on fine parchment, and volumes of
recipes for explosive powders and colored fires. Below them, in the bottom
of the chest, were the Thirteen Magic Treasures of the Island of Britain,
which he had brought away to preserve them from the Saxon pirates.
Gwalchmai had just unwrapped the Cauldron of Plenty from the Cloak of
Invisibility when an outcry from the shore startled him. Snatching up his
father's shortsword he ran out, into a scene of horror.

A little earlier, strange scaly heads had poked up out of the sea, near
the spot on the beach where the turtle had been butchered. The creatures
paddled out of the water and snuffed the blood. As they did so, spined
combs rose and fell on those heads like the crests of cockatoos, and under
their retreating chinless jaws wattled pouches flushed an angry purple
with blotches of red.

Enraged, they dug into the blood soaked sand and flung it about with
webbed clawed members which could only be called hands. They glared
about with their round lid-less eyes and air hissed in and out of
rudimentary gills.

Ventidius Varro had not thought to warn his son against these
fearsome beings. Known to the nations of the southeast and the Illini as
the Piasa, they called themselves Gronks. He had fought them and thought
them exterminated. Only these few had found a refuge on this far island,
to bear witness to what horrors Nature was capable of creating in a
moment of madness.

As they caught sight of the ship a few started toward it on their bandy
legs, their long sharp fangs clicking in anticipation. Most of the others fell
to all fours and advanced upon the sleeping camp. Avoiding the fire, which
was the only thing which these cold-blooded monsters held in dread, they
circled and surrounded the unfortunate men. Although their bodies
quivered with desire for the feast and their short stubby tails twitched as
though they would lash like the tail of an infuriated alligator, they waited
for the given signal.

While waiting they muttered together in low grunts and hissings, thus
proving that they were more than beast if less than men. Then the leader
roared, and as one, they hurled themselves into the camp.

The drowsy sentry fell instantly before that rush. It was a hopeless
encounter from the start. No man of Alata ever slept apart from his