"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Viperhand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

of his sword, Helmstooth. "It conies from a mixture of metals, combined under
great heat. Mostly iron."
He enjoyed talking to the warrior, and during their journey had come to
realize that he and Poshtli had much in common. At times, he almost forgot
that this man was the product of a savage, bloodthirsty society.
"Iron? Steel?" Poshtli repeated the foreign words, lisping them off his
tongue. He had seen Hal's weapons in action, had held and examined them
before, but now he took advantage of Hal's growing command of the language to
ask about them. "These must be metals of great power."
"Perhaps. They are strong materials, and hold a keen edge. You've seen them
splinter wooden weapons and stone blades."
"These are metals that do not dwell in the True World," explained the warrior,
a trifle wistfully.
"I think they do," Hal countered. "But you lack the toolsтАФ the 'powers'тАФto
pull them from the earth."
"Metals. Silver and gold, these are the metals known to us. They are
beautiful, even desirable. They have many usesтАФ for art, for ornamentation.
Lords wear Up plugs and earplugs of these metals, and the dust of gold is used
for barter. It is easier to transport than a similar value of cocoa beans. Yet
these metals do not cause a hunger in us such as they seem to among your own
people. Tell me, Halloran, do you devour such metals?"
Hal laughed grimly. "No. We covet them, some of us, for they have come to
represent wealth. And wealth represents power in our lands."
DOUGLAS NILES
"We are of different worlds, different peoples," said Poshtli, with a slow
shake of his head. He looked up, staring frankly at Hal. "Yet I am glad that
our paths have crossed."
Hal nodded in agreement, surprised at the warmth of friendship he felt for
this warrior. "Without you, Erix and I would surely have perished by now," he
said sincerely. "I can only thank whatever gods watch over us that we have,
the three of us, been brought together."
They both looked at ErixitI, who rolled restlessly in her sleep. Tossing her
head, as if in sudden dismay, she threw a hand upward. Her long brown fingers
rested across her forehead, and Halloran was struck, as he had been struck so
many times before, by her serene beauty. The ravages of their march, soothed
now by rest and water, seemed to melt away from her.
Soon the men, too, settled back quietly. Poshtli quickly slumbered, but Hal
couldnt keep his eyes closed.
His mind was tormented by the confusing pictures of this land. He looked at
Erix and Poshtli, recognizing their nobility of character, the depths of their
friendship and loyahy. Each could certainly have fared better alone, rather
than to remain with him, a giant, white-skinned stranger from another world.
They showed him the strength, the fineness of Maztica.
Vet he also remembered the brutality of a cleric in Payit, a worshiper of
Zaltec who had torn the heart from a helpless woman held prostrate across his
vile altar while Halloran was restrained, helpless, scant feet away. He saw
images of that grim, warlike god, and thought with a shudder of this culture
that tolerated such a bestial religion. He wondered in amazement about such
people, that they could accept as a god's due the gruesome sacrifice of so
many of their own.