"John Norman - Gor 01- Tarnsman of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

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who had disappeared when I was an infant.

I was dizzy, unsettled. It seemed my vision reeled; I couldn't move. Things grew black for a
moment, but I shook myself and clenched my teeth, breathed in the sharp, cold mountain air, once,
twice, three times, slowly, gathering the piercing contact of reality into my lungs, reassuring
myself that I was alive, not dreaming, that I held in my hands a letter with an incredible date,
delivered more than three hundred years later in the mountains of New Hampshire, written by a man
who presumably, if still alive, was, as we reckon time, no more than fifty years of age-my father.

Even now I can remember the letter to the last word. I think I will carry its simple, abrupt
message burned into the cells of my brain until, as it is elsewhere said, I have returned to the
Cities of Dust.

The third day of February, in .the Year of Our Lord 1640.

Tarl Cabot, Son:


Forgive me, but I have little choice in these matters. It has been decided. Do whatever you think
is in your own best interest, but the fate is upon you, and you will not escape. I wish health to
you and to your mother. Carry on your person the ring of ._ red metal, and bring me, if you would,
a handful of

our green earth.
Discard this letter. It will be destroyed.
With affection,
Matthew Cabot

I read and reread the letter and had become unnaturally calm. It seemed clear to me that I was not
insane, or if I was, that insanity was a state of mental clarity .and comprehension quite apart
from the torment that I had conceived it -to be. I placed the letter in my knapsack.

What I must do was fairly obvious-make my way out of the mountains as soon as it was fight. No,
that might be too late. It would be mad, scrambling about in the darkness, but there seemed to be
nothing else that would serve. I did not know how much time I had, but even if it was only a few
hours, I might be able to reach some highway or stream or perhaps a cabin.

I checked my compass to get the bearing back to the highway. I looked uneasily about in the
darkness. An owl hooted once, perhaps a hundred yards to the right. Something out there might be
watching me. It was an unpleasant feeling. I pulled on my boots and coat, rolled my
sleeping bag, and fixed the pack. I kicked the fire to pieces, stamping out the embers, scuffing
dirt over the sparks.

Just as the fire was sputtering out, I noticed a glint in the ashes. Bending down, I retrieved the
ring. It was warm from the ashes, hard, substantial-a piece of reality. It was there. I dropped it
into the pocket of my coat and started off on my compass-bearing, trying to make my way back to
the highway.