"John Norman - Gor 04 - Nomads of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

so to Priest-Kings as well."
"But man must be free," I had said.
"Freedom without reason is suicide," had said the Priest
King, adding, "Man is not yet rational."
But I would not destroy the egg, not only because it
contained life, but because it was important to my friend,
whose name was Misk and is elsewhere spoken of; much of
the life of that brave creature was devoted to the dream of
a new life for Priest-Kings, a new stock, a new beginning; a
readiness to relinquish his place in an old world to prepare a
mansion for the new; to have and love a child, so to speak,
for Misk, who is a Priest-King, neither male nor female, yet
can love.
I recalled a windy night in the shadow of the Sardar when
we had spoken of strange things, and I had left him and
come down the hill, and had asked the leader of those with
whom I had traveled the way to the Land of the Wagon
Peoples.
I had found it.
The dust rolled nearer, the ground seemed more to move
than ever.
I pressed on.
Perhaps if I were successful I might save my race, by
preserving the Priest-Kings that might shelter them from the
annihilation that might otherwise be achieved if uncontrolled
technological development were too soon permitted them;
perhaps in time man would grow rational, and reason and


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love and tolerance would wax in him and he and Priest-Kings
might together turn their senses to the stars.
But I knew that more than anything I was doing this for
Misk, who was my friend.
The consequences of my act, if I were successful, were too
complex and fearful to calculate, the factors involved being
so numerous and obscure.
If it turned out badly, what I did, I would have no defense
other than that I did what I did for my friend for him
and for his brave kind, once hated enemies, whom I had
learned to know and respect.
There is no loss of honor in failing to achieve such a task,
I told myself. It is worthy of a warrior of the caste of
Warriors, a swordsman of the high city of Ko-ro-ba, the
Towers of the Morning.
Tal, I might say, in greeting, I am Tart Cabot of Ko-ro-
ba; I bring no credentials, no proofs; I come from the
Priest-Kings; I would like to have the object which was