"Andre Norton - Brother To Shadows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

was only a light sleep but enough to restore most of the energy he had spent this day.

It took Jofre a ten of days to reach his goal. He used every trick of a scout in enemy
territory to feed himself. Clothing had been changed at a farmhouse where the family
appeared to have withdrawn for a day to the nearest village and he was able to select for
his needs. So he left there cloaked and tunicked over his field suit, taking his other
clothing with him in a bundle which resembled the jumble of belongings any tramping
the roads might carry. It was difficult to shed the turban and half mask of his calling. He
felt strangely unprotected with his whole face bared. And catching sight of himself in a
wayside pool it seemed he looked upon a stranger.

He had the height of his off-world race, whatever that might be, which had always set
him aside from those of the native born. But his hair was as dark as theirs. Only his eyes,
the color of a well-burnished blade, were again different from the uniformity of brown
known to men of Asborgan. In this rough clothing he might well pass for an off-
worlderтАФexcept that his knowledge of the star lanes was extremely sketchy and he could
well make a betraying error every time he opened his mouth. Regretfully, on the last day
before he reached the port, he broke into bits the remains of the pole. That was too
patently a Lair weapon and no lowlander would have ever picked it up. He must venture
now onto the open road but before he did so he found a thicket and burrowed his way in.
Once more he sought the Inner Life and drew upon it. His hands shaped the gesturesтАФ
rising thought, keen eye, listening ear, ready hand, fleet foot. He drew deeper and deeper
breaths as if he were pulling visible strength into his lungs now with each gasp of the
chill air.

His eyes no longer saw the world about him as it was but rather as symbols etched in the
air, each having its meaning and worth. That which grew was rooted, as strength must be
rooted within him, the wind which blew, the declining sun, draw in their spirit, their
forceтАФ

Now Jofre bared his dagger. This would be no oathing ceremony, for oathing had been
closed to himтАФexcept the oathing to himself, his inner need. He had shed his glove and
with the point of the weapon he touched the tip of each finger in turn with strength
enough to raise a bead of blood.

A stiff shake of his wrist sent those flying. Then he put his hand to his mouth and licked
each tiny wound, willing them closed. He had shed ritual blood and was now prepared for
what would lie ahead, even though he had no mission except the search for such.
Ras Zarn excused himself with polished manners to the off-worlder. He knew exactly
who this stranger was, that a linkage ran back and tangled through this man to others
spaceflights away. Though he knew also that this Rober Granger had no idea that he
knew.

"Your pardon, Gentlehomo." Zarn bowed again. "At this strike of the hour I have a
meeting I cannot set aside, much as I would wish it, for indeed what you have to say is of
the utmost interest. However, that which summons me will not be of long duration and I
ask of your kindness that you wait for meтАФif you find that possible. I truly believe,
Gentlehomo, that we can well strike a bargain."

He sensed the other's irritated anger at such an interruption. However, he was also aware