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

Jofre had dared then to break the pause which followed:

"Master, you place in me great trust but there are those within these walls who would
speak against that."

"The Shagga, yes. It is the manner of most priests to cling to tradition, to be jealous
guardians of custom. He would not take departure from the old ways happily. But here I
am MasterтАФ"

Yes, here he had been MasterтАФuntil the issha and the door crystal had failed him. Jofre's
lips tightened against his teeth under the half-mask scarf of his headdress. Could the
Shagga have, in some way, brought this ruin here? There were tales upon tales of how
they had strange powers but he had never seen such manifest and besides, were such a
thing possible, all the Masters of Lairs would rise and even the Shagga would face death.

Jofre knelt now and touched his turbaned head three times to the floor, the proper answer
to one given a mission.

"Master, hearing, I obey."
He was not being sent forth officially, no. For no Lair would offer him shelter with the
Shagga against him, nor did he want to remain where he was not a true brother. Off-
worlder they called him. But as the Master had pointed out he had certain skills which
could well be useful on any planet where men envied other men, or feared for their lives,
or sought power. The spaceport would be his goal and from there he would await what
fortune his issha would offer.

Now he left the hall and its dead and went directly to the storehouse, in which there was a
bustle. A line of burden quir were waiting with pack racks already on their ridged backs.
Hurrying back and forth were the Brothers, already in their thick journey clothing,
loading on those ugly-tempered beasts all which must be transported now to their future
homes.

The Shagga priest stood by the door but as Jofre approached he turned with a whirl of his
robes to face him.

"Off with youтАФ But firstтАФ ThereтАФ" he pointed to the ground at his feet already
befouled by the droppings of the quir, "your weapons, nameless one."

Under his half-mask Jofre snarled. Yet, this too, was a part of the tradition. Since they
declared him not of any Lair, he could not bear the arms of one.

His long knife, his two throwing sleeve knives, his chain-ball throw, his hollow
blowtube. One by one he threw them at the priest's feet. At last he held but one knife.

"This," he said levelly, "I keepтАФby traveler's law."

The priest's mouth worked as if he would both spit and curse in one. But he did not deny
that.

Nor did Jofre draw back now. Though the priest and the Brothers with their supplies