"Andre Norton - Darkness and Dawn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

breechclout kilt held in place by a wide belt from which hung the tassel-ornamented
scabbard of a knife. The knife itself, close to eighteen inches of blue steel, flashed in his
hand as he energetically cleaned a fresh-caught fish.
Stuck upright in the ground close to his shoulder were three short-shafted spears, a
blanket of coarse reddish wool draped over the point of one. Smoke rose from the fire
laid on a flat stone, but there was no indication as to whether the stranger had merely
halted for a meal or had been camping on the islet.
As he worked the fisherman sangтАФa low, monotonous chant, which, as he listened to
it, affected Fors queerly, sending an odd shiver up his backbone. This was no Plainsman
either. And Fors was just as sure that he was not spying on one of the Beast Things. The
few mountaineer men who had survived a meeting with them had painted a far different
pictureтАФthey were never to be associated with peaceful fishing and an intelligent,
pleasant face.
This dark-skinned newcomer was of a different breed. Fors rested his chin on his
folded arms and tried to deduce from the evidence this stranger's backgroundтАФas was the
duty of an explorer.
The lack of clothing, nowтАФthat meant that he was accustomed to a warmer climate.
Such an outfit could only be worn here before fall closed in. He had those spears andтАФ
yesтАФthat was a bow lying with its quiver beyond. But it was much shorter than the one
Fors carried and did not appear to be made of wood but from some dark substance which
reflected light from the sun.
He must come from a land where his race was all-powerful and had nothing to fear
for he camped in the open and sang while he cooked as if he did not care if he attracted
attention. And yet he did this on an island, more easily defended from attack than the
shore itself.
Just then the fisherman impaled the cleaned fish on a sharpened twig and set it to
broil while he got to his feet and hurled a baited line back into the water. Fors blinked.
The man on the island must tower a good four or five inches over the tallest of the Eyrie
men and his thatch of upstanding hair could not account for more than two inches of that
difference. As he stood there, still humming, his hands skillfully adjusted the fishing line,
he presented a picture of strength and power which would daunt even a Beast Thing.
The odor of the fish carried. Lura made a faint slurruping sound as it reached them.
Fors hesitated. Should he hail the dark-skinned hunter, make the peace sign, and try to
establish friendly relations orтАФ
That question was decided for him. A shout tore the serene silence of the lake. The
dark hunter movedтАФso fast that Fors was left gasping. Spears, blanket, bowтАФand the
broiled fishтАФvanished with their owner. A bush quivered and then was still. The fire
burnedтАФon a deserted pebbled beach.
A second shout bore down wind, reinforced by a trampling crash, and down to the
edge of the lake trotted a band of horses, mares mostly, each with a small foal running at
her side. Urging them on were two riders, bent nearly flat on the backs of their mounts to
escape the low sweeping branches of the trees. They herded the mares to water and
waited for them to drink.
Fors almost forgot the dark hunter. Horses! He had seen pictures of them. But living
horses! The age-old longing of his raceтАФto possess one of those for his ownтАФmade a
strange ache in his thigh muscles, as if he were already mounted upon one of the sleek
backs.
One of the horse guards dismounted and was rubbing down the legs of his animal
with handfuls of grass pulled up from the bank. He was undoubtedly a Plainsman. His
sleeveless jerkin laced across the chest was almost twin to the one Fors wore. But his