"Andre Norton - Moonsinger 04 - Dare to Go A-Hunting" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

breeze, tepidly warm to be sure, but at least better than the slow baking heat it
disturbed. He who had summoned that now came threading a path between small
tables and large--all piled with learning tapes and scan plates in boxes. Farree
gave a, he hoped, concealed sigh of relief. Those folds draped across his
shoulders, extending down his back so that their edges swept the floor, rose in
turn. He did not flourish the wings in full display--he needed more room for that
--but at least he could give them a stretch.

The tall old alien watched Farree almost eagerly. He had swept a whole cascade
of scan plate boxes to the floor and seated himself with a little grunt and some
rubbing of one scaled and plated knee.

Then he leaned forward, setting the palms of his hands on both knees. Farree did
not know how long Zacanthans continued to inherit this plane of existence
(which was how they referred to life and death) but he was sure that Grand Hist-


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Technneer Zoror was indeed a long-time master of that skill which, as with all
his species, centered upon the collection of information about oddities in a well-
spread galaxy-- especially the history of such new races as were introduced
from time to time into the records of exploration. They were indeed long-lived,
these lizardlike people, but even the oldest of them often asserted that he was
only beginning his labors.

"Soooo--" Once more Zoror made a hissing of the word. "You wish now that
this old man of scales would come directly to the point and tell you what you are
and from whence you have come." The Zacanthan nodded so that the pleated
frill of skin which lay about the back of his head and shoulders unfolded into a
fan like some large ornamental collar.

"It is not easy, you know," Zoror continued. "We cannot walk to the records and
say 'Tell me who is this winged one? From what earth and people did he spring?'
These," he again flung out an arm to gesture at the unwieldy piles of tapes and
spools fencing them both in, "these are records of voyages, many, many
voyages, also contributed by men who tell strange tales, sometimes merely out
of their own imagination, but other times bearing a truth which--if the Ever
Mighty is helpful--can be traced about this far!" He held up a hand to display a
thumb and forefinger with a space between them maybe as big as one of
Togger's second claws.

"There--there was nothing then?" Farree had curbed his patience all morning,
ever since all he could remember had been fed into the read-all of the big
computer. His scant store of information had been recorded to match mixtures of
still dubious details.