"Roads by Seabury Quinn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Quinn Seabury)

With the precision taught by years of training in the circus
and on battlefield he poised the lance and drove the long
bronze spearhead between the Prophet's ribs, sinking it deep
into the heart. As he withdrew the point a stream of water
mixed with blood gushed forth, and Claudius returned the
soldier's spear. "'Tis long since I have done that favor to a
helpless man," he muttered as his memory flew back to his
days in the arena when the blood-mad mob withheld the
mercy sign and he had to thrust his sword or lance through
his defeated adversary - often the man with whom he'd
drunk and diced the night before. "By Friega's eyes," he
added as he looked at the frail body stretched upon the cross,
"he's beautiful! I've heard he called himself the Son of God,
nor is it hard to credit. 'Tis no man, but a god who hangs on
yonder gallows - Baldur the Beautiful, slain by foul
treacheries!"
A ringing sounded in his ears like the humming of
innumerable bees, and through it he heard words, words in a
voice he had not heard in more than thirty years, but he
recognized it instantly. "Claus, thou tookest pity on a little
child attacked by murderers in days agone; this day thy pity
bade thee save a dying man from brutish violence. According
to thy lights thou dealtest mercifully when thou thrust the
spear into my side. Knowest thou not me, Claus?"
"Lord Jarlkin!" Claus turned and gazed in wonder at the
slight, wilted body pendent on the cross. "The little child
whom I assisted on his way to Egypt land! What wouldst

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thou with thy liegeman, Lord? Did not my mercy-stroke drive
true - is my work yet unfinished?" He put his hand out for
the soldier's spear again, but:
"Thy work is not yet started, Claus. I will call and thou
shalt know my voice when I have need of thee."
The soldiers of the guard and crowd of hang-jawed
watchers at the execution ground were thunderstruck to see
the Procurator's chief centurion draw himself up and salute
the body on the gallows as though it were a tribune, or the
Governor himself.

Dark clouds obscured the sun and menacing thunder
mingled with the stabbing spears of lightning as Claus
hastened through the Street of David on his way back to the
Governor's palace. Once or twice there came a rumbling in
the bowels of the earth and the solid ground reeled drunkenly.
A rout of citizens fled past him, running aimlessly as ants