"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Renshai 02 - The Western Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

Horror flashed through Colbey's mind as her sword neared the ground. By Renshai tradition, a sword
was the most important and deeply personal part of a warrior; to let an honored opponent's sword touch
the ground was considered the basest insult. Instantly, he whisked his right sword into its sheath. He dove
for the falling weapon, catching the hilt a finger's breadth before it hit the grass.



Colbey's gaze lost his opponent for only the barest fraction of time. Yet, when he looked up, a sword
clenched triumphantly in each hand, three cold steel blades in the hands of three identical women
slammed down toward him.



"Modi." Colbey called to Sif's son, the god of battle wrath. From infancy, he had been taught to shout
the name whenever he or his people needed an extra burst of blood lust. Decades of training responded
to Colbey's need. Rage surged through him, bringing strength like a second wind. He rolled, parrying
despite the awkwardness of his position. He felt the blades scratch down the two in his fists, felt the
swishing pass of the third as it missed his skull by a finger's breadth. He spun to his feet, slashing a furious
barrier of metal between him and his three opponents.



"General Colbey!" The cry seemed distant and unimportant, yet it jarred Colbey's concentration. The
triple images of the woman blurred.
No! Colbey forced his attention back, needing this fight which was the greatest challenge of his life.



"General Colbey!" The Pudarian voice grew louder, followed by Santagithi's sour reprimand.



"Be still, soldier. It's not polite to interrupt a man's prayer. Nor wise, if his gods hold him in half the
regard that I do."



"Prayer." The Pudarian snorted. "He's just practicing."



The women faded to oblivion, leaving only a pale outline of light. The sword that had been hers
disappeared from Colbey's hand. Three women. Three sparring partners. Three other Renshai. Colbey
pounced on the significance of the number, narrowing his concentration, trying to recreate the phantom
that must have come from his imagination. Still, he could not let go of the possibility that his sparring
partner had been a divine manifestation of Sif.