"E. E. Doc Smith - Subspace 2 - Subspace Encounter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

and angleworms. Thrusting his head in close, he went for the champion's throat with his
teeth. Foiled there by a hard and bristly chin, he went for his ear, but only got his
mask-the first time that the Masked Marvel had been unmasked in combat. Then,
wriggling and wrenching himself partially free, he shoved with all the strength of arms,
torso, and legs; and as the two gladiators reeled apart the spectators saw the stream of
blood running down the Slaaran's thigh-and the whole vast crowd exploded into
pandemonium.

Then, for the first time, Rodnar mounted his velocipede. No athlete, however hard and
however well-trained, could maintain that pace of violence for long. He was fairly sure
that it was taking more out of the champion-an older, heavier, slower man-than it was out
of him; but there would be no cessation of combat until one of them was dead and he
would have to save some of his strength. But not too much-he could not afford to let the
Garshan get very much rest-he would have to wear him down to where he would make a
mistake.

Wherefore very shortly he resumed his harrying, sniping, lightning-fast attacks; circling,
reversing, feinting, thrusting, leaping . . . giving nicks and taking them . . . but as time
wore on giving more and more than he took . . . until both men were literally plastered
with slowly-congealing, sweat streaked blood, and foot-wide areas of the ring's floor
were slippery with gore despite the resin . . . and the sadistic uproar of the crowd
mounted higher and higher. . . .

Until finally, after what seemed like hours and was actually twenty-eight minutes, the
champion did make a mistake. His knife was too high and he was a fraction of a second
slow and a bit awkward and a couple of inches out of place in coping with a triple feint;
and Rodnar, with chin and left shoulder protecting the vital areas of heart and throat,
drove straight in for the kill.

He knew he'd have to take a savage counter-stroke, a slash or a stab, but there'd be
only the one and in his position it wouldn't kill him-this was too good a chance altogether
to miss. Wherefore he drove in, swinging. He deflected the champion's slashing stab to
shoulder and arm and ribs, even while he was driving his own blade to the hilt into
unresisting flesh and twisting it viciously, in a mangling spiral, as he withdrew it.

The ex-champion collapsed; and Rodnar, deafened by a roar of noise that seemed
almost solid, stood there, holding his ghastly, gaping, blood-spurting wound together as
best he could with his right hand, while his surgeon with his tool-kit and Knuaire and
Marrjyl with a stretcher rushed up to him. Rodnar did lie on the stretcher while the doctor
did his preliminary work. That done, however; he stood up and, refusing all help and
acknowledging the bedlam-roar of the crowd with a couple of nods, he walked under his
own power to and through the fighters' exit of Games Hall One.


-14-
Outside that exit, however, he was very glad indeed to rest most of his weight on his
friends' shoulders, and to let them half-carry him to the ambulance that was to take him
to the hospital.