"Smith, Wilbur - Egyptian 02 - Seventh Scroll" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

Then she was away and running through the palm grove. At first she ran
without purpose or direction. She ran simply to get as far from them as
her flying legs would carry her. Then gradually she brought her panic
under control. She glanced back, but saw nobody following her.

As she reached the edge of the lake she slowed her run to conserve her
strength, and she became aware of the warm trickle of her own blood down
her arm and then dripping from her finger-tips.

She stopped.and rested her back against the rough hole of one of the
palms while she tore a strip of cloth from her ripped blouse and
hurriedly bound up her arm. She was shaking so much from shock and
exertion that even her uninjured hand was fumbling and clumsy. She
knotted the crude bandage with her teeth and left hand, and the bleeding
slowed.

She was uncertain of which way to run, and then she saw the dim
lamplight. in the window of Alia's shack across the nearest irrigation
canal. She pushed herself away from the palm trunk and started towards
it. She had covered less than a hundred paces when a voice called from
the grove behind her, speaking in Arabic, "Yusuf, has the woman come
your way?"

immediately an electric torch flashed from the darkness ahead of her and
another voice called back, "No, I have not seen her."

Another few seconds and Royan would have run full into him. She crouched
down and looked around her desperately. There was another torch coming
through the grove behind her, following the path she had taken. It must
be the man she had kicked, but she could tell by the motion of the torch
beam that he had recovered and was moving swiftly and easily again.

She was blocked on two sides, so she turned back along the edge of the
trail. The road lay that way. She might be able to meet a late vehicle
travelling on it. She lost her footing on the rough ground and went
down, bruising and scraping her knees, but she jumped up again and
hurried on. The second time she stumbled, her outthrust left hand landed
on a round, smooth stone the size of an orange. When she went on she
carried the stone with her; as a weapon it gave her a glimmer of
comfort.

Her wounded arm was beginning to hurt, and she was driven by worry for
Duraid. She knew he was badly wounded, for she had seen the direction
and force of the knife thrust. She had to find help for him. Behind her
the two men with torches were sweeping the grove and she could not keep
her lead ahead of them. They were gaining on her - she could hear them
calling to each other.

She reached the road at last, and with a small whimper of relief climbed
out of the drainage ditch on to the pale gravel surface. Her legs were