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

flagstones silently and swiftly, coming in behind Duraid as he skirted
the fishpond in the centre of the paved terrace.

"Duraid!" She screamed a warning and he spun round, lifting the lamp
high.

"Who are you?" he shouted. "What do you want here?" The intruder closed
with him silently. The traditional full-length dishdasha robe swirled
around his legs, and the white ghutrah headcloth covered his head. In
the light of the lamp Duraid saw that he had drawn the corner of the
headcloth over his face to mask his features.

The intruder's back was turned towards her so Royan did not see the
knife in his right hand, but she could not mistake the upward stabbing
motion that he aimed at Duraid's stomach. Duraid grunted with pain and
doubled up at the blow, and his attacker drew the blade free and stabbed
again, but this time Duraid dropped the lamp and seized the knife arm.

The flame of the fallen oil lamp was guttering and flaring. The two men
struggled in the gloom, but Royan saw a dark stain spreading over her
husband's white shirt front.

"Run!" he bellowed at her. "Go! Fetch help! I cannot hold him!" The
Duraid she knew was a gentle person, a soft man of books and learning.
She could see that he was outmatched by his assailant.

"Go! Please! Save yourself, my flower!" She could hear by his tone that
he was weakening, but he still clung desperately to his attacker's knife
arm.

She had been paralysed with shock and indecision these few fatal
seconds, but now she broke free of the spell and ran to the door.
Spurred by her terror and her need to bring help to Duraid she crossed
the terrace, swift as a cat, and he held the intruder from blocking her
way.

She vaulted over the low stone wall into the grove, and almost into the
arms of the second man. She screamed and twisted away from him as his
outstretched fingers raked across her face, and almost broke free, but
his fingers hooked in the thin cotton stuff of her blouse.

This time she saw the knife in his hand, a long silvery flash in the
starlight, and it goaded her to fresh effort. The cotton tore in his
grip and she was free, but not quickly enough to escape the blade. She
felt the sting of it across her upper arm, and she kicked out at him
with all the strength of panic and her hard young body behind it. She
felt her foot slam into the softness of his lower body with a shock that
jarred her knee and ankle, and her attacker cried out and fell to his
knees.