"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest - Child of Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

CHILD OF EARTH

E. C. TUBB

The night had anticipated the coming winter, darkness masking the sky as sleet filled the air to the eerie
sough of wind that rose, at times, into a maniacal shrieking as if tormented creatures writhed in an
extremity of pain. Images too mature for his imagination yet they lingered and teased his mind as he
moved cautiously over a bleak expanse of stone, sand and scrub in the growing light of dawn. A twig
culled from a stunted bush eased the chatter of his teeth and gave the pretence of food as he chewed at
the tough fibers. Frost made the going even more treacherous and twice he slipped to lie, fighting the fear
of injury, rising to nurse bruised flesh and scraped skin, to move on, to reach his destination, to turn his
back to the east and adopt his position as the sun rose higher into the sky.

Waiting, fighting the desire to close his eyes, to rest, to sleep, to escape into a more hospitable place.
One touched by the gossamer fabric of vaguely remembered dreams. Of warmth, comfort and security.
Of unknown contentment. An empty wishтАФhe had no choice but to stay alert.

Crouching, cold, almost naked against an expanse of gritty soil as he stared at the area ahead. The wind
touched his near-naked body, driving knives of ice through the rents, numbing the flesh and chilling the
blood and causing his teeth to chatter. He clamped them shut, feeling the jerk of muscles in his jaw, the
taste of blood as his teeth caught at the delicate membranes of his cheeks. Weakness blurred his vision
so that the scrub barely masking the stony ground danced and spun in patterns of bewildering complexity.
Impatiently he squeezed shut his eyes, opening them to see the landscape steady again, seeing, too, the
twitch of leaves at the base of a matted bunch of vegetation.

The lizard was cautious. It thrust its snout from the leaves and stared with unwinking eyes before making
a small dart forward to freeze again as it checked its surroundings. Watching it Dumarest forced himself
to freeze.

To rise now would be to lose the prey; it would dive into cover at the first sign of movement. Only later,
after it had come into the open to warm itself by the weak sunlight and search for grubs would he have a
chance and then only one. For now he must wait as the wind chilled his body, gnawing at him with
spiteful teeth, sending more pain to join the throb of old bruises, the sting of festering sores, the ache of
hunger.

Dumarest touched the crude sling at his side. Braided thongs the length of his hand and forearm joined
by a pouch made from the skin of a small rodent. Each thong ended in a loop; a convenience, only one
needed to be slipped over the middle finger, the other, the release, clamped by the thumb and first finger.
A pouch held stones carefully selected as to shape and size. One was cradled in the sling. He would have
time for one cast only. All depended on choosing the exact moment, of hand and eye working in
harmony, of speed which would enable him to strike before the lizard could escape.

Now?

The creature was alerted, head lifted, eyes like jewels as they caught and reflected the sunlight, scaled
body tense on the soil. It would be best to wait.

To wait, then, guided by subconscious dictates, to act. To rise, the loaded sling spinning in a sharp circle,
the thong released at the exact moment to send the missile hurtling through the air.
To land in the dirt at the side of the lizard's skull.