"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 01 - The Winds of Gath" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

He rose to his knees and fought a wave of giddiness. His
weakness was terrifying. He sat down, staring out to sea, waiting
for the giddiness to pass. He was naked but for his
shortsтАФsomehow he had lost his trousers and belt. His skin was
caked with salt and something had removed a strip of skin down
the side of one thigh. He pressed the wound. Blood oozed from
the place which looked as if it had been flayed.

After a long while he rose to his feet and turned to stare at the
shore.

The beach was narrow, a strip of sand caught in the arc of a
bay ending at high walls of eroded stone. Boulders lay at the foot,
a green slime reaching to well above his head, while trapped
pools of water reflected the red sunlight like pools of blood. To
either side the surf pounded against the jutting sides of the bay.

He was sick again before he reached the cliff, his stomach
emptying itself of swallowed salt. He paused to rinse his mouth
at one of the pools, resisted the temptation to slake his thirst
with the saline poison, then stared at what he must climb.

For a fit man it would have been difficult; for a traveler it
would always have been hard; in his present condition it was
almost impossible. Yet he had no choice. He had to climb or
drown. He looked at the sea. He had lain longer than he
suspected; already the waves were lapping higher. Stepping back
he surveyed the cliff, chose his route and began to climb.

He reached a height of twelve feet before his hand slipped on
green slime and he fell. He tried again, this time further along
the cliff, but fell almost at once. The third time he was almost
stunned, lying and wondering if he had broken a bone. He
hadn't. The next time he tried he knew it was his last attempt.

He was sweating as he passed the level of the slime, his heart
pounding as if it would burst from his chest. He clung to the
rock, wishing that he had his boots, driving the tender flesh of
his toes against the unyielding stone. He crawled higher and
found a long, slanting crack that had been invisible from below.
It carried him to within ten feet of the edge before it petered out.
He craned his head, trying to see beyond the overhang, trying to
ignore the cramped agony in his hands and feet. Vegetation had
overgrown the edge; tendrils of it hung low but too thin to offer
assistance. A gnarled root caught his eye.

It was too far to reach, a foot beyond the tips of his fingers
and awkwardly placed. He gauged the distance and jumped
without hesitation. His right hand missed, his left caught and he
hung suspended by one hand. The root gave beneath the strain.