"Jack Vance - Tschai 4 - The Pnume" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

other tossed a pouch to Woudiver.
The dream began to fade; the yellow-green light became spotty and blurred.
The door flew suddenly open, to reveal Traz. Woudiver jumped back in horror;
Traz raised his catapult and fired into Woudiver's face. An astonishing gush of
blood spewed forth-green blood, and wherever droplets fell they glistened yellow
... The dream went dim; Reith slept.
Reith awoke in a state of extreme discomfort. His legs were cramped; a vile
arsenical reek pervaded his head. He sensed pressure and motion; groping, he
felt coarse cloth. Dismal knowledge came upon him; the dream was real; he indeed
rode in a sack. Ah, the resourceful Woudiver! Reith became weak with emotion.
Woudiver had negotiated with the Gzhindra; he had arranged that Reith be
drugged, probably through a seepage of narcotic gas. The Gzhindra were now
carrying him off to unknown places, for unknown purposes.
For a period Reith sagged in the sack numb and sick. Woudiver, even while
chained by the neck, had worked his mischief! Reith collected the final
fragments of his dream. He had seen Woudiver with his face split apart, pumping


file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...nce%20-%20Tschai%204%20-%20The%20Pnume.txt (5 of 70) [12/29/2004 12:52:39 AM]
 file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Jack%20Vance%20-%20Tschai%204%20-%20The%20Pnume.txt

green blood. Woudiver had paid for his trick.
Reith found it hard to think. The sack swung and he felt a rhythmic thud;
apparently the sack was being carried on a pole. By sheer luck he wore his
clothes; the night previously he had flung himself down on his cot fully
dressed. Was it possible that he still carried his knife? His pouch was gone;
the pocket of his jacket seemed to be empty, and he dared not grope lest he
signal the fact of his consciousness to the Gzhindra.
He pressed his face close to the sack hoping to see through the coarse weave,
unsuccessfully. The time was yet night; he thought that they traveled uneven
terrain.
An indeterminate time went by, with Reith as helpless as a baby in the womb.
How many strange events the nights of old Tschai had known! And now another,
with himself a participant. He felt ashamed and demeaned; he quivered with rage.
If he could get his hands on his captors, what a vengeance he would take!
The Gzhindra halted, and for a moment stood perfectly quiet. Then the sack
was lowered to the ground. Reith listened but heard no voices, no whispers, no
footsteps. It seemed as if he were alone. He reached to his pocket, hoping to
find a knife, a tool, an edge. He found nothing. He tested the fabric with his
fingernails: the wave was coarse and harsh, and would not rip.
An intimation told him that the Gzhindra had returned. He lay quiet. The
Gzhindra stood nearby, and he thought that he heard whispering.
The sack moved; it was lifted and carried. Reith began to sweat. Something
was about to happen.
The sack swung. He dangled from a rope. He felt the sensation of descent:
down, down, down, how far he could not estimate. He halted with a jerk, to swing
slowly back and forth. From high above came the reverberation of a gong: a low
melancholy sound.
Reith kicked and pushed. He became frantic, victim to a claustrophobic spasm.
He panted and sweated and could hardly catch his breath; this was how it felt to