"Joan D. Vinge - The Storm King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vinge Joan D)

tremble, having more sense than he did. But he had brought it to bay, taken its
word-bond, and it had not blasted him the moment he entered its den. He forced his
quavering voice to carry boldly, тАЬIтАЩm here. Where is my armor?тАЭ

(Leave your useless garments and come forward. My scales are my strength.
Lie among them and cover yourself with them. But remember when you do that if
you wear my mail, and share my power, you may find them hard to put off again. Do
you accept that?)

тАЬWhy would I ever want to get rid of power? I accept it! Power is the center
of everything.тАЭ

(But power has its price, and we do not always know how high it will be.) The
dragon stirred restlessly, remembering the price of power as the water still pooling
on the cavernтАЩs floor seeped up through its shifting bed.

Lassan-din frowned, hearing a deceit because he expected one. He stripped
off his clothing without hesitation and crossed the vast, shadow-haunted chamber to
the gleaming mound. He lay down below the dragonтАЩs baleful gaze and buried
himself in the cool, scintillating flecks of scale. They were damp and surprisingly
light under his touch, adhering to his body like the dust rubbed from a mothтАЩs wing.
When he had covered himself completely, until even his hair glistened with myriad
infinitesimal lights, the dragon bent its head until the horrible mockery of a catтАЩs face
loomed above him. He cringed back as it opened its mouth, showing him row
behind row of inward-turning teeth, and a glowing forge of light. It let its breath out
upon him, and his sudden scream rang darkly in the chamber as lightning wrapped
his unprotected body.

But the crippling lash of pain was gone as quickly as it had come, and looking
at himself he found the coating of scales fused into a film of armor as supple as his
own skin, and as much a part of him now. His scale-gloved hands met one another
in wonder, the hands of an alien creature.

(Now come.) A great glittering wing extended, inviting him to climb. (Cling to
me as your armor clings to you, and let me do your bidding and be done with it.)

He mounted the wing with elaborate caution, and at last sat astride the reptilian
neck, clinging to it with an uncertainty that did not fully acknowledge its reality.

The dragon moved under him without ceremony or sign, slithering down from
its dais of scales with a hiss and rumble that trembled the closed space. A wind rose
around them with the movement; Lassan-din felt himself swallowed into a vor-tex of
cold, terrifying force that took his breath away, blind-ing and deafening him as he
was sucked out of the cave-darkness and into the outer air.

Lightning cracked and shuddered, penetrating his closed lids, splitting apart
his consciousness; thunder clogged his chest, reverberating through his flesh and
bones like the crashing fall of an avalanche. Rain lashed him, driving into his eyes,
swallowing him whole but not dissolving or dissi-pating his armor of scales.