"Roger Zelazny - Amber 06 - Trumps Of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

though. It was absolutely silent, but I knew that it was there.
I spun up out of my kneeling position into a crouch, turning.
I saw a large mouthful of big teeth, bloody lips curled back around them.
They lined the muzzle belonging to several hundred pounds of doglike creature
covered with coarse, moldy-looking yellow fur. Its ears were like clump of
fungi, its yellow-orange eyes wide and feral.
As I had no doubt whatever concerning its intentions. I hurled the
doorknob, which I had been clutching half consciously for the past minute. It
glanced off the bony ridge above its left eye without noticeable effect. Still
soundlessly the thing sprang at me.
Not even time for a word to Frakir...
People who work in slaughterhouses know that there is a spot on an
animal's forehead to be found by drawing an imaginary line from the right ear
to the left eye and another from the left ear to the right eye. They aim the
killing blow, an inch or two above the junction of this X. My uncle taught me
that. He didn't work in a slaughterhouse, though. Ire just knew how to kill
things.
So I spun forward and to the side as it sprang, and I struck a hammer blow
at the death spot: It moved even faster than I'd anticipated, however, and
when my fist struck it, it was already rushing by. Its neck muscles helped it
to absorb the force of my blow.
This drew the first sound from it, though - a yelp. It shook its head and
turned with great speed then, and it was at me again. Now a low, rumbling
growl came up from its chest and its leap was high. I knew that I was not
going to be able to sidestep this one.
My uncle had also taught me how to grab a dog by the flesh on the sides of
its neck and under the jaws. You need a good grip if it's a big one, and
you've got to get it just right. I had no real choice at the moment. If I
tried a kick and missed it would probably take off my foot.
My hands shot forward and snaked upward and I braced myself when we met. I
was sure it outweighed me and I had to meet its momentum as well.
I'd had visions of losing fingers or a hand, but I got in under the jaw,
caught hold and squeezed. I kept my arms extended and leaned into the impact.
I was shaken by the force of its lunge, but I was able to maintain my grip and
absorb it.
As I listened to the growls and regarded the slavering muzzle a foot or so
away from my face I realized that I hadn't thought much beyond this point.
With a dog, you might be able to bash its head against anything hard and
handy; its carotids are too deeply buried to rely on direct pressure to take
it out. But this thing was strong and my grip was already beginning to slip
against its frantic twisting. As I held its jaws away from me and kept pushing
it upward, I also realized that it was taller than I was when extended along
the vertical. I could try for a kick at its soft underside, but I would
probably go off balance as well as lose my grip, and then my groin would be
exposed to its teeth.
But it twisted free of my left hand, and I had no choice but to use my
right or lose it. So I pushed as hard as I could and retreated again. I had
been looking for a weapon, any weapon, but there was nothing handy that would
serve.
It lunged again, coming for my throat, coming too fast and high for me to