"Roger Zelazny - Amber Chronicles, The 06 - Trumps of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

corner off to my left. Upset furniture, torn cushions . . .
I suppressed an impulse to rush forward.
I took one slow step and then another, all of my senses alert. I
crossed the threshold. There was nothing else/no one else in the room.
Frakir tightened about my wrist. I should have said something then, but my
mind was elsewhere.
I approached and knelt at her side. I felt sick. From the doorway I had
not been able to see that half of her face and her right arm were missing.
She was not breathing and her carotid was silent. She had on a torn and
bloodied peachcolored robe; there was a blue pendant about her neck.
The blood that had spilled beyond the rug onto the hardwood floor was
smeared and tracked. They were not human footprints, however, but large,
elongated, three-toed things, well padded, clawed.
A draft of which I had been only half-consciously aware-' coming from
the opened bedroom door at my back-was suddenly diminished, as the- odor
intensified. There came another quick pulsing at my wrist. There was no
sound, 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 soundlessy 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