The Star Magicians
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Год: 1966
- Язык: английский
- Год: Ace Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Star Magicians». Краткое содержание книги:
In the ages that followed, the rest of the empire decayed, its individual suns and worlds losing contact, isolated Star-Kings fighting to hold their own cultures together . . . and failing. Ironically, only the Barbarians themselves remained the only coordinated power among the Near Stars. Their fleets drifted the star-trails, looting and destroying everything in their way.
One world alone stood against the dark night of savagery that was engulfing the galaxy - Parlion, the planet of the Star Magicians. And at last came the final battle for civilization in the stars.
For his part, the piper, unabashed, returned the Warlord’s scrutiny with frank curiosity. Drask was a lean dark hawk of a man, burned leather-black by the unfilterable lambda-radiation of deep space. Cruel, sneering lips were framed by narrow black moustaches; the cleft, lean jaw pointed a spike of black beard; strong, jutting bones of cheek, jaw and brow gave testimony to a taint of ancient Earthirish blood. About his powerful chest and broad shoulders was flung a thick dark fur cloak of Pharvisian snow-tiger, its yellow ivory claws crossing at his corded throat.
A huge radium-ruby smoldered in his left earlobe like a living coal. A brief kilt of black leather straps, studded with squares of bronze, clothed his loins and thighs. A yard-long Sirian hook-sword hung at his left hip in a scabbard of cobra-skin, and a beautifully machined Wayne-Drew laser pistol studded with chips of ruby was holstered at his right. His naked arms were thewed like an Ormisian wrestler’s; armlets of platinum and gold were set at wrist and bicep. He was booted in black leather, with sea-bear fur trim.
Altogether (Perion thought) a formidable figure—every inch the warrior, the barbarian, the King.
Drask spoke, and the musicians stilled on the instant.
“Piper,” he drawled, toying with a chilled goblet of neol, “for resisting my invasion of Argion planet—and for slaying my valiant warriors—Rim-law condemned you to the arena to die the traitor’s death you had earned. But your bravery, or wit, or perhaps a whim of the gods, won you the gift of life again … until another Divine mood whisk it away. The voice of the Star Rovers bade you go free, and free you are. What say you, brothers?”
“Hai!”
The scrawny little man winced at the unexpected, full-throated cry. Drask glanced at him with amusement.
“By Thaxis of the Hungry Spears, now do I wonder that you slew those men of mine! Why, from the ill-nourished looks of you, Piper, I’ll wager you’d find it a trying task to even bed a wench—yes, a willing one, at that.”
The Rovers bellowed with ribald laughter. Perion shrugged, spreading his palms apologetically, simpering at being the center of attention.
Drask thumped his goblet against the side of the King-bench, calling for silence.
“Yes, by Thaxis’ Own Blood, I am minded to make you my clown. I care little for songs or capering or jests, but the very sight of you rouses laughter in my guts. What say you, little man—will you prance for my pleasure—and your supper?”
The Piper fell to his skinny knees, pressing his brow against the Warlord’s booted feet, and shrilly declared: “Yes, dread Lord, give me a full belly and a wet tankard now and again, and I’ll dance attendance for anyone—even so fearful a master as yonder thard, for whom I danced in the arena!”
Drask frowned coldly, remembering the humiliating scene—for the dragon’s untimely execution had brought an end to the orgy of blood-letting that was the triumphal games.
Shrewdly noting his change in mood, Perion gazed up blandly, and added, “Little care I at whose trough I feed—so long as I be fed, Master …”
The Warlord grinned. “Aye, you yellow-livered leech, you’d turn your coat more often than you change your breeks, I doubt not, had you so large a supply of raiment. Ah, well, you’ll serve as butt for humor.”
Throughout the foregoing, the pale girl beside Drask had sat unmoving, unspeaking, her food untouched, remote and withdrawn as if not present at all. Now she lifted suddenly a cold, venomous gaze to Perion, and spoke. The icy tone of loathing in her bell-clear voice arrested the amusement of the Rovers.
“Barbarian, beware of that cunning worm.”
Drask turned to observe her, lifting his eyebrow with a small smile. “So you are roused at last, my Lady?”
“Beware the Piper, I say. He betrays his Lord, my father, to serve you pirate scum. Next he will betray you, to serve some other.” Drask smiled without deigning to reply, but Perion, suddenly in favor and drawing impudent boldness from it, capered on the dais step, scraped a low bow of mockery before the Princess.
She rose, slim, regal, pure among the squatting star-barbarians who had toppled her ancient kingdom into the mire and reft away her heritage in a storm of blood and fire. Her voice rang, sharp as a silver bugle, through the murmuring hall.
“You, Piper—my royal father’s board was your trough. Now you are content to slop with these bristle-bearded Out-worlder pigs. Well, I shall not!”
Quick as a flash of light she whirled—and drove a keen small dagger at the base of Drask’s throat as he sat beside her. Where the glittering steel needle had been hidden none could guess—and so swift, so totally unexpected was her murderous stroke that none had wit enough to lift a hand to halt her.
None—but Perion!
For swifter even than her flashing stroke were his nimble feet. With the agile, flickering grace of an acrobat he was before her, his thin but wiry-strong hand closing like an iron vise on her white wrist. He checked the blade’s descent just as the wicked needle-point grazed the nape of the Warlord’s neck.
“Treason! Help—murder!” Perion yelped, grappling with the frenzied girl. She broke, weeping, her cold determination gone. And so suddenly had all this transpired that the others, even Drask himself, still sat frozen, stupefied.
“Let me kill him—” she shrieked, breaking free of Perion’s grasp. He seized her around the waist, and lean and strong as the scrawny Piper was, the girl fought with the furious venom of a tigress. Clawing and spitting through her tears like a Bartoscan sandcat, she broke free of his grip, wriggled out of his arms and thrust him off-balance so that he fell sprawling, squealing into the Warlord’s very lap. Drask, thunder-browed with rage, was just rising, tugging at his sword.
But she turned from her prey, leaving him untouched, and sprang to the further side of the dais, disheveled, panting, eyes flashing and firm breasts rising and falling. The slim blade was still clenched in her small white hand.
“Let all of Argion-folk turn their coats to grovel for scraps at the bloody bootheels of these star-scavengers—that is the business of Zargon, Lord of Punishments and Rewards, but it is none of mine! As for me and my House, I thank the Gods that the last of the Argion-Kings knows how to die with unstained honor!”
She drove the blade between her white breasts before any could lift a hand to stop her, quenching its polished glitter in crimson blood.
For a moment, she stood, tall and regal—then crumpled to the floor, sliding down the steps of the dais, a red-bedabbled, pitiful bundle. Even Perion, tangled in Drask’s cloak, gaped, frozen with astonishment.
All over the great hall, men were stumbling to their feet, white-faced, in deathly silence. One of the dancing girls, a lithe and fawn-eyed nude whose white thighs had been splattered by a dribble of the Princess’ blood, shrieked— and the stillness was broken. A roar of confusion arose, men babbling, yelling.
Cursing, Drask kicked Perion from his knees and straightened to his feet, staring blankly at the dead girl, silent amid the milling, shouting rabble boiling around the dais.
At last he spoke. “Now, by Thaxis of the Scarlet Spears, that was nobly done!”
So it was, thought Perion. We are all in Zargon’s Balance …