[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
words, without quarter. The Myrmidons outnumbered the
Mamarone, but each neutraloid possessed three times the strength of an
ordinary man.
Within the headquarters Beran called into his microphone.
"Marshal, I beseech you, prevent this spilling of blood. It is unnecessary,
and good Paonese will die!"
There was no response. In the plaza only a hundred feet separated
Mamarone from Myrmidon; they stood almost eye to eye, the neutraloids grinning
in humorless rancor, contemptuous of life, unconscious of fear;
the Myrmidons seething with impatience and verve, anxious for glory. The
neutraloids, behind their screens and with backs against the wall of the corps
headquarters, were secure from small weapons; however, once they should move
away from the wall, their backs would be vulnerable.
Suddenly they dropped the screens; their weapons poured death into the nearby
ranks: a hundred men fell in an instant. The screens returned into place and
they took the retaliating fire without casualty.
The gaps in the front line were filled instantly. Horns blew a brilliant
fanfare; the Myrmidons drew scimitars and charged against the black giants.
The neutraloids dropped the screens, the weapons poured out death, a hundred,
two hundred warriors were killed. But twenty or thirty sprang across the final
few yards. The neutraloids drew their own great blades, hacked, hewed; there
was the flash of steel, hisses, hoarse calls, and again the Mamarone stood
free. But while the shields had been down, lances of
hoped to build--and he, lord of fifteen billion, could find
insufficient strength to subdue a few thousand rebels.
In the plaza the Myrmidons at last split the neutraloid line into two,
battered back the ends, bunched the giant warriors into two clots.
The neutraloids knew their time had come, and all their terrible detestation
for life, for men, for the universe boiled up and condensed in a clot of pure
fury. One by one they succumbed, to a thousand hacks and cuts. The last few
looked at each other, and laughed, inhuman hoarse bellows, and presently they
too died, and the plaza was quiet except for subdued sobbing. Then behind, by
the Stele, the Valiant women set up a chant of victory, forlorn but exulting,
the survivors of the battle, gasping and sick, joined the paean.
Within the building Beran and his small company had already departed, flying
back to Eiljanre in the air-boat. Beran sat steeped in misery. His body shook,
his eyes burnt in their sockets, his stomach felt as if it were caked with
lye. Failure, the breaking of his dreams, the beginning of chaos!
He thought of Palafox's tall spare form, the lean face with the wedge-
shaped nose and opaque black eyes. The image carried such intensity of emotion
to become almost dear to him, something to be cherished from all harm, except
that destruction which he himself would deal.
Beran laughed aloud. Could he enlist the aid of Palafox?
With the last rays of sunset flickering over the roofs of Eiljanre, he arrived
at the Palace.
In the great hall sat Palafox, in his usual gray and brown, a wry sad smile on
his mouth, a peculiar shine to his eyes.
Elsewhere in the hall sat Cogitants, Palafox's sons for the most part.
They were subdued, grave, respectful. As Beran came into the room, the
Cogitants averted their eyes.
Beran ignored them. Slowly he approached Palafox, until they stood only ten
feet apart.
Page 55
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
touched metal to his skin. There was an instant of piercing pain,
then numbness along his back. He heard the click of tools, felt the quiver of
manipulation, a wrench or two, and then they were done with him.
Pale, shaken, humiliated, he regained his feet, rearranged his garments.
Palafox said easily, "You are careless with the weapon provided you.
Now it is removed and we can talk with greater relaxation."
Beran could find no answer. Growling deep in his throat, he marched forward,
stood before Palafox.
Palafox smiled slightly. "Once again, Pao is in trouble. Once again, it is
Lord Palafox of Breakness to whom appeals are made."
"I made no appeals," said Beran in a husky voice. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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words, without quarter. The Myrmidons outnumbered the
Mamarone, but each neutraloid possessed three times the strength of an
ordinary man.
Within the headquarters Beran called into his microphone.
"Marshal, I beseech you, prevent this spilling of blood. It is unnecessary,
and good Paonese will die!"
There was no response. In the plaza only a hundred feet separated
Mamarone from Myrmidon; they stood almost eye to eye, the neutraloids grinning
in humorless rancor, contemptuous of life, unconscious of fear;
the Myrmidons seething with impatience and verve, anxious for glory. The
neutraloids, behind their screens and with backs against the wall of the corps
headquarters, were secure from small weapons; however, once they should move
away from the wall, their backs would be vulnerable.
Suddenly they dropped the screens; their weapons poured death into the nearby
ranks: a hundred men fell in an instant. The screens returned into place and
they took the retaliating fire without casualty.
The gaps in the front line were filled instantly. Horns blew a brilliant
fanfare; the Myrmidons drew scimitars and charged against the black giants.
The neutraloids dropped the screens, the weapons poured out death, a hundred,
two hundred warriors were killed. But twenty or thirty sprang across the final
few yards. The neutraloids drew their own great blades, hacked, hewed; there
was the flash of steel, hisses, hoarse calls, and again the Mamarone stood
free. But while the shields had been down, lances of
hoped to build--and he, lord of fifteen billion, could find
insufficient strength to subdue a few thousand rebels.
In the plaza the Myrmidons at last split the neutraloid line into two,
battered back the ends, bunched the giant warriors into two clots.
The neutraloids knew their time had come, and all their terrible detestation
for life, for men, for the universe boiled up and condensed in a clot of pure
fury. One by one they succumbed, to a thousand hacks and cuts. The last few
looked at each other, and laughed, inhuman hoarse bellows, and presently they
too died, and the plaza was quiet except for subdued sobbing. Then behind, by
the Stele, the Valiant women set up a chant of victory, forlorn but exulting,
the survivors of the battle, gasping and sick, joined the paean.
Within the building Beran and his small company had already departed, flying
back to Eiljanre in the air-boat. Beran sat steeped in misery. His body shook,
his eyes burnt in their sockets, his stomach felt as if it were caked with
lye. Failure, the breaking of his dreams, the beginning of chaos!
He thought of Palafox's tall spare form, the lean face with the wedge-
shaped nose and opaque black eyes. The image carried such intensity of emotion
to become almost dear to him, something to be cherished from all harm, except
that destruction which he himself would deal.
Beran laughed aloud. Could he enlist the aid of Palafox?
With the last rays of sunset flickering over the roofs of Eiljanre, he arrived
at the Palace.
In the great hall sat Palafox, in his usual gray and brown, a wry sad smile on
his mouth, a peculiar shine to his eyes.
Elsewhere in the hall sat Cogitants, Palafox's sons for the most part.
They were subdued, grave, respectful. As Beran came into the room, the
Cogitants averted their eyes.
Beran ignored them. Slowly he approached Palafox, until they stood only ten
feet apart.
Page 55
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
touched metal to his skin. There was an instant of piercing pain,
then numbness along his back. He heard the click of tools, felt the quiver of
manipulation, a wrench or two, and then they were done with him.
Pale, shaken, humiliated, he regained his feet, rearranged his garments.
Palafox said easily, "You are careless with the weapon provided you.
Now it is removed and we can talk with greater relaxation."
Beran could find no answer. Growling deep in his throat, he marched forward,
stood before Palafox.
Palafox smiled slightly. "Once again, Pao is in trouble. Once again, it is
Lord Palafox of Breakness to whom appeals are made."
"I made no appeals," said Beran in a husky voice. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
