[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
bending. I also saw, but did not realize then the full significance of what I saw, the unripe fruit being torn
from the trees and hurled through the air, squashing and dripping, wasted.
A fresh party of soldiers ran up and the Hikdar, having lost all appetite for chicken, was bellowing them
on. He saw me and was about to push past. I said, I will help.
You will be welcome. We go to mend the windbreaks. The fruit is being destroyed.
I could understand that. Heads down, our capes billowing, we struggled against the wind across that
fruit-strewn ground. And I thought I thought! the ground moved beneath me with the violence of
the wind.
After a time the fences showed before us. Tall constructs of wood and lath, they were tightly woven to
give shelter to the fruit trees. Now there were grinning gaps torn in their orderly ranks. Even as we came
up a whole section a full hundred paces long ripped away and flailed concertina-like for a moment, then
broke and splintered. The air was filled with the whirring, deadly slivers of wood.
On! On! yelled the Hikdar, as though he led a regimental charge against swordsmen. A number of low
huts against the fence contained repair materials. We were going to have to rebuild the damned fence if
the gale persisted much longer. Soon I was employed lugging out lengths of lumber and running with them
to the men propping the fences, reinforcing the props that had snapped, reweaving fresh withes between
the uprights and diagonals to form fresh panels. It was damned hot work with that biting, burning wind
scouring the air in the lungs and frying the eyes in the head. And, over all, the moons of Kregen shone
down through the gale-torn gaps in the clouds. It did not rain.
Other men were there helping, and I realized that reinforcements had been brought up from somewhere,
for these new arrivals were slaves. They were lashed into the work, while the soldiers labored through
their own discipline.
A voller sliced down from above, riding on an even keel and without discomfort in the shriek of the gale.
It was very clearly of that class of flier that moves independently of the wind, the forces in its silver boxes
surrounding the voller with its own sphere of influence. A man in a blue cape gestured and the anger in his
gesture was plain. The Hikdar yelled more fiercely over the wind and the slave overseers plied their
whips.
Staggering up carrying a timber balk against the wind I cannoned into a Brokelsh who, with the crudity
of that race, grabbed me for mutual support. He seized the other end of the balk and together we ran it
across to the soldiers where they struggled to hold up a section of fence against the wind. In the lee of the
half-raised fence the cessation of violence, streaming wind, and blattering noise cut and snuffed, I paused
for a quick breather. The Brokelsh spat.
These onkers ll never get a section as big as this up. Look at em . . . onkers!
It s a tough one, I said. A few paces further along the fence lay flat on the ground, rippling with the
wind flow. Men clustered like flies on a honeyed rope as they sought to shove the fence up with their
poles. A pole slipped from the upright against which it thrust. It ripped through the withes, tearing them
like tissue as wind pressure smashed the fence down. Men jumped out of the way and the wind hit us
again.
Ropes lay neatly coiled here and there. I had once been a sailor on the seas of Earth and had long
experience in handling enormous weights and dealing with wind pressures, with the only power at my
disposal the muscles of men.
The blustering yell of the wind made normal speech impossible. If I started to do what I intended, others
would follow . . . that is always the way. Once a man takes the lead there are always those who will
follow. It just needs the right man in the right place at the right time. How all the gods of Kregen must
have guffawed! How the Star Lords and the Savanti, if they were watching, must have snickered!
They say pride comes before a fall.
I, Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy, jumped up and ran head-down into the wind. I snatched up the end of a
coil of rope and sprinted for the flat section of fence. Once over that I could loop the rope around an
upright and then, with the men I knew would follow my example, we could haul back and so raise the
fence in proper shipshape fashion.
I saw the Deldar waving his arms at me, his face a most wonderful color, much like an overripe shonage,
and his mouth opening and opening as he bellowed all silently in the wind rush.
I waved my arm back, reassuringly. The rope felt thick and bristly in my hands. It felt wonderfully
reassuring, also, bringing back many salty moments of the past. Running forward, bent over, I scarcely
heeded where I was going. Just to get around the end of the fence and loop the rope up onto an upright,
that was my task. I d show these onkers of Hamal how a sailorman handled the wind!
As I say, pride goes before a fall.
I lurched against the wind past the end of the fence and for a moment I put my hand against the wood. I
looked down.
To this day, as I sit here talking into this microphone, I can recall the utter shock of disbelief that thrilled
through me.
The wind shrieked past my ears, the wood felt thick and sleazy in one hand, and the rope thick and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
bending. I also saw, but did not realize then the full significance of what I saw, the unripe fruit being torn
from the trees and hurled through the air, squashing and dripping, wasted.
A fresh party of soldiers ran up and the Hikdar, having lost all appetite for chicken, was bellowing them
on. He saw me and was about to push past. I said, I will help.
You will be welcome. We go to mend the windbreaks. The fruit is being destroyed.
I could understand that. Heads down, our capes billowing, we struggled against the wind across that
fruit-strewn ground. And I thought I thought! the ground moved beneath me with the violence of
the wind.
After a time the fences showed before us. Tall constructs of wood and lath, they were tightly woven to
give shelter to the fruit trees. Now there were grinning gaps torn in their orderly ranks. Even as we came
up a whole section a full hundred paces long ripped away and flailed concertina-like for a moment, then
broke and splintered. The air was filled with the whirring, deadly slivers of wood.
On! On! yelled the Hikdar, as though he led a regimental charge against swordsmen. A number of low
huts against the fence contained repair materials. We were going to have to rebuild the damned fence if
the gale persisted much longer. Soon I was employed lugging out lengths of lumber and running with them
to the men propping the fences, reinforcing the props that had snapped, reweaving fresh withes between
the uprights and diagonals to form fresh panels. It was damned hot work with that biting, burning wind
scouring the air in the lungs and frying the eyes in the head. And, over all, the moons of Kregen shone
down through the gale-torn gaps in the clouds. It did not rain.
Other men were there helping, and I realized that reinforcements had been brought up from somewhere,
for these new arrivals were slaves. They were lashed into the work, while the soldiers labored through
their own discipline.
A voller sliced down from above, riding on an even keel and without discomfort in the shriek of the gale.
It was very clearly of that class of flier that moves independently of the wind, the forces in its silver boxes
surrounding the voller with its own sphere of influence. A man in a blue cape gestured and the anger in his
gesture was plain. The Hikdar yelled more fiercely over the wind and the slave overseers plied their
whips.
Staggering up carrying a timber balk against the wind I cannoned into a Brokelsh who, with the crudity
of that race, grabbed me for mutual support. He seized the other end of the balk and together we ran it
across to the soldiers where they struggled to hold up a section of fence against the wind. In the lee of the
half-raised fence the cessation of violence, streaming wind, and blattering noise cut and snuffed, I paused
for a quick breather. The Brokelsh spat.
These onkers ll never get a section as big as this up. Look at em . . . onkers!
It s a tough one, I said. A few paces further along the fence lay flat on the ground, rippling with the
wind flow. Men clustered like flies on a honeyed rope as they sought to shove the fence up with their
poles. A pole slipped from the upright against which it thrust. It ripped through the withes, tearing them
like tissue as wind pressure smashed the fence down. Men jumped out of the way and the wind hit us
again.
Ropes lay neatly coiled here and there. I had once been a sailor on the seas of Earth and had long
experience in handling enormous weights and dealing with wind pressures, with the only power at my
disposal the muscles of men.
The blustering yell of the wind made normal speech impossible. If I started to do what I intended, others
would follow . . . that is always the way. Once a man takes the lead there are always those who will
follow. It just needs the right man in the right place at the right time. How all the gods of Kregen must
have guffawed! How the Star Lords and the Savanti, if they were watching, must have snickered!
They say pride comes before a fall.
I, Dray Prescot, Krozair of Zy, jumped up and ran head-down into the wind. I snatched up the end of a
coil of rope and sprinted for the flat section of fence. Once over that I could loop the rope around an
upright and then, with the men I knew would follow my example, we could haul back and so raise the
fence in proper shipshape fashion.
I saw the Deldar waving his arms at me, his face a most wonderful color, much like an overripe shonage,
and his mouth opening and opening as he bellowed all silently in the wind rush.
I waved my arm back, reassuringly. The rope felt thick and bristly in my hands. It felt wonderfully
reassuring, also, bringing back many salty moments of the past. Running forward, bent over, I scarcely
heeded where I was going. Just to get around the end of the fence and loop the rope up onto an upright,
that was my task. I d show these onkers of Hamal how a sailorman handled the wind!
As I say, pride goes before a fall.
I lurched against the wind past the end of the fence and for a moment I put my hand against the wood. I
looked down.
To this day, as I sit here talking into this microphone, I can recall the utter shock of disbelief that thrilled
through me.
The wind shrieked past my ears, the wood felt thick and sleazy in one hand, and the rope thick and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]