Et unum hominem, et plures in infinitum, quod quis velit, heredes facere licet - wolno uczynić spadkobiercą i jednego człowieka, i wielu, bez ograniczeń, ilu kto chce.

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The shadow of a shadow, he moved along the gallery, between the smooth
curve of
the dome and the crenellations of a wall. After thirty-one paces he heard the
scuffing footsteps and tap-tapping pikestaff butt of a careless sentry. That
persuaded him to squat, get as close to the wall as he could, and lie down.
Flat, facing the wall, whose merlons rose above the gallery. He lay perfectly
still, a shadow in shadow.
A spider wandered over his shoulder and up his cheek and began struggling
in his
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black mop of hair, and was unmolested. The spider felt warmth, but no
movement,
not so much as a twitch. (If mental curses could have effect, the spider was a
goner.)
The sentry ambled by, scuffing and tapping. The thief heard him yawn.
Dumb, he
thought, dumb. How nice it was of sentries to pace and make noise, rather
than
be still and listen!
The sentry having moved on leftward along the perimeter of the wall, the
thief
moved on rightward; northwestward. He'd an armlet of leather and copper
well up
his right upper arm, and a long bracer of black leather on that wrist. Each
contained a nasty leaf-bladed throwing knife of dull blue-black. There was
another in his left buskin, where sheath and hilt were mere decoration. He
wore
no other weapons, none that showed. Certainly he bore neither sword nor
axe, and
the bow lay at the base of the granary wall.
He stopped. Stepped into a crenel just above two feet deep. Stared, off into the
darkness. Yes. There was the spire of the Temple of Holy Allestina Ever
Virgin,
poor thing. It was the first of the markers he had so carefully spotted and
chosen, this afternoon.
The thief did not intend to enter the palace by just any window. He knew
precisely where he was going.
The task of regaining line and arrow was more difficult than he had
anticipated.
He silenced snarls and curses. Knot a rope ten times and try swinging on it
and
the accursed thing might well work itself loose. Shoot an arrow to wrap a
cord
slimmer than a little finger around a damned gilded brass flagpole, and he
had
to fight to get the damned thing to let go!
Within four or six minutes (with silenced snarls and curses) he had sent
enough
loops and twitches ripple-writhing up the line to loosen the arrow. It swung
once around the spire, twice, encountered the line, and caught. More curses,
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sort of prayer, and more twitches and ripples riding up the line. Reluctantly
the arrow ended its loving embrace of the pennon spire. The line fluttered
loose. Down came the arrow. It fell with a clatter that, to a shadowy thief in
shadows, sounded like thunder on a cloudless day.
Sleepy sentries heard no thunder. Only he noticed. He reeled in line and
arrow.
In a crouch, he reached behind him into hi snugly fitted backpack. From it
he drew two cylinders of hard wood wrapped with black cloth. Around
them he
looped his line arrow detached. He held silent for a time, listening. A fly
hummed restless and loud. The thief heard nothing to indicate that any o
his
actions had been noticed with anything approaching alarm.
Rising, he went on his way. Along the perimeter of the palace along the
flagged
walkway betwixt dome and toothy wall.
Moving with a cat suppleness that would have been scary to an] observer,
he
reached his second marker. Nicely framed betweer two merlons, he could see
it,
away off in the distance. The purple' black shape ofJulavain's Hill. Again he
smiled, tight of lip.
A merlon became a winch, aided by the two wooden cylinders brought for
the
purpose. They would pay out the silken cord and prevent the stone from
slicing
it. Its other end he secured to his ankles. And froze, waiting while the sentry
clumped by. He was not importantly thumping his pike's butt, now. He no
longei
cared to keep himself awake. The thief gritted his teeth against the ghastly
noise of the hardest of wood grating over harder flagstones. The porker
was
dragging his pike!
Then silence was thick enough to cut with a knife, of which the thief owned
an
abundance. He waited. And waited.
At last he stepped, still crouching, into the crenel. Turning, he carefully [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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    I brak precedensu jest precedensem. Stanisław Jerzy Lec (pierw. de Tusch - Letz, 1909-1966)
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