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.My reappearance was greeted with afew mocking remarks and some laughter.They told me I was a weak-belliedforeigner, and urged me to have a liter of wine to steady my nerves.Outside,the same relaxation -- a sense almost of repletion -- could be observed in thecrowd.Bets were being paid off, and there was a brisk trade in hot pastriesand sweetmeats.The Tripod, I noticed, had gone back to its original positionin the field.Gradually, as the hour ticked by, tension built up once more.At ten o'clock,the ceremony repeated itself, with the same quickening of excitement in thoseabout us, the same roar of joy and approval as the Hunt began.The secondvictim gave them better sport.He rode fast and well, and for a time avoidedthe Tripod's tentacle by riding under the cover of trees.When he broke intothe open again, I wanted to shout to him to stay where he was.But it wouldhave done no good, as he must have known: the Tripod could have plucked thetrees out from around him.He was making for the river, and I saw that therewas another copse half a mile farther on.Before he got there, the tentacleswept down.The first time he dodged it, swerving his horse at just the rightmoment so that the rope of metal flailed down and hit the ground beside him.He had a chance, I thought, of reaching his objective, and the river was notso very much farther on.But the Tripod's second attempt was better aimed.HePage 14ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlwas plucked from the saddle and his body pulled apart, as the first man's hadbeen.In a sudden hush, his cries of agony came thinly to us through thebright autumnal air.I did not come back after that killing.There were limits to what Icould stand, even in the cause of duty.Fritz stuck it out, but he looked grimwhen I saw him later, and was even more taciturn than usual.A few weeks later, we reached the caves.Their gloomy depths were strangelyattractive, a haven from the world through which we had journeyed for almost ayear.The walls of rock enfolded us, and the lamps flickered warmly.Moreimportant, though, was the release from the strain of mixing with and dealingwith the Capped.Here we conversed with free men like ourselves.For three days we were idle, apart from the ordinary duties which all shared.Then we had our orders from the local commander, a German whose name was Otto.We were to report, in two days' time, at a place specified only as a point ona map.Otto himself did not know why.3 -- The Green Man on the Green HorseIt took us two full days, on horseback, riding hard for the most part.Winter was closing in again fast, the days shortening, a long fine spell ofSt.Luke's summer breaking up into cold unsettled weather coming from thewest.For the whole of one morning we rode with sleet and sharp rain drivinginto our faces.We slept the first night in a small inn, but as the second daydrew to its close we were in wild deserted country, with sheep cropping thingrass and not even a sign of a shepherd, or a shepherd's hut.We were, we knew, near the end of our journey.At the top of a slope we reinedin our horses and looked down to the sea, a long line beating against anunpromising rocky coast.All empty, as the land was.Except.Away to thenorth, on the very edge of visibility, something like a squat finger pointingupward.I spoke to Fritz, and he nodded, and we rode for it.As we got nearer, we could see that it was the ruin of a castle, set ona promontory of rock.Nearer still, we could make out that there had been asmall harbor on the far side and that there were more ruins there, though on amore modest scale.Fishermen's collages, most likely.It would have been afishing village once, but was now abandoned.We saw no indication of life,either there or in the castle, which loomed harsh and black against thedeepening gray sky.A broken, potholed road led up to a gateway from which, onone side, hung the shattered remnants of a wooden gate barred with iron.Riding through, we found ourselves in a courtyard.It was as empty and lifeless as everything else, but we dismounted, and tiedour horses to an iron ring that had, perhaps, been used for that very purposea thousand years before.Even if we had got our map reference wrong, we weregoing to have to leave the search until morning.But I could not believe wehad erred.From behind an embrasure, I saw a dim flicker of light, and touchedFritz's arm, pointing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]