The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗

man, his face a pale blob in the gloom of the canyon, and a moment later

he recognized him with a stab of hatred through the chest.

"Helm!the exclaimed."Jake Helm."

He had an image of Tamre, the epileptic boy, crushed beneath the

rockfalls and of Tessay's burned and battered face. His outrage and

hatred surged. Instead of steering the log away from the scaffold, he

reversed his thrust and swung in towards the cliff. There was a

breathless interval when Nicholas thought he might miss, but at the last

moment the leading end of the log swung sharply and the point of it

crashed into the trailing end of the bamboo, hooking-on to it.

The log's weight and momentum were irresistible. The bamboo poles

crackled and snapped like dry kindling, and then the whole rickety

structure tore loose from the wall and came crashing down over the log.

Helm swung out overhead, then released his grip and dropped feet first

into the water close alongside the log. He went deep below the surface.

While he was under, Nicholas pulled himself up to sit astride the log

and grabbed a length of bamboo pole that had broken off the scaffolding

and was floating alongside.his perch.

The log was trapped in a back eddy of the swollen river, and now it

began to spin slowly in the slack water outside the main current.

Nicholas was still riding high on the log. He hefted the bamboo,

swinging it back and forth like a baseball bat, to get the feel of it.

Then he cocked it over his shoulder and waited for Helm to show himself.

A second later the Texan's head broke out, streaming water. His eyes

were screwed closed, and he let out a gasp Of water and air and tried to

suck in a breath. Nicholas aimed the pole at his head and swung with all

his strength, but just at that moment Helm opened his eyes and saw the

blow coming.

He was as quick as a water snake, rolling his head under the swinging

club so that it merely touched the side of his cropped blond head and

then glanced away. Nicholas was thrown off balance by his own swing, and

before he could recover Helm had drawn a quick breath and ducked below

the surface again.

Nicholas poised the club, ready to strike a second time, peering down

into the murky water, muttering angrily at himself for having missed the

first blow while he still had the advantage of surprise. He had no

illusions about what he was in for, now that Helm had been warned.

The seconds drew out with no sign of his adversary reappearing, and

Nicholas looked behind him anxiously, trying to anticipate where he

would come up again. For a long minute nothing happened. He lowered the

club nervously, and changed his grip so as to be ready to stab in any

direction with the sharp broken tip.

Suddenly his left ankle was seized in a crushing grip below the water

and, before he could grab a handhold to resist, Nicholas was jerked from

his seat on the log and went over backwards into the river. As he

plunged beneath the water he felt Helm's fingers clawing at his face. He

grabbed one of the fingers and wrenched it back, feeling it snap in his

grasp as he forced it back towards its own wrist.

But Helm was galvanized by the agony of the dislocated joint, and one of

his long muscular arms whipped around Nicholas's neck like the tentacles

of an octopus.

The two of them came to the surface for a moment, both of them drew one

quick, harsh breath, then Helm forced Nicholas's head backwards and

water flooded into his open mouth. The lock on his neck tightened, and

he felt the tension on his vertebrae. It was a killer grip. If Helm had

only had a solid purchase he could have exerted the last ounce of

pressure which would have snapped his spine. But Nicholas kept rolling

back in the direction of the thrust, giving with it, and preventing Helm

from bringing all his strength to bear. As he went over he saw Helm's

face in front of his, magnified and distorted through the tainted grey

water. He looked monstrous and evil.

As Helm rolled over the top of him Nicholas locked both hands around his

waist to hold him firmly, then brought up his right knee between Helm's

legs, hard into his crotch, and felt the bone of his kneecap make

contact.

The bunch of genitals was full and rubbery; Helm contorted and his lock

on Nicholas's neck eased. Nicholas used the slack to reach down and grab

a handful of Helm's damaged testicles and twist them savagely. He saw

the man's face inches in front of his own twist into a rictus of pain

and Helm pulled away from him, releasing his lock on Nicholas's throat

and reaching down to grab his wrist with both hands.

Again they came to the surface close alongside the floating log, and

Nicholas realized that the current had taken hold of them again and was

carrying them away through the outlet of Taita's pool into the full

stream of the river. Nicholas released his grip on Helm's balls and with

his other hand aimed a punch at his face, but they were too close to

each other and the blow lacked power. It glanced off Helm's cheek, and

Nicholas tried to lock his extended arm around his neck, going for a

headlock himself Helm hunched his head down on his shoulders slipping

under the hold. Then suddenly he reached for-ward fast as a striking

adder and sank his teeth into Nicholas's chin.

The surprise was complete, and the pain was excruciating as his teeth

locked into the flesh. Nicholas shouted and clawed at Helm's face, going

for his eyes, trying to drive his fingernails through the lids. But Helm

squeezed his eyes tight closed and his teeth cut in ever deeper, so that

Nicholas's blood welled up and oozed from the corners of Helm's mouth.

The log was still floating beside them, inches from the back of Helm's

head. Nicholas seized his ears, one in each hand, and twisted him around

in the water. He could see over the top of Helm's head, while Helm's

vision was blocked. There was a nub of raw wood sticking out of the tree

trunk where an axe had hacked away a, ride branch.

The cut was at an angle, leaving a sharp spike. Through tears of agony

Nicholas lined up the spike with the back of Helm's head. He could feel

Helm's teeth almost meeting in the flesh of his face. They had cut

through the lower lip so that blood was starting to fill Nicholas's

mouth. Helm was worrying him like a pit'bull in the arena, wrenching his

head from side to side. Soon he would come away with a bloody mouthful

of Nicholas's flesh.

With all the strength of pain and desperation, Nicholas hurled himself

forward, and, using his upper body and his grip on the sides of Helm's

head, drove him on to the sharp wooden spike. The point found the joint

between the vertebrae of the spine and the base of Helm's skull, going

in like a nail and partially severing the spinal cord.

Helm's jaws sprang open as he went into spasm. Nicholas pulled away from

him with a flap of loose flesh hanging from his chin, and blood

streaming and spurting from the deep ragged wound.

Helm was impaled upon the spike, like a carcass on a butcher's hook. His

limbs twitched and the muscles of his face convulsed, his eyelids

shivered and jumped like those of an epileptic, and his eyeballs rolled

back into his skull so that only the whites showed, flashing grotesquely

in the gloom of the chasm.

Nicholas pulled himself up on to the tog beside the Texan's body, and

hung there panting and bleeding in gouts down his chin on to his chest.