Читать книгу Sinbad: Rogue of Mars - John Garavaglia - Страница 42

Villages burning, women screaming, and the smell of death were in the air as his enemies broke ranks and charged at him.

Kasson smiled, enjoying the show as it washed over him, filling his mind with a thousand gory images. He had slaughtered indiscriminately, the young, the old, the sick, and the wounded—all held fallen beneath his sword, or else by his hands. And in the end, he had no regrets. He had enjoyed every last moment of it.

He coughed weakly, blood trickled from his wounds. A very special part of him, had always known that the day would come when he would lose. Then he frowned. The person to vanquish him was a lowly pink outlander.

Where had he come from?

What circumstances had led him to become what he was?

It all didn’t matter. Sinbad had succeeded where all others had failed.He turned his head stiffly to the side so he could look closely at Sinbad’s face. “Well done, outlander,” he whispered. “Well done.”

There was no reply. Then a moment later, Kasson died.

From atop Zhar Akhdar’s private terrace, his sister Aella watched Sinbad delivered the killing stroke to the unfavorable gladiator. She looked at her brother, who was enjoying the show, and gave him a smile.

“The outlander fights well, dear brother,” she said, twirling a lock of her long red hair with her finger.

“That he does, sister,” Akhdar replied with a smirk on his face. “That he does. Although I suspect you admire him for things other than his combat ability.”

Aella’s green cheeks blushed red, and laughed off her brother’s ridiculous concept.

“Akhdar, whatever do you mean?”

“Do not play such childish games with me, Aella. I’ve seen the way you look at him. If you wanted a private audience with this Sinbad, all you had to do is simply ask.”

SINBAD: ROGUE OF MARS

42