Nabonidus drew back, shaking like a leaf. He gripped Conan's shoulder. "Man, do you dare pit your knife against his fangs?"
The Cimmerian's eyes blazed in answer (глаза киммерийца вспыхнули в ответ).
"Quick (быстро)!" the Red Priest whispered (шепнул Красный Жрец), thrusting him behind the curtains, close against the wall (запихивая его за портьеры, вплотную к стене). "As he will find us soon enough (когда он нас найдет, /а это будет/ довольно скоро), we will draw him to us (мы отвлечем его на себя: «на нас»;
enough [ɪˈnʌf], past [pɑ:st], combat [ˈkɔmbæt]
The Cimmerian's eyes blazed in answer.
"Quick!" the Red Priest whispered, thrusting him behind the curtains, close against the wall. "As he will find us soon enough, we will draw him to us. As he rushes past you, sink your blade in his back if you can. You, Murilo, show yourself to him and then flee up the corridor. Mitra knows, we have no chance with him in hand-to-hand combat, but we are doomed anyway when he finds us."
Murilo felt his blood congeal in his veins (Мурило почувствовал, как кровь застыла в его венах), but he steeled himself and stepped outside the doorway (но он набрался решимости и вышел из дверного проема;
congeal [kənˈʤi:l], thunderous [ˈƟʌndərəs], roar [rɔ:]
Murilo felt his blood congeal in his veins, but he steeled himself and stepped outside the doorway. Instantly Thak, on the other side of the chamber, wheeled, glared, and charged with a thunderous roar. His scarlet hood had fallen back, revealing his black misshapen head; his black hands and red robe were splashed with a brighter red. He was like a crimson and black nightmare as he rushed across the chamber, fangs bared, his bowed legs hurtling his enormous body along at a terrifying gait.