"04 - Storm Season (a)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)were worth something. The only question worth asking is: do you wish to live or
die?" Jubal let his head sink back until his was staring at the hovel's ceiling. "Yes, healer," he murmured softly, "that is the question. I'll need time to consider the answer." "But-" "If I were to answer right now," the slaver continued harshly, "I'd say I'd prefer death to the life your treatment condemns me to. But that's the answer a healthy Jubal would give-now, when death is real, the true answer requires more thought. I'll contact you with my decision." "Very well," Alten snarled, rising to his feet. "But don't take too long making up your mind. Your black skin makes it difficult to judge the infection-but I'd guess you don't have much time left to make your choice." "How much?" Saliman asked. "A day or two. After that we'd have to take the legs off completely to save his life-but by then it might only be a choice of deaths." "Very well," Jubal agreed. The slaver's head came up with a jerk, but his aide had fore-reached him. "Here," Saliman said, tossing the healer a small pouch of coins, "for your services and your silence." Alten hefted the purse with raised eyebrows, nodded and started for the doorway. "Healer!" Jubal called from the floor, halting the man in mid-stride. "Currently only the three of us know my whereabouts. If any come hunting us and fail to finish the job, one, or both, of us will see you suffer hard before you die." Alten hesitated then moistened his lips. "And if someone finds you accidentally?" "Then we'll kill you-accidentally," Saliman concluded. The healer looked from one set of cold eyes to the other, jerked his head in a half-nod of agreement and finally left. For a long time after his departure silence reigned in the hovel. "Where did you get the money?" Jubal asked when such thoughts were far from his aide's mind. "What?" |
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