"L. Sprague De Camp - The Clocks of Iraz" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

Author's Note

While the reader may, naturally, pronounce the names in this tale as he
pleases, for Penembic names I had the following scheme in mind: ue and oe as
in German; ui (obscured) as in "biscuit"; other vowels more or less as in
Spanish and consonants as in English. Hence Ayuir rhymes with "fire";
Chaluish, with "demolish"; Chui-vir, with "severe." The h in Sahmet, Fahramak
is sounded: "sah-h'm-met," etc. The scheme is based upon the phonetics of
Turkish.

THE CHRLET MflMMOTH

T WAS THE HOUR OF THE COAT, ON THE THIRTEENTH OF

the Month of the Unicorn, in the republic of Ir, one of the twelve city-states
of Novaria.

In the tavern called the Scarlet Mammoth, in the city of Orynx, a slim, well-
dressed young man toyed absently with a glass of wine and watched the door.
Although this man wore Novanan garb, there was about him a suggestion of the
exotic. His skin was darker than that of most Novarians, although the latter
were a mainly brunet folk. Furthermore, his ornaments were gaudier than those
of the Land of the Twelve Cities.

Across the common room sat an older man: a chunky fellow of medium height,
with a plain, nondescript face, clad in garments of sober black. If the first
man looked foppish, the second looked ostentatiously austere.

While the tall youth watched the door, the chunky man, now and then sipping
from a leathern drinking jack of ale, watched the tall youth. Sweat beaded the
foreheads of both men, for the weather was unseasonably hot.

The door flew open. In stamped six noisy, rough-looking men, covered with
sweat and dust and cursing the heat. They seized the largest table in the
common room and hammered on it. The tallest man, a burly, ruddy fellow with
deep-set dark eyes under heavy black brows and a close-cut black beard,
shouted:

"Ho, Theudus! Can't a gang of honest workmen get a drink, when their throats
are caked with dust thick enough to raise a crop in?"

1

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Coming, coming, Master Nikko, if you'll stop that hellish racket," grumbled
the taverner, appearing with his fists full of jacks of ale, a thick finger
hooked around each handle. As he set the vessels down, he asked: "Be this your
last day, working out of Orynx?"