"David Drake - General 03 - The Anvil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

Raj blinked. There were times he thought Center was developing a sense
of humor. That was obscurely disturbing in its own right. Dark take it,
he'd never been much good at pleading anyway. Flickers of holographic
projection crossed his vision; Barholm calling the curse of the Spirit
down on his head, Barholm pinning a high decoration to Raj's chest --
Cloth-of-gold robes sewn with emeralds and sapphires swirled into Raj's
view. The toes of equally lavish slippers showed from under them. A
tense silence filled the Hall; Raj could feel the eyes on his back,
hundreds of them. Like a pack of carnosauroids waiting for a cow to
stumble, he thought. Then:
"Rise, Raj Whitehall!"
Barholm's voice was a precision instrument, deep and mellow. With the
superb acoustics of the hall behind it, the words rolled out more
clearly than the Janitor's had through the megaphone. Behind them a
long rustling sigh marked the release of tension.
Raj came to his feet, bending slightly for the ceremonial embrace and
touch of cheeks. He was several centimeters taller than the Governor,
although they were both Descotters. Barholm had the brick build and
dark heavy features common there, but Raj's father had married a
noblewoman from the far northwest, Kelden County. Folk there were
nearly as tall and fair as the Namerique-speaking barbarians of the
Military Governments.
The two men turned, the tall soldier and the stocky autocrat Barholm's
hand rested on his general's shoulder, a mark of high favor. Behind
them the bidden chorus sang a high wordless note.
"Nobles and clerics of the Civil Government -- behold the man who We
call Savior of the State! Behold the Sword of the Spirit of Man!" The
orator's voice rolled out again. The chorus came crashing in on the
heels of it:
"Praise him! Praise him! Praise him!"
Raj watched the throng come to their feet, putting one palm to their
ears and raising the other hand to the sky -- invoking the Spirit of
Man of the Stars as they shouted, "Glory, glory!" and "You conquer,
Barholm!"
Every one of them would have cheered his summary execution with equal
enthusiasm -- or greater.
Suzette's shining eyes met his.
not quite all, Center reminded him. Behind Suzette the Companions were
grinning as they cheered, far less than all.
The cheering died as Barholm raised a hand. "On Starday next shall be
held a great day of rejoicing in the Temple and throughout the city.
For three days thereafter East Residence shall hold festival in honor
of General Whitehall and the brave men he led to victory over the
barbarians of the Squadron; wine barrels shall stand at every
crossroads, and the government storehouses will dispense to the people.
On the third day, the spoils and prisoners will be exhibited in the
Canidrome, to be followed by races and games in honor of the Savior of
the State."
This time the cheers were deafening; if there was one thing everyone in
East Residence loved, it was a spectacle. The chorus was barely