"Dave Duncan - A Man of His Word 3 - Perilous Seas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

Trouble was, the only possible explanation for that was much harder to talk
about than a criminal past would have been. He knew his grandfather had died
when jotunn raiders razed Kolvane; his father had been a posthumous baby.
Although the family would never discuss the matter, and although Ogi himself was
impishly short and broad and swarthy, he was quite certain that he must be
one-quarter jotunn. To say so would greatly boost his standing in Durthing and
among Stormdancer's crew, but it would increase his risks, too, and the kidding
would never end. Ogi was not enough of a jotunn to find such matters funny.
"But they are maniacs," Rap muttered. "Kani's still after me to go pick a fight
with someone. Why, for the Good's sake? I've shown I'll defend myself!"
Ogi began flipping fish over with the point of his dagger. He hadn't meant to
raise the matter yet, and the kid wasn't close to drunk. "Well, there's a
difference, Rap."
"What sort of difference?"
He passed the wine. "Here-you're not drinking your share! Yes, you've had a
couple of fights. But they don't really count."
Rap put the jar down on the ground beside him and fixed a cold gaze on his
companion. "Don't count? Why not?"
The carp were done. Feeling his mouth watering already, Ogi began scooping them
onto the platters with his dagger. At least he need not look his friend in the
eye while doing so. He hoped they would still be friends tomorrow.
"You know the standings round here,. Rap. Lowest are the nonjotunn, like me.
Especially me, 'cause jotnar rank imps just barely above gnomes. Then the part
jotunn, like you. Fauns are quite well thought of, actually-probably because
they're so pigheaded that they never know when they're beaten-and you're almost
jotunn size, so you rate just below pure jotunn." He waited, but got no comment.



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He worked more on the fish. "And then they have their own levels. Tops are the
Nordland-born, like Brual-"
"And Kani's a third-generation southerner and hates himself for it. So? So what
are you getting at?"
"Well, I know a couple of guys decided to try you out. You did very well, too,
but Dirp is a third-generation exile, like Kani, and old Hagmad is a second, and
neither is much thought of as a fighter. Besides, they were just playing."
"It didn't feel like play," Rap growled. "It bloody hurt!" Ogi had scraped the
griddle clean. He had no option but to hand Rap his platter and meet his eye.
"Tell me the worst," Rap said sourly. "I've lost my appetite already. "
Ogi sighed. "You want them off your back? Well, then, you've got to have a punch
party with a full-blooded, Nordland-born jotunn. One of the good ones. "
"Oh, great! I used to think Gathmor was bad--"
"I'm not finished. You've got to pick the quarrel, not him. Your fight, see? And
you've got to make him mad. Really mad! We can't settle for just a playful
testing to see what's in the uppity faun mongrel. You bait him till he's one
man-eating, homicidal, kill-crazy jotunn, who really wants to smash you. Then-no
mercy! You beat him to a jelly. "