"Books - David Eddings - The Ellenium 1 - The Diamond Throne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate and helmet, and with
a patched green cloak negligently hanging from one shoulder, came
unsteadily out of the gatehouse and stood swaying in Sparhawk's path.
'I'll need your name,' he said in a voice thick with
drink.
Sparhawk gave him a long stare, then opened his cloak
to show the heavy silver amulet hanging on a chain about
his neck.
The half-drunk gate guard's eyes widened slightly,
and he stepped back a pace. 'Oh,' he said, "sorry, my
Lord. Go ahead.'
Another guard poked his head out of the gatehouse.
'Who is it,, Raf?' he demanded.
'A Pandion Knight,' the first guard replied nervously.
'What's his business in Cimmura?'
'I don't question the Pandions, Bral,' the man named
Raf answered. He smiled ingratiatingly up at Sparhawk.
'New man,' he said apologetically, jerking his thumb
back over his shoulder at his comrade. 'He'll learn in
time, my Lord. Can we serve you in any way?'
'No,' Sparhawk replied, 'thanks all the same. You'd
better get in out of the rain, neighbour. You'll catch cold out
here.' He handed a small coin to the green cloaked guard
and rode on into the city, Passing up the narrow, cobbled
street beyond the gate with the slow clatter of the big roan's
steel-shod hooves echoing back from the buildings.

The district near the gate was poor, with shabby, rundown houses standing
tightly packed beside each other with their upper floors projecting out
over the wet, littered street. Crude signs swung creaking on rusty hooks in
the night wind, identifying this or that tightly shuttered shop on the
street-level floors. A wet, miserable-looking cur slunk across the street
with his ratlike tail between his legs. Otherwise, the street was dark and
empty.
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection where
another street crossed the one upon which Sparhawk
rode. A sick young whore, thin and wrapped in a shabby
blue cloak, stood hopefully under the torch like a pale,
frightened ghost. 'Would you like a nice time, sir?' she
whined at him. Her eyes were wide and timid, and her
face gaunt and hungry.
He stopped, bent in his saddle, and poured a few small
coins into her grimy hand. 'Go home, little sister, ' he told
her in a gentle voice. 'it's late and wet, and there'll be no
customers tonight.' Then he straightened and rode on,
leaving her to stare in grateful astonishment after him.
He turned down a narrow side' street clotted with
shadow and heard the scurry of feet somewhere in the
rainy dark ahead of him. His ears caught a quick,