"Elenium 01 - The Diamond Throne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

rainy dark ahead of him. His ears caught a quick,
whispered conversation in the deep shadows somewhere to his left.
The roan snorted and laid his ears back.
'its nothing to get excited about,' Sparhawk told him.
The big man's voice was very soft, almost a husky
whisper. It was the kind of voice people turned to hear.
Then he spoke more loudly, addressing the pair of
hoods lurking in the shadows. 'I'd like to accommodate you, neighbours,' he
said, but it's late, and I'm not
in the mood for casual entertainment. Why don't you go
rob some drunk young nobleman instead, and live to
steal another day?' To emphasize his words, he threw
back his damp cloak to reveal the leather-bound hilt of
the plain broadsword belted at his side.
There was a quick, startled silence in the dark street,
followed by the rapid patter of fleeing feet.
The big roan snorted derisively. 'My sentiments exactly,'
Sparhawk agreed, pulling his cloak back around him.
"Shall we proceed?'
They entered a large square surrounded by hissing
torches where most of the brightly coloured canvas
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Eddings, David - Elenium 1 - The Diamond Throne.txt
booths had their fronts rolled down. A few forlornly
hopeful enthusiasts remained open for business,
stridently bawling their wares to indifferent passers-by
hurrying home on a late, rainy evening. Sparhawk
reined in his horse as a group of rowdy young nobles
lurched unsteadily from the door of a seedy tavern,
shouting drunkenly to each other as they crossed the
square. He waited calmly until they vanished into a side
street and then looked around, not so much wary as
alert.' Had there been but a few more people in the nearly
empty square, even Sparhawk's trained eye might not
have noticed Krager. The man was of medium height and
he was rumpled and unkempt. His boots were muddy,
and his maroon cape carelessly caught at the throat. He
slouched across the square, his wet, colourless hair
plastered down on his narrow skull and his watery eyes
blinking nearsightedly as he peered about in the rain.
Sparhawk drew in his breath sharply. He hadn't seen
Krager since that night in Cippria, almost ten years ago,
and the man had aged considerably. His face was greyer
and more pouchy-looking, but there could be no
question that it was Krager.
Since quick movements attracted the eye, Sparhawk's
reaction was studied. He dismounted slowly and led his
big horse to a green canvas food vendor's stall, keeping
the animal between himself and the nearsighted man
in the maroon cape. 'Good evening, neighbour,' he said to