"Raymond E. Feist - Empire Saga 2 - Servant Of The Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

Her robe neatly held above her ankles, Mara followed
Lujan around the first landing. They passed the entrance to
the lower tier of galleries, which by unwritten but rigid
custom was reserved for merchants or house factors, and
climbed to the next level, used only by the nobility.

But with Midkemians up for auction, the crowds were
absent. Mara saw only a few bored-looking merchants who
seemed more interested in the common gossip of the city
than in buying. The upper tier of galleries would probably
stand empty. Most Tsurani nobles were far more concerned
by the war on the world beyond the rift, or in curbing the
Warlord Almecho's ever growing power in the council, than
with purchasing intractable slaves. The earliest lots of
Midkemian captives had sold for premium prices, as
curiosities. But the novelty lost attraction with numbers.
Now grown Midkemian males brought the lowest prices of
all; only women with rare red-gold hair or unusual beauty
still commanded a thousand centuries. But since the Tsurani
most often captured warriors, females from the barbarian
world were seldom available.

A breeze off the river tugged at the plumes on Lujan's
helm. It fluttered the feathered ends of Mara's perfumed fan
and set her beaded earrings swinging. Over the palisade
drifted the voices of the barge teams as they poled their craft
up and down the river Gagalin. Nearer at hand, from the
dusty pens inside the high plank walls came the shouts of the
slave merchants, and the occasional snap of a needra hide
switch as they hustled their charges through their paces for
interested customers in the galleries. The pen holding the
Midkemians held about two dozen men. No buyers offered
inquiry, for only one overseer stood indifferent watch. With
him was a factor apparently in charge of issuing clothing,
and a tally keeper with a much chipped slate. Mara glanced
curiously at the slaves. All were very tall, larger by a head
than the tallest Tsurani. One in particular towered over the
chubby factor, and his red-gold hair blazed in the noonday
sun of Kelewan as he attempted to communicate in an
unfamiliar language. Mara had no chance to study the
barbarian further, as Lujan stopped sharply in her path. His
hand touched her wrist in warning.

'Someone's here,' he whispered, and covered his check in
stride by bending as if a stone had lodged in his sandal. His
hand settled unobtrusively on his sword, and over his
muscled shoulder Mara glimpsed a figure seated in the
shadow to the rear of the gallery. He might be a spy, or
worse: an assassin. With Midkemians scheduled for sale, a
bold Lord might chance on the fact that the upper level