"Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 4 - Voyage City of the Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

They didn't call in the Guard because the intruder was already half dead.
Still,
they were upset.
Muttering angrily among themselves over the outrageous breach of protocol, the
members of the Zanur looked to their leader for direction, but Najoke
de-me-Halmur held his peace. It was up to the intruder to explain himself, and
fast. Hands still hovered close to sheathed knives, although it was be-coming
apparent this was no assassination attempt-the in-truder was too enfeebled to
present a threat to anyone but himself. So Najoke stayed his hand as well as
his
lips. Seeing this, the other members of the Zanur calmed themselves.
Two unkempt servants attended the intruder, and they had their hands full
keeping him on his feet. He was com-pletely bald, as befitted his age, but
more
than age had been at work on that body recently. Pain was evident even in the
movement of the eyes, and their owner was breathing as if he'd run a long
ways,
for all that two younger Mai supported him.
Several of the more impatient members of the Zanur started toward the
stranger.
De-me-Halmur stayed them with a wave of one slim, six-fingered hand.
"Patience,
my friends. Let us hear what this despoiler of etiquette has to say.
Retri-bution can come later. We are no judges here."
The leader's words sparked the withered visitor's atten-tion. He shrugged off
the helping hands of his servants, much as he continued to push away the
clutching hand of death. Though unsteady and shaking, he stood straight and by
him-self. "Good members of the Zanur, I beg forgiveness for this intrusion on
the affairs of state. When one has little time left, one has no time at all
for
protocol. I have much to tell you."
De-Yarawut rose and pointed, hairless brows drawing to-gether. "I know you.
You
reside in my district."
The elderly speaker tried to bow to the side, as etiquette required, and the
effort nearly sent him sprawling. His servants rushed to help but he gestured
them back.
"I am flattered by your remembrance, Zanural de-Yara-wut. I am Bril
de-Panltatol. A humble trader who works Upriver." The drama of the oldster's
intrusion, his unfor-givable breach of tradition, was beginning to fade. And
he
was known. No surprises were here.
Legends sing of the wrongness of such thoughts.
"No excuse can be made for your interruption, de-Panlt-atol," de-me-Halmur
said.
"You know the penalties."
"Your most excessive indulgence, Moyt, but as I said and as you can see,
little
time is left to me."