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

has
finished his story."
"Up past even far Hochac I went," de-Panltatol was breathing harder now, "and
my
journey was but beginning. I lost servants and companions until I was obliged
to
travel on my own, because none would go farther in my company. All believed me
mad, you see. I nearly perished many times. The rumors and the river led me
ever
onward."
"Onward to what?" another of the Zanural snorted deri-sively.
The oldster glanced sideways and seemed to draw strength from his scoffers.
"To
the source of all the tales and songs. To the land of the dead. To the part of
the world where demons and monsters make their home. To the top of the world,
good Zanural."
This time the laughter could not be contained. It did not appear to discourage
the old trader.
"I found the City of the Dead. I, Bril de-Panltatol! And I came away with a
piece of it." He frowned then, and wheezed painfully. "I don't remember that
time very well. My mind was numbed by all I had endured. How I stayed alive I
don't know, but I drove myself to make another boat. I made many boats, I
think.
It's hard to remember. I dis-guised what I had brought away beneath a bale of
Salp skins and brought it all the way Downriver, all the way back to my home,
to
Po Rabi."
De-me-Halmur's wide black eyes flickered. "A most in-teresting and
entertaining
story, de-Panltatol, but all such tales of demon cities are entertaining. I
hope
you are a better trader than you are a storyteller." Polite laughter rose from
the other members of the Zanur.
"Is that what you broke into our conference to tell us?" snapped another
Zanural
angrily. "If you can do no better than that, I promise you your age will not
save you."
"There is only one thing I can add to what I have told you," the exhausted
trader admitted. "For it I have ruined my mind and my self, so there is little
for you to threaten me with. My triumph will be short-lived and I will not buy
the seat on the Zanur that I longed for." A few insulted murmurs arose among
the
Zanural, loudest from those whose fortunes were smallest.
"So I will leave my tale to you, together with that one other thing, and let
you
judge, Zanural of the city, if I might have been thought equal in wealth to
sit
among you." He turned and blew on a small bone whistle that hung from a cord
around his neck.
A dozen laborers entered in two columns of six. Between them they held ropes