"David Gemmell - Winter Warriors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

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Silently he padded out to the bath house. The boilers had not been lit and the water was cold.
Even so Kebra undressed and immersed himself, scrubbing at his body with soap. There were no clean
towels on the rack. Angry now he searched through the large laundry basket and dabbed at his cold
body with the cleanest of the used towels.

The collapse of discipline unnerved the bowman. Carrying his clothes he returned to the room and
sat, shivering, in front of the fire. Then he took a nightshirt from his chest and slipped it on.
It was crisp and clean and he could smell the freshness of the cotton. It eased his mind.

Ilbren's words haunted him. 'It is way past the time when you should have settled down with a wife
and raised sons.'

Kebra felt the weight of the words, like a stone on his heart.

Most of Palima's customers thought of her as a whore with a golden heart. This was a view she
cultivated, especially as she grew older, with age and the laws of gravity conspiring to ravage
her features. The truth was more stark: Palima's heart was like gold, cold, hard and well hidden.

She lay now on her bed, staring at the hulking figure by the window. Bison was well known to her,
a generous giant, unhindered by imagination or intellect. His needs were simple, his demands
limited, his energy prodigious. For a year now - ever since the Drenai had taken the city - he had
come to her at least once a week. He paid well, never troubled her with small talk or promises,
and rarely outstayed his welcome.

This night was different. He had come to her bed and

had cuddled her close. Then he had fallen asleep. Bison usually paid with a single silver coin
upon leaving. Yet tonight he had given her a gold half raq just after he arrived. Palima had tried
to rouse him - not usually a difficult feat. But Bison was in no mood for sex. This did not
concern Palima. If a man wanted to pay for a hug with gold she was more than happy to oblige. He
had slept fitfully for two hours, holding her close. Then he had dressed and moved to the window.
Bison had been standing there in the lantern light for some time now, a huge man, with great
sloping shoulders and long, powerful arms. Idly he tugged at his bristling white, walrus moustache
and stared out at the night dark square below.

'Come back to bed, lover,' she said. 'Let Palima work her magic.'

'Not tonight,' he told her.

'What is wrong?' she asked. 'You can tell Palima.'

He turned towards her. 'How old do you think I am?' he asked, suddenly.
Sixty-five, if you're a day, she thought, staring at his bald head and white moustache. Men were
such children. 'Maybe forty,' she told him.

He seemed satisfied with the answer, and she saw him relax. 'I'm older than that, but I don't feel