"I - Odyssey" - читать интересную книгу автора (McGough Scott)

cynicism. False wonders filled the streets as the hopeful went
from stall to stall, determined to find the lucky prize that
surely must be hidden in all the chaff.
Torches flared and some burned brightly with magic enhanced
lights. Kamahl took a second to feel the warmth of the energy
with his mystic senses. Stretching forth his mind and spirit he
felt the beat of power and dissonance as contesting magics
fractured against each other. It could only be the pits that
called to him, and he hurried through the collected throngs to
take his place.

* * * * *

The crowd roared its approval as two men moved into the
arena, the masses calling encouragement. Kamahl had bought
entrance with a small nugget of gold from a mountain stream. He
imagined the Master of the Games would be in the arena, and the
barbarian was determined to find him. The building was huge,
seating thousands. The walls leaned inward overhead, evoking the
feeling of an underground cavern. Huge torches flared
continuously behind reflectors, directing the magic light onto
the floor of the stadium. Red and black sand covered the circular
fighting area. Inside the wide ring were obstacles and a few
obvious trap doors. Despite himself, Kamahl was impressed. For
the first time he was in a building that made him feel closed in
even though it was several spear-casts across.
The two men on the sand moved together, and Kamahl shook his
head. The opponents were hesitant, and the barbarian wondered how
any could find such a match interesting. A young man standing
close by noticed Kamahl's mild contempt and spoke.
"Do not give up hope just yet, sir," he said, shuffling near.
His clothing was dark and loose, the tailoring and richness
of the fabric suggesting a person of means, yet he was young and
had no attendants. Kamahl thought him likely to be a lord's
servant though he saw no obvious crest or standard to announce
his affiliation.
"The name is Chainer," the man said, moving closer. The pair
are partners against Lieutenant Kirtar, a champion from the
Northern Order."
"Kamahl," the barbarian said, glancing briefly at the youth
and then to the stands, "here to win the tourney. Where do I
announce myself?"
Chainer's eyebrows raised slightly at the boast, and he
smiled. Kamahl turned more of his attention to the young man.
The youth still had a trace of innocence in his face, but
already the fighter could see some of the hardness and cynicism
that characterized city toughs. The boy's hair was in tight corn-
rolls that grew down over his eyes. His only visible weapon was a
large, ornamental dagger that he wore at his side. As Kamahl
considered him, Chainer's fingertips lightly brushed the hilt in