"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 02 - Saber and Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

cut-and-thrust blades; the long single-edged cavalry swords with basket hilts
that the east coast kingdoms favored. Pensa broadswords, as tall as Shkai'ra
at the hilt. Curved swords, recurved chopping blades, swords mounted on poles,
swords that slid into canes and umbrellas and scribes' book stands. Knives of
every description, from a main-gauche as long as a forearm, meant to do duty
as a shield, to a dainty little razor-edge knife, thin and flexible enough to
slip inside a belt, with the hilt shaped as a buckle. Spearheads, pike heads
of metal or fiber-bound ceramic or glass. Halberd heads, knife-sharp chainlike
fighting irons, throwing stars, blowpipes that slid in sections like
telescopes. Behind lay bits and pieces of armor.

Megan said not one word, but the wall drew her as if the metal were
magnetized. Good work here, she thought. Layer-forged, From the sheen, with
charcoal added. Her eyes were caught by a blade hanging just above her eye
level. Eastern work? If I didn't know better I'd say that was one of our best.
It matches our best; what a market for metal, if I could find a way to get it
here. Good iron was expensive everywhere, but east of the Lannic they did not
use iron beads for currency. She turned and raised an eyebrow at the smith.

"Trade goods from oversea? Worth maybe the iron that makes it."

"Good work," he said. "As good as mine or my kinmates, but different." He
lifted it down with huge spatulate fingers that were somehow delicate, and
bellowed over his shoulder, "Tea!"

"See," he continued. "Layer work, yes ... but I think they used iron and steel
wire, not twinned bars-tock. Nice! Firehair's sword is like that, but it comes
from the northwest. For this, I could give you, oh, only one-twenty-fifth the
weight in gold.

A boy of twelve with something of the man's build came in from the rear with a
tray. The tray was grubby leather, but the flask and cups were Naiglun
porcelain, delicate, simple and lovely, eggshell thin. The smith lifted one
cup, the scarred and calloused hands closing on it as lightly as on a rose.
"The Sun shine on you! he said. "A pleasure to deal with someone who knows
good work.'

Megan gently touched the teacup with a forefinger and decided against picking
up the scalding-hot utensil. "Tschchak, I thank you, but one can see from the
color that it is oil and not blood-quenched, a less, ah, expensive way of
cooling. One fiftieth."

"Brightness! The offer is an insult to the weapon.

And who needs blood quenching? Superstition! A tub of seawater with leather
soaked a week does as well. For that price I could offer this." He reached
over and picked out a lesser-quality dagger, still of steel; but laid beside
the first the difference was obvious.

She blew gently over her cup, looked through the steam at the smith, and