"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 03 - The Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

know it isn't me you're afraid of." She hugged, warm and careful.
More careful than anyone outside this room would have
believed. She raised herself on one elbow and traced Megan's
mouth as the Zak lay in the crook of her arm, looking troubled.
"It's getting better. I should know."

Megan turned and pressed her face into Shkai'ra's shoulder.
"I'm just tired of being afraid."

"I know." Over the Zak's dark head, Shkai'ra's face darkened
as she thought of Sarngeld, but he was dead and out of reach.
Ten-Knife jumped up on the bed, looking proud of himself, and
dropped a large dead rat on them; his first kill on a new
territory. Megan laughed at Shkai'ra's shout of outrage.

"Out! OUT, you rabid night-stalker! Oh, sheepshit, Megan,
he's gone under the bed with it. Stop laughing! It isn't funny at
all!"
Chapter Two
MANOR OF THE SLEEPING DRAGON
F'TALEZON, UPPER BREZHAN RIVER NEW
CHEAPSTREET, NEAR THE LADY SHRINE
TENTH IRON CYCLE, SIXTH DAY

Habiku threw himself down by the lapdesk under the east
window, smiling.

He was a small man, though tall for one with Zak blood, with
fine-chiseled features, somewhat gone to good living, as if a
sculptor had taken a statue of a strongly muscled athlete and
coated it with an inch of yellow tallow that had sagged with heat.
His eyes were a clear amber color, and the curly brown hair still
refused to be tamed by a comb, dropping one lock down over his
right eye. His cream-colored tunic was immaculate, with white
lace at the throat as well as the wrists.

"Master." Lixa, his debt-slave, handed him his goblet. Her
voice was soft nd pleasing. "There is word from the south." The
rain was turning to light, slushy snow. He looked at her and was
annoyed by her quietness. He had worked hard to get it, but had
bought the woman for her wildness as well as her resemblance to
the deadтАж He leaned back into the office cushions. Windows
ringed them all around save where the door led to the stairwell;
it had been her office, as she had furnished it. The cushions, the
teakwood lapdesk and hangings were from all along the Brezhan,
even an abstract piece from the teRyadn steppe to the east. Of
course, he no longer had to defer to her love of barrenness; there
were Raku spirit-poles between the windows now, carved scarlet
satin-wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. On a bronze stand was a
Hriis prayer-box, fantastically ornate with gold and scrollwork.