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

she found out what had happened while she was goneтАж Under
the edge of the counter, where she couldn't see it, Vhsant's hand
slowly clenched. Yareslav saw a slight sheen of sweat at his
hairline.

He's shaken, the underclerk thought. I've never seen him this,
ah, flustered before.

"Woman," the Head Clerk told the Zak, without waiting for
her to say any more. "You have some superficial resemblance to
the unfortunately deceased owner of the House of the Sleeping
Dragon. If you think you can take advantage of a slight
resemblance to Megan Whitlock, and take over a thriving
business, you are mistaken. Guards, expel them."
 Bhodan and Anjevitch rose and stepped forward; they were
brother and sister, peasants expelled from the BenaiтАФthe
Abbey'sтАФlands for brawling. They were as tall as the blonde
foreigner who stood between them and Megan Whitlock, more
massive, with arms and shoulders that had rolled logs, wrestled
young bulls, cleared rocks from fields. They had the instincts of
professionals; they spread, wasting no time on words, coming in
on the foreigner from either side with staffs swinging, ready for
their opponent to break the peace-bond seal on her saber.
Yareslav watched, fascinated.

Clack. The sister's staff struck the scabbarded blade the
blonde stranger had drawn, sheath and all, from her belt-loops.
Tack, the foreign woman touched down again from the leap that
had taken her over the metal-shod ashwood Bhodan swung at
her knees. She turned, pivoted on the balls of her feet toward the
brother, moving with a smooth leopard grace that made the
siblings look heavy, slow. The brass pommel of the saber snaked
out behind her, struck the top of Anjevitch's kneecap with the
sound of a butcher's mallet breaking bone. She wailed, doubled,
her face coming down to meet a booted heel striking backward
and up. There was a crackling like small twigs thrown on a hot
fire and the peasant sank to her knees, one hand pressed to her
face. She reached a trembling hand to the floor, slid down and
lay still, moaning.

A few hardy spectators remained, backing out of the blonde
woman's way as Bhodan roared, advancing with blow after blow
that would have splintered oak. Somehow the staff never quite
seemed to reach the figure that backed before him. She spun,
holding the sheathed sword in both hands. It snaked out in
deflection-parries against the wood staff that would have
snapped it with a square blow. A moment, and the remaining
guard thrust his weapon in a move that should have pinned her
against the wall behind. Instead, it pinned him, as the steel tip
clanked immovably against the wall for a single crucial instant.