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

rose, giving her wrists and arms a brief, businesslike shake. "If
this is the quality of the opposition, it'll be easier than you
thought," she said.

"I wouldn't judge by this and get too superior," the Zak said.
"It won't all be this easy." Megan strode toward the office at the
back, then stopped. "I'm closing this office for the rest of the
day," she said, looking at the two remaining clients in the outer
office, who were still watching as Shkai'ra walked away from the
moaning guard. "Accept my apologies, teikas. All transactions
are suspended until I clean House."

Megan and Shkai'ra paused under the carved blackwood sign
outside, after the Zak locked the door and stuck the keys in her
belt, waiting for the street to be cleared. In front of the Slaf
Hikarme's counting house the drivers of two oxcarts, one piled
high with round cheeses, the other bulging with bales of wool,
stood and waved their goads and yelled insults over which of
them had right of way. Around them the street bustled;
wool-capped sailors jostled on the narrow, split-log way that
kept everyone up out of the delta mud; buildings of timber and
rubble and brick leaned out to almost meet overhead. A juggler
in bright robes balanced improbable things thrown him by his
audience at one corner, of the ex-whorehouse. A squad of the
Watch trailed by, bored shopkeepers and artisans in rusty
kettle-helmets and leather corselets, their polearms canted every
which way; one carelessly snagged the backhook of her halberd
in a line of washing and yanked, dumping the laundry in the
mud. Curses and a flung chamberpot followed.

Shkai'ra noticed the Rand first for his robe; it was
ankle-length, of blue silk and embroidered with dragons in
thread of gold and silver, with garnets and lapis for eyes and
scales. Wouldn't mind having that myself, she mused. Too short
for her, the man's head only came to her eye-level, but it could be
made over into a nice coat. Quick thump on the head and . . .
No, not here. The man wasn't bad-looking either, supple
saffron-skinned handsomeness, with a cat on his shoulderтАж

Not a cat. Cat looking, with Siamese points, but the tailтАж the
tail was like a monkey's, loosely curled around the man's throat.
At first she thought it was wrapped in a toast-brown fur; then it
unfurled one three-foot wing and fanned the air, knocking off a
sailor's hat and receiving a resentful glare. Bat-style wing, with a
claw on the leading edge and the skin webbing between
elongated finger bones. The Rand reached up and tickled it
under the chin; the eyes slitted and it purred for a moment, then
crouched with its wings stretched back. The man let his hand
fall, and the cat-thing sprang into the air, dropped, caught itself
with a thunderclap wingbeat, thrashed its way aloft through the