"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 05 - Shadow's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

 SheтАЩd been twelve. All she had heard was that the Zak woman with the steel claws was a witch and
an enemy, with no great regard for the life of anyone in her way; the other woman a plain savage. TheyтАЩd
race her fatherтАЩs proxies, three Schvait, the stakesтАФa bond, did that mean the witch and the barbarian
would be her fatherтАЩs slaves, if they lost? In the house; she didnтАЩt think that was a good idea. She didnтАЩt
like them, never wanted to see them again. Their stake was тАЬa favorтАЭ. She thought that meant some kind
of errand.
Then came the barbarianтАЩs bow-shot, the gull with the arrow through it falling at their feet, her mother
fainting ... All anyone ever said was that her head sounded hollow when it hit the dais. Always
laughing. No one ever asked whether she was hurt.
She couldnтАЩt see most of the race, only knew by the hungry whooping of the crowd that her fatherтАЩs
proxies had lost. Then Francosz was chasing the clownтАФPiatr, sheтАЩd find out his name was,
laterтАФaround the dais with a knife, feeling somehow that he was somehow the source of all their
troubles. The witch had hexed Franc, then turned him to stone until the judge called her off. But Franc
had been right, it seemed; for as her тАЬfavorтАЭ the witch asked only the clown. A friend of hers. He was
bewitching us, too.
I guess we go home now, she had thought then.
But instead the barbarian woman seized Francosz and her by the wrist. тАЬThat doubles my price,тАЭ
sheтАЩd said, when Fater had called her what she was: barbarian. Else she wouldnтАЩt have taken me.
Maybe. SheтАЩs never really insulted when people call her that; it was just an excuse. That face, so
haughty, carved like stone in smug cruelty as if it could know no other expression, the harsh voice, deep
for a womanтАЩs, the guttural accent; and the smell, that no woman should have, no human should have,
like an unwashed arm-pit, or worse.
I threw myself at FaterтАЩs feet. But there was nothing he could do; if heтАЩd clung sheтАЩd have torn
me out of his arms, and taken pleasure in doing it; worse for his zight, what was left of it. He was
proud to the end. She began to understand, when she saw the barbarian woman grab FrancтАЩs hair, and
draw her knife. The witch stopped it, leaving him only slightly shorn, and said something about an
apprenticeship; but then the Zak turned her back, and in the barbarianтАЩs face, and her word, тАЬStrip!тАЭ, she
saw the truth.
SheтАЩs claiming us. WeтАЩre her slaves. She owns us. Yet even as the truth sank in, a good part of her
could not believe this was happening at all. ItтАЩs all a dream, a make-believe; Fater will rescue us and
weтАЩll go home. A leer on the big womanтАЩs face, the look, her mother had taught her, that only a doxy, a
whore, gets. Naked, the wind touching her all over, the eyes of the crowd, laughing, hating, while she put
one tiny hand over the place between her legs and the other forearm over her nipples, not yet grown into
breasts, as if that really hid anything, Zak eyes seeing her as she truly was and pointing, laughing, seeing
the tears she felt spill hot over her cheeks, and laughing harder.
She a learned enough trade-Zak to understand the barbarianтАЩs mocking words. HeтАЩs not my type
and youтАЩre too young. But the eyes said different, running up and down her, contemptuously measuring,
like the hands of buyers in the slave-market. IтАЩm too young, she would think later. She wants to save
me for sometime in the future. No. No, this isnтАЩt happening. Fater ... Then the blows began, on both
of them, hand and belt and foot.
тАЬThe best youтАЩre likely to get is scutwork somewhere.тАЭ Choices; they were saying something about
choices. That was the ZakтАЩs doing, it turned out; sheтАЩd had words with the barbarian.тАЭStay with us, and
youтАЩll have a berth and enough to eat ...тАЭ The Zak had said they werenтАЩt slaves, that their answers
werenтАЩt final, but hadnтАЩt asked again. In the meantime, they had to do whatever either woman said, and
got beaten more than the household slaves.
The next weeks she remembered as a blur, of pain and exhaustion and shame, shame over and over
again, more shame than sheтАЩd ever thought she could bear. She had to say sorry and ask forgiveness of
Piatr, but no one ever said sorry to her, no matter what they did. Ugly, ill-mannered, weak, ignorant ...
TheyтАЩd made Franc and her do their slave chores for them, hit them if they didnтАЩt want to, or when they
didnтАЩt know how because they were highborn, hit them for that ... She remembered ShkaiтАЩra asking,