"Silistra - 02 - The Golden Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

УWho is Nemarchan now?Ф I asked, limping as we cross, the clearing to the fire,
burning low, untended. The other jiasks had already retired to the shade of the
appreis. They had left a joint of meat and half-full pot of binnirin, boiled
until the grains had dissolved into a brown starchy mass. Beside the joint,
cooled so that the fat and blood had congealed upon its charred surface, lay a
quarter-filled bladder.
УCan you not wait to find out? Liuma Sataeje aniet Erastur reigns over the
tiasks, over the time and the life, at the side of Chayin rendi Inekte, chosen
son of Tar-Kesa.Ф He intoned the ritual with more than a little fervor.
Tar-Kesa, ancient god of the gristasha, still held power in the desert. If Liuma
reigned over the time and life, then she was forereader. Chayin had a formidable
court, with his blood brother the dharener, first among the Day-Keepers of the
Nemarsi, and his couch-mate Nemarchan and forereader. With the three elements in
accord, the Nemarsi might be wielded like a single razor-sharp sword in the hand
of the cahndor. I knew the ritual of Tar-Kesa, and if Chayin had become his
chosen son, he had underнgone its testing: arduous, but worth the pain and risk
to a man who would become a flesh-god, a living legend, above reproach and
question. Dorkat, indeed, was Chayin, who loved power so much that he had laid
his life down as wager upon the altar of Tar-Kesa.
I picked, at the charred meat, at the mass of binnirin in the pot. The jiask
gulped his food so fast he must have swallowed each bite whole. He drank long
from the bladder. The sun beat down hot upon my back. When he surrendered the
drink to me, I found it to be brin, headless and flat, but welcome. The
intoxicant eased my mind, lightнened my heart. I drank more. I was not hungry, I
decided, but only thirsty. I was conscious of the apprei, looming behind my
back. Its cool shade did not entice me. I had almost managed to forget why the
cahndor had allowed me to wash and feed.
Marshon the jiask got to his feet and wiped his greasy hands upon his thighs. He
tugged at my hair. Reluctantly I rose. He unlaced the flap and held it open for
me. I saw that my plight amused him. All within the apprei looked green and
indisнtinct. I stood for a moment, the urge to turn and run strong upon me, but
there was nowhere to run. I stepped inside, and the flap fell back in place.
УAs is often the case,Ф Chayin said from someнwhere before me, УHad was right.
When that chald is cut from you, you will be very lovely. Lace the flap.Ф I
turned and did so, the laces and holes slowly detaching themselves from the
grainy dark as my vision cleared and sharpened. When that afraid is cut from
you, he had said.
УDo not take my chald from me.Ф I faced him, my back against the laced flap, my
hands clenched behind me.
УCrells do not wear chalds. It lessens their beauty, their usefulness, their
htimility. It slows their adjustment. What use is a chald without meaning? Come
here.Ф
I went to him, where he lounged with his back against the middle stanchion. I
remembered, as I knelt before him, not to meet his gaze.
УCrells do not wear chalds,Ф he repeated, his hands taking up the hair over my
breast and gently brushing it back, that he might see me better.
36 Janet E. Morris
УThen I will remove it if you wish.Ф I would not have my chald defaced.
УDo so:Т he commanded.
I put my hands to my chald, running the strands through my fingers. I found the