"John Norman - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

Luma no longer wore a collar. After the victory of the 25th of Se'Kara, over the fleets of Tyros
and Cos, I had freed her. She had much increased my fortunes. Freed, she took payment, but not as
much as her services, I knew, warranted. Few scribes, I expected, were so skilled in the
supervision and management of complex affairs as this light, unattractive, brilliant girl. Other
captains, other merchants, seeing the waxing of my fortunes, and understanding the commercial
complexities involved, had offered this scribe considerable emoluments to join their service. She,
however, had refused to do so. I expect she was pleased at the authority, and trust and freedom,
which I had accorded her. Too, perhaps, she had grown fond of the house of Bosk.
"I do not wish to see the accounts," I told her.
"The Venna and Tela have arrived from Scagnar," she said, "with full cargoes of the fur of sea
sleen. My information indicates that highest prices currently for such products are being paid in
Asperiche."
"Very well," I said, "give the men time for their pleasure, eight days, and have the cargoes


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transferred to one of my round ships, whichever can be most swiftly fitted, and embark them for
Asperiche, the Venna and Tela as convoy."
"Yes, Captain," said Luma.
"Go now," I said. "I do not wish to see the accounts."
"Yes, Captain," she said.
At the door, she stopped. "Does the captain wish food or drink?" she asked.
"No," I told her.
"Thurnock," she said, "would be pleased should you play with him a game of Kaissa."
I smiled. Huge, yellow-haired Thurnock, he of the peasants, master of the great bow, wished to
play Kaissa with me. He knew himself no match for me in this game.
"Thank Thurnock for me," said I, "but I do not wish to play."
I had not played Kaissa since my return from the northern forests.
Thurnock was a good man, a kind man. The yellow-haired giant meant well.
"The accounts," said Luma, "are excellent. Your enterprises are prospering. You are much richer."
"Go," said I, "Scribe. Go, Luma."
She left.
I sat alone in the darkness. I did not wish to be disturbed.
I looked about the hall, at the great walls of stone, the long table, the tiles, the narrow
apertures through which I could glimpse the far stars, burning in the scape of the night.
I was rich. So Luma said, so I knew. I smiled bitterly. There are few men as helpless, as
impoverished as I. It was true that the fortunes of the house of Bosk had waxed mightily. I
supposed there were few merchants in known Gor whose houses were as rich, as powerful, as mine.
Doubtless I was the envy of men who did not know me, Bosk, the recluse, who had returned crippled
from the northern forests.
I was rich. But I was poor, because I could not move the left side of my body.
Wounds had I at the shore of Thassa, high on the coast, at the edge of the forests, when one night
I had, in a stockade of enemies, commanded by Sarus of Tyros, chosen to recollect my honour.
Never could I regain my honour, but I had recollected it. And never had I forgotten it.
Once I had been Tarl Cabot, in the songs called Tarl of Bristol. I recalled that I, or what had
once been I, had fought at the siege of Ar. That young man with fiery hair, laughing, innocent,
seemed far from me now, this huddled mass, half paralysed, bitter, like a maimed larl, sitting
alone in a captain's chair, in a great darkened hall. My hair was no longer now the same. The sea,