"01 - Sword Dancer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

even if you are the Sandtiger. "This one requires special handling."
He swore to the god of slavers; an improbable series of names for a deity I'd
never had the necessity of calling on, myself. Frankly, I think Old Moon made it
up. "Special handling!" he spat out. "Special taming, you mean. Do you know what
she did?"
Since there was no way I could know, short of having him tell me, I waited
again. And he told me.
"She nearly sliced off what remains of the manhood of my best eunuch!" Moon's
affronted stare invited abject apologies; I merely continued waiting, promising
nothing, "The poor thing ran screaming out of the hyort and I couldn't pry him
from the neck of his boy-lover until I promised to beat the girl."
That deserved a response. I glared at him. "You beat her?"
Moon stared at me in some alarm and smiled weakly, showing the wealth of gold
shining in his mouth. I realized my hand had crept to the knife at my belt. I
decided to leave it there, if only for effect.
"I didn't beat her." Moon eyed my knife. He knows how deadly I can be with it,
and how fast, even though it isn't my best weapon. That sort of reputation comes
in handy. "I couldn't--I mean, she's a Northerner. You know what those women
are. Those--those Northern women."
I ignored the latter part of the explanation. "What did you do to her?" I looked
at him sharply. "You do still have her--"
"Yes!" His teeth glinted. "Ai, Tiger, do you think I am a forgetful man, to lose
such things?" Offended again, he scowled. "Yes, I have her. I had to tie her up
like a sacrificial goat, but I have her. You may take her off my hands, Tiger.
The sooner the better."
I was mildly concerned by his willingness to lose so valuable a commodity. "Is
she hurt? Is that why you don't want her?" I glared at him. "I know you, Moon.
You'd try a doublecross if the stakes were high enough. Even on me." I glared
harder. "What have you done to her?"
He waved be-ringed hands in denial. "Nothing! Nothing! Ai, Tiger, the woman is
unblemished." The hands stopped waving and the voice altered. "Wellll...almost
unblemished. I had to knock her on the head. It was the only way I could keep
her from slicing my manhood off--or casting some spell at me."
"Who was stupid enough to let her get her hands on a knife?" I was unimpressed
by Moon's avowals of her witchcraft or the picture of the slaver losing the
portion of his anatomy he so willingly ordered removed from his property, to
improve temperament and price. "And anyway, a knife in the hands of a woman
shouldn't pose much of a threat to Osmoon the Trader."
"Knife!" he cried, enraged. "Knife? The woman had a sword as long as yours!"
That stopped me cold. "Sword!"
"Sword." Moon glared back at me. "It's very sharp, Tiger, and it's bewitched...
and she knows how to use it."
I sighed. "Where is it?"
Moon grumbled to himself and got up, shuffling across layered rugs to a wooden
chest bound with brass. He lives well but not ostentatiously, not wishing to
call excess attention to himself. The local tanzeers know all about his
business, and because they get a healthy cut of the profits, they don't bother
him much. But then they don't know just how healthy the business is. If they
knew, undoubtedly they'd all demand a bigger cut. Possibly even his head.
Moon lifted back the lid of his chest and stood over it, hands on hips. He