"Christopher Stasheff - Rogue Wizard 07 - A Wizard In Midgard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

The computer was silent a moment, then answered, "I have correlated all the
pictures we have taken, including close-ups of photographs we had not previously
examined in detail. Your analysis holds."
"Some sort of slavery? Or a caste system?" Magnus shook his head. "We need more
information."
Well, he was getting that information now, and there didn't seem to be much
doubt about the slavery. What a fool he had been to leave that nice, safe
spaceship just because he thought other people were being oppressed)
The prod goaded him again, and the overseer roared, "Up, monster! Or I'll stab
you half to death!"
The tide of anger almost overwhelmed Magnus-but people were most definitely
being oppressed, and his own mistreatment was proof of that. He fought down the
anger and stumbled to his feet. By sheer bad luck and his own stupidity, he had
fallen into the perfect situation to study their suffering-and to take a look at
this society from the inside. He could play the obedient slave until he had a
clear idea of what was going on. Then he could escape=he had no doubt of that;
for a projective telepath, it only took thinking sleepy thoughts at the guards.
Though he might stop to beat up this particular overseer a bit on the way
out....
Looking down, he was amazed to see that he wore the same sort of worn gray tunic
and leggins as the field slaves. "What did you do with my clothes!"
"Gave 'em to somebody who deserves 'em," the overseer grunted. "His wife will
cut them down for him, never you fear. Half-giants have no business wearing such
finery!"
Finery? The cloak and tunic had been of stout, closewoven wool, good hardy black
travelling clothes, and the boots had been carefully scuffed and worn, but still
sound and waterproof. Instead, he wore sandals, scarcely more than soles
strapped to his feet.
"I am Kawsa, overseer to Steward Wulfsson," the smaller man snarled. "You'll
have cause to remember my name, you great hulk, and my prod too! Now get moving,
or you'll wish you were dead!"
Magnus was tempted to split the man's head with the same agony he felt-but he
couldn't be sure of his telepathic abilities until the concussion healed. He
turned to shuffle toward the field, fighting dizziness and nausea.
The prod whacked him across the back of the knees. Mag nus cried out as he fell.
"What do you ,say when an overseer speaks to you, boy?" Kawsa growled.
"My mother taught me not to say such things," Magnus groaned.
The stick cracked into his buttock. Magnus managed to strangle the shout of
pain.
"You say, `yes, sir!' " Kawsa bellowed. "No smart talk to me, boy! And it
doesn't matter what I say, the only answer is `yes, sir!' You understand that
now?"
"Gotcha," Magnus affirmed.
The stick cracked across his buttocks again. "What?" Magnus steeled himself to
the degradation and reminded himself that he needed to study these people up
close, witnessing how badly they oppressed their slaves and how they chose who
was to be a slave and who free. "Yes, sir." He nearly choked on the words, but
he got them out.
"That's better. Into that field with you, now, and grub weeds!"
Magnus tried to push himself to his feet, but his leg nerves hadn't recovered