"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 14 - Jack of Swords" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

"I can do most things which need to be done."

"Of course. Do I reveal doubt?" Yethan Ctonat selected a
comfit from an ornamented box and crushed the candied morsel
between strong teeth. "But, you understand, I represent my
guild. To place a man who cannot perform the skills he claims to
own would reflect on my reputation. And demand is small. Are
you a master of genetic manipulation? A physician? A
veterinarian? I tell you frankly, we have no need of gamblers."

"Do I look a gambler?"

"A man who travels is always that," said the agent smoothly.
'To drift from world to world, never certain of what he will find,
what else can such a man be? Especially if he travels Low. The
fifteen-percent death rate is a risk none but a gambler would
take. And you have traveled Low, have you not?"

To often, riding doped, frozen, and ninety percent dead in
caskets designed for the transportation of animals. Cheap
travelтАФall that could be said for it.

"I will not deceive you," said Yethan Ctonat. "As you must
have discovered, there is no hope of normal employment on this
world. You work for the Owners or for those they tolerate or you
do not work at all. And for every vacancy there is a host of
applicants." He added, casually, "For a man like you there is only
one way to survive on Teralde."

Dumarest was curt. "To fight?"
 "You have guessed it. Blood has a universal appeal. If you are
interestedтАФ" The agent broke off, reaching for another comfit.
"It's all I can offer."

And all Dumarest had expected, but the attempt had had to
be made. The colors in the sky were fading as he walked through
the city and toward the wilderness at the edge of which sprawled
the slums. Lowtowns were always the same and in his time he
had seen too many of them. Sometimes they were huddles of
shacks, tents, and shelters crudely fashioned from whatever
materials were at hand; at others as on Teralde, they were simple
boxes built of stone and set in neat array. But shacks or
buildings the atmosphere was identical.

A miasma compounded of despair and poverty, the reek of a
world which held no pride, no hope, nothing but the bleak
concentration of the moment, the need to survive yet one more
day, one more hour. The refuge of those without work or money.
Had they been slaves they would have been fed and clothed, a
responsibility to their owners. As it was they formed a pool of