"Jack Vance - The Dying Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

warp in her brain, in this manner: what we hold to be beautiful seems to her
loathsome and ugly, and what we find ugly is to her intolerably vile, in a
degree that you and I cannot understand. She finds the world a bitter place,
people with shapes of direst malevolence."
"So this is the answer," Turjan murmured. "Pitiable wretch!"
"Now," said Pandelume, "you must be on your way to Kaiin; the auspices are
good ... In a moment open this door, enter, and move to the pattern of runes
on the floor."
Turjan performed as he was bid. He found the next room to be circular and
high-domed, with the varying lights of Embelyon pouring down through
sky-transparencies. When he stood upon the pattern in the floor, Pandelume
spoke again.
"Now close your eyes, for I must enter and touch you. Heed well, do not
try to glimpse me!"
Turjan closed his eyes. Presently a step sounded behind him. "Extend your
hand," said the voice. Turjan did so, and felt a hard object placed therein.
"When your mission is accomplished, crush this crystal and at once you will
find yourself in this room." A cold hand was laid on his shoulder.
"An instant you will sleep," said Pandelume. "When you awake you will be
in the city Kaiin."
The hand departed. A dimness came over Turjan as he stood awaiting the
passage. The air had suddenly become full of sound: clattering, a tinkling of
many small bells, music, voices. Turjan frowned, pursed his lips: A strange
tumult for the austere home of Pandelume!
A woman's voice sounded close by.
"Look, O Santanil, see the man-owl who closes his eyes to merriment!"
There was a man's laughter, suddenly hushed. "Come. The fellow is bereft
and possibly violent. Come."
Turjan hesitated, then opened his eyes. It was night in white-walled
Kaiin, and festival time. Orange lanterns floated in the air, moving as the
breeze took them. From the balconies dangled flower chains and cages of blue
fireflies. The streets surged with the wine-flushed populace, costumed in a
multitude of bizarre modes. Here was a Melantine bargeman, here a warrior of
Valdaran's Green Legion, here another of ancient times wearing one of the old
helmets. In a little cleared space a garlanded courtesan of the Kauchique
littoral danced the Dance of the Fourteen Silken Movements to the music of
flutes. In the shadow of a balcony a girl barbarian of East Almery embraced a
man blackened and in leather harness as a Deodand of the forest. They were
gay, these people of waning Earth, feverishly merry, for infinite night was
close at hand, when the red sun should finally flicker and go black.
Turjan melted into the throng. At a tavern he refreshed himself with
biscuits and wine; then he made for the palace of Kandive the Golden.
The palace loomed before him, every window and balcony aglow with light.
Among the lords of the city there was feasting and revelry. If Prince Kandive
were flushed with drink and unwary, reflected Turjan, the task should not be
too difficult. Yet, entering boldly, he might be recognized, for he was known
to many in Kaiin. So, uttering Phandaal's Mantle of Stealth, he faded from the
sight of all men.
Through the arcade he slipped, into the grand salon, where the lords of
Kaiin made merry like the throngs of the street. Turjan threaded the rainbow