"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 3 - The Unwilling Warlord" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

comment to add, let alone to translate it into Semmat. Her blithe assumption
that an Ethsharitic street gambler would know how to ride seemed to call for a
cutting remark, but Sterren could not rise to the occasion.
"You should have told me back at the inn," she said. "I could have gotten
a wagon. Or we could have walked. Or at the very least we could have given you
a few lessons."
Sterren tried to shrug, but his back was too stiff for any such gesture.
"I... It was... It did not... damn!" He could not think of any word for
"appeared" or "looked" or "seemed." Before any of the Semmans could volunteer
a suggestion, he managed, "I saw it was not bad, but I saw wrong."
"It looked easy, you mean."
Sterren nodded. "I guess that's what I mean."
"A warlord really should know how to ride," Lady Kalira pointed out.
"I'm no warlord," Sterren said bitterly.
"You are Sterren, Ninth Warlord of Semma!" Lady Kalira reminded him
sternly.
"I'm Sterren of Ethshar. I play dice in taverns," Sterren retorted.
Lady Kalira backed away slightly. "You know, you mustn't tell anyone that
when we get to Semma," she said.
"Why not?" Sterren demanded.
"Because you're the warlord!" Lady Kalira replied, shocked. "You hold a
position of great power and respect. We can't let it be common gossip that you
made your living cheating at gambling."
Sterren did not follow all of this speech, but he guessed one vital word
from context. "I didn't cheat!" he shouted; the effort sent a twinge through
his back and legs, and more than a twinge through his buttocks.
"Then how did you win regularly enough to live?"
"I was lucky," he muttered unconvincingly. He had learned the word aboard
ship.
"Ha!" she said. "Wizard's luck, if you ask me."
"Wizard?" Sterren asked. He knew the word meant one variety of magician,
but wasn't sure which. "Warlock," he said in Ethsharitic.
Lady Kalira did not recognize the word; instead she changed the subject.
"You must relax," she said, demonstrating by letting her arms fall
limply, "when you ride. Move with the horse, not against it."
Sterren nodded, not really believing that he would ever learn the skill.
"And we can pad the saddle, that velvet tunic in your pack will help. And
you can walk sometimes."
Sterren nodded again, with a bit more enthusiasm.
By midafternoon, thanks to additional cushioning, a slower pace, and
walking when the blisters on his rump became unbearable, he had improved
enough that, although he still ached in every joint and in several unjointed
places as well, he was able to think about his future and to carry on some
limited conversation with his companions as he rode.
He began by pointing in each direction and asking what lay there. All
they could see was sand and sun and grass, which made it obvious that he was
asking what lay beyond.
Ahead, of course, was Semma; behind was Akalla of the Diamond. To the
left, the north, Dogal told him, "Skaia." The name meant nothing to him.
The reply when he pointed to the right was more interesting.