"Walter Jon Williams - Prayers on the Wind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

Jigme, !urq, and their parties passed through the vast hall that hummed with the distant, echoing sutras
of those trying to achieve unity with the Diamond Mountain. At the far side of the room were huge double
doors of solid jade, carved with figures illustrating the life of the first twelve incarnations of the Gyalpo
Rinpoche, the Treasured King. The doors opened on silent hinges at the touch of equerries' fingertips.
Jigme looked at the equerries as he passed -- lovely young novices, he thought, beautiful boys really. The
shaven nape of that dark one showed an extraordinary curve.
Beyond was the audience chamber. The Masker servants remained outside, holding their parasols at
rigid attention, while their masters trotted into the audience chamber alongside the line of monks.
Holographic murals filled the walls, illustrating the life of the Compassionate One. The ceiling was of
transparent polymer, the floor of clear crystal that went down to the solid core of the planet. The crystal
refracted sunlight in interesting ways, and as he walked across the room Jigme seemed to walk on
rainbows.
At the far end of the room, flanked by officials, was the platform that served as a throne. Overhead
was an arching canopy of massive gold, the words AUM MANI PADME HUM worked into the design
in turquoise. The platform was covered in a large carpet decorated with figures of the lotus, the Wheel,
the swastika, the two fish, the eternal knot, and other holy symbols. Upon the carpet sat the Gyalpo
Rinpoche himself, a small man with a sunken chest and bony shoulders, the Forty-First Incarnation of the
Bodhisattva Bob Miller, the Great Librarian, himself an emanation of Avalokitesvara.
The Incarnation was dressed simply in a yellow zen, being the only person in the holy precincts
permitted to wear the color. Around his waist was a rosary composed of 108 strung bone disks cut from
the forty skulls of his previous incarnations. His body was motionless but his arms rose and fell as the
fingers moved in a series of symbolic hand gestures, one mudra after another, their pattern set by the flow
of data through the Diamond Mountain.
Jigme approached and dropped to his knees before the platform. He pressed the palms of his hands
together, brought the hands to his forehead, mouth, and heart, then touched his forehead to the floor.
Behind him he heard thuds as some of his delegation slammed their heads against the crystal surface in a
display of piety -- indeed, there were depressions in the floor worn by the countless pilgrims who had
done this -- but Jigme, knowing he would need his wits, only touched his forehead lightly and held the
posture until he heard the Incarnation speak.
"Jigme Dzasa. I am pleased to see you again. Please get to your feet and introduce me to your
friends."
The old man's voice was light and dry, full of good humor. In the seventy-third year of his incarnation,
the Treasured King enjoyed good health.
Jigme straightened. Rainbows rose from the floor and danced before his eyes. He climbed slowly to
his feet as his knees made popping sounds -- twenty years younger than the Incarnation, he was a good
deal stiffer of limb -- and moved toward the platform in an attitude of reverence. He reached to the
rosary at his waist and took from it a white silk scarf embroidered with a religious text. He unfolded the
khata and, sticking out his tongue in respect, handed it to the Incarnation with a bow.
The Gyalpo Rinpoche took the khata and draped it around his own neck with a smile. He reached out
a hand, and Jigme dropped his head for the blessing. He felt dry fingertips touch his shaven scalp, and
then a sense of harmony seemed to hum through his being. Everything, he knew, was correct. The
interview would go well.
Jigme straightened and the Incarnation handed him a khata in exchange, one with the mystic three
knots tied by the Incarnation himself. Jigme bowed again, stuck out his tongue, and moved to the side of
the platform with the other officials. Beside him was Dr. Kay O'Neill, the Minister of Science. Jigme
could feel O'Neill's body vibrating like a taut cord, but the minister's overwrought state could not dispel
Jigme's feeling of bliss.
"Omniscient," Jigme said, "I would like to present Colonel !urq, Ambassador of the Sang."
!urq was holding her upper arms in a Sang attitude of respect. Neither she nor her followers had
prostrated themselves, but had stood politely by while their human escort had done so. !urq's boots rang