"David Zindell - Neverness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zindell David)

according to the prevailing enterprise transpiring along its


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convolutions of colored ice. Thus there is a Street of Cutters and
Splicers, and a Street of Common Whores, as well as a Street of Master
Courtesans. The Street of the Ten Thousand Bars is actually more of a
district than a street; it is a maze of red lesser glidderies
encompassing tiny bars that cater to the unique tastes of their patrons.

One bar will serve only toalache while another might specialize in
cilka, the pineal gland of the thallow bird which induces visions in
small quantities and is lethal in larger ones. There are bars frequented
only by the alien Friends of Man, and there are bars open to anyone who
writes haiku (but only Simoom haiku) or plays the shakuhachi. Near the
edge of the district, there is a bar where the eschatologists argue as
to how long it will be before the exploding Vild destroys the last of
the Civilized Worlds, and next door, a bar for the tychists who believe
that absolute chance is the fundament of the universe, and that most
probably some worlds will survive. I do not know if there are as many as
ten thousand bars or if there are many more. Bardo often joked that if
one could imagine a bar existing, it must exist. Somewhere there is a
bar, he claimed, where the Fravashi analyze the anguished poetry of the
Swarming Centuries and another bar where their criticisms are
criticized. Somewhere-and why not?-there is a bar for those wishing to
talk about what is occurring in all the other bars.

We stopped in front of the black, windowless master pilots' bar, or, I
should say, the bar for master pilots recently returned from the
manifold. The sun had set, and the wind moaned as it drove flowing,
ghostlike wisps of snow down the darkened gliddery. In the dim light of
the street globes when for a moment the wind suddenly pulled away the
ragged, drifting snow shroud-the ice of the street was blood red.

тАЬThis is an ugly place," Bardo said, his voice booming from the stone
walls surrounding us. тАЬI have a proposition. Since I'm in a generous
mood, I'll buy you a master courtesan for the night. You've never been
able to afford one, have you? By God, it's like nothing you've ever-"

тАЬNo," I said as I shook my head.

I opened the heavy stone door, which was made of obsidian and so smooth
that it felt almost greasy to the touch. For a moment, I thought the
tiny room was empty. Then I saw two men standing at the dark end of the
narrow bar, and I heard the shorter one say, тАЬIf you please, close the
door, it's cold."

We stepped over to the bar, into the flickering light of the marble