"Kate Elliott - Jaran 4 - The Law of Becoming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elliott Kate)

there, in shop windows and in little tableaus and often moving around, he saw people—whole and
living and breathing like himself—that he could see right through. It seemed to him that there were far
too many things in Diana's country that weren't solid, that didn't have weight. Once he caught the smell
of horses, from somewhere out in the park, but they had the close, pungent scent of khaja horses,
boxed into stables. He did not choose to investigate that way ... yet.
 It was just past midday, hot, a little sticky. A few clouds obscured the sky, and now and again they
drew a welcome blanket over Mother Sun's bright face. Farther along, where the park gave out onto
more (more!) buildings, an arch and a statue of a soldier mounted on a horse graced the corner of the
park. Pausing here, he felt the ground tremble deep beneath his feet, the dull rumble of the
subterranean creatures called the Underground that swallowed and disgorged travelers. But he
wanted to go on, not down. He could not read any of the signs, but he could manage to cross the
great roads alongside other people. That was the other thing: London was an inconceivably great city,
filled with people, many of whom walked briskly along beside him or passed beside the walkers on
their bicycles or clambered on and off buses or climbed up stairs into the light from the passages
below. Yet it did not have the intense, galloping pace of Jeds, whose streets had been crowded with
wagons and horses and animals and people in a hideous roar of activity that had reminded Anatoly of
the chaos of the attack on Karkand.

He followed a straight broad avenue down past what could only be a palace—although compared
to the graceful, light palaces of the Habakar kingdom, this one seemed heavy, dense, and
drab—circling past a monument boasting a golden winged woman at the top, and farther yet, to a
square guarded by stone lions where some poor soldier stood frozen in stone so high up on a column
that Anatoly supposed him sick from the height. At last he came to the river.

Boats passed quietly on the waters which lapped at stone banks. A path led along the bank. He
followed it. It smelled of water here. The sun played light over the slow course of the waves.
Passengers on a barge waved at him, and he lifted a hand in greeting, felt at once awkward, and then
cheered when a child called out an incomprehensible but perfectly friendly greeting. A breeze lifted off
the waves and laughed in his hair, which he had cut short again. He had sheared off his braids on the
day he had boarded the thick iron arrow that had lifted far above the land and brought him (in time
and taking him to other metal ships along the voyage) here. One of the braids he had sent back to the
jaran, hoping it would reach his sister. One he had given to Diana. The third he kept with him, to give
in time to his firstborn daughter.

He was alone in the middle of a great khaja city. Yet he was not lost. He knew exactly how to
make his way back to Diana's tent—to her flat. So it was possible physically to explore. Now he must
learn the khaja language. Although from all he had seen, he wondered if he would ever understand
them. They seemed completely indifferent to his foreignness. They carried hand-sized thin slates called
modelers, or computers, with them everywhere as if they were holy charms. But it was the total
absence of weapons that puzzled him most, as if they either knew nothing of weapons or were
prohibited from carrying them, and Anatoly knew very well that only khaja slaves or the lowliest jaran
servants were forbidden to carry weapons.

Coming out from underneath a bridge that spanned the river with massive grace, he saw a great
bridge that looked like a fortress. And there, closer, almost beneath its feet, stood a real fortress.

The river shouldered up against a wharf and bled into the moat that surrounded the castle's outer
walls. He stopped dead and examined it. Here stood something he understood.

He ventured out along the wharf. Water lapped at an arched gate set into the wall below, but a