"Robert Jordan - Conan The Indomitable" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

Although the purses of the slain mountain bandits yielded only a few coppers, Conan was not the least
averse to collecting the coins and sharing them equally with Elashi. Certainly the bandits had no further
need for money where they were bound.
 As the Cimmerian and the desert woman made their way down the mountain road, they saw in the
distance a small village; thanks to the bandits, they could now buy food and a room for the night. Only a
few days past, Conan had carried two silver coins, the last of his profit from the pelt of a dire-wolf he
had slain. Unfortunately, as he had raced through the halls of the necromancer's castle, he had somehow
dislodged the silver from his purse. After the aggravation of the bandit's attack, providing supper and
shelter was the least the dead men could do.

As evening sought to claim the day, stormy purple and gray clouds gathered on the horizon. The wind
grew colder, carrying in its chilly teeth the promise of snow. Conan knew the signs: a blizzard was
building. It would be most uncomfortable to be caught out in the open in the coming weather. The village
lay less than an hour ahead by his reckoning, and the two of them should arrive there at about the time
the storm did. If they hurried.

The village was like a dozen others Conan had Seen in his travels. Perhaps a score of structures, most of
them small houses of stone with sod roofing, sprawled along the sides of the road, now somewhat wider
than it had been in the mountains. The largest of the buildings was, naturally, the village inn. The wordless
sign over the doorway bore merely a carved picture of a sheep, doubtless detailing the mainstay of local
industry. The building was also of stone, weathered and in disrepair, with oiled but torn lambskin over the
windows, showing a fitful yellow glow from within.

As Conan and Elashi approached the inn, the snow began to flurry about them. In a moment the swirling
winds had the powdery whiteness dancing thickly in the evening air. The combination of snow and
gathering darkness quickly reduced visibility to a few spans.

"Not a very appealing place," Elashi observed.

"Our choices are somewhat limited," Conan said.

"True."

He swung the heavy wooden door inward and took in the interior of the inn. The ceiling was low, hardly
an arm's length taller than Conan himself, and the central room into which they stared was occupied by
perhaps twenty people, most of them men. They sat at rude tables or stood near the large fireplace within
which a fat log burned brightly. An archway at the end of the room led, Conan surmised, to sleeping
rooms and storage for food and drink.

Stepping into the room, Conan shut the door behind Elashi, never taking his gaze from the occupants.
Most of them were obviously locals: dark-complected, older men dressed in shepherd garb. There were
a few women who matched the men in age and clothes, also likely local folk.

At the far end of the communal eating and drinking room sat a thin man dressed as though for summer in
thigh-length trousers and a short tunic. He had hair the color of straw and a foolish grin upon his face.
Likely drunk or slack-witted, Conan thought.

Behind this summery fool sat two men who looked very much like the five who had assaulted Conan
upon the trail. There were no pikes in evidence, but each man wore a sword and long dagger ensheathed
upon his belt, and their features looked hard in the light of guttering tapers mounted at odd intervals upon