"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 18 - Warlords of Gaikon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

and began unwrapping the cloth around her waist. It fell to the ground, and she stepped naked down into
the pool. As the other woman turned to do the same Blade snaked forward the last few feet, and his long
arms reached out. In seconds he gathered in a long blue robe, a red sash, and a loincloth. In a few more
seconds he was back under the bushes, crawling away as fast as he could. The two girls were still
splashing about cheerfully in the pool, completely unconcerned with what might be going on around them.
A quarter of a mile later, Blade stopped to put on the clothes and get his bearings again. The loincloth
was plain linen, but the sash seemed to be heavy red silk, with stylized waves embroidered on it in white
thread. The blue robe was also linen, light but fine and tough, with elaborate patterns of black and white
checks embroidered around the neck, bottom, and cuffs. On the right sleeve about halfway to the elbow
was a stylized golden sunburst with sixteen rays picked out in red.
For all its elegance, the garment had obviously been made for someone rather shorter and slimmer
than Blade. From the cut it was obviously intended to be fought in, but it made Blade feel more like a
sausage stuffed into its skin. Oh, well, he could always strip it off if he had to fight or run again.
He guessed that there must be a house nearby if the girls had felt safe washing and bathing alone by
the stream, as they obviously had. It would probably be downstream, too. The water in the stream would
be cleaner above the house.
Blade had guessed right. A few minutes walking, and he saw a large house and the glow of lanterns
through the forest and the rain. The house was on the far side of the stream, but a gracefully arched
wooden bridge provided an easy crossing.
The house itself was a sprawling, one-story affair, with several wings apparently running off at odd
angles to each other and a massive tile roof that seemed too heavy for the building under it. Blade saw no
one moving outside, but he could see the glow of lights through the delicate lattice-work shutters over the
windows. From the rear rose a column of smoke, coiling upward slowly until it disintegrated under the
rain.
Blade darted across the bridge and began working his way around the house toward the rear. That
smoke might mean the kitchen, and that was the place he intended to start. The chill weather and his
exertions during the day had made Blade hungry enough to eat a colt, if not a full-grown horse.
As he reached the rear of the house, the appetizing sound and even more appetizing smell of frying
food drifted out to greet him. He stood up and tied the sash more neatly around his waist. He couldn't be
sure exactly what class or rank his robe indicated, but he suspected it was something well up the social
scale—possibly even the local warrior caste. Blade's experience with warrior castes in several different
dimensions had taught him that they always carried themselves with a swagger. So he drew himself up to
his full six feet one as he approached the kitchen door and knocked as sharply as if he were a policeman.
It never hurt to look and sound as though you had every right to be where you were and to be doing
what you were doing.
The door opened after Blade's third knock. An old woman peered out, her wrinkled but sharp
brown features screwed up into an angry frown. Then she took in Blade's commanding height, his air of
calm arrogance, and his robe. Her expression changed in a split second to one of abashed servility. She
dropped to her knees, beat her head three times on the ground with her hands over her eyes, and then
straightened up.
"What is your wish, Honorable dabuno?"
"My wish is food." Blade kept his voice cold and haughty.
"Food, yes. Do you wish anything else?"
"We will speak of that after the food." And after he had taken a look around.
"It shall be so." The woman's voice had an almost ritual quality as she spoke. Then she stood up,
bowed low, and led Blade inside.
The kitchen was lit by several lanterns and the glowing bed of charcoal under the heavy iron grate on
the stone hearth. On that grate stood several large iron pots and an iron pan at least a yard in diameter.
What looked like enough meat and vegetables to feed a battalion sizzled cheerfully in the pan, and clouds
of sweet-smelling steam rose from the pots. Blade kept his face straight, but he could not keep his