"George R. R. Martin - A Beast for Norn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

that’s their destiny. I’ve had to grow accustomed to watching my best get slaughtered right in front of my
eyes. But that’s what I’ve come to talk to you about, Tuf.”
“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf.
“My name is Herold Norn. I am the Senior Beast-Master of my House, one of the Twelve Great Houses
of Lyronica.”
“Lyronica,” Tuf stated. “The name is not entirely unfamiliar to me. A small, sparsely settled planet, I seem
to recall, of a somewhat savage bent. Perhaps this explains your transgressions of civilized manners.”
“Savage?” Norn said. “That’s Tamberkin rubbish, Tuf. Damned farmers. Lyronica is the jewel of this
sector. You’ve heard of our gaming pits, haven’t you?”
Haviland Tuf scratched Dax behind the ear once more, a peculiar rhythmic scratch, and the tomcat
slowly uncurled, yawning, and glanced up at the thin man with large, bright, golden eyes. He purred
softly.
“Some small nuggets of information have fallen in my ears during my voyagings,” Tuf said. “Perhaps you
would care to elaborate, Herold Norn, so Dax and I might consider your proposition.”
Herold Norn rubbed thin hands together, nodding. “Dax?” he said. “Of course. A handsome animal,
although personally I have never been fond of beasts who cannot fight. Real beauty lies in killing-strength,
I always say.”
“An idiosyncratic attitude,” Tuf commented.
“No, no,” said Norn, “not at all. I hope that your work here has not infected you with Tamberkin
squeamishness.”
Tuf drained his mug in silence, then signaled for two more. The barkeep brought them promptly.
“Thank you,” Norn said, when the mug was set golden and foaming in front of him.
“Proceed, sir.”
“Yes. Well, the Twelve Great Houses of Lyronica compete in the gaming pits. It began—oh, centuries
ago. Before that, the houses warred. This way is much better. Family honor is upheld, fortunes are made,
and no one is injured. You see, each house controls great tracts, scattered widely over the planet, and
since the land is very thinly settled, animal life teems. The Lords of the Great Houses, many years ago
during a time of peace, started to have animal fights. It was a pleasant diversion, rooted deep in history.
You are aware, maybe, of the ancient custom of cock-fighting and the Old Earth folk called Romans who
would set all manner of strange beasts against each other in their great arena?”
Norn paused and drank some ale, waiting for an answer, but Tuf merely stroked Dax and said nothing.
“No matter,” the thin Lyronican finally said, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “That
was the beginning of the sport, you see. Each house has its own particular land, its own particular
animals. The House of Varcour, for example, sprawls in the hot, swampy south, and they are fond of
sending huge lizard-lions to the gaming pits. Feridian, a mountainous realm, has bred and championed its
fortunes with a species of rock-ape which we call, naturally, feridians. My own house, Norn, stands on
the grassy plains of the large northern continent. We have sent a hundred different beasts into combat in
the pits, but we are most famed for our ironfangs.”
“Ironfangs,” Tuf said. “The name is evocative.”
Norn gave a sly smile. “Yes,” he said proudly. “As Senior Beast-Master, I have trained thousands. Oh,
but they are lovely animals! Tall as you are, with fur of the most marvelous blue-black color, fierce and
relentless.”
“Might I assume your ironfangs to be of canine descent?”
“But such canines,” Norn said.
“Yet you require from me a monster.”
Norn drank more of his ale. “True, true. Folks from a dozen near worlds voyage to Lyronica, to watch
the beasts fight in the gaming pits and gamble on the outcome. Particularly they flock to the Bronze Arena
that has stood for six hundred years in the City of All Houses. That’s where the greatest fights are fought.
The wealth of our Houses and our world has come to depend on this. Without it, rich Lyronica would be
as poor as the farmers of Tamber.”