"03 - Priest-Kings of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

'I shall keep my sword,' I said. 'If you want it, you must take it from me.'

Parp laughed merrily, his small round frame shaking on the heavy throne. 'I assure you,' he said, 'I have no use for it.' He looked at me, chuckling. 'Nor have you,' he added.

'Where are the others?' I asked.

'What others?' asked he.

'The other Priest-Kings,' I said.

'I am afraid,' said Parp, 'that I am the Priest-Kings. All of them.'

'But you said before "We are waiting",' I protested.

'Did I?' asked Parp.

'Yes,' I said.

'Then it was merely a manner of speaking.'

'I see,' I said.

Parp seemed troubled. He seemed distracted.

He glanced up at the dome. It was getting late. He seemed a bit nervous. His hands fumbled more with the pipe; a bit of tobacco spilled.

'Will you speak to me of my father, of my city, and of my love?' I asked.

'Perhaps,' said Parp, 'but now you are undoubtedly tired from your journey.'

It was true that I was tired, and hungry.

'No,' I said, 'I would speak now.'

For some reason Parp now seemed visibly uneasy. The sky above the dome was now grey and darkening. The Gorean night above, often black and beautiful with stars, now seemed to be approaching with swift stealth.

In the far distance, perhaps from some passage leading away from the Hall of Priest-Kings, I heard the roar of a larl.

Parp seemed to shiver on the throne.

'Is a Priest-King frightened of a larl?' I asked.

Parp chuckled, but not quite so merrily as usual. I could not understand his perturbation. 'Do not be afraid,' he said, 'they are well secured.'

'I am not afraid,' I said, looking at him evenly.

'Myself,' he said, 'I'm forced to admit I've never quite gotten used to that awful racket they make.'

'You are a Priest-King,' I said, 'why do you not simply lift your hand and destroy it?'