"Jack Vance - The Languages of Pao" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

Bustamonte wrapped a cloak about his stocky frame, went to the door,
flung it open, stepped out upon the cobbles.
hair plaited into a foot-long queue. The keel of his air-horse clattered along
the cobbles; the tubes sighed and sputtered.
Eban Buzbek marched forward, pushed through the sobbing huddle of
ministers, reached to seize Bustamonte by the nape and force him to his
knees. Bustamonte backed further into the doorway, pointed his wasp. But
the Brumbo warriors were quick; their shock-pistols bellowed and
Bustamonte was buffeted against the wall. Eban Buzbek seized him by the
neck and hurled him into the mud of the street.
Bustamonte slowly picked himself up to stand shaking in rage.
Eban Buzbek waved his hand. Bustamonte was seized, trussed with
belts, rolled into a net. Without further ado, the Brumbos climbed into the
saddles and rode through the sky, with Bustamonte hanging below like a
pig for the market.
At Spyrianthe, the group transferred into a domed air-ship. Bustamonte,
dazed from the buffeting wind, half-dead of chill, slipped to the deck, and
knew nothing of the trip back to Eiljanre.
The air-ship landed in the court of the Grand Palace; Bustamonte was
hustled through the ravaged halls and locked in a sleeping-chamber.
Early the next day, two women servants roused him. They cleaned him
of mud and grime, dressed him in clean clothes, brought him food and
drink.
An hour later the door opened; a clansman signaled. Bustamonte came
forth, pallid, nervous but still uncowed.
He was taken to a morning room overlooking the famous palace
florarium. Here Eban Buzbek waited with a group of his clansman and a
Mercantil interpreter. He seemed in the best of spirits, and nodded jovially
when Bustamonte appeared. He spoke a few words in the staccato language
of Batmarsh; the Mercantil translated.
"Eban Buzbek hopes you have passed a restful night."
"What does he want of me?" growled Bustamonte.
 Eban Buzbek departs and leaves you as Panarch of Pao. For this favor
you must pay one million marks each Paonese month for the duration of
your reign. Do you agree to the arrangement?"
Bustamonte looked from face to face. No one looked at him directly; the
expressions were empty. But each warrior seemed peculiarly taut, like
runners crouched at the start of a race.
"Do you agree to the arrangement?" the Mercantil repeated.
"Yes," muttered Bustamonte.
The Mercantil translated. Eban Buzbek made a sign of assent, rose to his
feet. A piper bent to his diplonet, blew a brisk march. Eban Buzbek and his
warriors departed the hall without so much as a glance for Bustamonte.
An hour later, Buzbek's red and black corvette knifed up and away;
before the day's end no single clansman remained on Pao.
With a tremendous effort Bustamonte asserted his dignity, and assumed
the title and authority of Panarch. His fifteen billion subjects, diverted by
the Batch invasion, showed no further recalcitrance; and in this respect,
Bustamonte profited from the incursion.
permitted to Beran, but where he glimpsed marvelously intricate