"Philip Jose' Farmer. The Green Odyssey (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

to be pointed to send silent and awesome and sure death. Everywhere men
dropped dead. Panic overtook many, but there were brave soldiers who kept
on charging, and eventually the magical instruments became exhausted. The
demons were overpowered and put into the Tower of Grass Cats from which no
man or demon has yet escaped. And there they will be until the Festival of
the Sun's Eye. Then they will be burnt..."

From beneath the table rose the babble of the priest, Jugkaxtr, as he
blessed everyone in the house, down to the latest-born pup, and the fleas
living thereoff, and cursed all those who were possessed by even the
tiniest demon. The Duke, growing impatient at the noise, kicked under the
table. Jugkaxtr yelped and presently crawled out. He sat down and began
gnawing the meat from a bone, a well-done-thou-good-and-faithful-servant
expression on his fat features. Green also felt like kicking him, just as
he often felt like kicking every single human being on this planet. It was
hard to remember that he must exercise compassion and understanding for
them, and that his own remote ancestors had once been just as nauseatingly
superstitious, cruel and bloody.

There was a big difference between reading about such people and actually
living among them. A history or a romantic novel could describe how
unwashed and diseased and formula-bound primitives were, but only the
too-too substantial stench and filth could make your gorge rise.

Even as he stood there Zuni's powerful perfume rose and clung in heavy
festoons about him and slithered down his nostrils. It was a rare and
expensive perfume, brought back by Miran from his voyages and given to her
as a token of the merchant's esteem. Used in small quantities it would
have been quite effective to express feminine daintiness and to hint at
delicate passion. But no, Zuni poured it like water over her, hoping to
cover up the stale odor left by not taking a bath more than once a month.

She looked so beautiful, he thought. And stank so terribly. At least she
had at first. Now she looked less beautiful because he knew how stupid she
was, and didn't stink quite so badly because his nostrils had become
somewhat adjusted. They'd had to.

"I intend to be back in Estorya by the time of the festival," said Miran.
"I've never seen the Eye of the Sun burn demons before. It's a giant lens,
you know. There will be just time enough to make a voyage there and get
back before the rainy season. I expect to make even greater profits than
the last time, because I've established some highly placed contacts. O
gods, I do not boast but merely praise your favor to your humble worshiper,
Miran the Merchant of the Clan of Effenycan!"

"Please bring me some more of this perfume," said the Duchess, "and I just
love the diamond necklace you gave me."

"Diamonds, emeralds, rubies!" cried Miran, kissing his hand and rolling
his eye ecstatically. "I tell you, the Estoryans are rich beyond our