"Henry Lion Oldie. Fragments of novels in english translation" - читать интересную книгу автора

And the spectators didn't understand at first what's happened. When
the cheerful Chan Unkor, the heir of Maylanese Vans, begins as usually to
pretend to be drunken and the light straight sword in his hand is
scurrying faster than the needle of the best Kabir embroideress -- the
spectators watched him with hearts full of delight. And who could follow
the impredictable movements of the smiling Chan, who could understand the
veritable cause or believe the impossible?
And those who could follow, those who managed to understand, who
were ready to believe -- alas, they were far from there and the crowd
that rushed at last to the tournament field overflew and scattered them.
The crowd is terrible because you are drawned in it, you get dissolved
and you can't cut your way, you're late even if you can see more than the
others and the smarting rage is boiling in your heart like the strong
flame of a forging furnace!
Somewhere in the very midst of the human whirlwind a giant espadon
whistled deafeningly over the heads wielded by the mighty hand of Falgrim
the Whitehaired, Lord of Lowlese, and the stentoriam roar of the
Northerner almost covered the chorus of the crowd.
-- Let me go! Let me come to him! Do let me at once!
And it was not clear whom the violent Falgrim wanted to see: the
unexpected victim or the guilty butcher who'd already run away.
And from the eastern grounds gallopped an unsaddled horse; on its
back, just like a boy-shepherd, bowed to the horses's neck Emir of Kabir,
Daud-abu-Salim himself, and the curved yathagan at his side was beating
pitilessly the horses's croup driving it, urging it on...
The white tunuc of Diomedes of Kimaena was sliding between the
pressed bodies of the gapers and the sickle-like blade-makhaira followed
the swarthy and lissom Diomedes using the smallest gaps, pushing the
crowded people apart and helping the Kimaenean to make one more step
forwadrd... or at least half a step, on and on...
At the upper row of western stands near the main entrance stood a
girl in a black riding attire trying to understand what's going on. At
her side a long pike with multiple notched sprouts at its shaft stood
inclined to the tournament field that resembled now a boiling cauldron or
a crater of an awakened volcanoe...
The noble lady Ak-Ninchi of the House of Chibetay and the Wolf's
Broom have managed to come back from the Lower Khakass Mountains when the
tournament was already coming to its end, and the scene that opened
before them didn't explain anything to them. But only two men were the
first to come to Chan Unkor who was bleeding profusely with his
hereditary sword and a piece of his own flesh at his side.
The one was Kos un-Tanyah, the strict and severe butler of the
Unkors with a narrow estoque anxiously swaying at his baldric, and the
other was one of the attendants of Emir Daud either a man of motley or a
councellor or both at a time. Everybody called him Droudle Muzdry.
The butler Kos un-Tanyah was hurriedly tying the mutilated Chan's
arm at the elbow with a cord torn from somebody's scabbard, and the
squatty jester-councellor Droudle tried to penetrate the raging crowd but
he couldn't see anything and full of helpless pesperation had to drop his