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

proud of his grey cloak with a silver buckle on his shoulder. He is the
Salar of the wilds. His coeval and friend Bryan Oygla vied with him in
the turning up of their noses and in mannish manners. Elder Gliding-in-
the-Dusk shake hands with them and the mentor Pharamarz even takes them
to accompany him to Kalorra (although, one must admit, he obliged them to
leave home their whips and Bryan's bronze sickle).
One shouldn't visit the city being armed. The city is inhabited by
the unhappy people having but one life -- the only and the last. It is
not decent for an offspring of Gods, awarded with nine lives, to bear in
their presence the weapons that can take somebody's life. They are
different. They are the Salars of the wilds. The Ninefold-Living. The
shield between the city and the forest. Quite different indeed. Sigurd
understands everything. He is happy and proud. He's going to visit
Kalorra today. Only one question bothers the young hero: what does mentor
Pharamarz need companions for? He tries to imagine who might be dangerous
for the Grandson of Gods, but his imagination fails him and he drives
away silly thoughts. If one takes companions it means one needs them. And
that's all. Bryan Oygla is of the same opinion.
In his childhood Sigurd visited Kalorra two times with his parents.
He has forgotten almost everything but nevertheless it seemed to him
that the city has become older and lesser since then. It shrunk like a
dry leaf in autumn. Twice they had to cross the deserted quarters. Hot
wind was rattling with the half-torn shutters and whirled the dust in the
by-streets overgrown with tall weeds, and lean gophers hurried to hide in
the shadows when they saw people passing by. Later they met city
inhabitants going to and fro but they were not numerous. It was only
about the city center that the usual urban crowds appeared. Sigurd was
unpleasantly disappointed by the sullen countenances and stooping figures
of the Kalorreans. Even young pretty seemed unhealthy and vicious. They
both excited and scared the young Salar. At the border villages people
often had hard times and were not easy smiling, but still the atmosphere
was different. Maybe it was purer?
Bryan was likely to think in the same way. And mentor Pharamarz had
a surprisingly polite smile on his imperturbable face. It was like a
mask. But nevertheless people went round them and hurried away. The city
pushed them away just like human flesh resists the inevitable invasion of
a surgeon's knife. They stopped near the Palace of the Rulers, and
Pharamarz ordered them to wait for him near the stairs and not to go
away. Then he went up the polished marble steps and disappeared behind
the huge doors lined with bronze. When the door shut the young Salars
heard a low-voiced stroke of gong. The audience began.
At first they stood still, as still as only the Gliding can stand
and examined the noisy square with curiosity. The square examined them
too, but the Salars didn't notice it.
Two hours later their attention was drawn by a small crowd near a
fence at the far end of the square. They loooked at each other, then they
looked at the closed door of the palace and directed their steps towards
the crowd.
...Three bearded men with identically unshaven faces and equally
ragged clothes pressed a fourth man to the wooden fence and were