Потерянный континент: история Атлантиды
6. The Biters Of The City Walls
“Youdarecallmeablasphemer,whoblasphemeyourself?Youdarecastslursuponmybirth,whoamcomedirectfromthemosthighHeaven?Oldman,yourcrazinessprotectsyouinpart,butnotinall.Youshallbewhipped.Doyouhearme?Isay,whipped.Theleanfleshshallbescourgedfromyourscraggybones,andyoushalltotterawayfromthisplaceasaredandbleedingexampleforthosewhowoulddaretraducetheirEmpress.Here,someofyou,Isay,takethatman,andlethimbewhippedwherehestands.”
Hercrywentoutclearlyenough.Butnotasoulamongstthoseglitteringfeastersstirredinhisplace.Notasoldieramongsttheguardssteppedfromhisrank.Theplacewashunginaterriblesilence.Itseemedasthoughnoonewithinthehalldaredsomuchastodrawabreath.Allfeltthattheveryairwasbigwithfate.
Phorenice,withherheadcrouchedforward,lookedfromonegrouptoanother.Herfacewasworking.“HaveInotrueservants,”sheasked,“amongstallyouprettylip-servers?”
Stillnoonemoved.Theystood,orsat,orcrouchedlikepeoplefascinated.Formyself,withthefirstwordshehaduttered,Ihadrecognizedtheoldmanbyhisvoice.ItwasZaemon,theweakgovernorwhohadgiventheEmpressherfirststeptowardspower;thatearnestsearcherintothemysteries,whoknewmoreoftheirpowers,andmoreaboutthehiddenforces,thananyotherdwellerontheSacredMountain,evenatthattimewhenIleftformycolony.Andnow,duringhisstrangehermitlife,howmuchmoremighthenothavelearned?Iwastornbywarringduties.
