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Bourne Trilogy 2 The Bourne S Ludlum Robert
Another fine myth Myth concepti Robert Asprin
Asprin, Robert Chaos 03 Viel Rummel um Nichts
Barry Sadler [Casca 41] The Tony Roberts (epub)
Barry Sadler [Casca 31] The Tony Roberts (epub)
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Don Camilo Giovanni Guareschi

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."The beggar got little chance between sunrise and sunset to say anything beyond his pleading cry, and theoccasional fawning thanks.It could not hurt to let him talk, Conan thought, and said, "What news?"Peor snorted."If it was about a new method of winning at dice, Cimmerian, you'd have known of ityesterday.Do you think of anything but women and gambling?""The news, Peor?""They say someone is uniting the Kezankian tribes.They say the hillmen are sharpening their tulwars.They say it could mean war.If 'tis so, the Desert will feel the first blow, as always."Conan tossed the last of the orange aside and wiped his hands on his thighs."The Kezankians are fardistant, Peor." His grin revealed strong white teeth."Or do you think the tribesmen will leave theirmountains to sack the Desert? It is not the place I would chose, were I they, but you are older than I andno doubt know better.""Laugh, Cimmerian," Peor said bitterly."But when war is announced the mob will hunt for hillman throatsto slit, and when they cannot find enough to sate their bloodlust, they'll turn their attentions to the Desert.And the army will be there-'to preserve order.' Which means to put to the sword any poor sod from theDesert who thinks of actually resisting the mob.It has happened before, and will again."A shadow fell across them, cast by a woman whose soft robes of emerald silk clung to the curves ofbreasts and belly and thighs like a caress.A belt woven of golden ciuords was about her waist.Ropes ofpearls encircled her wrists and neck, and two more, as large as a man's thumbnail, were at her ears.Behind her a tall Shemite, the iron collar of a slave on his neck and a bored expression on his face, stoodladen with packages from the Bazaar.She dropped a silver coin in Peor's bowl, but her sultry gaze wasall for Conan.The muscular youth enjoyed the looks women gave him, as a normal matter, but this one examined himas if he were a horse in the auction barns.And to make matters worse a scowl grew on the Shemite'sface as though he recognized a rival.Conan's face grew hot with anger.He opened his mouth, but shespoke first."My husband would never approve the purchase," she smiled, and walked away with undulating hips.The Shemite hurried after her, casting a self-satisfied glance over his shoulder at Conan as he went.Peor's bony fingers fished the coin from the bowl.With a cackle that showed he had regained at leastsome of his humor, he tucked it into his pouch."And she'd pay a hundred times so much for a single nightwith you, Cimmerian.Two hundred.A more pleasant way to earn your coin than scrambling overrooftops, eh?""Would you like that leg broken in truth?" Conan growled.The beggar's cackles grew until they took him into a fit of coughing.When he could breathe normallyagain, he wiped the back of his hand across his thin-lipped mouth."No doubt I would earn even more inmy bowl.My knee hurts of a night for leaving it so all day, but that fall was the best thing that everhappened to me."Conan shivered at the thought, but pressed on while the other held his good mood."I did not come todayjust to give you an orange, Peor.I look for a woman called Lyana, or perhaps Tamira."Peor nodded as the Cimmerian described the girl and gave a carefully edited account of their meeting,then said, "Tamira.I've heard that name, and seen the girl.She looks as you say.""Where can I find her?" Conan asked eagerly, but the beggar shook his head."I said I've seen her, and more than once, but as to where she might be." He shrugged.Conan put a hand to the leather purse at his belt."Peor, I could manage, a pair of silver pieces for theman who tells me how to find her.""I wish I knew," Peor said ruefully, then went on quickly."But I'll pass the word among the Brotherhoodof the Bowl.If a beggar sees her, you'll hear of it.After all, friendship counts for something, does it not?"The Cimmerian cleared his throat to hide a grin.Friendship, indeed! The message would come to himthrough Peor, and the beggar who sent it would be lucky to get as much as one of the silver pieces."Thatit does," he agreed."But, Conan? I don't hold with killing women.You don't intend to hurt her, do you?""Only her pride," Conan said, getting to his feet.With the beggars' eyes as his, he would have her beforethe day was out."Only her pride."Two days later Conan threaded his way through the thronging crowds with a sour expression on his face.Not only the beggars of Shadizar had become his eyes.More than one doxy had smiled at the ruggedlyhandsome young Cimmerian, shivered in her depths at the blue of his eyes, and promised to watch for thewoman he sought, though never without a pout of sultry jealousy.The street urchins, unimpressed bybroad shoulders or azure eyes, had been more difficult.Some men called them the Dust, those homeless,ragged children, countless in number and helpless before the winds of fate, but the streets of Shadizarwere a hard school, and the urchins gave trust grudgingly and demanded a reward in silver.But from allthose eyes he had learned only where Tamira had been, and never a word of where she was.Conan's eyes searched among the passersby, seeking to pierce the veils of those women who worethem.At least, the veils of those who were slender and no taller than his chest.What he would do whenhe found her was not yet clear in his mind beyond the matter of seeking restitution for his youthful pride,but find her he would if he had to stare into the face of every woman in Shadizar.So intent was he on his thoughts that the drum that cleared others from the street, even driving sedanchairs to the edge of the pavement, did not register on his mind until it suddenly came to him that he stoodalone in the middle of the street.Turning to see where the steady thump came from, he found aprocession bearing down on him.At its head were two spearmen as tall as he, ebon-eyed men with capes of leopard skin, the clawedpaws hanging across their broad, bare chests.Behind came the drummer, his instrument slung by his sideto give free swing to the mallets with which he beat a cadence.A score of men in spiked helms and short,sleeveless mail followed the drummer.Half bore spears and half bows, with quivers on their backs, andall wore wide, white trousers and high, red boots.Conan's eyes went no further down the cortege than the horsemen who came next, or rather the womanwho led them, mounted on a prancing black gelding a hand taller than any her followers rode.Tall shewas, and well rounded, a delight both callimastian and callipygean [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]