[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.A lonely hut stood on the shelf-edge of a mountain pasture in the land called Eyneran; here when hepaused to ask a crust of bread and a sup of ewe's milk from the flock.high and distant as clouds on thesteep meadow, a woman with a frightened face opened the ill-carpentered door to him, and met hisrequest with a silent shake of the head.She was wrinkled and worn out beyond her years; yet the hut was sound, a savory smell filled the air,and the clean floor and many copper pots the traveler could see assorted badly with her ragged gownand bare feet.He waited.Shortly a cry-man-deep, yet edged with a child's petulance-rang out."Mother, come here! The pot's boiling over! What's keeping you, you lazy slut?""Mintra!" whispered the woman, and a patter of feet announced the passage of a girl, some twelve yearsold, across the floor to tend the pot.Another cry, still louder: "Mother, I told you to come here! Mintra can't lift the pot when it's full, youstupid old bag of bones!""We can't give you food," the woman said to the traveler."All of it is for my son."The traveler nodded, but waited still.Then at last with great heaving and panting the son came into view:gross-bulging in his apparel of velvet worked with gilt wire and stained with slobberings of food, so tall henearly scraped the roof with his pate, yet so fat he breathed hard for the simple effort of standing upright. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHis fist, big as a ham, cracked his mother behind the ear."Why don't you die, you lazy old cow, and get it over with?" he bellowed."It'd be a merciful relief," the woman whimpered."And die I would of my own free will, but that I standalone between you and Mintra! With me gone you'd take her like a harlot, sister or no!""And wouldn't she be a tasty bit for my bed?" chortled the son with an evil grin, his tongue emerging thickas an ox's to stroke his lips lasciviously."As you wish," said the traveler, "so be it." And he knocked his staff on the threshold and took his leave.That night the plague stole silent from the mountain mist, and took the mother as the son had wished; thenthe girl Mintra fled on light feet down the hill-trails and the fever-giddy glutton went calling her among theheedless sheep until his gross weight dislodged a rock and sent him over a precipice to feed the crows.In the rich city Gryte a thief spoke to curse the briefness of the summer night, which had cut short his planto break the wall of a merchant's counting-house."Oh that dawn never overtook me!" he cried."Oh that I had lasting darkness whereby to ply my trade!""As you wish," said the traveler, "so be it." And darkness came: two thick grey cataracts that shut thelight away.Likewise in Medham was another rogue, striving to seduce a lady who feared her charms were passingwith the years so that he might win to a coffer of gold secreted in her chamber."I love you!" declared thissmooth-tongued deceiver."I'd wed you had you no more than rags and a shack!""As you wish, so be it," said the traveler, and bailiffs came down the street to advise the lady that herhouse and treasure were forfeit on another's debt.Upon which the liar turned and ran, not staying to heara city officer who followed hard on the bailiffs' heels report the honoring of the debt a day past due.So too in Wocrahin a swaggering bully came down the street on market-day, cuffing aside children withthe back of his hand and housewives with the flat of his sword."Oh that my way were not cluttered withsuch riffraff!" he exclaimed, his shoulder butting into the traveler's chest."As you wish, so be it," said the traveler, and when the bully turned the corner the street he walked wasempty under a leaden sky-and the buildings on either side, and the taverns, and the shops.Nor did heagain in all eternity have to push aside the riffraff he had cursed; he was alone.This, however, was not the sum total of the traveler's doings as he passed from place to place within hisrealm.In Kanish-Kulya they had built a wall to keep Kanishmen and Kulyamen apart, and from eitherside, set into the masonry, grinned down the skulls of those dead in a war for which the reason had longbeen forgotten.In this strange and dreadful place Fegrim was pent under a volcano; shadowed by itscone the traveler halted and spoke long and seriously with that elemental, and when he was done thecountry for a mile on every side was dusted with cinders, little and bright as fireflies.At Gander's Well, branched Yorbeth brooded in the guise of a tall tree whose main root tapped awonderful subterranean spring and whose boughs, fed with miraculous sap, sprouted leaves and fruit thelike of which had not been seen under any sun before.The traveler spent an hour in the shade of thattree, and for the questions he asked was constrained to carry away a red twig and later catch a cat and Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlperform a ceremony with these two items-a price he paid with heavy heart, for he had been told nothingof any great use in his inquiries.Also he consulted with Farchgrind, and in Leppersley he cast the bones of a girl's foot to read the runesthey formed, and after great labor he incarcerated Wolpec in a candle over whose flame he smoked apiece of glass which thereupon showed three truths: one ineluctable, one debatable and oneincomprehensible.That was in Teq, when the end of his journey was near.So presently he came to Barbizond, where there was always a rainbow in the sky because of the brightbeing Sardhin, chained inside a thundercloud with fetters of lightning.Three courses remained to him: hemight free Sardhin and let him speak, and from here to the horizon nothing would be left save himself, theelemental, and that which was of its nature bright, as jewels, or fire, or the edge of a keen-bladed knife;or he might do as once he had done under similar circumstances-address himself to an enchanter andmake use of powers that trespassed too far towards naked chaos to be within his own scope--or, finally,he might go forward in ignorance to the strange city and confront the challenge of fate without the armorof foreknowledge.Some little while remained to him before he needed to take his irreversible decision.Coming toBarbizond, therefore, he made his way down a fine broad avenue where plane and lime trees alternatedin the direction of a steel-blue temple.There stood the altar of Hnua-Threl, who was also Sardhin whenhe chose to be; the people invoked him with daily single combats on the temple floor.They were not agentle folk, these inhabitants of Barbizond, but they were stately, and died-in tournaments, or by theassassin's knife, or by their own hand-with dignity.A death had lately occurred, that was plain, for approaching the city gate came a funeral procession: on ahigh-wheeled cart drawn by apes in brazen harness, the corpse wrapped in sheets of lead, gold andwoven leaves; a band of gongmen beating a slow measure to accompany musicians whistling onbird-toned pipes no longer than a finger; eight female slaves naked to the ceaseless warm rain; and last astraggle of mourners, conducting themselves for the most part with appropriate solemnity.He who passed penultimately of the mourners, however, was a fat and jolly person on each of whoseshoulders perched a boy-child, and the two were playing peekaboo around the brim of his enormousleather hat.The traveler stared long at him before stepping out from the shelter of the nearest tree andaddressing him courteously."Your pardon, sir, but are you not named Eadwil?""I am," the fat one answered, not loath to halt and let the funeral wend its way to the graveyard withouthis assistance."Should I know you, sir?""Perhaps not," said the traveler in black."Though I know you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl matkasanepid.xlx.pl
.A lonely hut stood on the shelf-edge of a mountain pasture in the land called Eyneran; here when hepaused to ask a crust of bread and a sup of ewe's milk from the flock.high and distant as clouds on thesteep meadow, a woman with a frightened face opened the ill-carpentered door to him, and met hisrequest with a silent shake of the head.She was wrinkled and worn out beyond her years; yet the hut was sound, a savory smell filled the air,and the clean floor and many copper pots the traveler could see assorted badly with her ragged gownand bare feet.He waited.Shortly a cry-man-deep, yet edged with a child's petulance-rang out."Mother, come here! The pot's boiling over! What's keeping you, you lazy slut?""Mintra!" whispered the woman, and a patter of feet announced the passage of a girl, some twelve yearsold, across the floor to tend the pot.Another cry, still louder: "Mother, I told you to come here! Mintra can't lift the pot when it's full, youstupid old bag of bones!""We can't give you food," the woman said to the traveler."All of it is for my son."The traveler nodded, but waited still.Then at last with great heaving and panting the son came into view:gross-bulging in his apparel of velvet worked with gilt wire and stained with slobberings of food, so tall henearly scraped the roof with his pate, yet so fat he breathed hard for the simple effort of standing upright. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHis fist, big as a ham, cracked his mother behind the ear."Why don't you die, you lazy old cow, and get it over with?" he bellowed."It'd be a merciful relief," the woman whimpered."And die I would of my own free will, but that I standalone between you and Mintra! With me gone you'd take her like a harlot, sister or no!""And wouldn't she be a tasty bit for my bed?" chortled the son with an evil grin, his tongue emerging thickas an ox's to stroke his lips lasciviously."As you wish," said the traveler, "so be it." And he knocked his staff on the threshold and took his leave.That night the plague stole silent from the mountain mist, and took the mother as the son had wished; thenthe girl Mintra fled on light feet down the hill-trails and the fever-giddy glutton went calling her among theheedless sheep until his gross weight dislodged a rock and sent him over a precipice to feed the crows.In the rich city Gryte a thief spoke to curse the briefness of the summer night, which had cut short his planto break the wall of a merchant's counting-house."Oh that dawn never overtook me!" he cried."Oh that I had lasting darkness whereby to ply my trade!""As you wish," said the traveler, "so be it." And darkness came: two thick grey cataracts that shut thelight away.Likewise in Medham was another rogue, striving to seduce a lady who feared her charms were passingwith the years so that he might win to a coffer of gold secreted in her chamber."I love you!" declared thissmooth-tongued deceiver."I'd wed you had you no more than rags and a shack!""As you wish, so be it," said the traveler, and bailiffs came down the street to advise the lady that herhouse and treasure were forfeit on another's debt.Upon which the liar turned and ran, not staying to heara city officer who followed hard on the bailiffs' heels report the honoring of the debt a day past due.So too in Wocrahin a swaggering bully came down the street on market-day, cuffing aside children withthe back of his hand and housewives with the flat of his sword."Oh that my way were not cluttered withsuch riffraff!" he exclaimed, his shoulder butting into the traveler's chest."As you wish, so be it," said the traveler, and when the bully turned the corner the street he walked wasempty under a leaden sky-and the buildings on either side, and the taverns, and the shops.Nor did heagain in all eternity have to push aside the riffraff he had cursed; he was alone.This, however, was not the sum total of the traveler's doings as he passed from place to place within hisrealm.In Kanish-Kulya they had built a wall to keep Kanishmen and Kulyamen apart, and from eitherside, set into the masonry, grinned down the skulls of those dead in a war for which the reason had longbeen forgotten.In this strange and dreadful place Fegrim was pent under a volcano; shadowed by itscone the traveler halted and spoke long and seriously with that elemental, and when he was done thecountry for a mile on every side was dusted with cinders, little and bright as fireflies.At Gander's Well, branched Yorbeth brooded in the guise of a tall tree whose main root tapped awonderful subterranean spring and whose boughs, fed with miraculous sap, sprouted leaves and fruit thelike of which had not been seen under any sun before.The traveler spent an hour in the shade of thattree, and for the questions he asked was constrained to carry away a red twig and later catch a cat and Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlperform a ceremony with these two items-a price he paid with heavy heart, for he had been told nothingof any great use in his inquiries.Also he consulted with Farchgrind, and in Leppersley he cast the bones of a girl's foot to read the runesthey formed, and after great labor he incarcerated Wolpec in a candle over whose flame he smoked apiece of glass which thereupon showed three truths: one ineluctable, one debatable and oneincomprehensible.That was in Teq, when the end of his journey was near.So presently he came to Barbizond, where there was always a rainbow in the sky because of the brightbeing Sardhin, chained inside a thundercloud with fetters of lightning.Three courses remained to him: hemight free Sardhin and let him speak, and from here to the horizon nothing would be left save himself, theelemental, and that which was of its nature bright, as jewels, or fire, or the edge of a keen-bladed knife;or he might do as once he had done under similar circumstances-address himself to an enchanter andmake use of powers that trespassed too far towards naked chaos to be within his own scope--or, finally,he might go forward in ignorance to the strange city and confront the challenge of fate without the armorof foreknowledge.Some little while remained to him before he needed to take his irreversible decision.Coming toBarbizond, therefore, he made his way down a fine broad avenue where plane and lime trees alternatedin the direction of a steel-blue temple.There stood the altar of Hnua-Threl, who was also Sardhin whenhe chose to be; the people invoked him with daily single combats on the temple floor.They were not agentle folk, these inhabitants of Barbizond, but they were stately, and died-in tournaments, or by theassassin's knife, or by their own hand-with dignity.A death had lately occurred, that was plain, for approaching the city gate came a funeral procession: on ahigh-wheeled cart drawn by apes in brazen harness, the corpse wrapped in sheets of lead, gold andwoven leaves; a band of gongmen beating a slow measure to accompany musicians whistling onbird-toned pipes no longer than a finger; eight female slaves naked to the ceaseless warm rain; and last astraggle of mourners, conducting themselves for the most part with appropriate solemnity.He who passed penultimately of the mourners, however, was a fat and jolly person on each of whoseshoulders perched a boy-child, and the two were playing peekaboo around the brim of his enormousleather hat.The traveler stared long at him before stepping out from the shelter of the nearest tree andaddressing him courteously."Your pardon, sir, but are you not named Eadwil?""I am," the fat one answered, not loath to halt and let the funeral wend its way to the graveyard withouthis assistance."Should I know you, sir?""Perhaps not," said the traveler in black."Though I know you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]