The Complete Tamuli Trilogy: Domes of Fire, The Shining Ones, The Hidden City. David Eddings

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СКАЧАТЬ at least it seemed like twelve days. Sparhawk had decided to stop brooding about the difference between real and perceived time. Aphrael was going to tamper no matter what he did or said anyway, so why should he waste time worrying about it? He wondered if Zalasta could detect the manipulation. Probably not, he decided. No matter how skilled the Styric magician might be, he was still only a man, and Aphrael was divine. An odd thought came to Sparhawk one night, however. He wondered if his daughter could also make real time seem faster than it actually was instead of slower. After he thought about it for a while, though, he decided not to ask her. The whole concept gave him a headache.

      Atana was a utilitarian sort of town in a deep green valley. It was walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor imposing. It was the Atans themselves who made their capital impregnable.

      ‘Everything in the kingdom’s named Atan, isn’t it?’ Kalten observed as they rode down into the valley. ‘The kingdom, its capital, the people – even the titles.’

      ‘I think Atan’s more in the nature of a concept than a name,’ Ulath shrugged.

      ‘What makes them all so tall?’ Talen asked. ‘They belong to the Tamul race, but other Tamuls don’t loom over everybody else like trees.’

      ‘Oscagne explained it to me,’ Stragen told him. ‘It seems that the Atans are the result of an experiment.’

      ‘Magic?’

      ‘I don’t know all that much about it,’ Stragen admitted, ‘but I’d guess that what they did went beyond what magic’s capable of. Back before there was even such a thing as history, the Atans observed that big people win more fights than little people. That was in a time when parents chose the mates of their children. Size became the most important consideration.’

      ‘What happened to short children?’ Talen objected.

      ‘Probably the same thing that happens to ugly children in our society,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘They didn’t get married.’

      ‘That’s not fair.’

      Stragen smiled. ‘When you get right down to it, Talen, it’s not really very fair when we steal something somebody else has worked for, is it?’

      ‘That’s different.’

      Stragen leaned back in his saddle and laughed. Then he went on. ‘The Atans prized other characteristics as well – ability, strength, aggressiveness and homicidal vindictiveness. It’s strange how the combination worked out. If you stop and think about it, you’ll realise that Mirtai’s really a rather sweet girl. She’s warm and affectionate, she really cares about her friends, and she’s strikingly beautiful. She’s got certain triggers built into her, though, and when somebody trips one of those triggers, she starts killing people. The Atan breeding programme finally went too far, I guess. The Atans become so aggressive that they started killing each other, and since such aggressiveness can’t be restricted to one sex, the women were as bad as the men. It got to the point that there was no such thing in Atan as a mild disagreement. They’d kill each other over weather predictions.’ He smiled. ‘Oscagne told me that the world discovered just how savage Atan women were in the twelfth century. A large band of Arjuni slavers attacked a training camp for adolescent Atan females – the sexes are separated during training in order to avoid certain complications. Anyway, those half-grown Atan girls – most of them barely over six feet tall – slaughtered most of the Arjuni and then sold the rest to the Tamuls as eunuchs.’

      ‘The slavers were eunuchs?’ Kalten asked with some surprise.

      ‘No, Kalten,’ Stragen explained patiently. ‘They weren’t eunuchs until after the girls captured them.’

      ‘Little girls did that?’ Kalten’s expression was one of horror.

      ‘They weren’t exactly babies, Kalten. They were old enough to know what they were doing. Anyway, the Atans had a very wise king in the fifteenth century. He saw that his people were on the verge of self-destruction. He made contact with the Tamul government and surrendered his people into perpetual slavery – to save their lives.’

      ‘A little extreme,’ Ulath noted.

      ‘There are several kinds of slavery, Ulath. Here in Atan, it’s institutionalised. The Tamuls tell the Atans where to go and whom to kill, and they can usually find a reason to deny petitions by individual Atans to slaughter each other. That’s about as far as it really goes. It’s a good working arrangement. The Atan race survives, and the Tamuls get the finest infantry in the world.’

      Talen was frowning. ‘The Atans are terribly impressed with size, you said.’

      ‘Well, it’s one of the things that impresses them,’ Stragen amended.

      ‘Then why did Mirtai agree to marry Kring? Kring’s a good warrior, but he’s not much taller than I am, and I’m still growing.’

      ‘It must be something else about him that impressed her so much,’ Stragen shrugged.

      ‘What do you think it is?’

      ‘I haven’t got the faintest idea, Talen.’

      ‘He’s a poet,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘Maybe that’s it.’

      ‘That wouldn’t make that much difference to someone like Mirtai, would it? She did slice two men open and then burn them alive, remember? She doesn’t sound to me like the kind of girl who’d get all gushy about poetry.’

      ‘Don’t ask me, Talen,’ Stragen laughed. ‘I know a great deal about the world, but I wouldn’t even try to make a guess about why any woman chooses any given man.’

      ‘Good thinking,’ Ulath murmured.

      The city had been alerted to their approach by Engessa’s messengers, and the royal party was met at the gate by a deputation of towering Atans in formal attire, which in their culture meant the donning of unadorned, ankle-length cloaks of dark wool. In the midst of those giants stood a short, golden-robed Tamul. The Tamul had silver-streaked hair and an urbane expression.

      ‘What are we supposed to do?’ Kalten whispered to Oscagne.

      ‘Act formal,’ Oscagne advised. ‘Atans adore formality. Ah, Norkan,’ he said to the Tamul in the golden robe, ‘so good to see you again. Fontan sends his best.’

      ‘How is the old rascal?’ Oscagne’s colleague replied.

      ‘Wrinkled, but he still hasn’t lost his edge.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear it. Why are we speaking in Elenic?’

      ‘So that you can brief us all on local circumstances. How are things here?’

      ‘Tense. Our children are a bit discontent. There’s turmoil afoot. We send them to stamp it out, but it refuses to stay stamped. They resent that. You know how they are.’

      ‘Oh my, yes. Has the emperor’s sister forgiven you yet?’

      Norkan sighed. ‘Afraid not, old boy. I’m quite resigned to spending the rest of my career here.’

      ‘You know how the people at court like to carry tales. Whatever possessed СКАЧАТЬ