-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Толкин
-
- Властелин колец: Возвращение короля
-
- Стр. 75/277
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
So
now
at
last
the
City
was
besieged
,
enclosed
in
a
ring
of
foes
.
The
Rammas
was
broken
,
and
all
the
Pelennor
abandoned
to
the
Enemy
.
The
last
word
to
come
from
outside
the
walls
was
brought
by
men
flying
down
the
northward
road
ere
the
Gate
was
shut
.
They
were
the
remnant
of
the
guard
that
was
kept
at
that
point
where
the
way
from
Anórien
and
Rohan
ran
into
the
townlands
:
Ingold
led
them
,
the
same
who
had
admitted
Gandalf
and
Pippin
less
than
five
days
before
,
while
the
sun
still
rose
and
there
was
hope
in
the
morning
.
'
There
is
no
news
of
the
Rohirrim
,
'
he
said
.
'
Rohan
will
not
come
now
.
Or
if
they
come
,
it
will
not
avail
us
.
The
new
host
that
we
had
tidings
of
has
come
first
,
from
over
the
River
by
way
of
Andros
,
it
is
said
.
They
are
strong
:
battalions
of
Orcs
of
the
Eye
,
and
countless
companies
of
Men
of
a
new
sort
that
we
have
not
met
before
.
Not
tall
,
but
broad
and
grim
,
bearded
like
dwarves
,
wielding
great
axes
.
Out
of
some
savage
land
in
the
wide
East
they
come
,
we
deem
.
They
hold
the
northward
road
;
and
many
have
passed
on
into
Anórien
.
The
Rohirrim
can
not
come
.
'
The
Gate
was
shut
.
All
night
watchmen
on
the
walls
heard
the
rumour
of
the
enemy
that
roamed
outside
,
burning
field
and
tree
,
and
hewing
any
man
that
they
found
abroad
,
living
or
dead
.
The
numbers
that
had
already
passed
over
the
River
could
not
be
guessed
in
the
darkness
,
but
when
morning
,
or
its
dim
shadow
,
stole
over
the
plain
,
it
was
seen
that
even
fear
by
night
had
scarcely
over-counted
them
.
The
plain
was
dark
with
their
marching
companies
,
and
as
far
as
eyes
could
strain
in
the
mirk
there
sprouted
,
like
a
foul
fungus-growth
,
all
about
the
beleaguered
city
great
camps
of
tents
,
black
or
sombre
red
.
Busy
as
ants
hurrying
orcs
were
digging
,
digging
lines
of
deep
trenches
in
a
huge
ring
,
just
out
of
bowshot
from
the
walls
;
and
as
the
trenches
were
made
each
was
filled
with
fire
,
though
how
it
was
kindled
or
fed
,
by
art
or
devilry
,
none
could
see
.
All
day
the
labour
went
forward
,
while
the
men
of
Minas
Tirith
looked
on
,
unable
to
hinder
it
.
And
as
each
length
of
trench
was
completed
,
they
could
see
great
wains
approaching
;
and
soon
yet
more
companies
of
the
enemy
were
swiftly
setting
up
,
each
behind
the
cover
of
a
trench
,
great
engines
for
the
casting
of
missiles
.
There
were
none
upon
the
City
walls
large
enough
to
reach
so
far
or
to
stay
the
work
.
At
first
men
laughed
and
did
not
greatly
fear
such
devices
.
For
the
main
wall
of
the
City
was
of
great
height
and
marvellous
thickness
,
built
ere
the
power
and
craft
of
Númenor
waned
in
exile
;
and
its
outward
face
was
like
to
the
Tower
of
Orthanc
,
hard
and
dark
and
smooth
,
unconquerable
by
steel
or
fire
,
unbreakable
except
by
some
convulsion
that
would
rend
the
very
earth
on
which
it
stood
.
'
Nay
,
'
they
said
,
'
not
if
the
Nameless
One
himself
should
come
,
not
even
he
could
enter
here
while
we
yet
live
.
'
But
some
answered
:
'
While
we
yet
live
?
How
long
?
He
has
a
weapon
that
has
brought
low
many
strong
places
since
the
world
began
.
Hunger
.
The
roads
are
cut
.
Rohan
will
not
come
.
'
But
the
engines
did
not
waste
shot
upon
the
indomitable
wall
.
It
was
no
brigand
or
orc-chieftain
that
ordered
the
assault
upon
the
Lord
of
Mordor
's
greatest
foe
.
A
power
and
mind
of
malice
guided
it
.
As
soon
as
the
great
catapults
were
set
,
with
many
yells
and
the
creaking
of
rope
and
winch
,
they
began
to
throw
missiles
marvellously
high
,
so
that
they
passed
right
above
the
battlement
and
fell
thudding
within
the
first
circle
of
the
City
;
and
many
of
them
by
some
secret
art
burst
into
flame
as
they
came
toppling
down
.
Soon
there
was
great
peril
of
fire
behind
the
wall
,
and
all
who
could
be
spared
were
busy
quelling
the
flames
that
sprang
up
in
many
places
.
Then
among
the
greater
casts
there
fell
another
hail
,
less
ruinous
but
more
horrible
.
All
about
the
streets
and
lanes
behind
the
Gate
it
tumbled
down
,
small
round
shot
that
did
not
burn
.
But
when
men
ran
to
learn
what
it
might
be
,
they
cried
aloud
or
wept
.
For
the
enemy
was
flinging
into
the
City
all
the
heads
of
those
who
had
fallen
fighting
at
Osgiliath
,
or
on
the
Rammas
,
or
in
the
fields
.
They
were
grim
to
look
on
;
for
though
some
were
crushed
and
shapeless
,
and
some
had
been
cruelly
hewn
,
yet
many
had
features
that
could
be
told
,
and
it
seemed
that
they
had
died
in
pain
;
and
all
were
branded
with
the
foul
token
of
the
Lidless
Eye
.
But
marred
and
dishonoured
as
they
were
,
it
often
chanced
that
thus
a
man
would
see
again
the
face
of
someone
that
he
had
known
,
who
had
walked
proudly
once
in
arms
,
or
tilled
the
fields
,
or
ridden
in
upon
a
holiday
from
the
green
vales
in
the
hills
.
