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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Are
you
blind
,
man
?
"
Yoren
waved
his
staff
back
and
forth
,
making
the
cloak
ripple
.
"
You
see
a
bloody
lightning
bolt
?
"
"
By
night
all
banners
look
black
,
"
the
knight
in
the
spiked
helm
observed
.
"
Open
,
or
we
’
ll
know
you
for
outlaws
in
league
with
the
king
’
s
enemies
.
"
Yoren
spat
.
"
Who
’
s
got
your
command
?
"
"
I
do
.
"
The
reflections
of
burning
houses
glimmered
dully
on
the
armor
of
his
warhorse
as
the
others
parted
to
let
him
pass
.
He
was
a
stout
man
with
a
manticore
on
his
shield
,
and
ornate
scrollwork
crawling
across
his
steel
breastplate
.
Through
the
open
visor
of
his
helm
,
a
face
pale
and
piggy
peered
up
.
"
Ser
Amory
Lorch
,
bannerman
to
Lord
Tywin
Lannister
of
Casterly
Rock
,
the
Hand
of
the
King
.
The
true
king
,
Joffrey
.
"
He
had
a
high
,
thin
voice
.
"
In
his
name
,
I
command
you
to
open
these
gates
.
"
All
around
them
,
the
town
burned
.
The
night
air
was
full
of
smoke
,
and
the
drifting
red
embers
outnumbered
the
stars
.
Yoren
scowled
.
"
Don
’
t
see
the
need
.
Do
what
you
want
to
the
town
,
it
’
s
naught
to
me
,
but
leave
us
be
.
We
’
re
no
foes
to
you
.
"
Look
with
your
eyes
,
Arya
wanted
to
shout
at
the
men
below
.
"
Can
’
t
they
see
we
’
re
no
lords
or
knights
?
"
she
whispered
.
"
I
don
’
t
think
they
care
,
Arry
,
"
Gendry
whispered
back
.
And
she
looked
at
Ser
Amory
’
s
face
,
the
way
Syrio
had
taught
her
to
look
,
and
she
saw
that
he
was
right
.
"
If
you
are
no
traitors
,
open
your
gates
,
"
Ser
Amory
called
.
"
We
’
ll
make
certain
you
’
re
telling
it
true
and
be
on
our
way
.
"
