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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Not
that
I
’
ve
heard
.
"
"
Next
time
they
will
,
"
Tyrion
said
grimly
.
"
I
give
them
what
protection
I
can
.
The
gold
cloaks
—
"
"
They
claim
there
were
gold
cloaks
in
the
mob
,
"
Bronn
said
.
"
They
’
re
demanding
to
speak
to
the
king
himself
.
"
"
Fools
.
"
Tyrion
had
sent
them
off
with
regrets
;
his
nephew
would
send
them
off
with
whips
and
spears
.
He
was
half
-
tempted
to
allow
it
.
.
.
but
no
,
he
dare
not
.
Soon
or
late
,
some
enemy
would
march
on
King
’
s
Landing
,
and
the
last
thing
he
wanted
was
willing
traitors
within
the
city
walls
.
"
Tell
them
King
Joffrey
shares
their
fears
and
will
do
all
he
can
for
them
.
"
"
They
want
bread
,
not
promises
.
"
"
If
I
give
them
bread
today
,
on
the
morrow
I
’
ll
have
twice
as
many
at
the
gates
.
Who
else
?
"
"
A
black
brother
down
from
the
Wall
.
The
steward
says
he
brought
some
rotted
hand
in
a
jar
.
"
Tyrion
smiled
wanly
.
"
I
’
m
surprised
no
one
ate
it
.
I
suppose
I
ought
to
see
him
.
It
’
s
not
Yoren
,
perchance
?
"
"
No
.
Some
knight
.
Thorne
.
"
