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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 379/853
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Dany
took
the
warlock
’
s
words
well
salted
,
but
the
magnificence
of
the
great
city
was
not
to
be
denied
.
Three
thick
walls
encircled
Qarth
,
elaborately
carved
.
The
outer
was
red
sandstone
,
thirty
feet
high
and
decorated
with
animals
:
snakes
slithering
,
kites
flying
,
fish
swimming
,
intermingled
with
wolves
of
the
red
waste
and
striped
horses
and
monstrous
elephants
.
The
middle
wall
,
forty
feet
high
,
was
grey
granite
alive
with
scenes
of
war
:
the
clash
of
sword
and
shield
and
spear
,
arrows
in
flight
,
heroes
at
battle
and
babes
being
butchered
,
pyres
of
the
dead
.
The
innermost
wall
was
fifty
feet
of
black
marble
,
with
carvings
that
made
Dany
blush
until
she
told
herself
that
she
was
being
a
fool
.
She
was
no
maid
;
if
she
could
look
on
the
grey
wall
’
s
scenes
of
slaughter
,
why
should
she
avert
her
eyes
from
the
sight
of
men
and
women
giving
pleasure
to
one
another
?
The
outer
gates
were
banded
with
copper
,
the
middle
with
iron
;
the
innermost
were
studded
with
golden
eyes
.
All
opened
at
Dany
’
s
approach
.
As
she
rode
her
silver
into
the
city
,
small
children
rushed
out
to
scatter
flowers
in
her
path
.
They
wore
golden
sandals
and
bright
paint
,
no
more
.
All
the
colors
that
had
been
missing
from
Vaes
Tolorro
had
found
their
way
to
Qarth
;
buildings
crowded
about
her
fantastical
as
a
fever
dream
in
shades
of
rose
,
violet
,
and
umber
.
She
passed
under
a
bronze
arch
fashioned
in
the
likeness
of
two
snakes
mating
,
their
scales
delicate
flakes
of
jade
,
obsidian
,
and
lapis
lazuli
.
Slim
towers
stood
taller
than
any
Dany
had
ever
seen
,
and
elaborate
fountains
filled
every
square
,
wrought
in
the
shapes
of
griffins
and
dragons
and
manticores
.
The
Qartheen
lined
the
streets
and
watched
from
delicate
balconies
that
looked
too
frail
to
support
their
weight
.
They
were
tall
pale
folk
in
linen
and
samite
and
tiger
fur
,
every
one
a
lord
or
lady
to
her
eyes
.
The
women
wore
gowns
that
left
one
breast
bare
,
while
the
men
favored
beaded
silk
skirts
.
Dany
felt
shabby
and
barbaric
as
she
rode
past
them
in
her
lionskin
robe
with
black
Drogon
on
one
shoulder
.
Her
Dothraki
called
the
Qartheen
"
Milk
Men
"
for
their
paleness
,
and
Khal
Drogo
had
dreamed
of
the
day
when
he
might
sack
the
great
cities
of
the
east
.
She
glanced
at
her
bloodriders
,
their
dark
almond
-
shaped
eyes
giving
no
hint
of
their
thoughts
.
Is
it
only
the
plunder
they
see
?
she
wondered
.
How
savage
we
must
seem
to
these
Qartheen
.
Pyat
Pree
conducted
her
little
khalasar
down
the
center
of
a
great
arcade
where
the
city
’
s
ancient
heroes
stood
thrice
life
-
size
on
columns
of
white
and
green
marble
.
They
passed
through
a
bazaar
in
a
cavernous
building
whose
latticework
ceiling
was
home
to
a
thousand
gaily
-
colored
birds
.
Trees
and
flowers
bloomed
on
the
terraced
walls
above
the
stalls
,
while
below
it
seemed
as
if
everything
the
gods
had
put
into
the
world
was
for
sale
.
Her
silver
shied
as
the
merchant
prince
Xaro
Xhoan
Daxos
rode
up
to
her
;
the
horses
could
not
abide
the
close
presence
of
camels
,
she
had
found
.
"
If
you
see
here
anything
that
you
would
desire
,
O
most
beautiful
of
women
,
you
have
only
to
speak
and
it
is
yours
,
"
Xaro
called
down
from
his
ornate
horned
saddle
.
"
Qarth
itself
is
hers
,
she
has
no
need
of
baubles
,
"
blue
-
lipped
Pyat
Pree
sang
out
from
her
other
side
.
"
It
shall
be
as
I
promised
,
Khaleesi
.
Come
with
me
to
the
House
of
the
Undying
,
and
you
shall
drink
of
truth
and
wisdom
.
"
"
Why
should
she
need
your
Palace
of
Dust
,
when
I
can
give
her
sunlight
and
sweet
water
and
silks
to
sleep
in
?
"
Xaro
said
to
the
warlock
.
