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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 747/853
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He
clanged
the
visor
shut
.
"
Keep
that
closed
,
Your
Grace
;
your
sweet
person
is
precious
to
us
all
.
"
And
you
don
’
t
want
to
spoil
that
pretty
face
,
either
.
"
The
Whores
are
yours
.
"
It
was
as
good
a
time
as
any
;
flinging
more
firepots
down
onto
burning
ships
seemed
pointless
.
Joff
had
the
Antler
Men
trussed
up
naked
in
the
square
below
,
antlers
nailed
to
their
heads
.
When
they
’
d
been
brought
before
the
Iron
Throne
for
justice
,
he
had
promised
to
send
them
to
Stannis
.
A
man
was
not
as
heavy
as
a
boulder
or
a
cask
of
burning
pitch
,
and
could
be
thrown
a
deal
farther
.
Some
of
the
gold
cloaks
had
been
wagering
on
whether
the
traitors
would
fly
all
the
way
across
the
Blackwater
.
"
Be
quick
about
it
,
Your
Grace
,
"
he
told
Joffrey
.
"
We
’
ll
want
the
trebuchets
throwing
stones
again
soon
enough
.
Even
wildfire
does
not
burn
forever
.
"
Joffrey
hurried
off
happy
,
escorted
by
Ser
Meryn
,
but
Tyrion
caught
Ser
Osmund
by
the
wrist
before
he
could
follow
.
"
Whatever
happens
,
keep
him
safe
and
keep
him
there
,
is
that
understood
?
"
"
As
you
command
.
"
Ser
Osmund
smiled
amiably
.
No
sooner
was
Joff
off
than
a
runner
came
panting
up
the
steps
.
"
My
lord
,
hurry
!
"
He
threw
himself
to
one
knee
.
"
They
’
ve
landed
men
on
the
tourney
grounds
,
hundreds
!
They
’
re
bringing
a
ram
up
to
the
King
’
s
Gate
.
"
Tyrion
cursed
and
made
for
the
steps
with
a
rolling
waddle
.
Podrick
Payne
waited
below
with
their
horses
.
They
galloped
off
down
River
Row
,
Pod
and
Ser
Mandon
Moore
coming
hard
behind
him
.
The
shuttered
houses
were
steeped
in
green
shadow
,
but
there
was
no
traffic
to
get
in
their
way
;
Tyrion
had
commanded
that
the
street
be
kept
clear
,
so
the
defenders
could
move
quickly
from
one
gate
to
the
next
.
Even
so
,
by
the
time
they
reached
the
King
’
s
Gate
,
he
could
hear
a
booming
crash
of
wood
on
wood
that
told
him
the
battering
ram
had
been
brought
into
play
.
The
groaning
of
the
great
hinges
sounded
like
the
moans
of
a
dying
giant
.
The
gatehouse
square
was
littered
with
the
wounded
,
but
he
saw
lines
of
horses
as
well
,
not
all
of
them
hurt
,
and
sellswords
and
gold
cloaks
enough
to
form
a
strong
column
.
"
Form
up
,
"
he
shouted
as
he
leapt
to
the
ground
.
The
gate
moved
under
the
impact
of
another
blow
.
"
Who
commands
here
?
You
’
re
going
out
.
"
"
No
.
"
A
shadow
detached
itself
from
the
shadow
of
the
wall
,
to
become
a
tall
man
in
dark
grey
armor
.
Sandor
Clegane
wrenched
off
his
helm
with
both
hands
and
let
it
fall
to
the
ground
.
The
steel
was
scorched
and
dented
,
the
left
ear
of
the
snarling
hound
sheared
off
.
A
gash
above
one
eye
had
sent
a
wash
of
blood
down
across
the
Hound
’
s
old
burn
scars
,
masking
half
his
face
.
"
Yes
.
"
Tyrion
faced
him
.
Clegane
’
s
breath
came
ragged
.
"
Bugger
that
.
And
you
.
"
