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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Gold
cloaks
.
"
His
face
closed
up
tight
.
It
couldn
’
t
be
,
Arya
thought
,
but
when
she
glanced
back
,
they
were
riding
up
the
kingsroad
,
six
in
the
black
ringmail
and
golden
cloaks
of
the
City
Watch
.
One
was
an
officer
;
he
wore
a
black
enamel
breastplate
ornamented
with
four
golden
disks
.
They
drew
up
in
front
of
the
inn
.
Look
with
your
eyes
,
Syrio
’
s
voice
seemed
to
whisper
.
Her
eyes
saw
white
lather
under
their
saddles
;
the
horses
had
been
ridden
long
and
hard
.
Calm
as
still
water
,
she
took
the
Bull
by
the
arm
and
drew
him
back
behind
a
tall
flowering
hedge
.
"
What
is
it
?
"
he
asked
.
"
What
are
you
doing
?
Let
go
.
"
"
Quiet
as
a
shadow
,
"
she
whispered
,
pulling
him
down
.
Some
of
Yoren
’
s
other
charges
were
sitting
in
front
of
the
bathhouse
,
waiting
their
turn
at
a
tub
.
"
You
men
,
"
one
of
the
gold
cloaks
shouted
.
"
You
the
ones
left
to
take
the
black
?
"
"
We
might
be
,
"
came
the
cautious
answer
.
"
We
’
d
rather
join
you
boys
,
"
old
Reysen
said
.
"
We
hear
it
’
s
cold
on
that
Wall
.
"
The
gold
cloak
officer
dismounted
.
"
I
have
a
warrant
for
a
certain
boy
—
"
Yoren
stepped
out
of
the
inn
,
fingering
his
tangled
black
beard
.
"
Who
is
it
wants
this
boy
?
"
The
other
gold
cloaks
were
dismounting
to
stand
beside
their
horses
.
"
Why
are
we
hiding
?
"
the
Bull
whispered
.
