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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 388/751
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"
More
to
say
?
"
Mord
held
the
strap
between
his
fists
and
gave
it
a
sharp
pull
.
The
snap
made
Tyrion
jump
.
The
turnkey
laughed
.
He
wo
n't
push
me
over
,
Tyrion
told
himself
desperately
as
he
crawled
away
from
the
edge
.
Catelyn
Stark
wants
me
alive
,
he
does
n't
dare
kill
me
.
He
wiped
the
blood
off
his
lips
with
the
back
of
his
hand
,
grinned
,
and
said
,
"
That
was
a
stiff
one
,
Mord
.
"
The
gaoler
squinted
at
him
,
trying
to
decide
if
he
was
being
mocked
.
"
I
could
make
good
use
of
a
strong
man
like
you
.
"
The
strap
flew
at
him
,
but
this
time
Tyrion
was
able
to
cringe
away
from
it
.
He
took
a
glancing
blow
to
the
shoulder
,
nothing
more
.
"
Gold
,
"
he
repeated
,
scrambling
backward
like
a
crab
,
"
more
gold
than
you
'll
see
here
in
a
lifetime
.
Enough
to
buy
land
,
women
,
horses
...
you
could
be
a
lord
.
Lord
Mord
.
"
Tyrion
hawked
up
a
glob
of
blood
and
phlegm
and
spat
it
out
into
the
sky
.
"
Is
no
gold
,
"
Mord
said
.
He
's
listening
!
Tyrion
thought
.
"
They
relieved
me
of
my
purse
when
they
captured
me
,
but
the
gold
is
still
mine
.
Catelyn
Stark
might
take
a
man
prisoner
,
but
she
'd
never
stoop
to
rob
him
.
That
would
n't
be
honorable
.
Help
me
,
and
all
the
gold
is
yours
.
"
Mord
's
strap
licked
out
,
but
it
was
a
halfhearted
,
desultory
swing
,
slow
and
contemptuous
.
Tyrion
caught
the
leather
in
his
hand
and
held
it
prisoned
.
"
There
will
be
no
risk
to
you
.
All
you
need
do
is
deliver
a
message
.
"
The
gaoler
yanked
his
leather
strap
free
of
Tyrion
's
grasp
.
"
Message
,
"
he
said
,
as
if
he
had
never
heard
the
word
before
.
His
frown
made
deep
creases
in
his
brow
.
"
You
heard
me
,
my
lord
.
Only
carry
my
word
to
your
lady
.
Tell
her
...
"
What
?
What
would
possibly
make
Lysa
Anyn
relent
?
The
inspiration
came
to
Tyrion
Lannister
suddenly
.
"
...
.
tell
her
that
I
wish
to
confess
my
crimes
.
"
Mord
raised
his
arm
and
Tyrion
braced
himself
for
another
blow
,
but
the
turnkey
hesitated
.
Suspicion
and
greed
warred
in
his
eyes
.
He
wanted
that
gold
,
yet
he
feared
a
trick
;
he
had
the
look
of
a
man
who
had
often
been
tricked
.
"
Is
lie
,
"
he
muttered
darkly
.
"
Dwarf
man
cheat
me
.
"
"
I
will
put
my
promise
in
writing
,
"
Tyrion
vowed
.
Some
illiterates
held
writing
in
disdain
;
others
seemed
to
have
a
superstitious
reverence
for
the
written
word
,
as
if
it
were
some
sort
of
magic
.
Fortunately
,
Mord
was
one
of
the
latter
.
The
turnkey
lowered
the
strap
.
"
Writing
down
gold
.
Much
gold
.
"
