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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 432/751
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"
Are
these
the
best
weapons
you
could
steal
?
"
he
said
.
"
Good
enough
for
killing
sheep
,
perhaps
...
if
the
sheep
do
not
fight
back
.
My
father
's
smiths
shit
better
steel
.
"
"
Little
boyman
,
"
Shagga
roared
,
"
will
you
mock
my
axe
after
I
chop
off
your
manhood
and
feed
it
to
the
goats
?
"
But
Gunthor
raised
a
hand
.
"
No
.
I
would
hear
his
words
.
The
mothers
go
hungry
,
and
steel
fills
more
mouths
than
gold
.
What
would
you
give
us
for
your
lives
,
Tyrion
son
of
Tywin
?
Swords
?
Lances
?
Mail
?
"
"
All
that
,
and
more
,
Gunthor
son
of
Gurn
,
"
Tyrion
Lannister
replied
,
smiling
.
"
I
will
give
you
the
Vale
of
Arryn
.
"
Through
the
high
narrow
windows
of
the
Red
Keep
's
cavernous
throne
room
,
the
light
of
sunset
spilled
across
the
floor
,
laying
dark
red
stripes
upon
the
walls
where
the
heads
of
dragons
had
once
hung
.
Now
the
stone
was
covered
with
hunting
tapestries
,
vivid
with
greens
and
browns
and
blues
,
and
yet
still
it
seemed
to
Ned
Stark
that
the
only
color
in
the
hall
was
the
red
of
blood
.
He
sat
high
upon
the
immense
ancient
seat
of
Aegon
the
Conqueror
,
an
ironwork
monstrosity
of
spikes
and
jagged
edges
and
grotesquely
twisted
metal
.
It
was
,
as
Robert
had
warned
him
,
a
hellishly
uncomfortable
chair
,
and
never
more
so
than
now
,
with
his
shattered
leg
throbbing
more
sharply
every
minute
.
The
metal
beneath
him
had
grown
harder
by
the
hour
,
and
the
fanged
steel
behind
made
it
impossible
to
lean
back
.
A
king
should
never
sit
easy
,
Aegon
the
Conqueror
had
said
,
when
he
commanded
his
armorers
to
forge
a
great
seat
from
the
swords
laid
down
by
his
enemies
.
Damn
Aegon
for
his
arrogance
,
Ned
thought
sullenly
,
and
damn
Robert
and
his
hunting
as
well
.
"
You
are
quite
certain
these
were
more
than
brigands
?
"
Varys
asked
softly
from
the
council
table
beneath
the
throne
.
Grand
Maester
Pycelle
stirred
uneasily
beside
him
,
while
Littlefinger
toyed
with
a
pen
.
They
were
the
only
councillors
in
attendance
.
A
white
hart
had
been
sighted
in
the
kingswood
,
and
Lord
Renly
and
Ser
Barristan
had
joined
the
king
to
hunt
it
,
along
with
Prince
Joffrey
,
Sandor
Clegane
,
Balon
Swann
,
and
half
the
court
.
So
Ned
must
needs
sit
the
Iron
Throne
in
his
absence
.
At
least
he
could
sit
.
Save
the
council
,
the
rest
must
stand
respectfully
,
or
kneel
.
The
petitioners
clustered
near
the
tall
doors
,
the
knights
and
high
lords
and
ladies
beneath
the
tapestries
,
the
smallfolk
in
the
gallery
,
the
mailed
guards
in
their
cloaks
,
gold
or
grey
:
all
stood
.
The
villagers
were
kneeling
:
men
,
women
,
and
children
,
alike
tattered
and
bloody
,
their
faces
drawn
by
fear
.
The
three
knights
who
had
brought
them
here
to
bear
witness
stood
behind
them
.
