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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 501/751
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"
Put
down
the
stick
,
girl
,
"
Ser
Meryn
told
her
.
"
I
am
a
Sworn
Brother
of
the
Kingsguard
,
the
White
Swords
.
"
"
So
was
the
Kingslayer
when
he
killed
the
old
king
,
"
Arya
said
.
"
I
do
n't
have
to
go
with
you
if
I
do
n't
want
.
"
Ser
Meryn
Trant
ran
out
of
patience
.
"
Take
her
,
"
he
said
to
his
men
.
He
lowered
the
visor
of
his
helm
.
Three
of
them
started
forward
,
chainmail
clinking
softly
with
each
step
.
Arya
was
suddenly
afraid
.
Fear
cuts
deeper
than
swords
,
she
told
herself
,
to
slow
the
racing
of
her
heart
.
Syrio
Forel
stepped
between
them
,
tapping
his
wooden
sword
lightly
against
his
boot
.
"
You
will
be
stopping
there
.
Are
you
men
or
dogs
that
you
would
threaten
a
child
?
"
"
Out
of
the
way
,
old
man
,
"
one
of
the
red
cloaks
said
.
Syrio
's
stick
came
whistling
up
and
rang
against
his
helm
.
"
I
am
Syrio
Forel
,
and
you
will
now
be
speaking
to
me
with
more
respect
.
"
"
Bald
bastard
.
"
The
man
yanked
free
his
longsword
.
The
stick
moved
again
,
blindingly
fast
.
Arya
heard
a
loud
crack
as
the
sword
went
clattering
to
the
stone
floor
.
"
My
hand
,
"
the
guardsman
yelped
,
cradling
his
broken
fingers
.
"
You
are
quick
,
for
a
dancing
master
,
"
said
Ser
Meryn
.
