Текст песни Стругатские - Трудно быть богом, часть 1

I must warn you about this. Performing a task, you will be under arms to raise the prestige. But let him in the course you are not allowed under any circumstances. Do not, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?
                                                          Ernest Hemingway
   
      When Rumata passed the tomb of St. Miki - the seventh and last on this road, it was already quite dark. Vaunted hamaharsky
stallion taken from Don Tameo for a gambling debt, proved existent barahlom.On sweating feet and knocked bad move, wobble trot. Rumata squeezed his knees hips, lashed between the ears glove, but he just shook his head sadly, not speeding up the steps. Along the road stretched bushes, similar clubs at dusk on the frozen smoke. Unbearably rang mosquitoes. In the murky
sky trembled rare dim stars. Blew gusts of wind is not strong, warm and cold at the same time, as always, the fall in this coastal country with a stuffy, dusty days and chilly nights. Rumata denser wrapped in a cloak and threw the reins. Did not have to rush
sense. Stayed until midnight hour, and hiccuping forest has already made over the horizon of the black serrated edge. On both sides stretched plowed field under the stars twinkling marshes, reeking inanimate rust darkened mounds and
decayed palisades the invasion. Far left flared and died sullen glow: must be burned village, one of the many repetitive Mertvozhorok, gallows, Ograbilovok recently
renamed to August in the desired decree of grace and of angels. Hundreds of miles - from the shores of the Strait and to the Saiva hiccupping forest -prostiralas this country, covered with a blanket of clouds mosquito torn
ravines flooded marshes affected fevers, runny nose morami and smelly.
     At the turn of the road from the bushes separated the dark figure. Stallion shied away, lifting his head. Rumata picked up the reins, habitually poddernul lace on the right hand and put his hand on the hilt of his sword, staring.
The man took his hat off the road.
     - Good evening, noble don, - he said quietly. - I beg your pardon.
     - What's the matter? - Asked Rumata, listening.
     Silent ambush does not happen. Thieves gives creaking string, gray shturmovichki burp uncontrollably from the nasty beer baronial combatants greedily wheeze and rattle of iron, and the monks - hunters slaves - noisy
itchy. But in the bushes was quiet. Apparently, this man was not a gunner. But he was not like the gunner - a little tight citizen in a poor cloak.
     - Allow me to run next to you? - He said, bowing.
     - Very well, - said Rumata, moving his reins. - You can take the stirrup.
     Townspeople went next. He held his hat in his hand, and on the crown of his bald head shone a fair amount. The steward thought Rumata. Walks the barons and
Prasol, flax or hemp buying. Bold clerk, but ... Maybe not the clerk. Maybe bookworm. Fugitive. Outcast. Now a lot of them on the night road, more than clerks ... And maybe a spy.
     - Who are you and where? - Asked Rumata.
     - My name Kyun - sadly said citizen. - I'm coming from arkanara.
     - B_e_zh_i_sh__ of arkanara - said Rumata leaned.
     - Run - sadly agreed citizen.
     Weirdo or something, thought Rumata. Or is it a spy? Need to check ...
And why, exactly, do you want? Who's supposed to? Who am I to check it?
Yes, I do not want to check it! Why do not I just do not believe it? Here comes the citizen, explicit bookworm, running for their lives ... He was alone, he was scared, he is weak, he is looking for protection ... I met him aristocrat. Aristocrats
stupidity and arrogance of politics do not understand, and they have long swords, and they do not like the gray. Why townspeople Kyun not find disinterested protection from stupid and arrogant aristocrat? And everything. I will not check it.
There is no need to check it to me. Talk, skoroti