Роберт Говард – Английский язык с Конаном-варваром (страница 9)
ration [ræʃn], staring [stɛərɪŋ], would [wʋd]
The soldiers sat about the fire, sharing the last of this night’s ration of wine from goatskin bags. Some laughed and boasted of the amorous feats they would do in the silken bagnios of Aghrapur upon their return. Others, weary from a long day’s hard ride, sat silently, staring at the fire and yawning. Soon they would settle down for the night, rolled in their heavy cloaks. With their heads pillowed on saddlebags, they would lie in a loose circle about the hissing fire, while two of their number stood guard with their powerful Hyrkanian bows strung and ready. They sensed nothing of the sinister force that hovered about the valley.
Standing with his back to the nearest of the giant redwoods (стоя /со/ /своей/его/ спиной к ближайшей из гигантских секвой), Conan wrapped his cloak more closely about him against the dank breeze from the heights (Конан запахнул свой плащ более плотно / поплотнее /вокруг него/ от промозглого ветра с вершин). Although his troopers were well-built men of good size, he towered half a head over the tallest of them (хотя его солдаты были хорошо сложенными мужчинами хорошего размера =
giant [ʤaɪənt], although [ɔ:lˈðəu], breadth [bredƟ]
Standing with his back to the nearest of the giant redwoods, Conan wrapped his cloak more closely about him against the dank breeze from the heights. Although his troopers were well-built men of good size, he towered half a head over the tallest of them, while his enormous breadth of shoulder made them seem puny by comparison. His square-cut black mane escaped from below the edges of his spired, turban-wound helmet, and the deep-set blue eyes in his dark, scarred face caught glints of red from the firelight.
Sunk in one of his fits of melancholy gloom, Conan silently cursed King Yildiz (погруженный в один из /его/ приступов меланхоличной депрессии, Конан безмолвно проклинал короля Илдиза), the well-meaning but weak Turanian monarch who had sent him on this ill-omened mission (исполненного благих намерений: хорошо-подразумевающего», но слабого туранского монарха, который послал его на/в это предвещающее беду задание/миссию;
princess [prɪnˈses], enough [ɪˈnʌf], horde [hɔ: d]
Sunk in one of his fits of melancholy gloom, Conan silently cursed King Yildiz, the well-meaning but weak Turanian monarch who had sent him on this ill-omened mission. Over a year had passed since he had taken the oath of allegiance to the king of Turan. Six months before, he had been lucky enough to earn this king’s favor; with the help of a fellow-mercenary, Juma the Kushite, he had rescued Yildiz’s daughter Zosara from the mad god-king of Meru. He had brought the princess, more or less intact, to her affianced bridegroom, Khan Kujala of the nomadic Kuigar horde.
When Conan returned to Yildiz’s glittering capital of Aghrapur, he had found the monarch generous enough in his gratitude (когда Конан вернулся в блистающую столицу Илдиза — Аграпур, он нашел монарха щедрым достаточно =
captain [ˈkæptɪn], guard [ɡɑ: d], mission [mɪʃn]
When Conan returned to Yildiz’s glittering capital of Aghrapur, he had found the monarch generous enough in his gratitude. Both he and Juma had been raised to captain. But, whereas Juma had obtained a coveted post in the Royal Guard, Conan had been rewarded with yet another arduous, perilous mission. Now, as he recalled these events, he sourly contemplated the fruits of success.
Yildiz had entrusted the Cimmerian giant with a letter to King Shu of Kusan, a minor kingdom in western Khitai (Илдиз доверил киммерийскому гиганту письмо к королю Шу /повелителю/ Кусана, небольшого королевства в западном Кхитае). At the head of forty veterans, Conan had accomplished the immense journey (во главе сорока ветеранов Конан совершил бесконечное путешествие). He had traversed hundreds of leagues of bleak Hyrkanian steppe and skirted the foothills of the towering Talakma Mountains (он преодолел сотни лиг суровой гирканской степи и обогнул подножия высоких Талакмийских гор). He had threaded his way through the windy deserts and swampy jungles bordering the mysterious realm of Khitai, the easternmost land of which the men of the West had heard (он прокладывал свой путь через ветреные =
forty [fɔ: tɪ], swampy [swɔmpɪ], jungles [ʤʌŋɡlz]
Yildiz had entrusted the Cimmerian giant with a letter to King Shu of Kusan, a minor kingdom in western Khitai. At the head of forty veterans, Conan had accomplished the immense journey. He had traversed hundreds of leagues of bleak Hyrkanian steppe and skirted the foothills of the towering Talakma Mountains. He had threaded his way through the windy deserts and swampy jungles bordering the mysterious realm of Khitai, the easternmost land of which the men of the West had heard.
Arrived in Kusan at last (прибыв наконец в Кусан;
king [kɪŋ], scroll [skrəul], character [ˈkærɪktə]
Arrived in Kusan at last, Conan had found the venerable and philosophical King Shu a splendid host. While Conan and his warriors were plied with exotic food and drink and furnished with willing concubines, the king and his advisers decided to accept King Yildiz’s offer of a treaty of friendship and trade. So the wise old king had handed Conan a gorgeous scroll of gilded silk. Thereon were inscribed, in the writhing ideographs of Khitai and the gracefully slanted characters of Hyrkania, the formal replies and felicitations of the Khitan king.
Besides a silken purse full of Khitan gold, King Shu had also furnished Conan with a high noble of his court (кроме шелкового кошеля, полного кхитайского золота, король Шу также снабдил Конана высокопоставленным аристократом его двора), to guide them as far as the western borders of Khitai (чтобы провести их /аж/ до: «так далеко, как» — западных границ Кхитая). But Conan had not liked this guide, this Duke Feng (но Конану не понравился этот проводник, этот князь Фэн).