Parthian Dawn

Начало книги

‘He may be old but his mind is as sharp as ever. I don’t suppose you refused his generous offer, did you?’ My father, King Varaz of Hatra, was far from happy. He paced up and down the council chamber while everyone else sat at the large rectangular table looked decidedly uncomfortable.

‘No, father, I accepted his most kind gift.’

My father, now in his late forties, had a smattering of grey in his short-cropped hair. But he still looked every inch the warrior he was — tall, muscular and imposing — his hands clasped behind his back as he continued pacing up and down in front of the large hide map of the Parthian Empire on the wall. The veins in his neck were bulging and his face was red; he was indeed far from happy. He eventually sat in his chair and began rapping his fingers on the table, which only added to everyone’s feeling of unease. He looked at me across the table.

‘You are the heir to Hatra’s throne, not the commander of some ramshackle desert outpost across the Euphrates.’

Читать дальше →