by John Norman
I looked, too, and our fellows, I was pleased to see, accredited themselves well. Those whom the Pani had recruited were on the whole large, strong, agile, skilled men, many from the free companies, many from the occupation forces fugitive from Ar, and many, I fear, from amongst brigands and renegades. They had recruited less for honor and loyalty, I feared, than for the capacity to endure hardship, march, and kill. And the Pani who served Lords Nishida and Okimoto, I gathered, though perhaps on the whole of a nobler breed, were likely to be extremely dangerous men, winnowed by years of conflict, men largely the survivors of lengthy, bloody wars.
“The warning ship is afire!” said Lord Nishida. “It is done! Recall the men!”
“No,” said Lord Okimoto.
“This shall be called to the attention of Lord Temmu,” said Lord Nishida.
I had no idea, at the time, who this Lord Temmu might be. I would learn later it was the name of the high lord, or shogun, to whom Lords Nishida and Okimoto were pledged.
“You dare not!” said Lord Okimoto. It was the first time I had seen the equanimity of this Pani nobleman jarred.
Lord Nishida did not speak.
“I am senior, I am first,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Though it means the knife,” said Lord Nishida.
I understood little of this conversation.
I looked about, sword in hand.
Tarl Cabot was forward, on the port side, with his friend, Pertinax, and the Pani tarnsman, Tajima, fighting with our Pani against boarders, who were heaviest in that quarter. I thought to join them, and moved a bit toward them, but then hesitated, curious.
I saw two Pani whom I did not recognize from the ship, though both wore yellow, the color of the livery of Lord Okimoto’s men. I did not know them, but they must be ours, I thought. Our Pani kept much to themselves. What struck me as odd was not that they had not joined in the fighting for us, but, rather, slipped through the engaged men, looking about, across the largely open deck. At almost the same instant, it seemed they had descried their objective, for each, with both hands on a long handled sword, uttering no sound, ran toward us. I was some seven or eight feet behind Lords Nishida and Okimoto, for I had already moved toward the fighting at the forward port quarter.
As the first fellow passed me, I cut to my left, and hit the side of his neck, and his body, the head half gone, spun to the side, momentarily interfering with the progress of his fellow, a pace or two behind him. Tyrtaios, alerted by the sounds, turned and blocked a blow that would have cleft the head of Lord Okimoto. At the same time I, behind the fellow, seized the opportunity, and cut apart the spinal column at the base of his skull. This had all happened very quickly, and I think that Tyrtaios was as startled as I. Both of us had reacted instinctively.
The two Pani, in yellow livery, were on the deck then, the planks run with blood, at our feet.
“Assassins,” said Lord Nishida.
We heard a cry, from the port side. The last boarder there had been thrust back, over the rail.
The Pani who had been engaged there, with the exception of some two or three left guard at the rail, now rushed elsewhere.
I gave little for the chances of any remaining boarders.
Most perished, but several, who had time to turn their back, threw themselves over the rail, back to the water, presumably to be picked up by the small boats still about.
I was startled to see Seremides, hobbling on his crutch, near the forward port rail, where fighting had taken place. He held a sword, doubtless taken from the weaponry earlier spilled upon the deck. The sword was bloodied. As few could not, by simple movement, a subtle alteration of position, a simple variance of attack, quickly dispatch a foe so handicapped, I thought Seremides must be a fellow of great courage, to have dragged himself to the deck, and worked his way, painfully, awkwardly, his body suspended on his crutch, step by step, toward the fighting. I had thought he would have cowered below decks, perhaps in a kitchen, or in the darkness of a storeroom. But he had not. He had come to the open deck, and found a weapon. He was, it seemed, of the ship. He might no longer wear the yellow livery of Lord Okimoto’s retinue, but now, it seemed, he had made it clear, and to all, that he was such as had worn it well.
I could smell smoke.
“Recall the men, lord,” said Lord Nishida. “We must attend to the ship.”
“We must not leave a living enemy behind us,” said Lord Okimoto.
Tarl Cabot, wiping an arm across his eyes, his sword bloody, approached us. He looked about. “The deck is clear,” he said.
“I fear the loss of the ship,” said Lord Nishida.
“No enemies are to be left behind us,” said Lord Okimoto.
“The main timbers of the ship,” said Tarl Cabot, “are Tur wood. It burns longer than softer wood, such as that of needle trees, but it is harder to ignite.”
“Surely there is danger,” said Lord Nishida.
“Certainly,” said Cabot.
“We have time to exterminate the vermin about,” said Lord Okimoto.
“No,” said Cabot.
“I do not understand,” said Lord Okimoto, politely.
“We do not have the time,” said Cabot.
“It is true,” said Lord Okimoto, “the small boats will scatter, and the matter will be difficult.”
“I fear,” said Lord Nishida, “the difficulty the commander has in mind is quite different.”
“You may speak,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I take it,” said Cabot, “that we are not, as far as you know, near to land.”
“No,” said Lord Nishida, “we are only days from the Vine Sea.”
“The small boats are not seagoing vessels, certainly not in their numbers, no more than our ship’s boats.”
“Ah!” said Lord Okimoto.
At this moment there was a cry from the platform and ring, high above us. “Sails, ho! Ships! Ships!”
“How many?” called Cabot.
Aeacus, who was above, scanned the horizon with the Builder’s glass.
“Ten, twelve!” he called down to the deck.
“It is the fleet of Lord Yamada,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I feared so,” said Lord Nishida.
“They will be warships,” said Lord Okimoto. “We cannot match them, ship to ship.”
“No,” said Lord Nishida.
Lord Okimoto turned to Tyrtaios, regretfully. “Inform the deck watch,” he said. “Sound the recall.”
“No!” said Cabot.
“No?” said Lord Nishida.
“Not yet!” he said. “Tajima!” he called.
“Captain san,” said Tajima.
Cabot then spoke hurriedly to Tajima, the tarnsman, in a language I did not recognize. It was not Gorean. And Tajima, to my astonishment, responded in what I took to be the same language.
Within a handful of Ehn forty riders of the tarn cavalry were at the rail, each armed with the small Tuchuk bow, used by the tarn cavalry, a weapon of considerable power, which may be swept easily from one side of a saddle to the other.
“Now,” said Cabot, “sound the recall.”
The ship’s bar rang the recall.
Our men backed to the moving hull of the great ship, turning, grasping the rope rungs of the boarding nets. The enemy rushed forward, but only some yards, before turning back, stumbling over falling bodies, riddled by arrows.
The retreat of our armsmen had been satisfactorily covered.
“Hard to port! All canvas!” called Aetius from the stern castle.
Some of the enemy managed to reach the nets, as well, and began to climb, but, after a few yards, they dropped back in the water and swam to the wreckage of the galley, and that of some small boats, from which they were drawn to the deck of the warning ship, now falling back.
“It is regrettable,” said Lord Okimoto, “that we have left living enemies behind us.”
“It is the fortunes of war,” said Lord Nishida.
“Our presence is now
known,” said Lord Okimoto.
“It was known before,” said Lord Nishida.
“But,” said Lord Okimoto, “perhaps not its nature, the ship, our numbers.”
“No,” said Lord Nishida.
“The enemy now knows much,” said Lord Okimoto.
“But our greatest secret may not be known,” said Lord Nishida.
“At least,” said Lord Okimoto, “its size, its appearance, its stamina, its range of flight, its terribleness.”
“They will think we have enlisted dragons,” said Lord Nishida.
I took them to be speaking of tarns.
The deck watch set men to the ropes and buckets, and, as the great ship, its sails filled, took its way west, streaming water ran with the wind across her sides. Most of what might have been hundreds of small fires had died out of their own accord against the Tur wood. The greatest marking, if not damage, had been done forward on the starboard side, where the flaming galley had been moved against the hull. Over the next four days, men, with small files and vessels of caulking, were fastened in the boarding nets, which were moved from port to starboard, and along the hull, and these fellows cleaned and repaired the timbers, removing hundreds of blackened arrow shafts, and sealing fissures and clefts in the wood. The arrow points, worked free, were saved, in small bags, worn at the belt.
The pursuing fleet of Lord Yamada had soon fallen behind. The ship of Tersites was no warship, no agile, many-oared knife in the water. But she had good lines, six masts, and an enormous spread of canvas. I thought there was little at sea that could overtake her with a fair wind. Tersites, with his small, crooked body, may have been half-blind and more than half-mad, but he had built a ship which, I think, will be remembered in a hundred songs.
Our losses had not been considerable.
Amongst those who were lost were two oarsmen, Thoas and Andros. They had been struck from behind.
I will report one part of a conversation heard the evening of the day of the altercation in the vicinity of the warning ship, which altercation took place on the second day of the second week past the fourth passage hand, as it has some bearing on what occurred later.
“What course has been given to Aetius,” inquired Lord Nishida.
“We are continuing on, directly,” replied Lord Okimoto.
“You know our location,” said Lord Nishida. “Surely it is time to veer north. You know what lies ahead.”
“We shall move north later,” said Lord Okimoto.
“You know the season,” said Lord Nishida, “and what lies ahead.”
“Yes,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Why then do you continue on?” inquired Lord Nishida.
“Because,” said he, “I think the fleet of Lord Yamada will fear to follow.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Floating Stones; Unusual Precautions are Taken; I Converse with Tarl Cabot
Many of the crew, and certainly myself, were fascinated by the floating stones which appeared occasionally in the water, as we sailed west. More than one had been drawn aboard. They were rock, but light. One could crumble it in the hands, crush it against the deck. When we broke such stones open, we found the interior spongy, and porous, riddled with tiny apertures. We did not know the origin of these anomalous substances. If any knew, the information was withheld from us. Through familiarity, we soon lost interest in these strange stones, which, as we moved on, were occasionally encountered in drifts or shoals.
Oddly enough, by command of Lords Okimoto and Nishida, ropes were strung about the open deck, this though the weather was clear. Two days after this it was ordered, despite the heat of the day, that hatches were to be secured, save when used for ingress or egress. A day after that, access to the open deck was primarily restricted to officers and the duty crew. It was close below decks. There was much grumbling amongst the men. It was doubtless particularly unpleasant for the some two hundred kajirae aboard, intended for gifts, eventual sale, trade goods, and such, on their chains in the keeping areas. Often, in good weather, in the groups into which they were divided in the Kasra and Venna keeping areas, they would be brought to the open deck for an airing and exercise. At such times they were not chained, or even roped. To where might they run? Off-duty crew members might gather about while the girls, in one group or another, were brought to the deck. And much was the good-natured raillery, suggestions, observations, evaluations, hootings, whistles, jokes, gestures, and such, to which the lovely properties were subjected. Sometimes they clung together, frightened, as men closed in about them, but they soon realized it was forbidden to touch them, and then several of them dared to torment the men, with the movements, the posings, the expressions, and gestures of slaves. But did they not know they might be noted, and marked, well remembered by one fellow or another when, obedient to the snap of the whip, they might ascend the auction block? One fellow could not resist such provocation and seized a blond kajira, crushing her to him and raping her lips with the kiss of the master. He was flogged and she put under the five-stranded slave whip. He grinned under the lash but she wept, but I think, too, she would not forget that kiss. Did she not, later, often enough, when possible, place herself within his purview? Surely he marked her, and might keep her in mind. Perhaps she dreamed of being led to his quarters, bound, on his chain. I used to watch, when convenient, the second group from the Kasra keeping area, for in it was a slave, a ship slave, whom I thought might one day prove to be not without some interest. She had streaming dark hair, lovely flanks, an exquisite figure, and an inviting love cradle. Her face, so vulnerable so delicate, so beautiful, now that she was in bondage, might have made a bronze mirror cry out with pleasure. Her name was Alcinoe. I had thought she had behaved well when confronted with the horror of Seremides, but, of late, it seemed she had tried to carry herself as a free woman, that is, as much as possible when one knows there is a collar on one’s neck. I gathered she was pretending not to notice me, or the others. She affected a haughty, supercilious expression, and, once, when she looked at me, she looked away, her lip curling, as though in contempt. This amused me. Did the slut not know she was marked, incisively, unmistakably, and quite nicely; did she think she could slip a collar? I recalled her insolence in the place of dining. Did she not recall her punishment, at the mast, nor my lenience in not running her back to the Kasra keeping area, hands thonged behind her, a punishment tag wired to her collar? I recalled how she had begged, kneeling, at my feet, as a slave, plaintively, the attentions of a master, which attentions had been denied her. Was she now concerned to pretend that that had never happened, or that it had been of negligible consequence? Did she dare now attempt to assume the airs, the attitude, of a free woman? Did she not know that at a mere snapping of fingers she must tear away her tunic and prostrate herself?
I was not the only fellow, of course, as you may have gathered, who enjoyed seeing kajirae brought to the deck, and exercised. They are so beautiful! It was delightful to see them, too, in their free Ehn on deck, hurry to the rail, throw back their heads, and drink in the keen, rushing fresh air of vast, glorious Thassa.
I did not know how much they knew of our venture, of the course, of the incidents at the warning ship, and such.
Did they know that war had been done on this very deck, now sanded and smoothed clean?
Did they know of the fleet of Lord Yamada?
Did they understand that these waters, so glasslike, so serene, might be fraught with peril?
I supposed not.
Would one explain such things to verr or kaiila?
Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira.
I have upon occasion mentioned an officer named Pertinax, a friend, it seems, of Tarl Cabot, the commander, or captain, of the tarn cavalry. He had been, for example, this Pertinax, captain on one of the galleys lost in the Vine Sea, that on which I had shared an oar with Licinius Lysias, the fellow from Turmus. In any event, when the first group of the Venna keeping area was brought for its airing and exercise to the op
en deck, this Pertinax was usually about, interestingly, seemingly preoccupied with one duty or another. It was not difficult, after a time or two, to detect that his presence at such times was not likely to be a matter of coincidence. It seemed clear, after a bit, that the object of his attention was a particular slave, a blue-eyed, blond-haired barbarian named Saru. Her hair was only half-grown, and thus I supposed she was either a recent slave, for some barbarian females come from the barbarian lands with their hair short, or that it had been shaved once or twice, perhaps as a punishment, or for use as catapult cordage, for female hair is much desired for that purpose. In any event, his interest was clearly justified, as she was a nicely formed, even luscious, bit of collar-meat. Barbarians, incidentally, are often of high quality, perhaps because of the time and cost of their acquisition and transportation. For this reason, if no other, they are likely to be selected with great care. It is not as though a city fell, and its women, naked, chained together, in lines a pasang or more in length, were marched away between the lines of victors, now their masters, to new walls, within which they would wear collars. It is rather as though they were fruit in an orchard, to be scouted with circumspection, and only then, after careful consideration, the choicest of the choice, selected for the delectation of foreign tables. This sort of selection is apparently not as difficult as it might seem, for, at least according to my understanding, many women in barbarian lands, even free women, do not dress their faces, but leave them naked, as naked as those of slaves; that it is not unusual for their calves and ankles to be discernible; that their small hands are often ungloved, and such. Is it not obvious that such women are slave stock, that they are suitably embonded, that they are by nature the rightful properties of masters? Surely they must long for the collar, and their fair limbs for the shackles, and the weight of chains, else they would not so blatantly invite them. Too, interestingly, in the barbarian lands, it seems that many women are distressed and forlorn, many not knowing why, denied the rights of their nature, forbidden the fulfillments of their ownership and submission, forbidden the joys of the surrendered, yielding slave. On Gor they come home to themselves, and their sex, and find the fulfillments denied to them in their own countries. Not only is the barbarian slave often intelligent and beautiful, such things involved in their selection, but, commonly, as well, she is hot, devoted, and dutiful. Embonded, she finds her freedom; enslaved, she is most content. In any event, whatever may be the reason, or reasons, such women tend, almost invariably, to do well on the block. They are prize stock. Men bid heatedly for them. This is perhaps one reason they tend to be resented, if not despised and hated, by their Gorean collar sisters, and, certainly, by free women. It is probably not pleasant to be a barbarian slave amongst Gorean women, either slave or free. Men, of course, like them.