Raiders of Gor

by Norman, John;

Once before he had been permitted to present plans to the council, but they had been too fantastic to be taken seriously. He had dared to suggest a redesign of the standard tarn ship. He had wanted to deepen the keel, to add a foremast, to change the rowing to great oars, each handled by several men, rather than one man to an oar; he had wanted even to raise the ram above the waterline.

  I would have been curious to hear the arguments of Tersites pertinent to these recommendations, but before, when it had become clear how radical and, I gather, absurd were his proposals, he had been hooted from the chamber.

  I recall men shouting, "Many men could not all sit through the stroke of an oar! Would you have them stand?" "So great an oar could not even be held by the hands of a man!" "Two masts with their sails could not be quickly removed before battle!" "You will slow the ship if you deepen the keel!" "If many men sit a single oar, some will slack their work!" "What good is a ram that does not make its stroke below the waterline?"

  Tersites had been permitted that once to address the council because he, though thought mad, had once been a skilled shipwright. Indeed, the galleys of Port Kar, medium and heavy class, carried shearing blades, which had been an invention of Tersites. These are huge quarter-moons of steel, fixed forward of the oars, anchored into the frame of the ship itself. One of the most common of naval strategies, other than ramming, is oar shearing, in which one vessel, her oars suddenly shortened inboard, slides along the hull of another, whose oars are still outboard, splintering and breaking them off. The injured galley then is like a broken-winged bird, and at the mercy of the other ship's ram as she comes about, flutes playing and drums beating, and makes her strike amidships. Recent galleys of Cos and Tyros, and other maritime powers, it had been noted, were now also, most often, equipped with shearing blades.

  Tersites had also, it might be mentioned, though he had not presented these ideas in his appearance before the council, argued for a rudder hung on the sternpost of the tarn ship, rather than the two side-hung rudders, and had championed a square rigging, as opposed to the beautiful lateen rigging common on the ships of Thassa. Perhaps this last proposal of Tersites' had been the most offensive of all to the men of Port Kar. The triangular lateen sail on its single sloping yard is incredibly beautiful.

  Tersites had, some five years before, been removed from the arsenal. He had taken his ideas to Cos and Tyros, but there, too, he had met with only scorn. He had then returned to Port Kar, his fortunes exhausted, no place left to him in the arsenal. He now lived, it was said, on the garbage in the canals. A small pittance granted him by the shipwrights, of whom he had been one, was spent in the paga taverns of the city. I dismissed Tersites from my mind.

  I had made, since coming to Port Kar, five voyages. Four of these had been commercial in nature. I had no quarrel with the shipping of others. Like the Bosk itself I would not seek for trouble, but, too, like the Bosk, I would not refuse to meet it. My four commercial voyages had been among the exchange islands, or free islands, in Thassa, administered as free ports by members of the Merchants. There were several such islands. Three, which I encountered frequently in my voyages, were Teletus, and, south of it, Tabor, named for the drum, which it resembles, and, to the north, among the northern islands, Scagnar. Others were Farnacium, Hulneth and Asperiche. I did not go as far south as Anango or Ianda, or as far north as Hunjer or Skjern, west of Torvaldsland. These islands, with occasional free ports on the coast, north and south of the Gorean equator, such as Lydius and Helmutsport, and Schendi and Bazi, make possible the commerce between Cos and Tyros, and the mainland, and its cities, such as Ko-ro-ba, Thentis, Tor, Ar, Turia, and many others.

  On these voyages my cargoes were varied. I did not, however, in this early period, because of the cost, purchase cargoes of great value. Accordingly I did not carry, in these first voyages, any abundance of precious metals or jewels; nor did I carry rugs or tapestries, or medicines, or silks or ointments, or perfumes or prize slaves, or spices or canisters of colored table salts. In these first voyages I was content, quite, to carry tools and stone, dried fruit, dried fish, bolts of rep-cloth, tem-wood, Tur-wood and Ka-la-na stock, and horn and hides. I did once carry, however, a hold of chained slaves, and, another time, a hold filled with the furs of the northern sea sleen. The latter cargo was the most valuable carried in these first four voyages. Each of these cargoes I managed to sell at a considerable profit. Twice we had been scouted by pirates from Tyros, in their green ships, painted to resemble the sea, but neither of them had chosen to engage us. We gathered that, seeing how low we sat in the water, they assumed our cargo to be one of bulk goods and departed, doubtless having higher hopes for gain upon the sea. It is scarcely worth the risk of crew and ship, unless desperate, to win a hold filled with lumber or stone.

  My men were mostly pirates and cutthroats. Doubtless many of them did not much care to ply an honest trade. Better, they would think, to lie in wait on the open sea for the slave galleys of Tyros or the treasure ships of Cos. But two who challenged me for the captaincy I slew within a dozen strokes, and the others, thus given pause, chose to confine their disgruntlement, if any, to their cups and conclaves. Any who did not wish to continue in my service were free to go. I instructed Luma to discharge any such with a gift of gold, of half a stone's weight. Surprisingly, few left my ships. I do not think they cared to forsake their piracies, but, too, I think they felt a pride in serving one who was said, now, after the incident of the paga tavern, to possess one of the finest blades in Port Kar.

  "When do we sail against the ships of Cos and Tyros?" asked Tab of me.

  "Cos and Tyros," I said, "have not injured me."

  "They will," said he.

  "Then," said I, "we will sail against them."

  Ashore my crews were roisterous and brawling but on the ships, strange as it is to relate, they were serious and disciplined men.

  I attempted to treat them fairly.

  On land I did not see much of them, preferring it this way, remaining aloof.

  But I did, of course, pay them well and, in my holding, knowing men, saw that they could have their pick of some of Port Kar's most beautiful slave girls.

  I had purchased the girl whom I had seen dance in the paga tavern, for forty pieces of gold. I had called her Sandra, after a girl once known on Earth. I had put my collar on her and, after using her, had consigned her to my men, that she might please their senses.

  My fifth voyage was one to satisfy my interest, and made in a light swift galley.

  I had wanted to see both Tyros and Cos.

  Both lie some four hundred pasangs west of Port Kar, Tyros to the south of Cos, separated by some hundred pasangs from her. Tyros is a rugged island, with mountains. She is famed for her vart caves, and indeed, on that island, trained varts, batlike creatures, some the size of small dogs, are used as weapons. Cos is also a lofty island, even loftier than Tyros, but she has level fields to her west. Cos had many terraces, on which the Ta grapes are grown. Near her, one night, lying off her shore, silently, I heard the mating whistles of the tiny, lovely Cosian wingfish. This is a small, delicate fish; it has three or four slender spines in its dorsal fin, which are poisonous. It is called the wingfish because it can, on its stiff pectoral fins, for short distances, glide through the air, usually in an attempt to flee small sea tharlarion, who are immune to the poison of the spines. It is also called a songfish, because, in their courtship rituals, males and females thrust their heads from the water, uttering a kind of whistle. Their livers are regarded as a delicacy. I recalled I had once tried one, but had not cared for it, at a banquet in Turia, in the house of a man named Saphrar, who had been a merchant. Saphrar, I recalled, had once been a perfumer from Tyros but, being exiled as a thief, had made his way to Port Kar, and thence had gone to Turia.

  I had leaned on the rail of the light galley, and, in the moonlight, had listened to the mating whistles of the small fish.

  They seemed so small, and innocent.

  "The moons are
now full," had said Tab to me.

  "Yes," I had said, "weigh the anchors."

  Silently, oars scarcely touching the water, we had moved from Cos, leaving her behind in the moonlight.

  While I made my five voyages my other six ships were engaged in commercial ventures similar to those which had occupied my first four voyages. I seldom returned to Port Kar without learning from Luma that my fortunes had been augmented even further in my absence. I had made, to date, only the five voyages mentioned. In the last two months, in my holding, I had been largely occupied with matters of business and management, mostly organizing and planning the voyages of others. I expected I would again, however, return to Thassa. She, as it is said, cannot be forgotten.

  I had made one innovation in practices common to Port Kar. I used free men on the rowing benches of my round ships, of which I had four, not slaves, as is traditional. The fighting ship, incidentally, the long ship, the ram-ship, has never been, to my knowledge, in Port Kar, or Cos, or Tyros, or elsewhere on Gor, rowed by slaves; the Gorean fighting ship always has free men at the oars. The galley slaves I thought worth freeing, I freed, and found that many would stay with me, taking me for their captain. Those I did not wish, for one reason or another, to free, I sold to other captains, or exchanged them for slaves whom I might free, several of whom, when freed, also agreed to serve with me. Gaps on my benches were easily filled. I would purchase a strong man from the market chain on the slave wharf, and then, saying nothing, set him free. I think not once did such a man not follow me to my holding, asking to be my man. Not only did free men render more efficient service at the oars, but, when they were given the opportunity, I found them eager to train with arms, and so hired masters to teach them weapons. It was thus that the round ships of Bosk, the captain from the marshes, with their free crews, became in their own right dangerous, formidable ships. Merchants of Port Kar began to apply to me that they might transport their goods in my ships. I preferred, however, to buy and sell my own cargoes. Certain other captains, I noted, were now also experimenting, on certain of their ships, with free crews.

  My attention was then returned to the meeting of the Council of Captains.

  A motion was on the floor that a new preserve in the northern forests be obtained, that more timber for the arsenal be available. In the northern forests Port Kar already had several such preserves. There is a ceremony in the establishment of such a preserve, involving proclamations and the soundings of trumpets. Such preserves are posted, and surrounded by ditches to keep out cattle and unlicensed wagoners. There are wardens who watch the trees, guarding against illegal cutting and pasturage, and inspectors who, each year, tally and examine them. The wardens are also responsible, incidentally, for managing and improving the woods. They do such work as thinning and planting, and trimming, and keeping the protective ditch in repair. They are also responsible for bending and fastening certain numbers of young trees so that they will grow into desired shapes, usually to be used for frames, and stem and sternposts. Individual trees, not in the preserves, which are claimed by Port Kar, are marked with the seal of the arsenal. The location of all such trees is kept in a book available to the Council of Captains. These preserves are usually located near rivers, in order to facilitate bringing cut trees to the sea. Trees may also be purchased from the Forest People, who will cut them in the winter, when they can be dragged on sleds to the sea. If there is a light snowfall in a given year, the price of timber is often higher. Port Kar is, incidentally, completely dependent on the northern timber. Tur wood is used for galley frames, and beams and clamps and posts, and for hull planking; Ka-la-na serves for capstans and mastheads; Tem-wood for rudders and oars; and the needle trees, the evergreens, for masts and spars, and cabin and deck planking.

  The motion to obtain a new preserve carried. I abstained from voting, not having been convinced that a new preserve was needed. I supposed it might be, but I did not know; I had not been convinced; so I had abstained.

  But why should Cos and Tyros come against Port Kar at this time? But it was a rumor, I reminded myself again, forcibly, a rumor, a baseless rumor. I was angry. I again forced the thought from my mind.

  I now had the means whereby I might purchase yet two more ships for my fleet. They would be deep-keeled round ships, with mighty holds, and high, broad sails. I had already, to a great extent, selected crews. I had projected voyages for them to Ianda and to Torvaldsland. Each would be escorted by a medium galley. They would bring me, I conjectured, much riches.

  I took the note from the boy who appeared suddenly beside my chair. He had long hair, and wore a tunic of red and yellow silk. I recognized him, he being a page of the council.

  The note, folded, was sealed with a disk of melted wax. The wax did not bear the imprint of a signet ring.

  I opened it.

  The message was simple. It read, printed in block letters: I would speak with you. It was signed, also in block printing, Samos.

  I crumpled the paper in my fist.

  "Who gave you this message?" I asked the boy.

  "A man," he said. "I do not know him."

  I saw Lysias, with his helmet, with the two golden slashes, with its captain's crest of sleen hair, on the arm of his curule chair. He was looking at me, curiously.

  I did not know if the message truly came from Samos, or not.

  If it did, doubtless he had come to learn that Tarl Cabot was now in Port Kar. But how would he have come to know this? And how could he have come to understand that Bosk, fighting man and merchant, was the same as he who once had been a warrior of the towered city of Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning?

  Doubtless he wished to summon me to his presence, that he might recall me to the service of Priest-Kings.

  But I no longer served Priest-Kings. I served now only myself.

  I was angry.

  I would ignore the message.

  At that moment a man burst into the hall in which was sitting the Council of Captains.

  His eyes were wild.

  It was Henrak, who had worn the white scarf, who had betrayed the rencers.

  "The arsenal!" he cried. "The arsenal is afire!"

  11

  The Crest of Sleen Hair

  The Captains leaped from their chairs, crying out. Great chairs fell bounding down the tiers of the council chamber. The scribe at the table before the thrones was on his feet shouting. Papers were scattering to the floor. Feet were pounding toward the great double door, leading to the hallway beyond, leading out to the tiled piazza fronting on the hall of the council. I saw pages scurrying about, in their red and yellow silk. Ink had spilled on the great table.

  Then I saw that Lysias, with the captain's crest of sleen hair on his helmet, had not stirred from his chair.

  And I saw, too, that the Scribe who normally sat his attendance at the right arm of the empty throne of Henrius Sevarius, the Fifth, in the council chamber was gone.

  Outside, in the distance, through the great door, flung open, I heard cries of alarm, and the clash of weapons.

  Then I saw Lysias, his hair tied behind his neck with the scarlet string, rise.

  He placed on his head his helmet.

  He unsheathed his weapon.

  So, too, did my steel leave its sheath.

  But Lysias then, weapon at the ready, backed away, and then turned and fled through a side door, leading from the council hall.

  I looked about.

  A small fire was burning to one side, where a lamp with candle had been knocked to the floor, in the rush toward the door.

  Chairs lay knocked over, furniture was broken. The floor was covered with papers.

  The scribe at the central table, that before the empty thrones, stood numb behind the table.

  Other scribes came and stood with him, looking from one to the other. To one side, cowering, stood several of the page boys.

  Then, staggering, bloody, the quarrel of a crossbow protruding from the emblem on his velvet tunic, a captain reele
d into the room and fell, clutching at the arm of one of the curule chairs. Then, behind him, in groups of four and five, crying out, many bleeding from wounds, weapons brandished, and sometimes bloodied, there came those captains who could.

  I went to the place before the thrones.

  I indicated the small fire burning to one side, that which had been caused by the fallen lamp with candle. "Put it out," I told two of the frightened pages.

  I resheathed my sword.

  The two pages leapt to do my bidding.

  "Gather up and guard the book of the Council," I told the Scribe who had been at the great table.

  "Yes, Captain," said he, leaping to seize it up.

  I then, throwing papers to the floor, scattering ink, lifted the great table over my head.

  There were cries of astonishment.

  I turned and, step by step, carrying the great table, advanced toward the large door leading to the hallway.

  More captains, their back to the room, fighting, falling, were retreating through the door.

  They were the last of the captains.

  Over their heads into the doorway I flung the great table.

  Its great weight, to screams of horror, fell crushing upon men who, with shields and swords, were closely pressing the captains.

  I saw, wide with horror in the apertures of their helmets, the eyes of men pinned beneath its beams.

  "Bring curule chairs!" I ordered the captains.

  Though many were wounded, though all could scarcely stand, they leaped to gather up chairs and hurl them into the doorway.

  Crossbow bolts flashed through the chairs, splintering their backs and sides.

  "More tables!" I cried.

  Men, and scribes, and pages, too, came forward, four and six men to a table, adding the tables to our barricade.

  From the outside some men tried to climb the barricade, and break it down.

  On its height they met Bosk, in his hands the wine-tempered steel of a Koroban blade.

  Four men fell reeling backward, tumbling down the chairs and tables.