Raiders of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "What will you do with us after we have been displayed before the Council of Captains?" she asked.

  "That," I told her, "you may wait until then to find out."

  "I see," she said, and turned her head away.

  More flowers fell, and there was more cheering, and hootings and jeers for the bound girl.

  Had there ever been triumph such as this in Port Kar, I asked myself, and answered, doubtless never, and smiled, for I knew that this was but the beginning. The climax would occur in some four or five weeks in the formal presentations before the Council, and in the receipt of its highest accolade as worthy captain of Port Kar.

  "Hail Port Kar!" I cried to the crowds.

  "Hail Port Kar!" they cried. "And hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!"

  * * * *

  "Hail Bosk!" cried my retainers. "Hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!"

  It was now five weeks after my triumphal entry into Port Kar.

  In this very afternoon the formal presentations and accountings of the victory and its plunder had taken place in the chamber of the Council of Captains.

  I rose to my feet and lifted my goblet of paga, acknowledging the cries of my retainers.

  The goblets clashed and we drank.

  It had been five weeks of entertainments, of fetes, of banquets and honors piled one upon another. The treasures taken were rich beyond our wildest expectations, beyond the most remote calculations of our most avaricious scribes. And now, in this very afternoon, my glories had been climaxed in the chamber of the Council of Captains, in which had taken place the formal presentations and accountings of the victory and its plunder, in which had taken place the commendation of the Council for my deeds and the awarding of its most coveted accolade, that of worthy captain of Port Kar.

  Even now, in my feast of celebration, hours after the meeting of the council, I still wore about my neck the broad scarlet ribbon with its pendant medallion of gold, bearing the design of a lateen-rigged tarn ship, the initials in cursive Gorean script of Council of Captains of Port Kar in a half curve beneath it.

  I threw down more paga.

  I indeed was a worthy captain of Port Kar.

  I smiled to myself. As the holds of the round ships, one by one, had been emptied, appraised and recorded, hundreds of men, most of them unknown to me, had applied to me for clientship. I had received dozens of offers of partnership in speculative and commercial ventures. Untold numbers of men had found their way to my holding to sell their various plans, proposals and ideas. My guards had even turned away the mad, half-blind shipwright, Tersites, with his fantastic recommendations for the improvement of tarn ships, as though ships so beautiful, so swift, and vicious, might be improved.

  Meanwhile, while I had been plying the trade of pirate, the military and political ventures of the Council itself, within the city, had proceeded well. For one thing, they had now formed a Council Guard, with its distinct livery, that was now recognized as a force of the Council, and, in effect, as the police of the city. The Arsenal Guard, however, perhaps for traditional reasons, remained a separate body, concerned with the arsenal, and having jurisdiction within its walls. For another thing, the four Ubars, Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, their powers considerably reduced during the time of the unsuccessful coup of Henrius Sevarius, had apparently resigned themselves to the supremacy of the Council in the city. At any rate, for the first time in several years, there was now a single, effective sovereign in Port Kar, the Council. Accordingly, its word, and, in effect, its word alone, was law. A similar consolidation and unification had taken place, of course, in the realm of inspections and taxations, penalties and enforcements, codes and courts. For the first time in several years one could count on the law being the same on both sides of a given canal. Lastly, the forces of Henrius Sevarius, under the regency of Claudius, once of Tyros, had been driven by the Council forces from all their holdings, save one, a huge fortress, its walls extending into the Tamber itself, sheltering the some two dozen ships left him. This fortress, it seems, might be taken by storm, but the effort would be costly. Accordingly the Council, ringing it with double walls on the land side and blockading it with arsenal ships by sea, chose to wait. The time that the fortress might still stand was now most adequately to be charted by the depth of its siege reservoir, and by the fish that might swim within her barred sea gates, and the mouthfuls of bread yet stored in her towers. The Council, for the most part, in her calculations, ignored the remaining fortress of Sevarius. It was, in effect, the prison of those penned within. One of those therein imprisoned, of course, in the opinion of the Council, was Henrius Sevarius, the boy, himself, the Ubar.

  I looked up. The slave boy, Fish, had emerged from the kitchen, holding over his head on a large silver platter a whole roasted tarsk, steaming and crisped, basted, shining under the torchlight, a larma in its mouth, garnished with suls and Tur-pah.

  The men cried out, summoning him to their table.

  It had been on one side, a land side, of that last remaining fortress of Henrius Sevarius, that Lysias, Henrak, and others had emerged from a postern, carrying the heavy sack which they had hurled into the canal, that sack from which I had saved the boy.

  Fish put down the whole roasted tarsk before the men. He was sweating. He wore a single, simple rep-cloth tunic. I had had a plate collar hammered about his neck. I had had him branded.

  The men ordered him away again, that he might fetch yet another roasted tarsk from the spit which he had been turning slowly over the coal fires during the afternoon. He sped away.

  He had not been an easy slave to break to his collar. The kitchen master had had to beat him often.

  One day, after he had been three weeks slave in my house, the door to my audience chamber had suddenly burst open, and he had stumbled in, breathless, the kitchen master but two steps behind him, with a heavy switch.

  "Forgive me!" cried the kitchen master.

  "Captain!" demanded the boy.

  The kitchen master, in fury, grabbed him by the hair and raised his arm to thrash him.

  I gestured that he not do so.

  The kitchen master stepped back, angry.

  "What do you want?" I had asked the boy.

  "To see you, Captain," said he.

  "Master!" corrected the kitchen master.

  "Captain!" cried the boy.

  "Normally," I said to the boy, "a kitchen slave petitions to enter his master's presence through the kitchen master."

  "I know," said the boy.

  "Why did you not do so?" I asked.

  "I have," said the boy defiantly, "many times."

  "And I," said the kitchen master, "have refused him."

  "What is his request?" I asked the kitchen master.

  "He would not tell me," said the kitchen master.

  "How then," I asked the boy, "did you expect the kitchen master to consider whether or not you should be permitted to enter my presence?"

  The boy looked down. "I would speak with you alone," he said.

  I had no objection to this, but, of course, as master of the house, I intended to respect the prerogatives of the kitchen master, who, in the kitchen, must speak with my own authority.

  "If you speak," I said, "you will do so before Tellius."

  The boy looked angrily at the kitchen master.

  Then the boy looked down, and clenched his fists. Then, agonized, he looked up at me. "I would learn weapons," he whispered.

  I was stunned. Even Tellius, the kitchen master, could say nothing.

  "I would learn weapons," said the boy, again, this time boldly.

  "Slaves are not taught weapons," I said.

  "Your men," said he, "Thurnock, Clitus, and others, have said that they will teach me, should you give your permission." He looked down.

  The kitchen master snorted with the absurdity of the idea. "You would do better," said he, "to learn the work of the kitchen."

  "Does he do good work in the kitchen?" I asked.


  "No," said the kitchen master. "He is lazy. He is slow and stupid. He must be beaten often."

  The boy looked up angrily. "I am not stupid," he said.

  I looked at the boy, absently, as though I could not place him.

  "What is your name?" I asked.

  He looked at me. Then he said, "—Fish."

  I permitted myself to betray that I now remembered the name. "Yes," I said, "—Fish."

  I regarded him.

  "Do you like your name?" I asked.

  "No," he said.

  "What would you call yourself," I asked, "if you had your choice of name?"

  "Henrius," said he.

  The kitchen master laughed.

  "That is a proud name for a kitchen boy," I commented.

  The boy looked at me proudly.

  "It might," I said, "be the name of a Ubar."

  The boy looked down angrily.

  I knew that Thurnock and Clitus, and others, had taken a liking to the boy. He had often, I had heard, sneaked away from the kitchen to observe the ships in the courtyard and the practices of men with weapons. The kitchen master had had his hands full with the boy, there was no doubting that. Tellius had, and deserved, my sympathies.

  I looked at the boy, the blondish hair and the frank, earnest eyes, blue, pleading.

  He was a spare, strong-limbed lad, and perhaps might, if trained, be able to handle a blade.

  Only three in my holding, other than himself, knew his true identity. I knew him, and so, too, did Thurnock and Clitus. The boy himself, of course, did not know that we knew who he was. Indeed, he, a price on his head from the Council, had excellent reasons for concealing his true identity. And yet, in a sense, he had no true identity other than that of Fish, the slave boy, for he had been enslaved and a slave has no identity other than that which his master might care to give him. In Gorean law a slave is an animal; before the law he has no rights; he is dependent on his master not only for his name but for his very life; he may be disposed of by the master at any time and in any way the master pleases.

  "The slave boy, Fish," I said to the kitchen master, "has come unbidden into my presence and he has not, in my opinion, shown sufficient respect for the master of my kitchen."

  The boy looked at me, fighting back tears.

  "Accordingly," I said, "he is to be beaten severely."

  The boy looked down, his fists clenched.

  "And beginning tomorrow," I said, "if his work in the kitchen improves to your satisfaction, and only under that condition, he is to be permitted one Ahn a day to train with weapons."

  "Captain!" cried the boy.

  "And that Ahn," I said, "is to be made up in extra work in the evening."

  "Yes, Captain," said the kitchen master.

  "I will work for you, Tellius," said the boy. "I will work better than any for you!"

  "All right, Lad," said Tellius. "We shall see."

  The boy looked at me. "Thank you," he said, "Captain."

  "Master," corrected Tellius.

  "May I not," asked the boy of me, "address you as Captain?"

  "If you wish," I said.

  "Thank you," said he, "Captain."

  "Now begone, Slave," said I.

  "Yes, Captain!" he cried and turned, followed by the kitchen master.

  "Slave!" I called.

  The boy turned.

  "If you show skill with weapons," I said, "perhaps I shall change your name."

  "Thank you, Captain," he said.

  "Perhaps we could call you Publius," I suggested, "—or Tellius."

  "Spare me!" cried Tellius.

  "Or," I said, "Henrius."

  "Thank you, Captain," said the boy.

  "But," said I, "to have such a name, which is a proud name, one would have to handle weapons very well."

  "I shall," he said. "I shall!"

  Then the boy turned and ran joyfully from the room.

  The kitchen master looked at me and grinned. "Never," said he, "Captain, did I see a slave run more eagerly to a beating."

  "Nor did I," I admitted.

  Now, at my victory feast, I drank more paga. That, I told myself, letting a boy train with weapons, had been a moment of weakness. I did not expect I would allow myself more such moments.

  I observed the boy bringing in yet another roasted tarsk.

  No, I told myself, I should not have showed such lenience to a slave.

  I would not again allow myself such moments of weakness.

  I fingered the broad scarlet ribbon and the medallion, pendant about my neck, bearing its tarn ship and initials, those of the Council of Captains of Port Kar.

  I was Bosk, Pirate, Admiral of Port Kar, now perhaps one of the richest and most powerful men on Gor.

  No, I would not again show such moments of weakness.

  I thrust out the silver paga goblet, studded with rubies, and Telima, standing beside my thronelike chair, filled it. I did not look upon her.

  I looked down the table, to where Thurnock, with his slave Thura, and Clitus, with his slave, Ula, were drinking and laughing. Thurnock and Clitus were good men, but they were fools. They were weak. I recalled how they had taken a fancy to the boy, Fish, and had helped him with his work in weapons. Such men were weak. They had not in themselves the stuff of captains.

  I sat back on the great chair, paga goblet in hand, surveying the room.

  It was crowded with the tables of my retainers, feasting.

  To one side musicians played.

  There was a clear space before my great table, in which, from time to time, during the evening, entertainments had been provided, simple things, which even I upon occasion found amusing, fire eaters and sword swallowers, jugglers and acrobats, and magicians, and slaves, riding on one another's shoulders, striking at one another with inflated tarsk bladders tied to poles.

  "Drink!" I cried.

  And again goblets were lifted and clashed.

  I looked down the long table, and, far to my right, sitting alone at the end of the long bench behind the table, was Luma, my slave and chief scribe. Poor, scrawny, plain Luma, thought I, in her tunic of scribe's cloth, and collar! What a poor excuse for a paga slave she had been! Yet she had a brilliant mind for the accounts and business of a great house, and had much increased my fortunes. So indebted to her was I that I had, this night, permitted her to sit at one end of the great table. No free man, of course, would sit beside her. Moreover, that my other scribes and retainers not be angered, I had had her put in slave bracelets, and about her neck had had fastened a chain, which was bolted into the heavy table. And it was thus that Luma, she of perhaps greatest importance in my house, saving its master, with us, yet chained and alone, apart, shared my feast of victory.

  "More paga," said I, putting out the goblet.

  Telima poured me more paga.

  "There is a singer," said one of my men.

  This irritated me, but I had never much cared to interfere with the entertainments which were presented before me.

  "It is truly a singer," said Telima, behind me.

  It irritated me that she had spoken.

  "Fetch Ta grapes from the kitchen," I told her.

  "Please, my Ubar," said she, "let me stay."

  "I am not your Ubar," I said. "I am your master."

  "Please, Master," begged she, "let Telima stay."

  "Very well," I said.

  The tables grew quiet.

  The man had been blinded, it was said, by Sullius Maximus, who believed that blinding improved the quality of a singer's songs. Sullius Maximus, who himself dabbled in poetry, and poisons, was a man of high culture, and his opinions in such matters were greatly respected. At any rate, whatever be the truth in these matters, the singer, in his darkness, was now alone with his songs. He had only them.

  I looked upon him.

  He wore the robes of his caste, the singers, and it was not known what city was his own. Many of the singers wander from place to place, selling their songs for bread an
d love. I had known, long ago, a singer, whose name was Andreas of Tor.

  We could hear the torches crackle now, and the singer touched his lyre.

  I sing the siege of Ar

  of gleaming Ar.

  I sing the spears and walls of Ar

  of Glorious Ar.

  In the long years past of the siege of the city

  the siege of Ar

  of her spires and towers

  of undaunted Ar

  Glorious Ar

  I sing.

  I did not care to hear his song. I looked down into the paga goblet. The singer continued.

  I sing of dark-haired Talena

  of the rage of Marlenus

  Ubar of Ar

  Glorious Ar.

  I did not wish to hear this song. It infuriated me to see that the others in that room sat rapt, bestowing on the singer such attention for such trifles, the meaningless noises of a blind man's mouth.

  And of he I sing

  whose hair was like a larl from the sun

  of he who came once to the walls of Ar

  Glorious Ar

  he called Tarl of Bristol.

  I glanced at Telima, who stood beside my great chair. Her eyes were moist, drinking in the song. She was only a rence girl, I reminded myself. Doubtless never before had she heard a singer. I thought of sending her to the kitchens, but did not do so. I felt her hand on my shoulder. I did not indicate that I was aware of it.

  And, as the torches burned lower in the wall racks, the singer continued to sing, and sang of gray Pa-Kur, Master of the Assassins, leader of the hordes that fell on Ar after the theft of her Home Stone; and he sang, too, of banners and black helmets, of upraised standards, of the sun flashing on the lifted blades of spears, of high siege towers and deeds, of catapults of Ka-la-na and tem-wood, of the thunder of war tharlarion and the beatings of drums and the roars of trumpets, the clash of arms and the cries of men; and he sang, too, of the love of men for their city, and, foolishly, knowing so little of men, he sang, too, the bravery of men, and their loyalties and their courage; and he sang then, too, of duels; of duels fought even on the walls of Ar herself, even at the great gate; and of tarnsmen locked in duels to the death over the spires of Ar; and of yet another duel, one fought on the height of Ar's Cylinder of Justice, between Pa-Kur, and he, in the song, called Tarl of Bristol.