by John Norman
There was laughter about us.
I then heard the sounds of chains, moving in a slow cadence. My fellows, now in close chains and ankle coffle, from the room of the windlass, were being brought out to observe what was to be done to me.
I put my head down, as though shamed, to be exposed as a liar before them. This way, too, my smile, that they were no longer in the room of the windlass, and were heavily chained, could be concealed. It would be several Ehn, surely, before they could be returned to the room of the windlass and manage to raise the sea gate.
"Back away. Give us room," said Kliomenes, approaching. I shuddered, and stepped back. He handed his sword to a fellow and pulled his tunic down to the waist. He then took his sword back, and, with a slash or two in the air, tried its balance. I saw that his blade would move with great swiftness. I was also reassured that mine could move even more swiftly.
"Clear more space," said Kliomenes.
The men moved back, around us, clearing a broad circle. Two of the men with Kliomenes, I noticed, had their own blades drawn. If, perchance, he found himself in difficulties, I did not doubt but what they would soon interpose themselves on his behalf. It would do me no good, of course, even if I could manage it, to wound or slay Kliomenes within the confines of the present situation. My objective was not to deal with him, so to speak, but to extricate myself from the holding. My only chance in this rapid, dark matter, as I saw it, was to enlist his vanity and, hopefully, a recklessness attendant upon it, in my own cause.
"Are you ready, my stalwart simpleton, my handsome braggart, to now make good your showy boasts?" inquired Kliomenes.
I looked to the fellows from the windlass. They stood there, locked in their chains, grim and sullen. A miserable looking crew, I thought. Their despondency pleased me. In spite of my vainglorious carryings-on in the room of the windlass, which doubtless they must have found tiresome, it did not seem, even so, that they were looking forward eagerly to seeing me butchered before their very eyes. This pleased me. It also encouraged me to believe that they would find it difficult to make their way rapidly back to the room of the windlass. Hurried, they might even be expected to fall, or to become entangled in their chains. Such things can happen.
The blade, suddenly, darted toward me.
I stumbled backward, off balance.
"Lucky parry," said one of the pirates.
"There is no Callimachus to rescue you now, Dolt," said Kliomenes, measuring me, the point of his blade moving subtly, a yard or so from my chest.
Then, again, the blade struck, swift as an ost, toward me.
"The dock worker is fortunate," said one of the pirates.
But then I was afraid, for I realized that Kliomenes had intended, that time, to truly strike me. He had now backed away, and was regarding me, warily. One such parry might be fortunate, but that two such parries should follow one another, apparently so clumsy, and yet, both, similarly effective, would surely appear to defy the probabilities involved in such matters.
"He is skilled," said Kliomenes.
"He is clumsy!" laughed one of the men. There was more laughter. "Are you afraid, Kliomenes?" asked another.
Kliomenes glanced to the two men nearest him, those with their swords drawn. At a word from him, of course, both would rush upon me, and then, perhaps, others.
I dropped my sword.
Kliomenes tensed, but did not rush forward. "You could have killed him then," said a man.
I, clumsily, picked up the sword, breathing heavily. I looked at Kliomenes, as though frightened.
Kliomenes was regarding me, undecided. He knew that I could have retrieved the sword before he could have reached me. He did not know, however, for certain, that I also knew that.
"Have mercy, Captain," I said to him.
"He is afraid," said one of the pirates.
I then realized that I must play a most dangerous game. It was not the others I must convince of my ineptitude with the blade, but Kliomenes himself. The others did not matter.
"Forgive me, Captain," I begged. I then knelt and put the sword on the walkway before me. Then I slid it, hilt first, toward him.
There were snorts of scorn from the pirates about.
"Please, Captain," I begged, "let me be returned to the windlass."
Kliomenes smiled. "Coward," said more than one of the pirates to me.
I knelt at the mercy of Kliomenes, defenseless. He could then have rushed upon me and slaughtered me like a tethered verr.
"Please, Captain," I seemed to beg, "let me be returned to the windlass."
Kliomenes looked about himself, and smiled. Then he kicked the blade back to me. "Take up your sword," he said.
I reached for the blade and, as I did so, he rushed upon me, and I met the blade, striking downwards, with a flash of steel and a shower of sparks. He was off balance and I reared upward, close to him, within his guard, seizing him and half turning him in the crook of my right arm, the blade in that hand. "Back away!" I cried to the pressing others. Kliomenes cried out with misery. My left hand was now in his hair, pulling his head back, and the blade of my sword lay across his throat.
"Back away!" whispered Kliomenes, tensely, held. I turned, holding him, seeing that the others kept their distance.
"Do not come closer," I warned the pirates, "or his throat is cut."
"I slipped," said Kliomenes. "I slipped."
"Drop your sword," I told Kliomenes. He did so.
"Release him," said one of the pirates. "You cannot escape."
"Put down your swords," I told them. "Put them on the walk."
They hesitated and Kliomenes felt the edge of the steel, set to slide on his throat.
"Put down your swords, Fools!" said Kliomenes.
I saw the steel, blade by blade, sheathed and unsheathed, put to the stones of the walk.
My steel was then to the back of Kliomenes. "Precede me to the parapets," I told him. "Do not follow," I warned the pirates.
"Surrender your sword," said Kliomenes.
"Hurry," I told him.
"You have nothing with which to bargain," he said.
"I have your life," I told him. He tensed. "Before you could run two steps," I told him, "I could have you half on my sword or cut your head from your body."
"Perhaps not," said Kliomenes, uneasily.
"It is a risk I am content to take," I informed him. "Is it one which you, too, are content to take?"
He looked at me.
I opened my left hand, at my hip. "If necessary," I said, "I am prepared to conduct you to the parapets, bent over, as a female slave."
"That will not be necessary," he said. He turned, then, and preceded me about the walkway bordering the lakelike courtyard. I looked back and saw the group of pirates. They did not follow. They stood near the iron door, the entry into the inner holding. Their steel lay still about their feet.
"Put aside your bow," I ordered one of the men on the walls, climbing toward the parapets.
"Put away your bow," ordered Kliomenes, angrily, preceding me.
In a few moments, walking along the parapets, we had come to the edge of the west gate tower, that which houses, in its lowest level, the chamber of the windlass.
Two or three of the men, their bows in hand, edged near us.
"Put aside your bows," I told them.
"Do as he says," said Kliomenes, angrily.
The bows were put to their feet. They were short, ship bows, stout and maneuverable, easy to use in crowded quarters, easy to fire across the bulwarks of galleys locked in combat. I had seen only such bows in the holding of Policrates. Their rate of fire, of course, is much superior to that of the crossbow, either of the draw or windlass variety. All things considered the ship bow is an ideal missile weapon for close-range naval combat. It is superior in this respect even to the peasant bow, or long bow, which excels it in impact, range and accuracy.
I glanced over the edge of the wall. We were, as I had intended, in the vicinity of t
he sea gate. I did not know how deep the water was there. Yet I knew it must be deep enough to accommodate the keel of a captured, heavily laden round ship.
"What do you intend?" asked Kliomenes.
"Tell them to fetch rope," I said, gesturing to the men on the wall.
Kliomenes grinned. "Fetch rope," he said.
They hurried down the stairs.
"It seems you will make good your escape," said Kliomenes. He assumed that I had had the men seriously sent for rope. He assumed that when they returned I would use the rope to descend from the wall. By that time, of course, the men would be again on the wall, doubtless some of them armed, and with bows. Clambering down the rope I would be vulnerable, and the rope, too, could be cut.
"Now, we are alone on the wall," I said to Kliomenes, leveling the sword at his belly. He backed away, a step. "Do not kill me," he said, suddenly, turning white. Behind him was the long drop to the walkway below.
I drew back my arm, as though to ram the steel through his belly. He twisted away, and fled. I laughed, not pursuing him. I did not think he would stop until he was safely again among his men. Then, discarding the sword, I ascended the parapet and leaped feet first to the waters far below. It seemed I was a long time in the air. The rush of it was cold on my body, and tore at my hair. I then struck the water, seeming to plummet through it, and struck with great force the mud and debris of the bottom. I sank into it to my knees. I feared my legs were broken. The water was swirling about me, loud, roaring, in my ears. I tore loose, kicking, of the mud, and pushed upward toward the surface, which, after some seconds, gasping, I broke. I shook the water from my head; I blinked it from my eyes. I looked upward, at the parapets, far above. My legs were numb, but I could control them. No arrows struck into the water about me. I gasped for breath, and then submerged, and swam underwater for the brush and trees, half sunken, which bordered the channel leading to the gate. I emerged among roots and reeds. Only then, looking back, from the cover of the half-submerged growth, did I see men first appear on the walls. I had had them sent from the walls. They would not even know in which direction I had set out. I then swam again underwater for a time until I emerged in the spongy terrain north and west of the holding, shielded from sight by trees from her walls. I assumed they would think I would have emerged north and east of the channel, for that way lies closer to Victoria. I would, at any rate, have a good start on any who might wish to give pursuit. It would take several Ehn, I was sure, to get the great sea gate raised. I had seen to that. I could always cross the channel northeastward, at my convenience, under the cover of darkness, to move toward Victoria, or I might, if I chose, move simply to the southern shore of the Vosk. I was certain I could find means from there to make my way back to Victoria. Small ships abound on the Vosk. I began then to move swiftly. I was cold. But I was in good spirits.
33
Battle Horns
"We welcome your sword," said Callimachus. We stood in the bow of the long galley, below the stem castle. The single mast had been lowered and lay secured, tied, lengthwise on the deck, between the benches.
Our ship lay to, east of the great chain. I could see little, because of the fog. It was a chilly morning. The water licked at the strakes. Far off, unseen, I heard the cry of a Vosk gull.
"It was not necessary for you to have joined the fleet," said Callimachus.
"It is here that I belong," I said.
"You have risked much already," said he.
"We were betrayed," I told him.
"Yes," he said.
I was bitter. The great sea gate had crashed down, destroying the galley on which I had sought to enter the holding of Policrates. I had been captured, and had managed to escape. I had made my way to Victoria, and hence westward, learning of the movement of ships toward the chain. Yesterday evening I had boarded the Tina, out of Victoria, captained by Callimachus.
"If the Voskjard attempts to cross the chain in force," said Callimachus, "we will not be able to stop him."
"It was the Earth-girl slave, Peggy, Tasdron's property, who betrayed us," I said.
"Can you be sure?" asked Callimachus.
"I am sure," I said. "Was it Callisthenes?" I asked him.
"It could not be Callisthenes," said Callimachus. "He is known to me. Too, he is a captain of Port Cos, and of my own caste."
I looked over the gunnels. To port and starboard, each some fifty yards away, gray and silent, intermittently visible in the fog, each lying to, as was the Tina, were two other galleys, the Mira, out of Victoria, and the Talender, out of Fina.
"Too," said Callimachus, "he is my friend." It was cold.
"Does it seem likely to you that it was Tasdron or Glyco?" I asked.
"It could not have been Tasdron," said Callimachus. "His interests would be too opposed to such an action. Indeed, he is the leader in Victoria of those who would oppose the power of the men of Policrates."
"Perhaps it was Glyco, then," I said, bitterly.
"He is not of my own caste," admitted Callimachus.
"Nor is Tasdron," I said.
"True," said Callimachus.
"Glyco," I pointed out, "has enlisted your aid against the pirates."
"He is not with the fleet," said Callimachus.
"He is now east on the river, trying to raise support for our cause," I said.
"Perhaps," said Callimachus. "But no ships have been forthcoming."
"I do not think Glyco will be successful," I said. "There is too much distrust among the towns, and they fear the pirates too much. Too, the fleet of Policrates is now east of Victoria, to prevent such ships from reinforcing us. I have told you this."
Callimachus was silent.
"Why is it not obvious to you that the traitor was the slave, Peggy?" I asked.
"She could not have heard," said Callimachus, uncertainly, angrily.
"She was in the room," I said. "She must have heard. She could have understood much of what we planned. Doubtless she revealed our plans to the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, or to a pirate in Tasdron's tavern, perhaps while moaning with pleasure in his arms, perhaps hoping to win her freedom by her treachery."
"She would not be freed," said Callimachus. "She would only be plunged into a deeper and crueler slavery."
"She would not know that," I pointed out. "She is from Earth." It can take years to learn Gorean ways, and how Goreans think. They tend not to be patient with slaves.
"Perhaps you were betrayed by one of the men of Callisthenes or of Aemilianus," said Callimachus.
"By trusted warriors," I asked, "who, too, would have had little opportunity to make contact with the enemy?" I looked at him, angrily. "Why can you not see that it was the slave, Peggy, who betrayed us?" I wondered if he cared for her.
"It could have been no other," agreed Callimachus. His voice was grim, and terrible. I did not understand, fully, his tone of voice. It was almost as though he, personally, in some subtle way, had been betrayed.
I looked out, over the bow, into the fog. One could see almost nothing.
"If we should be so fortunate as to survive this engagement," said Callimachus, "I will see that the treacherous slave is dealt with."
"What will be done to her?" I asked.
"She will be dealt with as a female slave is dealt with, who has not been fully pleasing," he said, quietly.
I shuddered.
"Are you cold?" asked Callimachus.
"Yes," I said. I drew the cloak I wore more closely about myself.
"Perhaps there will be no engagement," said Callimachus. "We have been at the chain for two days."
"The Tamira has crossed the chain, has she not?" I asked.
"Yes," said he.
"I anticipate an engagement," I said.
"The Tamira is a merchantman," said Callimachus.
"It is a scout ship of Ragnar Voskjard," I said. "It has already paid call on Kliomenes, in the holding of Policrates."
"I find that hard to believe," said Callimachus.
"Was she inspected at the chain?" I asked.
"No," said Callimachus.
"Had she been," I said, "it would have been discovered that she was carrying loot from the Flower of Siba. More importantly, she would doubtless be carrying papers linking her with Policrates, such papers as the signs and countersigns whereby the actions of the joint pirate fleets might be integrated and directed."
"You are mistaken," said Callimachus. "Reginald, her captain, is a known man."
"I learned these things in the court of Kliomenes," I said.
"You must be mistaken," he said.
"I anticipate an engagement," I said.
"It should have taken place by now," said Callimachus.
"That seems possible," I admitted.
"Perhaps the Voskjard fears the chain," said Callimachus.
"Perhaps," I admitted.
From where we lay to I could hear, from time to time, the restless creak of the mighty links of the chain, suspended on pylons, stretching across the river. The links of the chain were some eighteen inches in length and a foot in width; the metal of the links themselves was as thick as a man's forearm. The chain, in places, lay submerged a foot or so below the water; in other places, and near the pylons, it would range from a foot to a yard above the water. It was anchored to great rings on the pylons. At five places in the river the chain could be opened, swung open on huge rafts, at which points there were guard stations. Too, there were guard stations at the terminal pylons, on the north and south shore of the river.
"Where is Callisthenes?" I asked.
"He is at the south guard station," said Callimachus.
This was regarded as a point of maximum danger. Gorean ships, on the whole, even the round ships, are shallowly drafted vessels. It is common, where wharfage is not available, to beach them at night. Thus the chain, theoretically, could be circumvented at these points, the shallowly drafted ships being brought to shore and, on rollers, being moved about the terminal pylons. The south guard station was regarded as more vulnerable than the north guard station, because of its comparatively remote location. The supply lines from Port Cos to the north station are shorter and it is easier to move troops to that point. Also, the barracks for the guardsmen of the chain are at that point. I was pleased to hear that Callisthenes had taken up his post at the south guard station. It was at such a point that we particularly needed good men. Yet we would miss him in the fray, should the Voskjard's fleet dare to approach the chain more directly.