by John Norman
Lord Nishida indicated to his retinue that they should proceed up the ramp. Certainly Sumomo and Hana hurried aboard. Ito paused, but was waved ahead by Lord Nishida.
Lord Nishida and I, and Pertinax, then stood alone on the right side of the ramp, which was approximately amidships.
I looked back to the beach, and noted that the tarpaulin had been thrown aside. Huddled, kneeling, crouched down, crowded between the gunwales, were a number of pathetic figures. These were the cargo which had been brought to the beach from the opposite side of the river. The fellow who had been in the bow yanked on a chain leash and the first of the figures was yanked its feet, and drawn rudely over the gunwales, and it fell, helpless, and miserable, on the sand. The other figures were lifted over the gunwales, and knelt, brutally, in a line, on the sand. The first figure then, which had fallen into the wet, cold sand, and still lay there, prone, frightened, afraid to move, by its upper arm, the right, was pulled to her knees, and knelt as well. The figures were then aligned, kneeling. They were fastened together, coffled, by the neck, with chain. Their hands were behind their backs, doubtless fastened together there. Interestingly, each was hooded, the entire head covered in the hood, a slave hood. In such a device its prisoner is disoriented, and helpless, dependent for movement and direction on its custodian.
“Shall we board?” said Lord Nishida.
“Presently,” I said.
The coffle was then ordered to its feet, and it struggled to stand, barefoot, on the cold beach.
A command was barked, and there was a snap of the whip, and the coffle, the left foot of each figure first moving, began to move, approaching, paralleling the beach side of the wharf, several yards of which were now ablaze.
“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” inquired Lord Nishida, politely.
“Presently,” I said.
At various points along the wharf there were steps leading to its surface from the shore.
“Draw back a bit, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
We withdrew some yards from the ramp.
“Steps,” we heard, uttered by the fellow who had the leash on the first figure.
There was a cry of pain as the first figure on the chain was drawn against the steps, and stumbled, and was then jerked to its feet.
As the cry of pain had been audible the hoods must not be gag hoods, hoods furnished with internal straps and packing. Such hoods are sometimes used in the abduction of free women, in order that they may be unable to call attention to their plight, perhaps while being transported through the streets and beyond the gates of their city, doubtless often within yards of guardsmen. I supposed, however, that the figures would have been forbidden speech. That is commonly forbidden to the hood’s occupant.
“Steps,” cried the man, “did you not hear me call ‘Steps’?”
But the figures, of course, could not see the steps, nor know their height nor width, nor number. They were confused, and helpless. The whip fell amongst them. They could not use their hands, either to break their fall or to assist in maintaining their balance. I think that in that clumsy, agonizing ascent, there was not one who did not fall, and more than once, upon the steps, thence to struggle frantically to regain its feet, only sometimes, drawn unexpectedly, off balance, by the chain again, to fall yet again, and some were unable to regain their feet, and were half dragged upward, on their knees. One, unable to find its feet, was drawn upward, on its side, thrusting, scrambling, with its feet. At last some, mercifully, were lifted and carried upward by oarsmen, and set on their feet, on the wharf.
“Clumsy fools!” cried the fellow who had been in the bow. “Two blows for each!”
These were administered, the figures bent over, and cringing, each receiving its two prescribed lashes.
“It seems these are being treated with unusual cruelty,” I said to Lord Nishida.
“They are slaves,” he said.
“Why were they kept across the river?” I asked.
“Some are superb,” he said. “We did not wish the men to fight over them.”
The slaves were now being aligned again, at the foot of the ramp.
The fire on the wharf was roaring, some seventy yards to the east, only several yards away, now, from the stern of the great ship.
A spark stung my cheek.
“These slaves,” I said, “appear to be held in a splendidly effective custody.”
“That is not unusual, is it not?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Not really.” Still, for the latitude, the menace of the forest, and such, I was surprised at the precautions, the hoods, and a coffle not of rope, but of iron collars and chain. One would suppose that they might have been slaves in a city, or women of some value or importance.
Too, as their hands were doubtless fastened behind their backs, given the other arrangements, I supposed their hands would be fastened behind them not with thongs, cord, or rope, but metal, that their small wrists would be enclosed snugly in linked, steel circlets, in slave bracelets, designed to be put on women.
Some of the slaves wept, and cried out with pain, recoiling in their tethering, stung by sparks from the fire.
The fellow who had been in the bow looked back at the fire and then drew on the chain leash, and the first girl, whimpering, was drawn forward, she followed then by the others.
The ramp, with its slope, would be easily negotiated by the coffle.
The first girl was now on the ramp.
I saw that my conjecture as to the girls’ wrist fastenings was correct. The hands of each were pinioned behind them in steel, in slave bracelets, and, I noted, in close-linked slave bracelets.
Before the first girl reached the top of the ramp, her progress was arrested, by a whip held to her bosom.
The girls were then all on the ramp, standing.
They began to shiver and tremble, but were not allowed to proceed.
“Why have they been stopped?” I asked Lord Nishida.
“My instructions,” he said.
“It is bitterly cold by the river,” I said. “Why are they naked?”
“That they may better learn they are slaves,” he said.
I gathered then that these were new slaves. Once a girl has been a slave for a time, she has well learned she is a slave.
“What do you think of them?” asked Lord Nishida.
“You had better get them inside,” I said. “You do not wish to lose them from exposure.”
“What do you think of them?” he asked, again.
“It is hard to tell,” I said, “as they are hooded.”
“Of course,” said Lord Nishida.
“Their figures are superb,” I said.
“They are not Pani,” said Lord Nishida, “but all are comely.”
“Collar-girls?” I said.
“Perfectly so,” he said.
I considered the girls. One could not determine their features, of course, for the hoods, but their figures, their slave curves, were fully worthy of a Gorean block. Not one of the slaves, I was sure, was more than five feet six inches in height. Each was slender enough, but not in the Earth sense. Each, rather, had the exciting body of the genetically honed slave of men, the typical body of the natural human female, deliciously seizable, and lusciously curved, curves selected for, turned on the lathe of masculine lust, for centuries, the sort of female body hunted, sought, prized, enslaved, and sold for millennia. The typical Gorean male is a natural male, ambitious, possessive, energetic, powerful, a master. It is no wonder then that his taste, as is evidenced in his buyings and huntings, runs to the natural female, she whom nature has appointed to him as his proper slave.
“You do not think Gorean males would be disappointed in them?” I said.
“Certainly not,” he said, “nor Pani.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Now perhaps you might put the stock inside.”
“Do you notice, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he asked, “anything of particular interest about the second to the last
slave on the coffle?”
“No,” I said. “She does have one of the better figures.”
Lord Nishida gestured to the coffle master, and he drew his whip away from the bosom of the first girl. He then said, “Proceed,” and the coffle ascended the ramp and disappeared inside the great ship.
“Do not fear, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said. “They will be warmly bedded within. There will be an abundance of straw in each stall, within which each will be chained by the neck.”
I nodded.
I suspected then that Saru had probably been similarly quartered.
I wondered why Lord Nishida had asked me about the second girl from the end of the coffle. She had had one of the better figures. Too, interestingly, there had been something familiar about her slave flanks.
“The fire approaches,” said Pertinax. “Let us board.”
The third whistle, insistently, almost frantically, sounded from the stern castle.
Pertinax and I followed Lord Nishida aboard. Behind us came some other fellows, some Pani, some oarsmen, and such. Several docksmen freed the great ship from its moorings and, as the ropes were drawn upward, leaped to the ramp, and assisted in drawing it inboard. Shortly thereafter, the large side port was raised and closed. Aboard, the port closed, I sensed the ship begin to move.
I recollected the slave brought to my attention by Lord Nishida. There had seemed something familiar about her slave flanks.
Then I dismissed the thoughts of the slave from my mind. She was only another slave.
I made my way upward, from deck to deck, emerged onto the open deck, and went aft, to the stern castle.
The wharf behind us was raging with fire.
The ship was safe.
She, caught in the slow current, had begun her journey down the Alexandra.
I watched for a time from the stern castle, seeing the beauty of the river, and the forests slipping behind, to each side, and then I made my way to my cabin, where Cecily would be waiting.
Gorean men have what they want from women.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
a report is received; enemies are discussed
Tajima brought the tarn down, expertly, to the stem castle of the ship, and leapt from the saddle.
He cast the guide straps to a tarnster, who then conducted the bird, with its stately gait, toward the large descent way to the in-ship cots.
Tajima, sent to reconnoiter, had been awaited by Lord Nishida. I was present.
“Speak,” said Lord Nishida.
“They are waiting for us,” said Tajima.
“What of the sky?” I asked.
“The skies are clear,” said Tajima. “Ten would have opposed us, five were killed, and five fled. It seems they have learned little.”
I gathered that few tarnsmen cared to meet with the cavalry after the battle of Tarncamp. I suspected we had crippled, or reduced, the intelligence of the enemy. Their tarn scouts had been routinely dealt with, removed from the sky or driven toward the coast, pasangs before our passage. Doubtless some had reconnoitered by night. I wondered if their reports would be believed at the coast. Some may have been in the forest, along the shore, but, on foot, in our passage downriver, in its steadiness, we would have been likely to have outdistanced them. Some small boats had been attacked and driven back to the river bank. Doubtless we carried our spies on board, but they were likely to be of little value to an enemy with whom they could not communicate.
“What may we expect to encounter?” inquired lord Nishida.
We had been three days on the Alexandra, mainly carried downstream by the current. Small boats, oared, had occasionally preceded us, to confirm soundings. Oddly, I was not clear as to the identity of the ship’s master. It was alleged to be Aetius, who was often seen on the stern castle, but I was uneasy in this matter, as I knew him, rather, as of the shipwrights. To be sure, there was no reason why a shipwright might not possess the seacraft, the judgment and wisdom of a high mariner, but it would be an unusual combination. We did have aboard several mariners, who had had service in round ships. The six nested galleys had their oarsmen and captains, but these captains, presumably, though familiar with the sea, would not be familiar with the problems and requirements of a ship such as that of Tersites. There was no Gorean precedent for the mastery of such a ship. Lords Nishida and Okimoto, of course, were highest amongst us, but neither, surely, was fit to command a vessel of this size, might, and design. Perhaps Aetius was in command. It was not impossible.
“I think,” said Tajima, “they do not realize our nature. They have linked small boats across the mouth of the Alexandra, and prepared others, with ladders and grappling irons, suitable for dealing with round ships. On the banks they have set catapults.”
“Beware,” I said, “of great stones, and flaming pitch.”
“Do you feel, Tajima,” said Lord Nishida, “that the cavalry may deal with such weaponry?”
“Yes,” he said.
“At what strength do you put their forces?” asked Lord Nishida.
“They are like the sands of the shore,” said Tajima. “Their tents are spread for pasangs. I do not doubt but what they have ten thousand men.”
“Surely we have no intention of engaging them,” I said.
“Certainly not,” said Lord Nishida.
“Are there galleys off shore?” I inquired.
“Dozens,” said Tajima. “They dot the sea.”
“Do you think, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida, “they will dispute our passage.”
“Not successfully,” I said.
“Good,” said Lord Nishida.
“I do not think, Lord Nishida,” I said, “that you realize your most dangerous and fearsome enemy, that which you should most fear.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Thassa,” said I.
“Ah, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said, “I think it is you who do not understand the most dangerous and fearsome enemy.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“That which lies at the conclusion of our voyage,” he said.
Chapter Forty
that which occurred at the mouth of the alexandra; the ship of tersites has entered upon thassa; the salute
There was much shrieking and splintering of wood far below, on both sides, as the ship of Tersites, undeterred, made her way to gleaming Thassa. A dozen small boats, unable to escape, many fastened together, were crushed in the passage of the mighty bow of the great ship, and she brushed others aside, dozens, brushed them aside as the limb of a stately, insouciant larl might sweep leaves from its path, scarcely noticing this consequence of its passage. Many of the small ships drew away, their crews awed, white-faced. Never had they seen so mighty a ship as that of Tersites. Other ships, with bolder governors, many with ladders and irons, clung to her flanks, clustered about her, like insects, but their ladders were unavailing, foolish against this behemoth’s sides, and what arm had the strength to cast an iron so high that it might engage the railings towering above? Many of the ships struck into one another, stove one another in, and others were swamped in the swells attending the passage of the great ship. The waters on both sides were filled with debris and struggling men. On both banks there were marshaled infantries, ranks upon ranks, prepared to do war. Many in the farther ranks broke ranks, to press forward, to witness so unaccountable a sight, as though a city might be afloat. Hundreds of men waded into the river, wondering, some pressed by those behind them. The passage of the great ship had not been arrested. There would be no boarding, no escaping of hundreds of men from a grounded, caught, foundering, sinking, burning ship, men to be cut down as they tried to elude the small boats and clamber to shore. And so the infantries stood to the side, on each bank, many men to their waist in the river, astonished, wondering, in the cold water. And I think none then expected to raise their shields, to put their blades and spears that day to battle. Hundreds of tents spread along the beach, perhaps for pasangs, on each si
de. Our tarnsmen, launched from the ship, attended not to them. We owned the sky. The infantry was not attacked, as the shield roof is easily raised. Massed infantry has little to fear from tarn attack unless, as suggested, it be combined with an attack on foot, with similar forces. Isolated infantrymen fare less well against tarn attack, as the tarnsmen can pick and choose their targets, with relative impunity. Too, it is difficult to defend oneself from low-flying tarns, attacking in concert, from two or three sides at once. The shield, whatever its attitude, can protect from but a single bearing. The attentions of our tarnsmen had been divided between the artillery, the ballistae, the mangonels, the catapults, the springals, on the shore, armed with their missiles and fire, and several galleys offshore. The enemy artillery, where it was not burning, had been deserted. It had been death to man those engines. Bodies, bristling with arrows, lay about them. Most such devices, given their height, or the angle of their fire, could not be well defended from above. Too, roofing, where practical, if not sheathed in metal or coated in wet hides, would succumb to the canisters of pitch and fire, lit and cast by our tarnsmen. Too, a pasang from the beach we could see two galleys aflame, and others had withdrawn from our path. And so it was that at the mouth of the Alexandra, mighty, its passage now uncontested, as tarns returned to the ship, one by one, canvas fell from the yards, took the wind, and the ship of Tersites, her wings spread, set her prow westward.
There was shouting from the shore, as we passed, of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men, and a drumming, rhythmic, that carried over the cold, green waters of gleaming Thassa.
I joined Lord Nishida, and Aetius, at the stern castle.
“We are free of the river,” I said.
“It is treacherous, a liquid snake,” said Aetius.
“It is a beautiful river,” I said, “and one of the few this far north navigable by a vessel this deeply keeled.” Most Gorean galleys could negotiate water as shallow as five to seven feet Gorean. The round ship would need only a few feet more.
“A snake,” said Aetius.