by John Norman
Battle horns, then, from off our bows and astern, shattered the air of the Vosk.
“It is the end,” said a man behind me.
Notes of answering battle horns, from our stern castle, and from the stern castles of the Olivia and the Tais, almost lost in the din of enemy signals, gave response.
“Stroke!” called the oar master.
The Tina shuddered in the water, and then, once more, with her sisters, the Olivia and the Tais, her oars catching at the water, her ram half lifting, dripping, from the Vosk, defiant and gallant, leapt forward.
Chapter 7 - I AGAIN SEE THE TAMIRA; I GO FOR A SWIM
“There is the Tamira,” said a man, pointing to starboard, at one Voskjard ship among others.
I discarded my sword, and seized up a knife from the deck. I placed it between my teeth. I dove into the water, from the bow railing of the Tina.
I was then among slashing oars and swimming men. An arrow pierced the water near me, then bobbed to the surface.
Behind me I heard hulls grinding together.
Voskjard ships crowded about the Olivia, the Tais and Tina. On bloody decks men held discourse with steel. The twang of bowstrings rang in the air.
I clung to a piece of wreckage. A man clung, too, to the other end of the section of planks. I did not know if he were a pirate or not.
It was late afternoon.
It was like a lake of bloody wood in the center of the Vosk. The ships of the Voskjard so pressed about our three ships that they could not use their rams or shearing blades. More than one Voskjard ship had been set afire by flaming pitch cast from another. More than one, at the waterline, or on her decks, it falling among crowded men, had been smitten with stones cast from the catapults of their own ships.
Fusillades of javelins, struck from springals, hailed down on pirate ships as frequently as they did on ours. Even arrows, as often as not in the fray, in the mixings and shiftings of men, indiscriminately, to the consternation of pirates, found unintended targets.
There was a movement in the water behind me, and I twisted suddenly to the side, turning, and catching the arm, its knife in hand, striking toward me. “For the Voskjard!” hissed the man. We struggled, in the water. I dragged him to me. I got the knife from my teeth and, under the water, thrust it, edge up, into his abdomen, and then drew it, deeply in him, diagonally, upward and to the right. The smell came up through the water. I kicked him away from me and, half submerged, he floated backwards away from the wreckage.
I turned to the fellow who had been clinging to the wreckage with me. “I am from the Mira, from Victoria!” he said.
“No, you are not,” I told him.
“I am!” he cried.
“Who was the commander of the Mira?” I asked him.
Swiftly then did the fellow, turning white, swim from the wreckage. I did not pursue him. Temus, who had been the captain of the Mira, had been taken aboard the Olivia, that he might, by his skills of seamanship, give aid to the men of Ar.
A longboat was some twenty yards away. Archers were in it. They were hunting the waters. Already the men of the Voskjard were killing survivors.
I saw a man stroking toward me, knife in fist. He was a bearded, vicious-looking fellow. “For the Voskjard!” he said.
I slipped beneath the water. I came up behind the fellow and took his neck, bending back his head, in the crook of my left arm.
Almost at the same moment I saw the fellow at the tiller of the longboat turn it towards us. Archers stood between its thwarts, arrows fitted to the strings of their bows.
I lifted the bloody knife in my right hand. I let the fellow I had seized drift away from me.
“For the Voskjard!” I grinned, brandishing the knife.
The archers lowered their bows. “Well done, Fellow,” said the fellow at the tiller of the longboat.
I treaded water, and watched the longboat draw away. I heard, several yards behind me, the rending of strakes, taken by a ram. One of the Voskjard’s ships, in the press of battle, had struck her fellow.
The Olivia, the Tais and the Tina were still afloat. They were protected from the rams and shearing blades of their enemies by the closeness of the quarters. They had managed, almost like a fortress of wood, three ships jammed together, surrounded, under fire, beleaguered, to repel assault after assault, pouring over the rails of enemy vessels. The infantrymen of Ar, in their numbers, inordinate for the vessels involved, and their skills in war, uncommon on the river, stiffened the resistance of the remnants of our small fleet.
Because of the closeness of the quarters, and the ships about, we could not be easily approached, and those who could approach us, actually attempting to board us, must, toe to toe, make the acquaintance of the warriors of Ar. By the buffeting of those mighty shields, by the thrusting of great spears, by the swift, ringing flash of well-tempered steel, wave after wave of boarders was repelled, cut to pieces, swept back like rabble. Yet I knew that in the end even the mighty larl, if chained, must eventually succumb to the attack of endless streams of hissing urts. The tiny gnawings, the miniscule lacerations, the drops of blood extracted, must in their cumulative effect take their inevitable toll.
I looked at the sun. There was blood in the water about me. It was late in the afternoon. A ship of the Voskjard, a hundred yards away, back from the immediate press of battle, was aflame. A Vosk gull had alit on the wreckage to which I had earlier clung. I put the knife in my teeth and swam slowly toward the Tamira.
Chapter 8 - I CONDUCT BUSINESS UPON THE TAMIRA; I RETURN TO THE TINA, BRINGING WITH ME SOME THINGS WHICH I FIND OF INTEREST
I, knife between my teeth, in the water, clung to the starboard rudder of the Tamira. Then, lifting myself from the water, clutching at the rudder, I inched my way upward. It was some eight feet in length. I then had my feet on the broad blade of the rudder and grasped the upright shaft. The tarred cables, some four inches in width, moved. The rudder creaked.
I looked over to the windows of the stern cabin. These were high, and formed of a lacing of wood and glass. The Tamira had once been an ornate, richly appointed merchantman. This guise, doubtless, still served her well in her work for the Voskjard. Her darker offices would not be evident from her respectable and stately exterior.
I climbed upward, and swung on ornamental grillwork, toward the windows. Then I stood beside the sill of the port window, back that I not be visible through it. This cabin, surely, would be that of Reginald, her captain. I had little doubt but what I sought, either it or a copy, would lie within.
The Tamira shifted in the current. I reconnoitered, as I could, moving the side of my head slightly. I peered into the cabin. I saw a table, and charts. I could not see his berth. I could not see the entire cabin. I assumed the cabin was empty. Surely Reginald himself, captain of the Tamira, would be above decks and forward, presumably on the stem castle taking note of the course of the battle. On the other hand if he should be in the cabin, or if it should be otherwise occupied, I must enter swiftly and without warning, that I might, if necessary, strike before being struck. I wiped the knife on my thigh. The preservation of the life of Reginald, or of another within, was not essential to the pursuit of my objectives.
With a shattering of glass and wood I crashed into the cabin.
She screamed, suddenly rising to a kneeling position in the berth, clutching the scarlet sheet about her throat.
I stood between her and the door, half-naked, the knife in my hand.
“Who are you?” she cried.
I backed from her and then, turning, tried the door. She had been locked within, as I had speculated. From the inside, then, scarcely taking my eyes from her, I dropped the heavy bar into place, in its brackets, securing the door from the inside. I then, with its chain, and ship’s lock, secured the bar in place.
“Who are you?” she demanded, holding the sheet high about her.
“Lower the sheet to your shoulders,” I told her.
She looked at me, angrily.
Then she obeyed. There was a close-fitting steel collar on her neck.
Seeing that she was a slave, no longer did I fear to compromise the modesty of a free woman. “Discard the sheet,” I told her. She, kneeling in the berth, dropped it to her knees. “Completely,” I told her.
She cast the sheet aside.
She was voluptuous, and blond, and blue-eyed. I saw that she would bring a high price in a slave market.
“I shall scream,” she said.
“Do so, and I shall cut your pretty throat from ear to ear,” I said.
“Who are you!” she demanded.
“Your master,” I told her.
“I am the slave of Reginald,” she said. “Captain of the Tamira.”
“Are you aware that there is a battle going on outside?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she said, uneasily, squirming, naked, in the berth.
I grinned. Gorean men sometimes order their women to await them, thus. Indeed, that sort of thing is done even on Earth, by men who own their women. Perhaps a telephone call instructs the woman to be waiting naked in bed for them when they arrive. She lies there alone, unclothed, under the sheets, awaiting her master. When he arrives, she is well ready to be touched.
“Reginald, I take it,” I said, “anticipates victory.”
She tossed her head. “Of course,” she said.
“This is the scout ship of Ragnar Voskjard,” I said.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Why are you aboard?” I asked.
“It pleased my master to bring me,” she said.
“Are you a Luck Girl?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I am a female slave,” she said.
I smiled. Many Goreans regard the sight of a female slave as good luck. Certainly, at the very least, they are joys to look upon. The presence of a free woman on a ship, incidentally, causes some Gorean sailors uneasiness. Indeed, some, superstitiously, and mistakenly, in my opinion, regard them as harbingers of ill fortune. This is probably, from the objective point of view, a function of the dissension such a woman may produce, particularly on long voyages, and of the alterations in seamanship and conduct which can be attendant upon her presence on shipboard. For example, knowing that a free woman is on board, and must be accommodated and protected, can adversely, whether it should or not, affect the decisions of a captain. He might put into shore when it would be best to remain at sea; he might run when he should fight; when he should be firm, he might vacillate; when he should be strong, he might be conciliatory and weak.
There have been occasions recorded when a free woman, usually one who has been haughty and troublesome, has been, by order of the captain, who is supreme on the vessel, simply stripped and enslaved on board. The reservations of Gorean seamen pertaining to the presence of free women on board, incidentally, do not apply to the presence of slave girls. Such girls are under effective discipline, and must be pleasing and obedient. If they are not, they know they may be simply thrown overboard. Similarly, they are commonly available to the crew, to content and please them. Their presence on board is a delight and convenience. The men are fond of them, regarding them with affection. They are, in effect, pets and mascots. A round of paga and a girl is a pleasant way to relax after one’s watch on deck. Incidentally the reservations held by some Gorean seamen pertaining to free women on board, also, interestingly, do not hold of free women who are captives. Even the pirates of Earth found uses to which such women could be put.
“Are you available to the crew?” I asked.
“Only if I do not sufficiently please Reginald, my master,” she said.
“Do you strive to please him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, shuddering. “I do.”
“This ship,” I said, “in league with the Telia, captained by Simak, of the holding of Policrates, took recently upon the river a merchantman, the Flower of Siba.” I had learned this in the court of Kliomenes, in the holding of Policrates. The loot had been divided. Part of that loot had been Florence, a curvaceous, auburn-haired slave, who had belonged to Miles of Vonda.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Prisoners, then, from the Flower of Siba,” I said, “are still on board.”
“Perhaps,” she said. I gathered from the nature of her response that this was, indeed, true. More importantly, I gathered from her response what I had been truly after, that the Tamira had made her rendezvous with the Voskjard’s fleet in the western Vosk, and not at his holding. Had the rendezvous been made at the holding the prisoners, presumably, would no longer be on board.
“The captain of the Tamira,” I said, “is an important man, and much trusted by Ragnar Voskjard.”
“Yes,” she said, proudly.
“The rendezvous of the Tamira with the fleet of the Voskjard,” I said, “took place then not at his holding, but in the river.” I recalled that in open battle the Tamira had been supported, and, indeed, convoyed, by two heavy galleys. This had further confirmed my suspicion that she carried a cargo more precious than many understood.
“Perhaps,” said the girl.
“Has Reginald boarded the flagship of Ragnar Voskjard since the return from the holding of Policrates?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “though signals were exchanged. Why?”
“Then what I seek,” I said, “must still be on board.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Doubtless it is in this very cabin,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said, uneasily.
“When Reginald returned from the holding of Policrates, doubtless you met him, either on deck, or in the cabin, as a naked, kneeling slave, licking and kissing at his sea boots, begging to serve him.”
“Yes,” she said, shrinking back.
“He would have been carrying an object, so precious that it would have been in his hands alone.”
“No,” she said.
“Then it would have been papers, in his tunic,” I said. “You, in his cabin, undressing him, bathing him, serving him, would have seen what he did with the.”
“No!” she said.
“Do not look to the place where he concealed them,” I said.
I saw her glance wildly to my right, to the side of the cabin.
I smiled.
Then, knowing she had betrayed herself, she slipped, frightened, half crouching, from the berth.
“Were you not to remain in the berth until Reginald came for you?” I asked.
She looked at me, frightened.
“Do you not fear you will be slain?” I asked.
She glanced beyond me, across the cabin. I stepped back, that she might have free passage.
“But I do not object,” I told her. “I did not order you to remain in the berth. I own you now.”
I saw her tense her lovely body. I stepped further back. Then, suddenly, she darted past me, falling to her knees at the side of a great sea chest. She flung up its lid and, frantically, with two hands, rummaged in the chest.
I slipped my knife in my belt. I removed an object from the cabin wall.
Then she had leaped to her feet, wildly, clutching, holding over head, what appeared to he two, flat, rectangular sheets of lead, bound together. She ran to the windows of the cabin, those between and above the rudders, through which I, breaking the frames and glass inward; had entered. She drew back her arms, holding the bound lead sheets over her head, to hurl them into the Vosk.
The whip cracked forth, lashing, snapping, whipping about her startled wrists, binding them together, causing her, crying out with pain, to drop the leaden sheets. By her wrists, temporarily caught in the coils of the whip, I jerked her back and to the side, and she fell, stumbling, among the glass and wood, to my right. With my foot I spurned her to the side of the berth, on the cabin floor. The coil of the whip was then freed.
She whimpered.
I had gathered from the fact that the chest had not been locked, that it had been open to her, and that she had acted with su
ch alacrity, that a charge had been placed upon her in the matter with which I was concerned. That charge, of course, could only have been to see to the immediate destruction of the documents in the event of an emergency. On shipboard, of course, it would be possible to immediately dispose of the documents only by casting them overboard. The lead weighting, of course, would carry them to the mud at the bottom of the Vosk. In a short time, then, the inks would run, and the papers held between the sheets, would disintegrate. My surmises in these matters had been correct. The girl had proved useful.
Whimpering, she was now on her hands and knees at the side of the berth. She extended her hand toward the leaden sheets. The whip clacked savagely and, quickly, she drew back her hand.
“I do not wish to become impatient with you,” I told her.
“You do not own me,” she said.
I smiled. I lifted the whip before her. “You are mistaken,” I told her.
She eyed the leaden sheets. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Jason,” I said, “of Victoria, your master.”
“I am the woman of Reginald, captain of the Tamira,” she said.
“No longer,” I said.
She looked at me, angrily. “I am a captain’s woman,” she said.
“You are a mere slave,” I said, “who must crawl to any man.”
“No!” she said.
“Are you haughty?” I asked.
“If you like,” she said.
I turned from her, to search for oiled cloth and wax, something, anything, with which to make a sealed packet.