by John Norman
“Not all are enemies,” I reassured him.
“What hope is there?” he asked.
“There is hope,” I assured him.
A vessel, a lantern at her bow, nosed towards us.
“We are lost,” said the first man.
“Jason, is it you?” inquired a voice from the bow of the vessel.
“It is,” I said.
“Come aboard,” said Callimachus. “There is little time. We must make away.”
I helped the two chained men to stand on the wreckage, that they might be lifted aboard the Tina.
“Who are your friends?” inquired Callimachus.
“Krondar, the fighting slave,” I said, “and Miles, of Vonda.”
Chapter 10 - WHAT HUNG AT OUR PROWS; HOW WE GREETED KLIOMENES
I crossed the wrists of Lola and, with the dark strap, bound them tightly together, before her body. I then tied the line about her wrists, that strung through the prow ring. I signaled the sailor and he lifted her from her feet and threw her over the bow rail. In a moment, caught and held by the line, she dangled, an exhibited prize, at the prow. In a river galley of the construction of the Tina, her legs fell on either side of the heavy, wooden concave slope of the bow to the water and ram.
Shirley, whom I had taken from Reginald, captain of the Tamira, said once to have been of Tafa, hung at the bow of our lead ship, the Tuka, that vessel said to be a well known vessel of the Voskjard. Our Tina was second in our line. The Tais, which we feared might be recognized, brought up the rear. Both girls were naked. Both made lovely adornments to our ships.
Preferably, of course, a stripped free woman hangs at the prow of the ship, that the degree of the victory may be made even more keen and manifest, but we were forced to make do with mere slaves. Free women are not often found in the vicinity of pirates. After a free woman has once been at the prow, there is nothing to do with her later, of course, but to make her a slave.
Our three ships made their way unhurriedly through the channel leading to the holding of Policrates.
“I would stand back,” said Callimachus.
I did so. It would not do to be recognized. In my tunic, against my body, there was a mask of purple cloth. I had made it in Victoria before venturing west, there to join the Tina at the chain. It was identical to that which had been worn by the masked fellow who had tried to obtain the topaz from me in Victoria. I was certain that he had been the true courier of Ragnar Voskjard. I had thought that it might, in certain circumstances, prove useful. I did not, however, don it. I did not know if the courier would be expected to travel with the fleet of the Voskjard or not.
On the Tuka the rowers were singing, lustily. They wore an odd assortment of garbs. Insignia had been torn from clothing. Crests had been ripped from helmets, identificatory devices pried from the convex surfaces of shields. It was not a song of Ar they sang, but a river song, a song of pirates and brawlers, “The Ten Maids of Hammerfest,” in which is recounted the fates which befell these lovely lasses. I was mildly scandalized that the stout fellows of Ar, soldiers and gentlemen, as Gorean gentlemen go, would even know these lyrics, let alone sing them with such unabashed gusto. I gathered that those of Ar’s Station, as well as those of Port Cos and the other river towns, knew well what to do with women, providing, of course, they are put in collars.
I saw the flags run out on the stem-castle lines of the Tuka. The signals were those prescribed in the documents I had obtained from Reginald.
I saw answering flags run up on the walls of the holding of Policrates.
“Stay back,” warned Callimachus.
I stepped back, further, but maintained still a position whence I might gauge the issuance of the action.
The Tuka, under the command of Aemilianus, lay to now, before the great sea gate of iron bars. Her rowers were now silent.
On the stem castle of the Tuka stood Miles of Vonda, one who was not of the river towns, and one who was almost certain to be unknown to the denizens of the holding. When freed on the Tina he had first expressed his desire to be put ashore, when possible, to make his way to Turmus, but, upon learning that a certain slave, one called Florence, was confined within the high walls of the holding of Policrates he had begged instead to be granted a place on a bench and given a sword. These things had been granted him. He had permitted his beard to grow and, over one eye, had placed a patch.
I did not think that even Simak, who was a captain of Policrates, he who, with Reginald, had waylaid the Flower of Siba, should he still be in the holding, would be likely to be able to identify him, to detect in the bearded ruffian on the stem castle of the Tuka the former refugee landowner from Vonda. We thought it otherwise with Krondar, the fighting slave. It would be difficult, once seen, to ever forget the massively scarred, misshapen countenance of Krondar, a veteran of many bouts with the spiked leather, and the knife gauntlets, in Ar. Krondar, sword in hand, with many of Ar’s Station, crouched below decks in the hold of the Tuka.
My heart leaped. I saw a figure emerging on the walls. It was that of Kliomenes.
On the night of our escape from our encirclement on the river, we had set afire the Olivia, our slowest and clumsiest ship, and directed her eastward against the enemy’s shifting lines, opened and disarranged by the departure of the Tamira from her position. This, we had hoped, would create a diversion, and lead the pirates, in the confusion and darkness, to assume that we were moving eastward, and that the Olivia had been set aflame by their own forces. We had then lain to, in the movement of ships, pennons of the Voskjard on our lines should we fall within the light of passing lanterns. We had then withdrawn west to the chain, where we had salvaged the Tuka. At this point the Tamira, which had tenaciously kept with us, and despairing of support, desperately attacked. She had fallen prey to the swift Tais. Twice struck, she had soon sunk.
I had managed to rescue Miles of Vonda and Krondar, his slave, from the dark, wreckage-strewn water. Following the Tuka and the Tais, by prearranged plan, we in the Tina had then rowed southward along the chain until we came to the point where the northward-moving portion of the Voskjard’s fleet, that which we had once mistaken for the support vessels of Callisthenes, had cut the chain. We did not think that the pirate vessels had been brought on rollers about the beach south of the chain’s terminal pylons to the south. It had shown no sign of combat or damage. Thus, it had not been opposed by Callisthenes. Accordingly, unopposed it would have cut the chain rather than engage in the arduous task of beaching and moving over fifty ships some two or three hundred yards overland.
Our speculations in this matter proved correct and we used this break in the chain to move to its western side. Before we had left the vicinity of the encounter between the Tais and the Tamira, I had called loudly, as though to Callimachus, “We have made good our immediate escape! Let us hasten now to Tetrapoli, where our safety most securely may be sought!” There had been an answering cheer from the crew of the Tina, to which cheer the men, upon our signal, gave vent. This ruse, of course, was for the benefit of survivors of the Tamira, still in the water about, clinging to wreckage. When picked up by the vessels of the pirate fleet, turning westward, having discovered the ruse of the Olivia, they would report what they had heard.
To be sure, I did not think this small, second ruse was truly necessary. It would be assumed by those of the pirate fleet that we, if we could make it west of the chain, would surely fly to one of the western towns for refuge. Tetrapoli is the first major town west of the chain. It would never occur to them, nor probably even to Reginald, captain of the Tamira, if he had survived the clash with the Tais, what might be the true nature of our intentions.
At the least we would wish to garner a large force, one sufficient to exploit any possible advantage which might accrue to us in virtue of our possession of the documents stolen from the Tamira. By the time such a force might be raised in the river towns, of course, the fleet of the Voskjard would have reached the holding of Policrates, reinforced i
t, and participated in the development of new security arrangements. Too, I did not think Reginald would be eager to report that the documents had been stolen from his own ship, before its loss to the Tais. Now, if he had survived the clash with the Tais, he could always maintain that the documents had been lost with the ship, in his bold and illfated attempt to prevent our escape. I had little doubt that he would find it preferable to be commended for gallantry than cut to pieces for an inadvertent lapse or negligence.
Miles of Vonda, on the stem castle of the Tuka, and Kliomenes, on the walls of the holding, exchanged signals.
We had not, of course, struck out for Tetrapoli, nor any of the other river towns. Instead of proceeding northwest toward Tetrapoli, or toward any other of the western towns, we had, under sail and oars, proceeded directly northward along the chain. By dusk we had come to the northern break in the chain, that produced by the second portion of the Voskjard’s fleet. Utilizing this opening, the first produced by the buccaneers’ incursions, we turned east by southeast. We had little doubt that we would be pursued first, mistakenly, northwestward toward Tetrapoli. While vessels followed our putative course, and the balance of the pirate fleet, regrouping and repairing injuries, waited upon their return, we sped, in alternating shifts, day and night toward the holding of Policrates. My original plan, I was confident, had it not been for its betrayal, would have gained us admittance into the holding.
I could not hear the discourse which took place between Kliomenes and Miles of Vonda, but I knew, and well, its nature.
“What is it which becomes whole when stones are joined?”
“That ship which sails a topaz sea.”
“Where might be found a topaz sea?”
“Within four walls of rock.”
“And where might be found these walls of rock?”
“About a topaz sea.”
“Who owns the Vosk?”
“Those who own the ship that sails the topaz sea.”
There was a cheer from the pirates on the walls. Kliomenes spoke to someone beside him. That man signaled another man, near the west gate tower. He, in turn, called out to another, apparently within the tower. Kliomenes stepped back from the wall. My hair stood up on the back of my neck. I heard the groan and the creak of the great gate. I saw the chains grow taut and then, protesting, dripping water, dark, wet and glistening, I saw the great bars lifting out of the water.
Callimachus, near me, lifted and dropped his blade a bit in his scabbard. It was a warrior’s gesture. He may not even have been aware that he did it. It was as natural as the curling of the lip of a sea sleen, anticipatory to the baring of a fang, trembling, preparing to charge.
“Do not do that,” whispered Callimachus to me.
“What?” I asked.
“Loosening your sword,” he said. “That suggests that you expect to use it.”
“I did that?” I asked.
“Yes,” said he.
“I am sorry,” I said. I smiled to myself.
I wondered how many of the hands of the fellows, mostly of Ar’s Station, tensed on their oars in the Tuka, anticipating the reach below their benches to where their weapons lay concealed.
The sea gate rose. I was well aware of the force required to lift that weight.
Within the holding I could hear the sound of flutes, drums and kalikas. The melody, however, was slow and decorous.
Miles of Vonda had represented us, of course, as being the advance ships of the Voskjard’s fleet.
I looked upward as we moved slowly, rowing, sail down, under the great gate. It was impossible to pass beneath it without a sense of apprehension. I remembered how, the last time, it had plunged downward. It had shattered the ship on which I had ridden in two.
Then, following the Tuka, the Tais behind us, we were within the holding’s sea yard.
Kliomenes had descended from the wall. He was waiting on the broad walk, near the iron door leading within the holding, for Miles of Vonda. Lines were being cast from the Tuka to willing hands on the walk.
More than fifty slave girls, their hair coiffured high on their heads, clad in sleeveless, classic gowns of white silk, were aligned on the walk nearest the wall containing the iron door, that leading within to the halls of the fortress. To the music of the musicians, near the iron door, they performed a most decorous dance, slowly and gracefully lifting their arms and turning, facing first one side and then the other. In their hands they held baskets of flower petals. The dance was the sort that free maidens of a city might perform to honor and welcome visiting dignitaries, or the ambassador and his entourage, of a foreign city. Had their gowns not been sleeveless, and had they not been barefoot, and had their throats not been locked in collars, one might have mistaken them for free women. I could smell viands, too, cooking, the delicious odors of them emanating from the holding. A feast was being prepared.
I did not see either the slave, Beverly, or the slave, Florence, among them. Doubtless they, like many of the other slaves, were within the holding, preparing, under whips, the feast for their masters. I regarded the slaves. Even in such gowns and in the performance of movements so decorous I found them maddeningly exciting. How excruciatingly beautiful and desirable are women! How difficult it is even to look upon them and not scream with desire.
One could scarcely conceive of what such women would be later at the feast when, stripped or clad in rags, or perhaps insulted with a bit of silk, perhaps tied about their left ankle, they must, in the full exposure of their slavery, present themselves before strong men. I did not think their dances then would be so decorous, but would be such as to manifest the full sexual needs of women, under the command of men. I could conceive of them crawling on their knees, if so commanded, serving. I could conceive of them, as I had seen them at other Gorean feasts, their bodies stained with food and drink, caught by the hair, thrown on the low tables and raped by masters, and then raped again. They were naught but slaves. There was no service, pleasure or intimacy so delicious, so profound, so prosaic or so unexpected, that they must not render, and swiftly, at the merest whim of a master. They were, after all, naught but slaves.
I looked away from the girls. The door leading within the holding, and the walls, must be taken, swiftly.
The Tuka now drew alongside the walk. Mooring lines were now made fast. Miles of Vonda made ready to disembark. Kliomenes waited to greet him. The girls had now stopped dancing. In their left arms they cradled the baskets of flower petals. With their right hands they reached into the baskets of petals, to cast them on the walk, in the path of Miles of Vonda and of the men disembarking from the Tuka. The symbolism of the casting of such petals is perhaps reasonably clear. Feminine, and soft and beautiful, they are cast before the tread of men. Is the token in this not obvious? Men are the masters, the conquerors and victors. Beneath their feet, theirs, surrendered, lie the petals of flowers. In this we may see a lovely gesture, one of both welcome and submission, and one in which the order of nature is beautifully and sensitively acknowledged. But, of course, there are many ways in which the order of nature may be acknowledged. Another is that in which the woman, naked and collared, branded, under a man’s whip, writhes at his feet to the beating of drums.
“Welcome to the Masters,” sang the girls.
Miles of Vonda stepped upon the rail of the Tuka and he, and other men, leaped to the walk.
“Welcome to the Masters. Welcome to the Masters, all!” sang the girls, casting their petals on the walk before the men emerging from the Tuka.
I saw Kliomenes seizing the hand of Miles of Vonda. Aemilianus and his men must move to the door. The halls must be taken.
“All is yours,” sang the girls, “and we are of the all. Welcome, Masters, all!”
The Tina drew alongside the walk. We cast out our mooring lines. Scarcely were they fast when Callimachus, followed by myself, and others, leaped over the rail. Callimachus, and his men, must seize the walls.
“Welcome, Masters, welcome, all!�
� sang the girls.
Aemilianus, followed by men, moved swiftly, past startled pirates, toward the iron door.
“Hold, hold there!” cried Kliomenes, suddenly. He had seen Callimachus and myself. “There are spies among you!” he cried.
Then the sword of Miles of Vonda was at his throat. “Order your men to throw down their arms!” said Miles of Vonda. My sword then, too, threatened him, at his belly. The arms of Kliomenes were pinned behind him by two men. Slave girls screamed. Baskets of petals fell to the walk. They shrank back against the wall, armed men moving past them. “Throw down your arms,” called Miles of Vonda to the pirates on the walk, “or you are dead men!”
“Throw down your arms!” called Kliomenes, hoarsely. We saw Aemilianus, followed by a file of men, thrust through the iron door. Beyond it, almost instantly, we heard shouts, and then some swordplay, and running feet. Callimachus, followed by his file of men, raced up the steps toward the walls. I saw two pirates, cut from the steps, fall twisting and striking against stone to the sea yard below. A pirate leapt past me and fled down the walk. I pursued him. Then ahead of him another ship was at the walk’s edge.
“The Tais!” cried the pirate. Men leapt from her rail, ahead of him. He threw down his sword. I moved past him, through the men of the Tais, toward the wall. No pirates must escape. I raced toward the wall’s height. Swordplay there was sharp. I cut one man from the wall. I thrust a man through who was climbing through an opening in the parapet. I cut my way through men and swords.
I saw, to my alarm, pirates in the water, in the sea yard, swimming toward the gate. I forced my way into the west gate tower. I struck the sword from the hand of the pirate within and spun him about, seizing him by the neck. I thrust him toward the interior balcony, that opening into the chamber of the windlass.
“Order the lowering of the gate, the plunging lowering of the gate!” I said. “Lower the gate,” he cried. “Loose the gate! Loose the gate!” Cries of dismay rose from the water below, within the sea yard. With a rattling thunder of chain and iron the huge gate splashed downward into the water, its bars entering and anchoring themselves in their deep, subsurface sockets.