Mariners of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Lord Okimoto handed the glass of the Builders back to the guardsman.

  He then turned to Turgus, subordinate to Lord Nishida. “Have Aëtius instruct the helmsman to bring the ship closer to shore, a half pasang.”

  I detected a subtlety here.

  Lord Nishida, on the other hand, did not object.

  “Is this wise?” asked Lord Nishida.

  “Are we to put to?” inquired Turgus.

  “No,” said Lord Okimoto. “Continue our present course.”

  “Why so close?” inquired Lord Nishida.

  “It is my calculation,” said Lord Okimoto, “from the charts, that we have abeam the lands which were once those of Lord Temmu.”

  “The ancestral lands,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Lost early in the war,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “Fortunes wax and wane,” said Lord Nishida.

  “In any event, it is from this coastline that the signal is to rise,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “Secretly, doubtless,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Doubtless,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “I fear the war goes not well,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Something may be told from the signal.”

  “Or,” said Lord Nishida, “if there is no signal.”

  “Yes,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “Why so close?” asked Lord Nishida.

  “There will be no signal,” said Lord Okimoto, “if our presence is unnoted.”

  “So close,” said Lord Nishida, “any might note our presence.”

  “It is a risk,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “Surely,” said Lord Nishida, “you will not put to, and risk a landing.”

  “No,” said Lord Okimoto, “not without the signal.”

  I did not understand much of this conversation.

  I did gather that some uncertainty attached to certain political and military matters.

  In a quarter of an Ahn, we began to see more detail abeam, a steep, sandy beach, with hills and trees beyond it.

  I estimated we were something like a half pasang offshore. Our course continued north.

  That we were closer to shore, whatever might be its advantages or disadvantages, did increase the tension on board, and various crew members, acting as spokesmen for one group or another, from one deck or another, urged minor officers to petition for a landing. More Pani now appeared on deck, armed, as they always were. Lords Nishida and Okimoto had never disarmed their own men. The Pani, of course, were far outnumbered by the armsmen and mariners. Too, I had little doubt but what a number of weapons were concealed about the ship. Certainly several had never been recovered, for placement in the weapon rooms.

  I muchly feared disorder.

  When night came, we anchored.

  I gathered this was a precaution, taken to minimize the chances of missing a possible signal.

  * * * *

  It was now the next day, the second day of the sixth month, the day following the first sight of land.

  We were still offshore, something like a half pasang, moving north.

  As earlier, slaves had been freed of their chains, and many enjoyed the liberty of the deck.

  I had seen Iole, Thetis, Alcmene, Pyrrha, Procris, and many others about. I also saw Alcinoë. I did not order her back to her chain. I enjoyed looking at her, in her tunic, the minimal tunic allowed to the Kasra girls. How amusing, I thought, that the former Lady Flavia of Ar should be so clad. To be sure, she did not seem to object, and was, often enough, in my vicinity. These were all ship slaves. Several privately owned slaves, too, were on deck, such as Lord Nishida’s Saru. I also noted Cabot’s Cecily, and Pertinax’s Jane. ‘Jane’ is a barbarian name, like ‘Cecily’, but the woman herself, as I had learned, had had the benefits of civilization. Perhaps she had been given the name because it pleased her barbarian master, or, perhaps, as a punishment, that she would be thought of as, and treated no differently from, a barbarian slave.

  I also speculated, as I had before, as to what might be the motivation of allowing so many slaves, mere ship slaves, such liberty.

  Lords Nishida and Okimoto had been on the open deck, near the port rail, since the seventh Ahn. Each had at their disposal a glass of the Builders. Each had several guards at hand. I think they remained amidships not only to better monitor the fevers of the day, less accessible from the stem castle or stern castle, but to dispatch their guardsmen in case of need, perhaps to quell some disorder, or batten down hatches, keeping many below decks.

  It was my impression, given the increasing restlessness of the men, which might approach the level of danger, given the excitements of the sight of land, that they thought it might be unwise, unless clearly called for, to order a clearing of the deck. We had been nearly a year at sea and the discipline of the armsmen, now that land was near, hung by little more than a thread.

  Tyrtaios continued to urge a landing. I suspected he genuinely dreaded another mutiny.

  “If a landing is made,” said Lord Okimoto, “all treasure must remain on board.”

  “Of course,” said Tyrtaios.

  It was my understanding that a dialect of Gorean was spoken at the World’s End, that the Priest-Kings had seen to this. By their mysterious power, and secret sky ships, it seems they had long ago placed Initiates amongst the Pani, perhaps centuries ago, who had taught them Gorean. These Initiates, as the legends went, had sought to exploit their prestige in an attempt to secure power, and had been done away with. The Priest-Kings, on the other hand, by various manifestations of their power, doubtless the Flame Death, and such, had made clear the wisdom of retaining Gorean. It was written however, amongst the Pani, in an unfamiliar script, or set of signs, as it is, as well, I understand, in the Tahari. Whereas a variety of languages are spoken on Gor, Gorean, as you know, is almost universal. The common wisdom on such matters is that the Priest-Kings favor a common language, as a means to more easily communicate their views to humans, for example, with respect to the technology and weapon laws. It is apparently simpler to do this in one language than in several. Linguistic drift, at least on the continent, is managed by the standardization promulgated in scribal conferences held during the great fairs, held four times annually in the vicinity of the Sardar. I recalled that Lord Nishida had asked me, early in the voyage, if I could understand his Gorean. I could, though it was somewhat different. To be sure, there are many dialects of Gorean. I am told I have a Cosian accent, but I am not aware of this, or not much aware of it. But it is doubtless so. Certainly I would not deny it. One is seldom aware of one’s own accent. As Alcinoë suggested, long ago in the cell, is it not the others who always have an accent?

  Lord Okimoto clearly feared a mass desertion, particularly if the armsmen and mariners might depart with their packs filled with treasure.

  The armsmen and mariners, however, as it later became clear, would not have been well advised to put such plans into effect, at least in the territories at hand.

  Slaves, of course, another form of treasure, however desperate they might be to set foot on land, however pathetically they might plead, would remain on board, as well.

  I then suspected the motivation for the unprecedented liberty that had of late been accorded to our shapely kajirae. Their display was to incite the interest of the men, and make their desertion less likely. Whereas I had no interest in desertion, had I any, I would not have wished to leave the ship without at least one of its slaves thonged and on my leash, perhaps Alcinoë, though I had no interest in her. To be sure, should I return her to Ar, I might collect a nice bounty on her, for she had once been the Lady Flavia, a traitress, once even the confidante of Talena, the muchly sought, false Ubara. I suspected that there were few slaves on board who had not caught the eye of one or more of the men. Aeacus, for example, I was sure, would not have minded having the lovely Iole squirming in his slave straps. There was something rather deceitful or meretricious in all this, of course, as the Pani had surely not brought these goods across the vast
width of turbulent, green Thassa without plans for their disposition. Indeed, save for a brief time early in the voyage, these girls had been kept muchly away from the men, to the later annoyance of the men, and the misery and anguish of many of the slaves, pulling at their chains, tethered in place, their bodies denied the caress of masters, their hearts the ecstasy of the yielded slave.

  It was in the late afternoon, shortly past the fifteenth Ahn, when a cry went up and I rushed, with others, to the port rail. Ashore, atop what appeared to be the left side of narrow defile, leading between hills into a wooded area, there was a narrow, ascending trail of reddish smoke. A moment later, near it, another narrow, ascending trail of smoke stood out against the sky, over the defile and woods. The second trail of smoke was yellow.

  “Lord Temmu holds the shore,” said Lord Okimoto, his glass of the Builders trained on the streaming smoke.

  “His fortress stands,” said Lord Nishida, his own glass trained, as well, on the smoke.

  “Put to,” said Lord Okimoto.

  This was signaled to Aëtius.

  We heard anchors rattling. Sails were slackened, and began to be furled.

  “Look!” called a man.

  “What is the meaning of that?” asked Tyrtaios.

  A third spume of smoke rose now toward the sky. This column of smoke was clearly green.

  Each of the streamers of smoke was now vanishing, drifting away.

  On continental Gor, green is the caste color of the Physicians. I did not know its meaning here.

  “Safety,” said Lord Okimoto to Tyrtaios.

  A cry of pleasure went up from men gathered about, and the motivation of this cry was quickly broadcast about the ship.

  “Let us put forth the galleys, the small boats,” said Tyrtaios.

  Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, commander of the tarn cavalry, had now joined Lords Okimoto and Nishida at the rail. Aëtius, who handled the daily management of the ship, was on the stern-castle deck, looking forward.

  “I have seen three columns of smoke,” said Tarl Cabot.

  “We expected to see a single column,” said Lord Nishida, “that of yellow, which would signify that the castle of Lord Temmu still stands, that it is not yet taken. To be sure, we did not know that even that would be seen.”

  “We feared,” said Lord Okimoto, “that we were too late, that all was lost.”

  “The red column,” said Lord Nishida, “we did not expect to see. It signifies that we hold the shore, that Lord Temmu has retaken ground. We rejoice.”

  “The third smoke,” said Lord Okimoto, “that of green, of safety, means that a landing may be effected.”

  “That is what has so inspirited the men,” said Lord Nishida.

  Dozens of men had climbed on the rail, ascended the ratlines, or clung to the masts, that they might see the better.

  “What I do not understand,” said Lord Nishida, “is why there should be both a red and green column. If we hold the shore, it is safe, and the green column is unnecessary.”

  “It confirms the red column,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “Launch the galleys, the small boats,” men cried.

  “The green column,” said Lord Nishida, “might indicate that an area is safe to approach, even though it might lie in the territory of Lord Yamada, no enemy being about, or that a passage has been cleared, or a castle may be approached, or such, and thus one might have green without red, but it would be unusual to have both green and red.”

  “Yes,” said Lord Okimoto, “unusual, but scarcely a cause for concern.”

  “Yellow,” said Lord Nishida to Cabot, “indicates that the holding of Lord Temmu stands.”

  “It would be difficult to take his castle,” said Lord Okimoto. “It is a mighty holding.”

  “If we hold the shore,” said Lord Nishida, thoughtfully, “it would seem quite likely that the castle of Lord Temmu would still stand.”

  “Thus,” said Cabot, “it seems only one signal, the red, would suffice.”

  “Precisely, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.

  “All signs,” said Lord Okimoto, “are auspicious.”

  “It seems so,” said Lord Nishida.

  There was much clamoring amongst the men.

  “I do not think they can be held longer,” said Tyrtaios.

  Turgus, who was liaison to Lord Nishida, looked about, with apprehension.

  “Landing parties may be formed,” said Lord Okimoto.

  This decision was met with cries of approval.

  “Order is to be maintained,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “Certainly,” said Tyrtaios.

  “Dispatch a scouting party,” said Cabot.

  “The smoke was red,” said Lord Okimoto, patiently.

  “Nonetheless,” said Cabot.

  “The signals are secret,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “We will not be able to restrain the men,” said Tyrtaios.

  Already men had rushed below decks, to obtain access to the three remaining nested galleys, and the numerous tiny, tiered, ship’s boats.

  Pani looked to Lords Nishida and Okimoto. Were they to use their swords?

  To be sure, such an act would doubtless have cost dozens of men, and forever divided the Pani from the mariners and armsmen. As Tyrtaios had feared, war would betide the great ship. Too, the mission of the Pani, whatever it might be, would crumble.

  “No,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “The men must be armed,” said Lord Nishida.

  “It is not necessary,” said Lord Okimoto.

  But Tarl Cabot had ascended the ratlines some ten feet, to where he might be clearly seen. “Open the weapon rooms!” he called.

  Many were the cheers.

  Men hastened to do his bidding.

  He would not send men ashore unarmed.

  Lord Okimoto was not pleased. His eyes narrowed, unpleasantly. “The commander,” he said to Lord Nishida, “exceeds his authority.”

  “I shall reprimand him,” said Lord Nishida.

  “The commander,” said Lord Okimoto, “is circumspect.”

  “He knows war,” said Lord Nishida.

  “The smoke was red,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “True,” said Lord Nishida.

  “The signals are secret,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “They were,” said Lord Nishida.

  “I see,” said Lord Okimoto.

  Men were hurrying below decks, to the weapon rooms.

  “Who will disarm them?” asked Lord Okimoto.

  “Many are secretly armed now,” said Lord Nishida. “If we deny them arms, will they not distrust us, that we would send them so ashore?”

  “Perhaps,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “A force of our men, fifty, divided between us, will go first,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Very well,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “We will keep a goodly force on board,” said Lord Nishida. “As some return, others may go.”

  “No treasure is to go ashore,” said Lord Okimoto.

  “No,” said Lord Nishida, “nor slaves.”

  The slaves, save some, kept below, were on deck, and this intelligence was received with dismay. “Please, Masters!” wept many. They knelt piteously, and extended their hands to mariners. They, too, longed to go ashore, to feel water about their ankles, to feel sand beneath their bared feet, to touch a stone, grass, a living tree. There were moans amongst them, and sobbing. Many stood by the rail, looking toward the land, their cheeks stained with tears. Those who had been kept below, even during the days of maximum liberty, had been mostly those who, when permitted on deck, had always been hooded.

  It seemed unlikely to me that the hooded slaves, however beautiful they might be, would be that much more beautiful than their chain sisters, in either the Venna or Kasra keeping areas. The concealment of beauty, of course, might be only one motivation for hooding a slave. The usual motivation for hooding a slave is to increase one’s control over the slave. A hooded slave, for example, i
s likely to be disoriented, confused, fearful, and helpless. Sometimes an unpopular, haughty free woman is surprised and hooded, and put by several young men to slave use, after which she is returned to her robes and freedom. Thereafter, she may speculate, encountering one young fellow or another, here or there, at one time or another, whether he is one, or not, who has enjoyed her. Can she live with this? Is that fellow smiling? What is the meaning of that look, by another, or does it have a meaning? When any fellow’s eyes are upon her she seizes her veils and holds them more closely about her face. Do other free women suspect how she is now different from them? Could they possibly know? That she, though a free woman, has been subjected to slave use? How they would shun and scorn her, if they knew. Whose pleasure has she served? That of several, as might have a slave, but she knows not one of them. Can she endure this shame, this humiliation, this uncertainty, being the one who does not know, while others look upon her, and perhaps remember, and know? Is not a paga girl, in an alcove, serving her master of the Ahn, more fortunate? She is likely to be well aware of who it is who is putting her to use. Too, the fellow is likely to want the slave to be well aware of who it is who is seeing to it that she endures the lengthy and unspeakable raptures of her bondage. It is he whom she, helpless, clutching him, must beg for more. And, too, the free woman, to her chagrin, can recall the incipient feelings in her body, and her gasping, and how her small arms touched, and then held, and then clutched, gratefully, the body in whose power she lay. How they had laughed, when a spasm, to her shame, had rocked her. Then, having been given a taste, however brief, of what it might be to be subject to the mastery, she was returned to freedom, to live as she could, the life of a free woman. Such a woman, commonly, in her misery and loneliness, in her shame and humiliation, in her uncertainty and confusion, begins to roam the high bridges, frequent lonely streets, and wander unescorted outside the city gates. She courts the collar. She seeks it. She beseeches it. She weeps with rapture as she is stripped and bound.