by John Norman
And then, hearing still the cries, the alarms in the night, I fell asleep. My last thought before the sweet darkness of sleep was the remembrance that I was on who had chosen ignominious slavery to the freedom of honorable death, and that I was alone.
I awakened stiff in the cold of the marsh dawn, hearing the movement of the wind through the dim sedges, the cries of an occasional marsh gant darting among the rushes. Somewhere in the distance I heard the grunting of tharlarion. High overhead, passing, I heard the squeals of four UIs, beating their way eastward on webbed, scaled wings. I lay there for a time, feeling the rence beneath my back, staring up a the gray, empty sky.
Then I crawled to my knees.
Telima was awake, by lay, of cours, where I had left her, bound.
I untied the girl and she, not speaking, painfully stretched, and rubbed her wrists and ankles. I gave her half of the food and water that we had left and, in silence, we ate.
She wiped the last of the crumbs of rence cake from her mouth with the back of her left hand. "You have only nine arrows left," she said.
"I do not think it matters," I said.
She looked at me, puzzled.
"Pole us to the barges," I said.
She unfastened the rence craft from the oar-pole which had served as a mooring and, slowly, drew up the pole from the mud of the marsh.
Then she poled us to the vicinity of the barges. They seemed lonely and gray in the morning light. Always keeping us shielded by thickets of rush and sedge, she circled the six barges, fastened together.
We waited for an Ahn or so and then I told her to move ot the sixth barge. I restrung the great bow, and put the nine arrows in my belt. In my scabbard was the short sword, carried even at the siege of Ar.
Very slowly we approached, almost drifting, the high, carved sternpost of the sixth barge.
We remained beneath it for several Ehn. Then, silently, I motioned Telima to scraped the oar-pole on the side of the barge, just touching the planks. She did so.
There was no response.
I then took the helmet from my things on the rence craft, that without insignia, with empty crest plate, and lifted it until it cleared the side of the barge. Nothing happened. I heard nothing.
I had Telima pole us back away from the barge and I stood regarding it, for some Ehn, the great bow quarter-drawn, arrow in string.
Then I motioned for her, silently, to move abeam of the prow of the sixth barge. There was a girl, naked, miserable, bound to the prow, but, tied as she was, she could not turn to see us. I do not even think she was aware of our presence. I put the bow back on the reeds of the rence craft, and removed the arrows from my belt.
I did not take up the shield for in climbing in would have encumbered me. I did place over my features the curved helmet, with its "Y"-like opening, of the Gorean warrior.
Then, slowly, making no sound, I lifted no more than my eyes over the side of the barge, and scanned the interior. Shielding myself from the fifth barge by the back of the prow of the sixth I climbed aboard. I looked about. I was its master.
"Make no sound," I said to the girl at the prow.
She almost cried out, terrified, and struggled to turn and see who stood behind her, but could not, bound, do so.
She was silent.
Slaves, chained at the benches, haggard, wild-eyed, looked up at me. "Be silent," said I to them.
There was only a rustle of chain.
The slaves from the rence islands, lying between the rowers' benches, like fish, bound hand and foot, had their heads to the stern of the vessel.
"Who is there?" asked one.
"Be silent," I said.
I looked over the side to Telima, and indicated that she should had me my shield, and, with difficulty, she did so.
I looked about more. Then I placed the shield by the rail, and extended my hand for the great bow, with its nine arrows.
Telima gave them to me.
Then I motioned that she should come aboard and, tying the rence craft fast to the small mooring cleat just abaft of the prow, she did so.
She now stood beside me on the foredeck of the sixth barge.
"The punt is gone," she said.
I did not respond to her. I had seen that the punt had been gone. Why else would I have come as early as I had to the barges?
I unstrung the great bow and handed it, with its arrows, to Telima. I took up my shield. "Follow me," I told her.
I knew she could not string the bow. I knew, further, that she could not, even were the weapon strung, draw it to the half, but further I knew that, at the range she might fire, the arrow, drawn even to the quarter, might penetrate my back. Accordingly she would follow me bearing the weapon unstrung.
I looked upon her, evenly and for a long time, but she did not drop her head, but met my gaze fully, and fearlessly.
I turned.
There were no men of Port Kar on the sixh barge, but, as I stepped from the foredeck of the sixth barge to the tiller deck of the fifth, I saw some of their bodies. In some were the arrows of the great bow. But many had apparently died of wounds inflicted with spear and sword. A number of others had doubtless been, in the darkness and confusion thrust overboard.
I indicated those who had met the arrows of the great bow.
"Get the arrows," I told Telima.
I had used simple-pile arrows, which may be withdrawn from the wound. The simple pile gives greater penetration. Had I used a broad-headed arrow, or the Tuchuk barbed arrow, one would, in removing it, commonly thrust the arrow completely through the wound, drawing it out feathers last. One is, accordingly, in such cases, less likely to lose the point in the body.
Telima, one by one, as we passed those that had fallen to the great bow, drew from their bodies the arrows, adding them to those she carried.
And so I, with my shield and sword, helmeted, followed by Telima, a rence girl, carrying the great bow, with its arrows, may of them now bloodied, taken from the bodies on those of Port Kar, moved from barge to barge.
On none of them did we find a living man of Port Kar.
Those that had lived had doubtless fled in the punt. In the darkness, presumably, they had seixed upon it and, either amidst the shouting and the blind fighting, or perhaps afterwards, in a terrifying quiet, the prelude perhaps to yet another putative attack, had climbed over the side and, poling away desperately, had made their escape, It was also possible that they had eventually realized that boarders were not among them or, if they had been, were no longer, but they did not wish to remain trapped in the marsh, to fall victim to thirts, or the string-flung arrows of the yellow bow. I supposed the punt could not carry many men, perhaps eight or ten, if dangerously crowded. I was not much concerned with how those of Port kar had determined who would passenger on the fugitive vessel. I expected that some of those dead on the barges had been, by their own kind, denied such a place.
We now stood on the foredeck of the first barge.
"They are all dead," said Telima, her voice almost breaking. "They are all dead!"
"Go to the tiller deck," I told her.
She went, carrying the great bow, with its arrows.
I stood on the foredeck, looking out over the marsh.
Above me, her back to the front of the curved prow of the barge, was bound the lithe, dark-haired girl, who I well remembered, she who had been so marvelously legged in the brief rence tunic. She was curved over the prow nude, her wrists cruelly bound behind it, and was further held tightly in place by binding fiber at her ankles, her stomach and throat. I recalled I had been bound rather similarly at the pole, when she had danced her contempt of me.
"Please," she begged, trying to turn her head, "who is it?"
I did not answer her, but turned, and left the foredeck, walking back along the gangway between the rowers' benches. She heard my footsteps retreating. The slaves at the benches did not stir as I passed between them.
I acended the steps of the tiller deck.
; There I looked down into Telima's eyes.
She looked up at me, joy on her face. "Thank you, Warrior," she whispered. "Bring me binding fiber," I said.
She looked at me.
I indicated a coil of binding fiber that lay near the foot of the rail, below the tiller deck, on my left.
She put down the great bow, with its arrows, on the tiller deck. She brought me the coil of binding fiber.
I cut three lengths.
"Turn and cross your wrists," I told her.
With the first length of binding fiber I tied her wrists behind her; I then carried her and placed her, on her knees, on the second of the broad steps leading up to the tiller deck, two steps below that in which I fixed the chair of the oar-master; she now knelt below that chair, and it its left; there, with the second length of fiber, I tied together her ankles; with the third length I ran a leash from her throat to the mooring cleat on the aft larboard side of the barge, that some five yards forward of the sternpost.
I then sat down cross-legged on the tiller deck. I counted the arrows. I now had twenty-five. Several of the warriors struck by the arrows had plunged into the water; others had been thrown overboard by their fellows. Of the twenty-five, eighteen were sheaf arrows and the remaining seven were flight arrows. I put the bow beside me, and laid the arrows out on hte planking of the tiller deck. I then rose to my feet and began to make my way, barge by barge, to the sixth barge.
Again the slaves, chained at their benches, facing the stern of each barge, did not so much as move as I passed among them.
"Give me water," whispered a bound rencer.
I continued on my way.
As, I walked from barge to barge I passed, at each prow, tied above my head, a bound, nude girl. On the second prow of the six barges, only a few feet from the tiller dec of the first barge, it had been the tall, gray-eyed girl, who had held marsh vine against my arm, she who had danced with such secruciating slowness before me at the pole. On the third prow it had been the shorter, dark-haired girl, she who had carried the net over her left shoulder. I remembered that she, too, had dnaced before me, and, as had the others, spit upon me.
Bound as they were to the curved prows of the barges these captives could see only the sky over the marsh. They could hear only my footsteps passing beneath them, and perhaps the small movement of the Gorean blad in its sheath. As I walked back, from barge to barge, I walked as well among bound rencers, heaped and tied like fish among the benches of slaves.
I wore the heavy Gorean helmet, concealing my features. None recognized the warrior who walked among them. The helmet bore no insignia. Its crest plate was empty.
No one spoke. I heard not even the ratle of a chain. I heard only my footsteps, and the occasional sounds of the morning in the marsh, and the movement of the Gorean blade in my sheath.
When I reached the tiller deck of the sixth barge I looked back, surveying the barges.
They were mine now.
Somewhere I heard a child crying.
I went forward to the foredeck of the sixth barge and there freed the rence craft of its tether to the mooring cleat and climbed over the side, dropping into the small craft. I pulled the oar-pole from the mud at its side, and then, standing on the wide, sturdy little craft which Telima had fashioned from the rence I had gathered, I poled my way back to the first barge.
The slaves, those at the benches, and those who lay bound between them, as I passed the barges, were silent.
I refastened the rence craft at the first barge, to the starboard mooring cleat just abaft of the prow.
I then climbed aboard and walked back to the tiller deck, where I took my seat on the chair of the oar-master.
Telima, haltered, bound hand and foot, kneeling on the second broad step on the stairs leading up to the tiller deck, looked up at me.
"I hate rencers," I told her.
"Is that why you have saved them," she asked, "from the men of Port Kar?" I looked at her in fury.
"There was a child," I said, "one who was once kind to me."
"You have done all this," she asked, "because a child was once kind to you?" "Yes," I said.
"And yet now," she said, "you are being cruel to a child, one who is bound and hungry, or thirsty."
It was true. I could hear a child crying. I now could place that the sound came from the second barge.
I rose from the chair of the oar-master, angrily. "I have you all," I told her, "and the slaves at the benches as well! If I wish, I will take you all to Port Kar, as you are, and sell you. I am on man armed and strong among many chained and bound. I am master here!"
"The child," she said, "is bound. It is in pain. It is doubtless thirsty and hungry."
I turned and made my way to the second barge. I found the child, a boy, perhaps of five years of age, blond like many of the rencers, and blue-eyed. I cut him free, and took him in my arms.
I found his mother and cut her free, telling her to feed the child and give water to it.
She did, and then I ordered them both back to the tiller deck of the first barge, making them stand on hte rowing deck, below the steps of the tiller deck, to my left near the rail, where I might see them, where they might not, unnoticed, attempt to free others.
I sat again on the chair of the oar-master.
"Thank you," said Telima.
I did not deign ot respond to her.
In my heart there was hatred for the rencers, for they had made me slave. More than this they had been my teachers, who had brougth me to cruelly learn myself as I had no wish to know myself. They had cost me the concept that I had taken for my reality; they had torn from me a bright image, an illusion, precious and treasured, and unwarranted reflection of suppositions and wishes, not examined, which I had taken to be the truth of my identity. They had torn me from myself. I had begged to be a slave. I had chosen ignominious slavery over the freedom of honorable death. In the marshes of the delta of the Vosk I had lost Tarl Cabot. I had learned that I was, in my heart, of Port Kar.
I drew forth the Gorean blade from its scabbaord and, sitting on the chair of the oar-master, laid it across my knees.
"I am Ubar here," I said.
"Yes," said Telima, "here you are Ubar."
I looked down to the slave at the starboard side, he at the first thwart, who would be first oar.
As I, in the chair of oar-master, faced the bow of the vessel, he, as slave at the benches, faced its stern, and the chair of the oar-master, that which now served me as Ubar's throne, in this small wooden country lost in the marshes of the Vosk's delta.
We looked upon one another.
Both of his ankles were shackled to the beam running lengthwise of the ship and bolted to the deck; the chain on the shackles ran through the beam itself, through a circular hole cut in the beam and lined with an iron tube; the slaves behind him, as the beam, or beams, passed beneath their thwarts, were similarly secured. The arrangements for the slaves on the larboard side of the barge were, of course, identical.
The man was barefoot, and wore only a rag. His hair was tangled and matted; it had been shearted at the base of his neck. About his heck was hammered an iron collar.
"Master?" he asked.
I looked upon him for some time. And then I said, "How long have you been a slave?"
He looked at me, puzzled. "Six years," he said.
"What were you before?" I asked.
"An eel fisher," he said.
"What city?"
"The Isle of Cos," he said.
I looked to another man.
"What is your caste?" I asked.
"I am of the peasants," he said proudly. It was a large, broad man, with yellow, shaggy hair. His hair, too, was sheared at the base of his neck; he, too, wore a collar of hammered iron.
"Do you have a city?" I asked.
"I had a free holding," he said proudly.
"A Home Stone?" I asked.
"Mine own," he said, "I my hut."
"Near what city," I ask
ed, "did your holding lie?"
"Near Ar," said he.
I looked out, over the marsh. Then I again regarded the eel fisher, who was first oar.
"Were you a good fisherman?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "I was."
Again I regarded the yellow-haired giant, of the peasants.
"Where is the key to your shackles kept?" I asked.
"It hangs," said he, "in the arm of the chair of the oar-master."
I examined the broad arm of the chair, and, in the the right arm, I found a sliding piece of wood, which I slid forward, it extending beyond the chair arm. Inside was a cavity, containing some rags, and binding fiber, and, on a hook, a heavy metal key.
I took the key and unlocked teh shackles of the eel fisher and the peasant. "You are free men," I told them.
They did not get up for a long timem but sat there, looking at me.
"You are free men," I said, "no longer slaves."
Suddenly, with a great laugh, the yellow-haired giant, the peasant, leaped to his feet. He struck himself on the chest. "I am Thurnock!" he cried. "Of the Peasants!"
"You are, I expect," I said, "a master of the great bow."
"Turnock," he said, "draws a great bow well."
"I knew it would be so," said I.
The other man had now stood easily, stepping from the bench.
"My name is Clitus," he said. "I am a fisherman. I can guide ships by the stars. I know the net and trident."
"You are free," I said.
"I am your man," cried the giant.
"I, too," said the fisherman. "I, too, am your man."
"Find among the bound slaves, the rencers," I said, "the one who is called Ho-Hak."
"We shall," said they.
"And bring him before me," I said.
"We shall," said they.
I would hold court.
Telima, kneeling bound below me, on the left, the binding fiber on her throat, tethered to the mooring cleat, looked up at me. "What will be the pleasure of my Ubar with his captives?" she asked.