by John Norman
This delighted the crowds, who cried out their pleasure.
"No," she begged. "Not talenders."
"Yes," said I, "talenders."
The talender is a flower which, in the Gorean mind, is associated with beauty and passion. Free Companions, on the Feast of their Free Companionship, commonly wear a garland of talenders. Sometimes slave girls, having been subdued, but fearing to speak, will fix talenders in their hair, that their master may know that they have at last surrendered themselves to him as helpless love slaves. to put talenders in the neck ropes of the girl at the prow, of course, was only mockery, indicative of her probable disposition as pleasure slave.
"what are you going to do with me?" she asked.
"Whe the treasures have been checked, tallied, and appraised, which should take some four or five weeks," I told her, "you, with your maidens, in the chains of slave girls, will be displayed, together with samples of, and full accountings of, the other treasures, before the Council of Captains."
"We are booty?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Apparently then, Captain," said she, icily, "you have perhaps a full month of triumph before you."
"Yes," I said, waving again to the crowds, "that is true."
"What will you do with us after we have been displayed before the council of captains?" she asked.
"That," I told her, "you may wait until then to find out."
"I see," she said, and turned her head away.
More flowers fell, and there was more cheering, and hooting and jeers for the bound girl.
Had there ever been triumph such as this in Port Kar, I asked myself, and answered, doubtless never, and smiled, for I knew that this was but the beginning. The climax would occur in some four or five weeks in the formal presentations before the Council, and in the receipt of its highest accolade as worthy captain of Port Kar.
"Hail Port Kar!" I cried to the crowds.
"Hail Port Kar!" they cried. "And hail Bos, Admiral of Port Kar!"
"Hail Bosk!" cried my retainers. "Hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!"
It was now five weeks after my triumphal entry into Port Kar.
In this very afternoon the formal presentations and accountings of the victory and its plunder had taken place in the chamber of the Council of Captains. I rose to my feet and lifted my goblet of paga, acknowledging the cries of my retainer.
The goblets clashed and we drank.
It had been five weeks of entertainments, of fetes, of banquets and honors piled one upon another. The treasures taken were rich beyond our wildest expectations, beyond the most remote calculations of our most avaricious scribes. And now, in this very afternoon, my glories had been climaxed in the chamber of the Council of Captains, in which had taken place the formal presentations and accountings of the victory and its pluder, in which had taken place the commendation of the Council for mh deeds and the awardings of its most coveted accolade, that of worthy captain of Port Kar.
Even now, in my feast of celebration, hours after the meeting of the council, I still wore about my neck the broad scarlet ribbon with its pedant medallion of gold, bearing the design of a lateen-rigged tarn ship, the initials in cursive Gorean script of Council of Captains of Port Kar in a half curve beneath it. I threw down more paga.
I indeed was a worthy captain of Port Kar.
I smiled to myself. As the holds of the round ships, one by one, had been emptied, appraised and recorded, hundreds of men, most of them unknown to me, had applied to me for clientship. I had received dozens of offers of partnership in speculative and commercial ventures. Untold numbers of men had found their way to my holding to see their various plans, proposals and ideas. My guards had even turned away the mad, half-blind shipwright, Tersites, with his fantastic recommendations for the improvement of tarn ships, as though ships so beautiful, so switft, and vicious, might be improved.
Meanwhile, while I had been plying the trade of pirate, the military and poitaical ventures of the Council itself, within the city, had proceeded well. For one thing, they had now formed a Council Guard, with its destinct livery, that was now recognized as a force of the Council, and, in effect, as the police of the city. The Arsenal Guard, however, perhaps for traditional reasons, remained a separate body, concerned with the arsenal, and having jurisdiction within its walls. For another thing, the four Ubars, Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, their powers considerably reduced during the time of the unsuccessful coup of Henrius Sevarius, had apparently resigned themselves to the supremacy of the Council in the city. At any rate, for the first time in several years, there was now a single, effective sovereign in Port Kar, the Council. Accordingly, its word, and, in effect, its word alone, was law. A similar consolidation and unification had taken place, of course, in the realm of inspections and taxations, penalties and enforcements, codes and courts. For the first time in several years one could count on the law being the same on both sides of a given canal. Lastly, the forces of Henrius Sevarius, under the regency of Claudius, once of Tyros, had been driven by the Council forces from all their holdings, save one, a huge fortress, its walls extending into the Tamber itself, sheltering the some two dozen ships left him. This fortress, it seems, might be taken by storm, but the effort would be costly. Accordingly the Council, ringing it with double walls on the land side and blockading it with arsenal ships by sea, chose to wait. The time that the fortress might still stand was now most adequately to be charted by the depth of its siege reservior, and by the fish that might swim within her barred sea gates, and teh mouthfuls of bread stored in her towers. The Council, for the most part, in her calculations, ignored the remaining fortress of Sevarius. It was, in effect, the prison of those penned within. One of those therein imprisoned, of course, in the opinion of the Council, was Henrius Sevarius, the boy, himself, the Ubar. I looked up. The slave boy, Fish, had emerged from the kitchen, holding over his head on a large silver platter a whole roasted tarsk, steaming and crisped, basted, shining under the torchlight, a larma in its mouth, garnished with suls and Tur-pah.
The men cried out, summoning him to their table.
It had been on one side, a land side, of that last remaining fortress of Henrius Sevarius, that Lysias, Henrak, and others had emerged from a postern, carrying the heavy sack which they had hurled inot the canal, that sack from which I had saved the boy.
Fish put down the whole roasted tarsk before the men. He was sweating. He wore a single, simple rep-cloth tunic. I had had a plate collar hammered about his neck. I had had him branded.
The men ordered him away again, that he might fetch yet another roasted tarsk from the spit which he had been turning slowly over the coal fires during the afternoon. He sped away.
He had not been an easy slave to break to his collar. The kitch master had had to beat him often.
One day, after he had been three weeks slave in my house, the door to my audience chamber had suddenly burst open, and he had stumbled in, breathless, the kitchen master but two steps behind him, with a heavy switch.
"Forgive me!" cried the kitchen master.
"Captain!" demanded the boy.
The kitchen master, in fury, grabbed him by the hair and raised his arm to thrash him.
I gestrued that he not do so.
The kitchen master stepped back, angry.
"What do you want?" I had asked the boy.
"To see you, Captain," said he.
"Master!" corrected the kitchen master.
"Captain!" cried the boy.
"Normally," I said to the boy, "a kitche slave petitions to enter his master's presence through the kitchen master."
"I know," said the boy.
"Why did you not do so?" I asked.
"I have," said the boy defiantly, "many times."
"And I," said the kitchen master, "have refused him."
"What is his request?" I asked the kitchen master.
"He would not tell me," said the kitchen master.
"How then," I aske
d the boy, "did you expect the kitchen master to consider whether or not you should be permitted to enter my presence?"
The boy looked down. "I would speak with you alone," he said.
I had no objection to this, but, of course, as master of the hosue, I intended to respect the prerogatives of the kitchen master, who, in the kitchen, must speak with my own authority.
"If you speak," I said, "you will do so before Tellius."
The boy looked angrily at the kitchen master.
Then the boy looked down, and clenched his fists. Then agonized, he looked up at me. "I would learn weapons," he whispered.
I was stunned. Even Tellus, the kitchen master, could say nothing.
"I would learn weapons," said the boy, again, this time boldly.
"Slaves are not taught weapons," I said.
"Your men," said he, "Thurncock, Clitus, and others, have said that they will teach me, should you give your permission." He looked down.
The kitchen master snorted with the absurdity of the idea. "You would do better,"said he, "to learn the work of the kitchen."
The boy looked up angrily. "I am not stupid," he said.
I looked at the boy, absently, as though I could not place him.
"What is your name?" I asked.
He looked at me. Then he said, "-Fish."
I permitted myself to betray that I now remembered the name. "Yes," I said, "-Fish."
"Do you like your name?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"What would you call yourself," I asked, "if you had your choice of names?" "Henrius," said he.
The kitchen master laughed.
"That is a proud name for a kitchen boy," I commented.
The boy looked at me proudly.
"It might," I said, "be the name of a Ubar."
The boy looked down angrily.
I knew that Thurnock and Clitus, and others, had taken a liking to the boy. He had often, I had heard, snuck away from the kitchen to observe the ships in the courtyard and the practices of men with weapons. The kitchen master had had his hands full with the boy, there was no doubting that. Tellius had, and deserved, my sympathies.
I looked at the boy, the blondish hair and the frank, earnest eyes, blue, pleading.
He was a spare, strong-limbed lad, and perhaps might, if trained, be able to handle a blade.
Only three in my holding, other than himself, knew his true identity. I knew him, and so, too did Thurnock and Clitus. The boy himself, of course, did not know that we knew who he was. Indeed, he, a price on his head from the Council, had excellent reasons fro concealing his true identity. And yet, in a sense, he had no true identity other than that of Fish, the slave boy, for he had been enslaved and a slave has no identity other than that which his master might care to give him. In Gorean law a slave is an animal: before the law he has no rights; he is dependent on his master not only for his name for for his very life; he may be disposed of by the master at any time and in any way the master pleases.
"The slave boy, Fish," I said to the kitchen master, "has come unbidden into my presence and he has not, in my opinion, shown sufficient respect for the master of my kitchen."
The boy looked at me, fighting back tears.
"Accordingly," I said, "he is to be beaten severely."
The boy looked down, his fists clenched.
"And beginning tomorrow," I said, "if his work in the kitchen improves to your satisfaction, and only under that condition, he is to be permitted one Ahn a day to train with weapons."
"Captain!" cried the boy.
"And that Ahn," I said, "is to be made up in extra work in the evening." "Yes Captain," said the kitchen master.
"I will work for you, Tellius," said the boy. "I will work better than any for you!"
"All right, Lad," said Tellius. "We shall see."
The boy looked at me. "Thank you," he said, "Captain."
"Master," corrected Tellius.
"May I not," asked the boy of me, "address you as Captain?"
"If you wish," I said.
"Thank you," said he, "Captain."
"Now begone, Slave," said I.
"Yes, Captain!" he cried and turned, followed by the kitchen master. "Slave!" I called.
The boy turned.
"If you show skills with weapons," I said, "perhaps I shall change your name." "Thank you, Captain," he said.
"Perhaps we could call you Pulius," I suggested, "-or Tellius."
"Spare me!" cried Tellius.
"Or," I said, "Henrius."
"Thank you, Captain," said the boy.
"But," said I, "to have such a name, which is a proud name, one would have to handle weapons very well."
"I shall," he said. "I shall!"
Then the boy turned and ran joyfully from the room.
The kitche master looked at me and grinned. "Never," said he, "Captain, did I see a slave run more eagerly to a beating."
"Nor did I," I admitted.
Now, at my victory feast, I drank more paga. That, I told myself, letting a boy train with weapons, have been a moment of weakness. I did not expect I would allow myself more such moments.
I observed the boy bringing in yet another roasted tarsk.
No, I told myself, I should not have shown such a lenience to a slave. I would not again allow myself such moments of weakness.
I fingered the broard scarlet ribbon and the medallion, pendant about my neck, brearing its tarn ship and initials, those of the Council of Captains of Port Kar.
I was Bosk, Pirate, Admiral of Port Kar, now perhaps one of the richest and most powerful men on Gor.
No, I would not again show such moments of weakness.
I thrust out the silver paga goblet, studded with rubies, and Telima, standing beside my thronelike chair, filled it. I did not look upon her.
I looked down the table, to where Thurnock, with his slave Thura, and Clitus, with his slave, Ula, were drinking and laughing. Thurnock and Clitus were good men, they had taken a fancy to the boy, Fish, and had helped him with his work in weapons. Such men were weak. They had not in themselves the stuff of captains.
I sat back on he great chair, paga goblet in hand, surveying the room. It was crowded with tables of my retainers, feasting.
To one side musicians played.
There was a clear space before my great table, in which, from time to time, during the evening, entertainments had been provided, simple things, which even I had upon occasion found amusing, fore eaters and sword swallowers, jugglers and acrobats, and magicians, and slaves, riding on one another's shoulders, striking at one another with inflated tarsk bladders tied to poles. "Drink!" I cried.
And again goblets were lifted and clashed.
I looked down the long table, and, far to my right, sitting alone at the end of the long bench behind the table, was Luma, my slave and chief scribe. Poor, scrawny, plain Luma, thought I, in her tunic of scribe's cloth, and collar! What a poor excuse for a paga slave she had been! Yet she had a brilliant mind for a the accounts and business of a great house, and had much increased my fortunes. So indebted to her was I taht I had, this night, permitted her to sit at one end of the great table. No free man, of course,would sit beside her. Moreover, that my other scribes and retainers not be angered, I had had her put in slave bracelets, and about her neck had had fastened a chain, which was bolted into the heavy table. And it was thus that Luma, she of perhaps greatest importance in my house, saving its master, with us, yet chained and alone, apart, shared my feast of victory.
"More paga," said I, putting out the goblet.
Telima poured more paga.
"There is a singer," said one of my men.
This irritated me, but I had never much cared to interfere with the entertainments which were presented before me.
"It is truly a singer," said Telima, behind me.
It irritated me that she had spoken.
"Fetch Ta grapes from the kitchen," I told her.
"Please, my Ubar," sa
id she, "let me stay."
"I am not your Ubar," I said. "I am your master."
"Please, Master," she begged, "let Telima stay."
"Very well," I said.
The tables grew quiet.
The man had been blinded, it was said, by Sullius Maximus, who believed taht blinding improved the quality of a singer's songs. Sullius Maximus, who himself dabbled in poetry, and poisons, was a man of high culture, and his opinions in such matters were greatly respected. At any rate, whatever be the truth in these matters, the singer, in his darkness, was now alone with his songs. He had only them.
I looked upon him.
He wore the robes of his caste, the singers, and it was not known what city was his own. Many of the singers wander from place to place, selling their songs for bread and love. I had known, long ago, a singer, whose name was Andreas of Tor. We could hear the torches crackle now, and the singer touched him lyre.
I sing the siege of Ar
of gleaming Ar.
I sing the spears and wall of Ar
of Glorious Ar.
In the long years past of the siege of the city
the siege of Ar
of her spires and towers
of undaunted Ar
Glorious Ar
I sing.
I did not care to hear his song. I looked down into the paga goblet. The singer continued.
I sing of dark-haired Talena
of the rage of Marlenus
Ubar of Ar
Glorious Ar.
I did not wish to hear this song. It infuriated me to see that the others in that room sat rapt, bestowing on the singer such attention for such trifles, the meaningless noises of a blind man's mouth.
And of he I sing
whose hair was like a larl from the sun
of he who came once to the walls of Ar
Glorious Ar
he called Tarl of Bristol.
I glanced to Telima, who stood beside my great chair. Her eyes were moist, drinking in the song.
She was only a rence girl, I reminded myself. Doubtless never before had she heard a singer. I thought of sending her to the kitchens, but did not do so. I felt her hand on my shoulder. I did not indicate that i was aware of it. And, as the torches burned lower in the wall racks, the singer continued to sing, and sang of graey Pa-Kyr, Master of the Aassassins, leader of the hordes that fell on Ar after the theft of her Home Stone; and he sang, too, of banners and black helmets, of upraised standards, of the sun flashing on the lifted blades of spears, of high siege towers and deeds, of catapults of Ka-la-na and tem-wood, of the thunder of war tharlarion and the beating of drums and the roars of trumpets, the clash of arms and the cries of men; and he sang, too, of the love of men for their city, and, foolishly, knowing so little of men, he sang, too, the bravery of men, and their loyalties and their courage; and he sang then, too, of duels; of duels fought even on the walls of Ar herself, even at the great gate; and of tarnsmen locked in duels to the death over the spires of Ar; and of yet another duel, one fought on the height of Ar's cylinder of justice, between Pa-Kur, and he, in the song, called Tarl of Bristol. "Why does my Ubar weep?" asked Telima.