by John Norman
“You have nothing with which to bargain,” he said.
“I have your life,” I told him. He tensed. “Before you could run two steps,” I told him, “I could have you half on my sword or cut your head from your body.”
“Perhaps not,” said Kliomenes, uneasily.
“It is a risk I am content to take,” I informed him. “Are you?”
He looked at me.
I opened my left hand, at my hip. “If necessary,” I said, “I am prepared to conduct you to the parapets, bent over, as a female slave.”
“That will not be necessary,” he said. He turned, then, and preceded me about the walkway bordering the lake-like courtyard. I looked back and saw the group of pirates. They did not follow. They stood near the iron door, the entry into the inner holding. Their steel lay still about their feet.
“Put aside your bow,” I ordered one of the men on the walls, climbing toward the parapets.
“Put away your bow,” ordered Kliomenes, angrily, preceding me.
In a few moments, walking along the parapets, we had come to the edge of the west gate tower, that which houses, in its lowest level, the chamber of the windlass.
Two or three of the men, their bows in hand, edged near us.
“Put aside your bows,” I told them.
“Do as he says,” said Kliomenes, angrily.
The bows were put to their feet. They were short, ship bows, stout and maneuverable, easy to use in crowded quarters, easy to fire across the bulwarks of galleys locked in combat. I had seen only such bows in the holding of Policrates. Their rate of fire, of course, is much superior to that of the crossbow, either of the draw or windlass variety. All things considered, the ship bow is an ideal missile weapon for close range naval combat. It is superior in this respect even to the peasant bow, or long bow, which excels it in impact, range and accuracy.
I glanced over the edge of the wall. We were, as I had intended, in the vicinity of the sea gate. I did not know how deep the water was there. Yet I knew it must be deep enough to accommodate the keel of a captured, heavily laden round ship.
“What do you intend?” asked Kliomenes.
“Tell them to fetch rope,” I said, gesturing to the men on the wall.
Kliomenes grinned. “Fetch rope,” he said.
They hurried down the stairs.
“It seems you will make good your escape,” said Kliomenes. He assumed that I had had the men seriously sent for rope. He assumed that when they returned I would use the rope to descend from the wall. By that time, of course, the men would be again on the wall, doubtless some of them armed, and with bows. Clambering down the rope I would be vulnerable, and the rope, too, could be cut.
“Now, we are alone on the wall,” I said to Kliomenes, leveling the sword at his belly. He backed away, a step. “Do not kill me,” he said, suddenly, turning white. Behind him was the long drop to the walkway below.
I drew back my arm as though to ram the steel through his belly. He twisted away, and fled. I laughed, not pursuing him. I did not think he would stop until he was safely again among his men. Then, discarding the sword, I ascended the parapet and leaped feet first to the waters far below. It seemed I was a long time in the air. The rush of it was cold on my body, and tore at my hair. I then struck the water, seeming to plummet through it, and struck with great force the mud and debris of the bottom. I sank into it to my knees. I feared my legs were broken. The water was swirling about me, loud, roaring, in my ears.
I tore loose, kicking, of the mud, and pushed upward toward the surface, which, after some seconds, gasping, I broke. I shook the water from my head; I blinked it from my eyes. I looked upward, at the parapets, far above. My legs were numb, but I could control them. No arrows struck into the water about me. I gasped for breath, and then submerged, and swam underwater for the brush and trees, half sunken, which bordered the channel leading to the gate. I emerged among roots and reeds.
Only then, looking back, from the cover of the half-submerged growth, did I see men fast appear on the walls. I had had them sent from the walls. They would not even know in which direction I had set out. I then swam again underwater for a time until I emerged in the spongy terrain north and west of the holding, shielded from sight by trees from her walls. I assumed they would think I would have emerged north and east of the channel, for that lies closer Victoria. I would, at any rate, have a good start on any who might wish to give pursuit. It would take several Ehn, I was sure, to get the great sea gate raised. I had seen to that. I could always cross the channel northeastward, at my convenience, under the cover of darkness, to move toward Victoria, or I might, if I chose, move simply to the southern shore of the Vosk. I was certain I could find means from there to make my way back to Victoria. Small ships abound on the Vosk. I began then to move swiftly. I was cold. But I was in good spirits.
Chapter 33 - BATTLE HORNS
“We welcome your sword,” said Callimachus. We stood in the bow of the long galley, below the stem castle. The single mast had been lowered and lay secured, tied, lengthwise on the deck, between the benches.
Our ship lay to, east of the great chain. I could see little, because of the fog. It was a chilly morning. The water licked at the strakes. Far off, unseen, I heard the cry of a Vosk gull.
“It was not necessary that you have joined the fleet,” said Callimachus.
“It is here that I belong,” I said.
“You risked much already,” said he.
“We were betrayed,” I told him.
“Yes,” he said.
I was bitter. The great sea gate had crashed down, destroying the galley on which I had sought to enter the holding of Policrates. I had been captured, and had managed to escape, I had made my way to Victoria, and hence westward, learning of the movement of ships toward the chain. Yesterday evening I had boarded the Tina, out of Victoria, captained by Callimachus.
“If the Voskjard attempts to cross the chain in force,” said Callimachus, “we will not be able to stop him.”
“It was the Earth-girl slave, Peggy, Tasdron’s property, who betrayed us,” I said.
“Can you be sure?” asked Callimachus.
“I am sure,” I said. “Was it Callisthenes?” I asked him.
“It could not be Callisthenes,” said Callimachus. “He is known to me. Too, he is a captain of Port Cos, and of my own caste.”
I looked over the gunnels. To port and starboard, each some fifty yards away, gray and silent, intermittently visible in the fog, each lying to, as was the Tina, were two other galleys, the Mira, out of Victoria, and the Talender, out of Fina.
“Too,” said Callimachus, “he is my friend.” It was cold.
“Does it seem likely to you that it was Tasdron or Glyco?” I asked.
“It could not have been Tasdron,” said Callimachus. “His interests would be too opposed to such an action. Indeed, he is the leader in Victoria of those who would oppose the power of the men of Policrates.”
“Perhaps it was Glyco, then,” I said, bitterly.
“He is not of my own caste,” admitted Callimachus.
“Nor is Tasdron,” I said.
“True,” said Callimachus.
“Glyco,” I pointed out, “has enlisted your aid against the pirates.”
“He is not with the fleet,” said Callimachus.
“He is now east on the river, trying to raise support for our cause,” I said.
“Perhaps,” said Callimachus. “But no ships have been forthcoming.”
“I do not think Glyco will be successful,” I said. “There is too much distrust among the towns, and they fear the pirates too much. Too, the fleet of Policrates is now east of Victoria, to prevent such ships from reinforcing us. I have told you this. “
Callimachus was silent.
“Why is it not obvious to you that the traitor was the slave, Peggy?” I asked.
“She could not have heard,” said Callimachus, uncertainly, angrily.
“She was in
the room,” I said. “She must have heard. She is not stupid, though she is a slave. She could have understood much of what we planned. Doubtless she revealed our plans to the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, or to a pirate in Tasdron’s tavern, perhaps while moaning with pleasure in his arms, hoping to win her freedom by her treachery.”
“She would not be freed,” said Callimachus. “She would only be plunged into a deeper and crueler slavery.”
“She would not know that,” I pointed out. “She is from Earth.” It can take years to learn Gorean ways, and how Goreans think. They tend not to be patient with slaves.
“Perhaps you were betrayed by one of the men of Callisthenes or of Aemilianus,” said Callimachus.
“By trusted warriors,” I asked, “who, too, would have had little opportunity to make contact with the enemy?” I looked at him, angrily. “Why can you not see that it was the slave, Peggy, who betrayed us?” I wondered if he cared for her.
“It could have been no other,” agreed Callimachus. His voice was grim, and terrible. I did not understand, fully, his tone of voice. It was almost as though he, personally, in some subtle way, had been betrayed.
I looked out, over the bow, into the fog. One could see almost nothing.
“If we should be so fortunate as to survive this engagement,” said Callimachus, “I will see that the treacherous slave is dealt with.”
“What will be done to her?” I asked.
“She will be dealt with as a female slave is dealt with, who has not been fully pleasing,” he said, quietly.
I shuddered.
“Are you cold?” asked Callimachus.
“Yes,” I said. I drew the cloak I wore more closely about myself.
“Perhaps there will be no engagement,” said Callimachus, “We have been at the chain for two days.”
“The Tamira has crossed the chain, has she not?” I asked.
“Yes,” said he.
“I anticipate an engagement,” I said.
“The Tamira is a merchantman,” said Callimachus.
“It is a scout ship of Ragnar Voskjard,” I said. “It has already paid call on Kliomenes, in the holding of Policrates.
“I find that hard to believe,” said Callimachus.
“Was she inspected at the chain?” I asked.
“No,” said Callimachus.
“Had she been,” I said, “it would have been discovered that she was carrying loot from the Flower of Siba. More importantly, she would doubtless be carrying papers linking her with Policrates, such papers as the signs and countersigns whereby the actions of the joint pirate fleets might be integrated and directed.”
“You are mistaken,” said Callimachus. “Reginald, her captain, is a known man.”
“I learned these things in the court of Kliomenes,” I said.
“You must be mistaken,” he said.
“I anticipate an engagement,” I said.
“It should have taken place by now,” said Callimachus.
“That seems possible,” I admitted.
“Perhaps the Voskjard fears the chain,” said Callimachus.
“Perhaps,” I admitted.
From where we lay to I could hear, from time to time, the restless creak of the mighty links of the chain, suspended on pylons, stretching across the river. The links of the chain were some eighteen inches in length and a foot in width; the metal of the links themselves was as thick a man’s forearm. The chain, in places, lay submerged a foot or so below the water; in other places, and near the pylons, it would range from a foot to a yard above the water. It was anchored to great rings on the pylons. At five places in the river the chain could be opened, swung open on huge rafts, at which points there were guard stations. Too, there were guard stations at the terminal pylons, on the north and south shore of the river.
“Where is Callisthenes?” I asked.
“He is at the south guard station,” said Callimachus.
This was regarded as a point of maximum danger. Gorean ships, on the whole, even the round ships, are shallowly drafted vessels. It is common, where wharfage is not available, to beach them at night. Thus the chain, theoretically, could be circumvented at these points, the shallowly drafted ships being brought to shore and, on rollers, being moved about the terminal pylons. The south guard station was regarded as more vulnerable than the north guard station, because of its comparatively remote location. The supply lines from Port Cos to the north station are shorter and it is easier to move troops to that point. Also, the barracks for the guardsmen of the chain are at that point. I was pleased to hear that Callisthenes had taken up his post at the south guard station. It was at such a point that we particularly needed good men. Yet we would miss him in the fray, should the Voskjard’s fleet dare to approach the chain more directly.
“Perhaps it is there where we, too, should be,” mused Callimachus.
“The chain does seem fearfully strong,” I said. Neither Callimachus nor myself had seen the chain until we had come westward. We had been unprepared for its impressiveness. It represented an engineering feat of no mean proportions. Although we retained our theoretical reservations about its effectiveness, these reservations, in the very presence of the chain, seemed, to my relief, less alarming, and more tenuous and abstract, than they had in the urgent discussions which had taken place in the tavern of Tasdron. It was easy to understand, now, why those who had seen the chain tended to be more confident of its effectiveness than those who had not. I listened to the creaking of the mighty links, and to the water lapping at the sides of our galley, and to the occasional cries of Vosk gulls.
“Perhaps the Voskjard does fear the chain,” I said.
“There is surely enough predation west of the chain for him,” said Callimachus.
“I would think so,” I ‘said.
I looked over the rail, to the great wooden, iron-shod ram, which protruded, in part, from the water. I looked over the starboard rail, and saw the great, curved shearing blade, fixed on the side of the vessel. Its mate, anchored, too, in the strakes, forward of the oars, reposed on the port side. These blades were seven feet in height, like convex moons of iron. It is said that such blades were an invention of Tersites, a shipwright of Port Kar. I returned to stand beside Callimachus.
“You have not fought on the water before, have you?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
I could now scarcely see the Mira and the Talender, so thick was the fog.
“It is cold,” said Callimachus.
“Yes,” I said. “Callimachus,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Do you think the Voskjard will come?” I asked.
“I do not think so, now,” said Callimachus.
“Why not?” I asked.
“The chain is strong,” said Callimachus. “Too, it seems his fleet should have arrived at the chain by now, did it intend to do so.”
“Then you do not think he will come?” I asked.
“I do not think so,” said Callimachus.
“An engagement upon the water must be a terrible thing, I said.
“I am of the Warriors,” said Callimachus. He licked his lips. I shuddered. I wondered what had been his experiences, and what he knew that I did not. I feared him then, in that moment. For an instant I felt I no longer knew him. I felt, in that instant, that he might be a man of a different sort than I.
“Are you frightened?” asked Callimachus.
“Yes,” I said.
“That is natural,” he said.
“What are the numbers involved?” I asked.
Callimachus grinned. “That is a Warrior’s question,” he said.
“Surely we have intelligence on this matter,” I said.
“It is conjectured,” said Callimachus, “that the Voskjard is stronger than Policrates. It is thought he commands some fifty ships and twenty-five hundred men. We have better information on Policrates. He commands forty ships and some two thousand men.”
“United, they wo
uld become a mighty force,” I said.
“To be sure,” said Callimachus, “and yet some fifty ships can be brought into the river by Port Cos, and some forty five by Ar’s Station. Accordingly in an engagement of fleets Port Cos and Ar’s Station, acting together, would bring to bear the superior forces.”
“How many ships of Ar’s Station support us at the chain?” I asked.
“Ten,” said Callimachus. “They would provide no more.”
“How many ships of Port Cos?” I asked.
“Ten at the chain, and twenty in the vicinity of the south guard station,” said Callimachus.
“Thirty, in all,” I said.
“There are another twenty at Port Cos, of course,” said Callimachus. “They are, however, held there to defend the town, if need be.”
“How many independent ships?” I asked.
“Seven,” said Callimachus. “Two from Victoria, two from Jort’s Ferry, two from Point Alfred, and one from Fina.” Jort’s Ferry and Point Alfred lie west of Ar’s Station, and tend to follow the lead of Ar’s Station, favoring generally the politics of Ar.
“We have, then, forty-seven ships upon the river,” I said.
“Yes,” said Callimachus.
“And it is estimated that the Voskjard’s fleet numbers some fifty ships?”
“Yes,” said Callimachus.
“It would seem, then,” I said, “that the odds are approximately even.”
“Or, with the chain, perhaps in our favor?” said Callimachus.
“It might seem so,” I mused.
“But you are skeptical?” he asked.
“Our ships are scattered,” I said. “They patrol the chain.”
“And the fleet of the Voskjard can, at will, attack at any given point.”
“Cutting the chain,” I said, “they could, in one or more successive engagements, outnumber and destroy the defending ships.”
“You think like a Warrior,” said Callimachus.
“Our hope, of course,” I said, “is that they can be held behind the chain long enough to permit the massing of our full forces.”
“Of course,” said Callimachus.
“You said, earlier,” I said, “that you did not think we could stop an attack in force upon the chain.”