by John Norman
Such an object is fired from a bow. The arrow, or quarrel, as the case may be, is designed to whistle and smoke. They are used as, in a sense, flares. They are not unknown in Gorean waters. I had encountered something very similar at the World’s End. Pani warriors sometimes used whistling, smoke arrows to initiate and coordinate attacks. Occasionally a colored ribbon was affixed to the arrow to make it even easier to mark its passage.
“They mark their position,” said Thurnock.
“And ours,” I said.
“We must take on the survivors,” said Clitus.
“Do you think so?” I asked.
“Surely,” said Clitus. “They are without succor. They are stranded, lost at sea, helpless, only women, three women, free women, perhaps even of high caste. They will die of thirst or hunger. Thassa becomes restless. Timbers may part. They could be washed from their refuge. The fragment of their vessel lists, it takes on water, it sinks.”
“Interestingly,” I said, “it has not sunk yet.”
“Creatures of the sea encircle them,” said Thurnock. “We cannot let them die, drown, or be eaten. Would you have them devoured? Honor inveighs against it. Codes do not permit it. We must take them aboard.”
“Signal the helmsmen to approach,” I said. “Then rest oars.”
Slowly we drifted toward the wreckage.
“Where are the men?” asked Thurnock.
“See the marks of fire, the ax-stroked timbers,” said Clitus. “There was fighting. The men were slain, or taken to be galley slaves.”
“There must be at least one man,” said Thurnock. “What woman could fire an arrow to such a monstrous height?”
“There is scarcely room for the three crowded women,” said Clitus.
“It requires only a cocked crossbow,” I said. “A child could ignite the signal powder and discharge such a weapon.”
“Yes,” said Thurnock, satisfied. Then he added, “I do not care for crossbows.”
“It is an ideal assassin’s weapon,” I said. “It is patient. It can wait, and then strike when it wishes.”
“I still do not like it,” said Thurnock.
“I know one who is a master of such a bow,” I said.
“Its rate of fire is far inferior to that of the true bow, the great bow,” said Thurnock.
“He of whom I think,” I said, “would not expect to fire more than once.”
I recalled a grayish cast of features, and eyes like glass.
We were now within a few yards of the scarred, smoke-stained timbers, these awash amongst the waves.
“Mariners, noble mariners,” cried one of the women, extending her hand piteously, “succor, succor!”
“Glory to the Priest-Kings that you have seen us!” cried another.
“We are helpless!” cried the third. “We have no food and water. Footing is dangerous. Our vessel sinks!”
“We are saved!” said the second, a wild, relieved, gladness in her voice.
“I fear!” wept the first.
“Do not tremble,” called Thurnock. “You are safe, all safe. We will have you aboard in a moment.”
“Draw the port oars inboard,” said Clitus.
“Do not,” I said.
“Captain?” asked Clitus.
“Noble ladies,” I called to the three women. “It is fortunate that your vessel remains afloat.”
“Take us aboard, noble Master,” urged the first.
“Recount your travail,” I suggested.
“We are not slaves,” said the second. “We are free. Take us aboard, we beg you, soon, and without demur.”
“How is it we find you in such sore straits?” I inquired.
“Our poor vessel, the Doris,” said the first, “was beset by pirates, two days ago, by the dreaded corsair, the merciless Bosk of Port Kar, rogue of Thassa!”
“The crew was slaughtered,” said the second. “We three alone escaped, unnoted in the fighting, hiding below. Take us aboard!”
“I shall take the matter under consideration,” I said.
“Captain?” asked Thurnock, puzzled.
“Rescue us,” called the second. “We are not slaves, we are free women, noble free women, of good caste, of Naxos. We are helpless, and desperate! You cannot leave us here! We will drown or thirst to death! There are dangers in the water. Creatures stir. Take your oars inboard, that, assisted, we may clamber aboard.”
“Prepare to back oars,” I said.
“Surely not, Captain,” said Clitus.
“Hold, noble Masters,” called the first woman. “We have wine with us!”
“Ta wine?” I asked, “from the terraces of Cos?”
“No,” she said. “Falarian.”
Clitus whistled in astonishment.
“It was our secret cargo,” said the first woman. “Save us. We offer it in exchange for our lives.”
“Two bottles,” said the second.
“Excellent,” I said.
Falarian was a wine some thought to be a matter of mere legend. It was rumored, amongst certain collectors, that it actually existed. Its cost, it was claimed by some, might purchase a city.
“Keep your wine, your liquid treasure, noble ladies,” said Thurnock. “We are not the sort to require payment for a deed incumbent even on the honor of a sleen.”
“It was fortunate it was not discovered by Bosk of Port Kar,” I said.
“We hid it,” said the first woman.
“One would expect so practiced a pirate as Bosk of Port Kar to be less careless, more meticulous, more thorough,” I said.
“Take us aboard!” said the woman.
“The Falarian is yours,” said the second woman. “Enjoy it, share it amongst your crew.”
“Fetch a cord, and basket,” I said to Clitus.
“Then bring us aboard, generous, noble masters,” said the second.
Very shortly thereafter, by means of the cord and basket, we had drawn the two bottles aboard.
“Back oars,” I said. “Pull away. Resume course.”
“Captain?” said Clitus.
“No!” said Thurnock.
“Do not leave us!” cried the first woman.
“Stay, stay!” cried the second, her ankles awash. “Take us aboard. Save us!”
“What are you doing?” said Thurnock.
“Attempting to stay alive,” I said.
“Come back, come back!” cried the first woman.
“Stay, stay!” cried the second. “Stay, merciful masters!”
“Beasts, heartless beasts!” wept the third, her voice now drifting from behind us. “Bosk of Port Kar himself could not be so cruel!”
“You cannot abandon these poor women!” said Thurnock.
“They are not in jeopardy,” I said. “It is we who are in jeopardy.”
“I do not understand,” said Clitus.
“Even now,” I said, “the net is closing about us.”
Chapter Five
We have Eluded Pursuit; Two Bottles of Wine; Much Remains Unexplained; The Cove of Harpalos is Sighted
“Would we had had our ram and shearing blades mounted,” said Thurnock.
“That would bespeak our identity,” I said. “It would compromise our guise as a merchant ship.”
“I do not care to flee from enemies, as though we were frightened vulos,” said Thurnock.
“A time may come when we will mount the ram and blades,” I said. “That time is not now.”
“We slipped between the two nearest pursuers,” said Clitus.
“We had time,” I said.
“Before the circle could draw tight about the decoy vessel,” said Thurnock.
“How did you know it was a trap?” asked Clitus.
“I did not know,” I said, �
��but indications were plentiful. It was alleged the attack had occurred two days ago. But it is not likely that a vessel in its seeming condition could have remained afloat for more than an Ahn. The ax strokes in the gunwales were not fresh; the burned spots were wrong; a ship fire burns in sheets, not splotches; I conjecture a lighted torch had been held to the hull here and there, and briefly, for the resin and tar between the planks had not run. Too, if you looked closely, you would have noted a submerged towing ring just below the water line at the supposedly damaged prow. I suspect that our supposedly pathetic derelict has been placed athwart the course of more than one vessel.”
“I fear we only looked upon the distraught women with compassion,” said Clitus.
“Would that not have been suspicious in itself,” I asked, “three women, to be pitied, so distracting, and not one man?”
“Why would a pirate not have seized them for slaves?” asked Thurnock.
“Precisely,” I said.
“They claimed to have hidden,” said Clitus.
“Such a vessel is not a holding, not a city,” I said. “They would have been shortly dragged forth by the hair, to be stripped and chained.”
“I think,” said Clitus, “we should perhaps not imbibe the Falarian.”
“It is not clear that Falarian even exists,” I said. “It may be a matter of myth.”
“Well then,” said Clitus, “perhaps we should not imbibe whatever wine it was.”
“It seemed a cheap Ta wine,” I said, “and, judging by a dipped finger, one oversweetened.”
“To conceal the presence of some foreign ingredient,” said Thurnock.
“I suspect so,” I said. “I did not deem it judicious to subject it to further testing.”
“Poison,” said Thurnock.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“Had we roundly shared the bottles with the crews, one bottle with us, the other with the folks of the Tesephone—” whispered Clitus.
“—we would all have perished,” said Thurnock.
“It was a supplemental plan,” I said. “If the trap of the decoy ship went awry, and we were not apprehended at sea, perhaps heartlessly and dishonorably abandoning our needful, lamenting damsels and absconding with the liquid treasure, they need only wait a bit, follow us, and obtain two fine prizes, adrift and unmanned.”
“The she-sleen,” said Thurnock.
“They were minions,” I said.
“But free minions, responsible minions,” said Thurnock.
“I fear so,” I said. “Perhaps we shall meet them again.”
“I am uneasy,” said Clitus. “What of the wine?”
“I considered breaking the bottles and casting them overboard last night,” I said.
“But you did not do so?” said Clitus.
“No,” I said.
“It is a dangerous, treacherous beverage,” said Thurnock. “Get rid of it.”
“The bottles are subtly and quaintly marked,” I said, “doubtless to make them easily recognized by those aware of their contents.”
“Get rid of them,” said Thurnock.
“I think not,” I said. “They may prove to be of use.”
“How so?” asked Thurnock.
“What would you do, dear Thurnock,” I asked, “if you saw a tiny serpent, one which could fit in the palm of your hand, with bright orange scales?”
“I would avoid it at all costs,” said Thurnock.
“Why?” I asked.
“It is an ost, the most venomous serpent on Gor, the deadly ost,” said Thurnock.
“Precisely,” I said. “And that is why I am reluctant to destroy the bottles.”
“I do not understand,” said Thurnock.
“Let us not concern ourselves with the matter at present,” I suggested.
“There is something I do not understand,” said Clitus. “We slipped between the two nearest ships, but they did not immediately turn and pursue us, but waited for four more ships, and then the six ships, together, began the pursuit.”
“I think that was wise,” I said. “The Dorna has the lines of a knife ship. A judicious commander wishes to assure himself of victory, and that is best assured, where practical, by bringing an overwhelming force to bear.”
“We outdistanced the pursuers easily,” said Clitus.
“The Dorna and Tesephone are sleek and swift,” I said. “I think few vessels on Thassa could match their speed. And the pursuers, if they wish to remain together, are no faster than their slowest ship.”
“The six ships were undoubtedly the fleet of the false Bosk,” said Thurnock.
“I think so,” I said. “Aktis once spoke of six ships in the attack on Nicosia, four large ships, and two smaller. Four of our pursuers were fifty oared and two were thirty oared.”
This had been determined by means of a Builder’s Glass, from the ringed lookout post on the raised, socketed mast. In battle conditions the mast is lowered. This protects the mast, yard, rigging, and sail, and minimizes any possibly adverse effect the wind might have on maneuverability.
The rowing arrangements mentioned were common rowing arrangements, a single rowing deck, with twenty-five oars to a side or fifteen oars to a side. Commonly there would be two or three men to an oar. Usually a compromise was sought between speed and maneuverability. A ship with two or three rowing decks favored speed over maneuverability, but, in battle conditions, would be likely to find it difficult to turn and close with smaller ships, lighter and more responsive to their helms. A prairie sleen in the Barrens, for example, has little difficulty in avoiding the charge of the lumbering kailiauk. Larger ships are most comfortable and successful when doing battle with vessels in their own class. A single prairie sleen could bring down a kailiauk, but, given the size and danger of the kailiauk, the menace of its strength and horns, it will commonly attack one only in a pack. The Dorna was a fifty-oar ship, commonly using three men to an oar; the Tesephone was much smaller, a twenty-oar ship, using two men to an oar. It, light and shallow-drafted, could navigate and come about easily, even in most rivers.
“We have seen no sign of the pirate fleet in our wake since early morning,” said Clitus.
“We are now in Theran waters,” I said. “Traffic would be expected. I think our pursuers have chosen to vanish, as seems their wont.”
“Six such ships must have a base, a port,” said Thurnock. “How could so many ships be concealed? Surely they, purportedly ships of Bosk of Port Kar, must be hunted relentlessly by Cos, a power at sea, an inveterate foe of Port Kar.”
“Do you, my friends, enjoy speculating on likelihoods?” I asked.
“Speak, Captain,” said Clitus.
“What is the likelihood,” I asked, “that in the wide and open waters of mighty Thassa one might encounter a tiny, listing fragment of a shattered vessel, with three passengers, free women, in desperate need of succor?”
“Little likelihood, indeed,” said Clitus.
“Such things can occur,” said Thurnock.
“But more interestingly,” I said, “that one should encounter a towed bait ship, so designed, so equipped, on one’s course?”
“Likelihood increases,” said Thurnock.
“A coincidence, one supposes,” said Clitus. “A trap is set, somewhere between Chios and Thera, and one then waits to see if an unwary vessel bound from Chios to Thera, or from Thera to Chios, will happen by.”
“That might never happen,” I said. “Consider the expenditures of time and effort. A wise corsair would do better to range the waters more broadly.”
“Unless,” said Clitus, “the corsair was informed, if it knew the vessel, the time, and course.”
“One could then lay such a trap profitably,” said Thurnock.
“Precisely,” I said.
“Even if our course had been someh
ow noted,” said Clitus, “how could information be supplied to corsairs so quickly?”
“By flighted vulos,” I said. “Pani lords, at the World’s End, frequently communicate by such means.”
“But the cots, the homes of the flighted vulos, are on land,” said Thurnock.
“They need not be,” I said. “All that would be required would be ships which share regular coordinates at the time of messaging.”
“Perhaps even ships recognizable from a great height,” said Clitus. “The homing circles of a flighted vulo can cover hundreds of pasangs.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “One does not know.”
“But where could we have been seen at sea, and our course noted?” asked Clitus.
“We passed a small island, did we not?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Clitus.
“It could still all be a coincidence,” said Thurnock.
“That is true,” I said.
At that point, our lookout, armed with a Builders Glass, from the small, ringed platform on the raised mast, called out “Land, land, ho!”
“The Cove of Harpalos,” I said.
Chapter Six
One Link in the Invisible Chain Becomes Visible
The drunken mariner reeled about, goblet in hand. “Fill my goblet!” he cried. “I will tell what I saw!”
“Not again!” moaned a man, nearby, at one of the low, square tables.
“We have heard it!” said another.
“Masters!” wailed the mariner.
“Be off,” said a man.
“Go away,” said another.
“Cast him out,” called a man.
Two of the proprietor’s men advanced toward the unsteady figure. I waved the proprietor’s men back, and lifted my goblet to the mariner. He stood unsteadily and I had no assurance that he saw clearly. Perhaps he saw more than one of me, and perhaps more than that of the lifted goblet on which his eyes fought to focus.
“Let them cast him into the street,” suggested Thurnock.
“He lacks a berth,” I said.
“It is easy to see why,” said Clitus.
“It is said he was once a captain, that he once had a ship,” I said.
“Doubtful,” said Clitus. “A copper-tarsk oarsman, at best.”