by John Norman
“No, no!” cried more than one man. “You are wrong! That is not true! We are not adherents of the terrible Bosk of Port Kar! We are not of Port Kar! We are not the men of Bosk, not he of Port Kar! That is a pretense, a sham, a disguise!”
“I do not believe you,” I said.
Several of the prisoners wept with misery.
“Now, corsairs, predators of the sea and land,” I said, “you urts, enleagued with the shameless, dreaded Bosk of Port Kar, prepare to be slain in accordance with the justice of the great Archelaos, governor of Thera.”
“No, merciful Captain,” said he who had been my prisoner, he who alone was unbound before me, he who seemed most informed in the group, he who seemed first in the group, “Archelaos is not only cognizant of our doings but organizes and directs them, doubtless on orders from the capital, Jad, on Cos itself.”
“You dare malign he who is the worthy governor of Thera itself?” I said.
“It is true, Captain!” he wept. “It is true.”
“It is hard to believe,” I said.
“It is true,” he insisted.
“Yes, yes,” said others.
“You would actually have me believe that the noble governor of Thera himself, Archelaos, he of undeniable virtue, is devious and corrupt?” I said, as though I found this hard to believe.
“Yes, noble Captain,” said one of the prisoners.
“Next,” I said, “you would have me believe ill doings of my friend, Glaukos, proprietor of The Living Island.”
“Now I know you!” cried he who had been my prisoner. “You are Fenlon of Ti, who was drugged into unconsciousness, and robbed!”
“I had had too much to drink,” I said. “Then somehow I found my way outside the tavern, collapsed, and was robbed by some passer-by.”
“No,” said he who had been my prisoner, “you were drugged and robbed by Glaukos. You were left outside the tavern by his men, Laios and Ctesippus, who even now, with hundreds of others, are trekking to some point inland.”
“To The Village of Flowing Gold,” I said.
“That is it,” said he who had been my prisoner. Some of the others exchanged startled glances, from which I gathered, first, that my former prisoner must stand high amongst the raiders, being so privy to their plans, and that the others had thought this no more than another village raid, and would, accordingly, expect no more in the way of booty than what might be garnered from an assault on a typical village.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Lysis,” he said.
“You seem to be well informed,” I said.
“We have more than five hundred armed and dangerous men trekking inland,” said Lysis. “They will return, laden with treasure, perhaps by nightfall. You cannot hope to meet them in battle. Doubtless you could kill us and flee for your lives. That is true. But then you would receive no share of the unaccountable wealth to be derived from The Village of Flowing Gold. A wiser option on your part, Captain, permit me to say, would be to hold us as hostages and wait, demanding a goodly share of the riches for our release.”
“You would make this case to your main force?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are sure that your leaders, say, Laios and Ctesippus, would negotiate in good faith?”
“Certainly,” he said.
I noted that several of his fellows turned white at this prospect. I gathered that they had considerably less confidence in the practicality of this arrangement than seemed to be professed by Lysis. Could they really count on their lives being worth more to their fellows, thieves and murderers, than gold?
“Unbind the prisoners,” I said.
They regarded one another, gladly.
“Well done, Captain, noble gesture,” said Lysis. “We shall not attempt to escape.”
“You,” I said, “resume your former position, prone, down in the sand, arms and legs outstretched.”
“Captain?” said Lysis.
“Now,” I said.
I addressed my men. “Take these six prisoners to the ships, six to each ship, one after the other, and bring all vessels, kegs, barrels, bottles, and such, of potables, all wine, paga, water, anything drinkable, to this point. If any demur, or attempt to flee, kill them, instantly.”
A half an Ahn later a number of vessels, kegs, crates, and such, were heaped on the sand before me.
“These are all the supplies?” I asked Clitus.
“Yes,” he said.
“You hesitate,” I said.
“It is odd,” said Clitus, “two of the ships have unusually decorated decks.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Bright colors,” he said, “wide markings, plain, simple, broad designs.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Why would that be?” asked Clitus.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Nor I,” said Clitus.
I then returned my attention to the prisoners.
“Now,” I said. “Take each of the six prisoners to one of the raiders’ ships, have them light brands, and set fire to the ship.”
“No!” cried Lysis, prone in the sand beside me.
“If any demur, or attempt to flee, kill them, instantly,” I said.
“It will be done, Captain,” said Clitus.
“Demur, attempt to flee,” urged Aktis, putting an arrow to his bow.
Shortly thereafter six ships were aflame, four fifty-oared, two thirty-oared. Smoke curled into the sky, mingling its fumes with the fresh salt air of Thassa. From where we stood fire raged, loud, hissing, devouring wood and canvas, heated air leaping past us.
I put my sword to the back of Lysis’ neck.
“Now,” I said, “shatter the vessels, break open the kegs and barrels, empty the contents of all containers. Let the sand be soaked with water, let the ground be drunk with paga and ka-la-na.”
The six prisoners standing amidst my men, looked wildly at one another.
“Do it!” said Lysis, the tip of my sword bloody at the back of his neck.
Under the weaponry of my men the sand was soon sodden and stained.
“Have no fear,” I said. “Your raiders inland will have water, enough for their march and return. Perhaps some will be left when they get back. Perhaps they will share it with you.”
“In a day,” said Lysis, “it will be gone. They will kill one another for a swallow of water.”
“Remember Nicosia,” I said.
Lysis squirmed in the sand.
“Bind them all,” I said, “hand and foot.”
In this way they could not follow us.
“You will be freed when your fellows return,” I said. “Then you will be free to share in all the riches brought back from The Village of Flowing Gold.”
“One cannot drink gold,” said Lysis, as he was being bound.
“Nor would it be wise to try,” I said.
“Take comfort in the thought of dying rich,” said Aktis.
“Sleen, peasant!” hissed Lysis.
“Remember Nicosia,” said Aktis.
We were soon withdrawing from the beach. We looked back at the still burning ships. In an Ahn or so I conjectured the main force of the raiders would have reached their destination, that point on the map designated as the location of The Village of Flowing Gold.
“We will now return to camp,” I said.
“Aktis left a message for the raiders at their march’s end,” said Thurnock.
“Yes,” I said, “on a sign, prominently placed.”
“It is all they will find,” said Clitus.
“Of course,” I said.
“He cannot read,” said Thurnock. “Did you tell him what it said?”
“Of course,” I said.
“I, too
, am of the Peasants,” said Thurnock.
An inability to read is common amongst the Peasants, and not that uncommon in the lower castes.
“It said,” I said, “‘Welcome to The Village of Flowing Gold, your ships are burning.’”
Chapter Fourteen
An Anomaly is Noted, a Day from Daphna
“Ho,” called down the lookout, from the ringed platform near the top of the single mast, “land, island, tiny, four points Ror!”
Whereas I, in the interests of intelligibility, have often had recourse to directions apt to my native world, Earth directions, applied to Gor, such as north, south, and so on, Goreans orient their compasses, with its eight major divisions, to the Sardar Mountains, lair of the Priest-Kings, the gods of Gor. Ror is the first of the four divisions left of Ta-Sardar-Var, which, in its orienting role, would be similar to our magnetic north.
Clitus, Thurnock, and I went to the port rail.
We were aboard the Tesephone. Earlier, in the vicinity of Nicosia, on Chios, prior to beaching on Daphna, we had mounted shearing blades and rams. The Dorna, a formidable ship of war, fifty-oared, capable of a devastating strike, commanded by Tab, was in our lee.
We were a day from Daphna, following our destruction of the raider fleet. I had set our course for the Cove of Harpalos, where resentment of Cos and a judicious gift to the harbor authorities, as before, I conjectured, would do much to give us a relatively secure anchorage. I supposed that the search for us, which we had earlier evaded, it turning up nothing for the raiders, was unlikely to be resumed, at least at that place, no more than at dozens of other inlets and coves which had been examined in vain. Too, if raiders or allies of raiders managed to muster a ship or ships, we might always, well warned by lookouts posted, depart or, if it seemed to our advantage, meet them at sea.
“I did not note that island on our voyage to Daphna,” said Thurnock.
“It would be easily missed,” I said.
“It is much like the other,” said Clitus, “encountered on our course from Chios to the Cove of Harpalos.”
“I could not tell the difference,” said Thurnock.
“Perhaps it is the same,” said Clitus. “It has just moved.”
“Beware, Fisherman,” growled Thurnock.
“Perhaps there are several such tiny islands, or skerries, in these waters,” I said.
We could see some brush, and huts, some drying nets, and some small fishing boats, these beached on the grayish, flattish, featureless surface. One or two men were looking at us. One waved, to which gesture we responded.
“I see no women or children on this one,” said Thurnock.
“I think these tiny islets are temporary resting places for fishermen,” I said, “transitory camps, scattered locations enlarging their fishing grounds.”
“Look,” said Thurnock, “there is a spume of gas, or water.”
Moisture seemed to rise in the air, several feet, hover, and then dissipate.
“That confirms our guess as to the origin of such islands,” I said. “That is a geyser, or an issuance of steam.”
“The volcano is still active,” said Clitus.
“Clearly,” I said.
Our men were not at the benches. We had a fair wind, and, even if it were not so, the lateen-rigged vessel would be little dismayed, as it sails closer to the wind than its square-rigged fellows, commonly found in the north. The lateen-rigged vessel is said to be a brother to the wind.
“I would not care to be on the desolate beaches of Daphna now,” said Clitus.
“At The Village of Flowing Gold,” said Thurnock, “the raiders found neither gold nor water.”
“Some,” said Clitus, “the most skillful and unscrupulous, will hoard what water there is and kill their way to the nearest village.”
“What they take to be the nearest village,” I said.
“Captain?” asked Clitus.
“The nearest village,” I said, “is some three hundred pasangs away and I neglected to include it on the map. I did include some closer villages on the map, but they exist only on the map.”
“Some raiders will construct rafts from the charred timbers of the burned ships, rig sails, and attempt to leave the beach,” said Thurnock.
“How far will they get, with little or no water?” asked Clitus.
“Some others, mad with thirst, will wander crazily into the hills, hoping to find streams or wells,” said Thurnock. “Others, at last, will rush to the shore, gorge themselves with fluid, and die the hideous salt death.”
“In the vast Tahari,” I said, “thirsting men have rushed upon the lances of foes, have tried to drink one another’s blood.”
“How could so fearful a thing be known?” asked Clitus.
“From the bodies,” I said, “from the beards and necks.”
“We have destroyed the raiders,” said Clitus.
“Let us return to Port Kar,” said Thurnock.
“What of Glaukos and Archelaos?” I asked.
“Two arrows,” said Thurnock, “and they are the feasting of jards.”
I looked back, and then looked back, again.
We had left Daphna and were bound for the Cove of Harpalos.
“What is wrong?” asked Thurnock.
“Nothing,” I said, “only that it seems odd.”
“What?” asked Thurnock.
“Look,” I said.
“At what?” he asked.
“The tiny island,” I said.
“What about it?” he asked, looking back, shading his eyes.
“Our speed must be greater than it seems,” I said.
“How so?” asked Thurnock.
“So soon, that the island is so distant,” I said.
Chapter Fifteen
Disturbing Reports have been Received; Tab Learns of the Fair of the Farther Islands; The Tesephone will Depart with the Tide
In my tent, high amidst the crags of the Cove of Harpalos, I angrily thrust aside the reports of several selected men, chosen from the crews of the Dorna and Tesephone, these acting as informants, frequenting the bazaars, the alleys and streets, the taverns and inns, the wharves and waterfronts, of Sybaris.
“It makes no sense,” I said to lean, handsome Tab, excitable, with high cheekbones, fellow captain from Port Kar.
“I have communicated the contents, as directed,” said Tab, “to the men. They have, as we, no understanding of how it could come about, no explanation of the business.”
“The reports agree,” I said. “We cannot dismiss them.”
“Perhaps a fleet of round ships was somehow in the vicinity, perhaps blown off course, and responded to beacons of distress.”
“I chose the location of the alleged Village of Flowing Gold carefully,” I said. “The area is barren, it is not on lines of normal shipping, there was no storm, no evidence of a passing fleet. Surely we saw not the least hint of such.”
“Still,” said Tab, “the raiders, in their hundreds, are now encamped outside Sybaris.”
“Even if the vulos released at the time of our attack, messageless or not, returned to some cot in Sybaris, it would have taken days for ships to reach Daphna, and the raiders, or most of them, would have perished of dehydration.”
“Some fortuitous intervention obviously occurred,” said Tab.
“Intervention perhaps,” I said, “but I suspect little of fortuity in the business.”
“It is angering,” said Tab. “We thought ourselves rid of the raiders.”
“It seems,” I said, bitterly, “we were less clever and victorious than we thought.”
“No,” said Tab. “We did well. Our kaissa was flawless. The victory was ours.”
“Our victory was barren,” I said.
“Not at all,” he said. “Our victory was co
mplete. It is merely that the expected consequence of the victory did not materialize.”
“Laios and Ctesippus have been seen again in Glaukos’ tavern,” I said.
“I am not surprised,” said Tab.
“Thurnock and Aktis petition to be sent to Sybaris,” I said. “They have arrows for Glaukos and Archelaos.”
“Will you send them?” asked Tab.
“Not every time is the time to string a bow,” I said. “Not every time is the time to draw an arrow from the quiver.”
“Raiders may persist,” said Tab, “but their ships are gone.”
“They are supported in high places,” I said, “perhaps even from Jad on far Cos. New ships will be provided, perhaps even from the naval fleet of the Farther Islands. I expect they will soon be active again, a hazard to shipping, a menace to small settlements, proclaiming their ravages to be the work of Bosk of Port Kar.”
“We are few,” said Tab. “We need allies.”
“And they may be found,” I said.
“How so?” said Tab.
“Only the armed can be truly free,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Tab.
“Have you heard of the Fair of the Farther Islands?” I asked.
“No,” said Tab.
“This year,” I said, “it is being held at Mytilene on Chios.”
“Nicosia was on Chios,” said Tab.
“Precisely,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Tab.
“On the islands,” I said, “there are many stands of ka-la-na.”
“Wine trees,” said Tab.
“The wood is strong, and supple,” I said.
“Yes?” said Tab.
“And there are many strong-winged birds, shore birds and sea birds, for example, the sea kite, much like the Vosk gull.”
“Granted,” said Tab.
“And fibers abound, hemp, linen, and silk, which may be cunningly twisted.”
“What has all this to do with?” asked Tab.
“Freedom,” I said.
Tab seemed puzzled, but did not pursue the matter.
“I fear it is late,” he said.