Avengers of Gor

by John Norman

  “Would that it were,” I said. “But I think that unlikely.”

  “We saw no burning tents, no stormed redoubts, no impaled officers,” said Thurnock.

  “Nor is it likely we will,” I said.

  “How so?” asked Thurnock.

  “View the harbor,” I said. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing,” said Thurnock. “Only the remains of the ships, scuttled and burned, when the corsairs first attacked.”

  “And that is why,” I said, “a mutiny is unlikely.”

  “How so?” asked Thurnock.

  “The seven ships of the corsairs left the harbor last night, and are now some distance offshore.”

  “So?” asked Thurnock.

  “Clearly,” I said, “a mutiny was feared. Thus, supplies and transport, removed from the harbor, could not be seized by the mercenaries. Moreover, should a mutiny be mounted, the corsair ships need only withdraw, leaving the mercenaries stranded on Chios.”

  “And some of their own officers,” said Thurnock.

  “I do not think that would be of great concern to Archelaos,” I said.

  “But surely the minions of Archelaos are unwilling to return to Sybaris empty handed,” said Thurnock.

  “I would not envy them, did they dare to do so,” I said.

  “I would we had a spy in the enemy camp,” said Thrasymedes.

  “But we do not,” said Thurnock.

  “In a sense, we do,” I said, “the glass of the Builders. We noted that violence did not ensue upon the visit to the tents of the corsairs’ land command. Thus, mutiny is not in the immediate offing. Second, the meeting did not take long. That suggests that some sort of obvious compromise was reached. The most obvious compromise would be one in which the command would manage to save face, seeming to have preserved power and surrendered nothing, while the mercenaries would, in effect, achieve their own aim, the aim of the most loot with the least possible risk.”

  “What then ensues?” asked Thrasymedes.

  “A token attack,” I said, “a nominal attack, with much beating of drums, a great blasting of war horns, and a bold brandishing of gleaming standards.”

  “But we must be ready,” said Thrasymedes, “should the attack be massive, vigorous, and desperate.”

  “Of course,” I said. “An enemy which appears reluctant, dispirited, and weary may not, no more than a clever swordsman, be so.”

  “I shall return to my post,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Hold the wall,” I said.

  “Hold the wall,” he said.

  “Thrasymedes,” I said.

  “Yes?” said he, turning about.

  “The enemy is patient,” I said, “and can be supplied by sea.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “If the attacks cease,” I said, “you know what then begins.”

  “The end,” he said.

  “Did not the end begin with the first day of the siege?” asked Thurnock.

  “Forgo despondency,” I said. “One beginning is not another beginning; one end is not another end.”

  “I see no hope,” said Thrasymedes. “Supplies are short, the town is twice invested; already we have endured several days of siege; how many more can we stand?”

  “Do not feed too eagerly on the bitterness of despair,” I said. “Leave that indulgence to the enemy.”

  “I see no alternative,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Then look further,” I said.

  “Surely we can speak honestly amongst ourselves,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Do not be your own foe,” I said. “What more dangerous enemy could you face? Who but yourself could be your most dangerous enemy? He who will defeat himself does not deserve a sword.”

  “Mine is not the scarlet caste,” he said. “My codes do not oblige me to courage, or its semblance.”

  “He who defeats himself,” I said, “regardless of caste, dishonors his Home Stone, and he who dishonors his Home Stone has no Home Stone.”

  “We will, of course, fight to the end,” he said.

  “Or the beginning,” I said.

  “I wish you well,” said Thrasymedes.

  “I have not heard that Tarchon, the lutist, and traitor, has been found,” I said.

  “He has not been found,” said Thrasymedes. “I do not think he is any longer within our walls.”

  “I do not see how he could have escaped,” I said.

  “An urt could not squeeze free of this place,” said Thurnock. “An ost could not do so.”

  “He has not been found,” said Thrasymedes.

  “I wish you well,” I said.

  We then watched Thrasymedes withdraw, move along the parapet, and make his way down a ladder, ax strapped across his back, to the rubble-strewn ground.

  “You spoke bravely,” said Thurnock.

  “Would you have done otherwise?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The Attack in the Night; A Spy Escapes; We Take Stock of our Stores; We Confirm Plans; We Reflect on the Nature of Historiography

  I lay alone in the commander’s quarters.

  It was in one of the houses near that of Tarchon, the lutist, which, like his, perhaps because of its nearness to his, had been spared in the bombardment of heavy blocks of stone. I lay to one side, near a wall, on the ground, in a blanket, my sword within reach. More in the center of the room, rather toward the door, on the bed, I had placed some sacking and bundles of rolled cloth over which I had arranged a blanket. I trusted that, at least in the darkness, it might constitute a plausible semblance of a sleeping figure.

  I was having trouble sleeping.

  I think this was less from hunger than from something discovered this afternoon. Some small depredations had been made on one of our three storage areas. This diminishment, which was not large, presumably would not have been noticed earlier when supplies had been more plentiful. Thus, it may not have been the first such reduction. Neither Thrasymedes nor I had imposed a punishment for theft as yet, if only because we had not expected to encounter such a problem, not amongst the citizens of Mytilene. A common punishment in such cases is to bind and hood the thief and then beat him to death. It must be a sad thing, I thought, to die for so little as a biscuit or a peeling of sul.

  The last attack on the walls of Mytilene had taken place ten days ago. As we had anticipated, the attack had been brief and light. It seemed to have been more for show than anything. Many ladders had not even been placed against the walls. Significantly, the battle horns, pounding drums, and flourishing standards, so prominent in their thunderous sound and bold array, were not advanced beyond the outer ditch. War cries, concerned to inspirit the assailant and intimidate the enemy, were half-hearted, rare, and isolated. Purpose and aggression seemed feigned.

  “They are acting, playing at war,” had laughed Thurnock. “I think they are tired of dying.”

  “Surely they must know that they are under the eye of their commanders, behind the inner ditch, equipped with the glass of the Builders,” said a defender, his beard not cut in days, not ten feet from me.

  “Why are their brave commanders not leading them?” asked Thurnock.

  Many of the mercenaries who had passed the outer ditch remained in its vicinity, crouched down, covering themselves with their large, round shields of leather, rimmed and bossed with bronze.

  “Had we hundreds of spare arrows to flight,” said Thurnock, “they would soon rush back, seeking the cover of the ditch.”

  “I have never seen warriors so reluctant to engage the enemy,” I said.

  “They are not warriors,” said Thurnock. “They are the dregs of hirelings. They came to feast with impunity, and found a lean, inhospitable table. They came to seize gold and found iron. They came to slau
ghter verr and encountered men.”

  “The men of Mytilene,” I said.

  Clearly the mercenaries did not fear decimation. Decimation is a harsh military punishment, one usually inflicted on troops which have failed to follow orders, have exhibited cowardice in the face of the enemy, and such. It can be imposed in a variety of ways. The troops deemed guilty of insubordination, cowardice, or such are divided into groups, commonly of ten, but sometimes less or more. Most commonly a gambling takes place, with cards, marked stones, a drawing of straws, and such. The man who loses in the gambling is then put to death by his fellows. Commonly this is done with stones or clubs, so that the observing troops, better armed, can enforce the killing, and kill the entire group, should the ‘guilty group’ be recalcitrant or reluctant to carry out the decimation, which reluctance, incidentally, seldom occurs. Commonly the majority of the group, say, nine out of ten, rejoicing in their survival are only too happy to finish the matter and return to duty. There is some point to decimation, hideous as it may seem. It is generally regarded as good for discipline. Also, troops which have followed orders and risked their lives in battle are unlikely to view with tolerance or equanimity those who have shirked their duty and thus, quite possibly, put their fellows in greater peril. In some manuals it is recommended that troops should fear their own officers more than the enemy. I have never, personally, found this crude recommendation persuasive. If something is to be feared more than the enemy, I think it should be that one might, in a moment of terror or self-betrayal, fail to do one’s duty. Honor, of course, is involved in such matters. The good officer, I think, should be such that, first, men would follow him gladly into a den of larls, and, second, one who, to the best of his ability, makes certain that he never, if it can be avoided, leads his men into a den of larls. The mercenaries, obviously, given the nature of their last ‘attack’, did not fear decimation. I suspect that their commanders, their paymasters, feared that the attempt to impose so terrifying a stringency on such troops, hireling troops, might have provoked a mutiny.

  As we had feared, of course, the failure of their assaults on the town did not result in their withdrawal but rather, in their reconciliation to the possibility of a lengthy siege. We in Mytilene, of course, realized, as the enemy presumably did not, that the siege could not be too lengthy. That was guaranteed by the dwindling supply of our rations.

  I was then reminded that some evidence of theft had been discovered this very afternoon. I supposed then that either I or Thrasymedes, or both, should decide upon, and publicize, a sanction pertaining to such behavior. Perhaps, I hoped, it had been a regretted lapse, which would not occur again.

  In any event, we had placed a guard on that particular storage area. If supplies should seem to be missing from the other two areas, we could place a guard there as well, but we preferred to keep men free for the walls and gate. Already we were keeping a guard at our end of the tunnel leading to the enemy camp, a guard with a bell which might be sounded at the first hint of an approach through the tunnel.

  My senses suddenly became alert, extremely alert.

  The sound was tiny, and had perhaps only been imagined.

  Had it been the lifting of a latch, a latch I had deliberately left unsecured?

  Had I imagined this?

  I slipped the blanket to the side.

  Had I heard anything?

  For moments I thought not.

  In war there is a time for audacity and a time for patience, a time to move and a time to remain still.

  “It is nothing,” I thought.

  I considered replacing the blanket.

  Instead I reached for my sword, unsheathed, lying beside me.

  This time I had detected sounds, soft, tiny encroachments on the silence, cautious, careful, almost inaudible sounds. I smiled to myself. He with whom I was now alone in the room was clearly untrained. The sounds were resultant from the movement of sandals on the wooden floor. Even a novice, climbing the third of the nine steps of blood, aspiring to membership in the Black Caste, would not wear sandals in such a business, but would go barefoot or wrap his feet in rags, his sandals tied about his neck or to his belt.

  “Die!” I heard, a fierce whisper, and then there was the sound of a frenzied stabbing and cutting into the materials arranged on the bed, followed almost immediately by an expostulation of rage, frustration, disappointment, and fear as the assailant realized his error and possible jeopardy.

  I sprang up. “Hold!” I cried.

  There was a sound of abrupt movement, of a falling, a rising, and a dashing toward the door.

  “Hold!” I cried again, making my way to the door.

  I did not rush through the door, wary as to the possible skill or intelligence of the assailant. He might be just outside the portal, stopped, his flight arrested, waiting for me to rush through, reckless in pursuit, into the blade of his waiting knife.

  I remained within the portal. I called out, “Waken! To arms! Intruder! Intruder!”

  Within moments I saw the approach of torches and roused, hurrying men.

  “Commander?” said a man.

  “An attack on my life failed,” I said. “The attacker fled. Look about. Seize any who flee or hide. Let every man encountered give a satisfactory account of himself. Bring any who fail to do so before me.”

  Men turned about.

  More torches were brought.

  Shouting was heard, and instructions were conveyed to others.

  I returned to my room and lit a tharlarion-oil lamp. I lifted the lamp and noted the shredded bedclothes and slashed straw mattress. I then put the lamp on a shelf near the portal, and sat down on the bed, shaken, breathing heavily. I would have preferred to be in action, joining in the hunt for the fugitive, as movement is calming, but I deemed it more important to remain where I was, located so as to coordinate matters and receive reports should they be forthcoming.

  Soon I rose up and went to the portal.

  I could smell smoke.

  The time of the cooking fires was over.

  I heard a cry, “Fire!”

  Then, from elsewhere, again I hear a cry, “Fire! Fire!”

  I left the portal, racing to the gate. It was secure, sealed with its two beams. Men were rushing about in the darkness. There were shouts. I heard no bars ringing from the wall. “Hold your position!” I shouted to a citizen, descending a ladder. He turned about, climbing, returning to the parapet. “Where is the commander?” I heard. “I am here!” I shouted. “By the gate!”

  Reports soon began to fly to the gate. I listened, and sometimes I accompanied observers, inspecting points to which I was led. I needed issue no orders, nor would have another, for, in some situations, men respond instantly and appropriately, a time in which there is no time in which to seek instruction or guidance, but only time to act, if that. Thrasymedes and I had distributed Mytilene’s common supplies amongst three well-separated storage areas, three lest one or two areas become accessible to enemies during street fighting, should the walls be successfully breached. These three areas, moving from west to east, were what we referred to as the ‘Grain Room’, the ‘Central Room’, and the ‘Harbor Room’. The ‘Grain Room’ was farthest from the gate. It was less a room than what had been the basement of a private house, now ceilinged and reinforced with timbers. The ‘Central Room’ was what was left of the antechamber of the Council Room where I had first addressed Thrasymedes and other members of the Council of Mytilene. It was the ‘Central Room’ from which had been noted the absence of certain supplies earlier in the day, and at which Thrasymedes and I had, in consequence, reluctantly, placed a guard. The ‘Harbor Room’ was a storage area in one of the four warehouses nearest the harbor.

  The reports I received were ugly, various, and disconcerting. I shall not report the order in which I received the reports, but rather the nature of the five acts, or attempted ac
ts, reported in what would seem to be the order, or near order, in which they took place. It seemed likely that all the acts, or attempted acts, were the result of the activities of a single individual. The first act was the surprise of, and murder of, the tunnel guard whom Thrasymedes and I had posted at our end of the tunnel, that tunnel which had been opened in the house of Tarchon, that through which mercenaries had sought to steal into the camp and overcome the gate guard, opening the gate to their waiting cohorts, and through which, shortly afterward, I and others had managed to reach the enemy camp and destroy his three monstrous catapults. The accomplishment of this act was a necessary prelude to the other acts, assuming the perpetrator wished to effect an escape. The second and third acts, though the order was unclear, were the placement of a carpet of straw and a candle in both the ‘Grain Room’ and the ‘Harbor Room’. The candles were lit and would soon burn down to the straw, which, when ignited, would set everything within reach afire. The fourth act, an act which failed, was the attempt to treat the ‘Central Room’ similarly. In this case, however, the would-be arsonist, doubtless to his dismay, was challenged by the guard whom Thrasymedes and I had posted, having earlier in the afternoon become aware of some missing stores. Challenged, the would-be arsonist had feigned confusion in the darkness, pacified the guard, and withdrawn. Later straw and an unlit candle were discovered in the external corridor. At that point, the stranger in the darkness, in his intended fifth act, had made his way to my quarters, where, in fury and terror, he soon realized he had spent his attack not on a living body but on rolls of bundled cloth. We later discovered the body of the slain tunnel guard and the evidence of the killer’s exit through the tunnel, within feet of the sunken metal rod, by tapping on which Tarchon had identified the point at which the tunnel might be safely opened.

  “It was Tarchon,” said Thrasymedes. “He was still within our walls. He was here. He has escaped.”

  “I take it so,” I said.

  “The tunnel guard was surprised,” said Thrasymedes.

  “He did not expect it,” I said. “The attack came from an unexpected quarter.”