Avengers of Gor

by John Norman

  “Give me another Ehn,” said Sakim, “another Ehn!”

  “Only that,” I said.

  I raised my hand, and began to count the eighty Ihn which compose an Ehn.

  All eyes were upon my raised hand.

  The nearest ship was now within twenty yards of the Tesephone, preparing to draw alongside.

  At seventy Ihn I tensed, preparing to slash my hand downward, at which signal the oars would be thrust outboard, be poised, would enter the water together, and the keleustes, his mallet already lifted, would deliver his first blow to the metal-headed drum.

  A moment before the eightieth Ihn, a gigantic snakelike form with a diameter of some ten feet burst some forty feet upward from the water like some living geyser, and, in the midst of screams and tumult, fell heavily, laterally, across the deck of the enemy ship, and wound itself, with incredible rapidity, coil after coil, about the ship. After the third coil the great head of the beast caught the left side of the stem deck in its fanged jaws, and bit into it, as though to fasten itself in living prey, as though the ship might be alive, and attempt to free itself, splintering planks and railings. We then, to our terror, watched the ship being crushed in those mighty coils, board by board, plank by plank, until the water was filled with debris and men.

  “You see, Captain,” said Sakim, “so much now for Sakim the delusional, Sakim the mad, Sakim the liar, Sakim the fraud.”

  “It is horrible,” I said.

  “The hith, nearly exterminated on land,” said Sakim, “took to cover and plenty, to the vast world of the sea.”

  “It breathes air,” I said.

  “Of course,” said Sakim.

  “Like the living island,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Sakim.

  There was much screaming and splashing in the water.

  “Horrible,” I said, “horrible.”

  “It takes prey of many dimensions,” said Sakim. “Its largest natural prey is sea tharlarion, of various kinds.”

  “It seized the ship in its fangs,” I said. “It cannot eat a ship.”

  “I think that is a biological reflex to anchor prey,” said Sakim.

  “Why would it attack a ship?” I said.

  “It is within its prey rage,” said Sakim. “It may think it is an animal of sorts. It is, in any event, the ship, a moving object, with oars like appendages, and, I suspect, more seriously, an intruding object, an object invading what the beast presumably takes as its territory.”

  “It is territorial,” I said.

  “That seems so,” said Sakim. “Large land animals, of which the hith was one once, given the amount of food needed to sustain a large organism, tend to be territorial.”

  “Perhaps that hith is the same beast which once attacked your ship,” I said.

  “It is possible,” said Sakim. “One does not know.”

  I found it difficult to take my eyes away from the confusion, the blood, the terror, and carnage in the water.

  The hith’s jaws had closed on a screaming swimmer; then the swimmer was drawn underwater, the place marked with bubbles exploding to the surface.

  “Another theory,” said Sakim, “is that the hith scents warmth and blood, and its attack is not so much to destroy an intruder as to get at possible food.”

  “I think the defense-of-territory theory is more plausible,” I said. “First would come the movement of oars, particularly of several oars, the disturbance in the water, alerting the hith to the presence of an intruder, then the discovery of a large, dark shape entering his domain, and then, only after the attack, would it be likely to sense possible prey, thrashing in the water.”

  “I much agree,” said Sakim, “and such is my view, but surely you will grant that once food has been associated with an attack, that attacks might be thus encouraged?”

  “Surely,” I said.

  I guessed that there might be two hundred and fifty to three hundred men in the water, as the corsair ships were crowded with evacuated mercenaries.

  I saw one fellow trying to crawl onto a narrow plank. It could not support his weight. I saw a helmeted figure slip beneath the water, seemingly drawn under the surface, one hand raised, as though it might be grasped by someone. I recalled that it was not far from this point that, in clearing the battlefield, bodies of dead mercenaries, as that of Tarchon, had been disposed of at sea.

  The two enemy ships, given the sudden appearance of the hith, coiling about their fellow, had held up like frightened animals, and had then, frenziedly, and awkwardly, out of rhythm, begun to back oar. They now stood half a pasang away, hull to hull. One of them had put out longboats, four longboats, which were now approaching the scattered, splintered wreckage of the first vessel. The other vessel had declined to risk its longboats. Captains differ with respect to such matters.

  Another man screamed and disappeared under the water.

  “Sharks,” said Sakim, “jubilant sharks, rushing to the feast.”

  Sharks will follow food wherever it may be found, as in following a ship for days, to feed on discarded garbage, but most tend to stay in shallower water, where sunlight can nourish rooted, aquatic plants, which can nourish small fish, which, in turn, can nourish larger fish, such as sharks.

  I witnessed two coils of the gigantic hith encircle a swimmer and constrict. There was a sound as though of snapping sticks. I looked away, as organs began to be expelled through the victim’s mouth.

  “The hith,” said Sakim, “being a cold-blooded reptile, has a slow metabolism. Once it has gorged itself, it becomes inert. It may not eat again for months. In that time it would be relatively safe to ply these waters.”

  “Do you think the corsair captains are aware of this?” I asked.

  “I would suppose so,” said Sakim. “It is in the legends.”

  “Then the other two ships will follow us,” I said, “even through these waters?”

  “I do not doubt it,” said Sakim.

  One of the four lifeboats had now reached the wreckage of the first corsair vessel. Seventy to eighty men, like frenzied lelts, were now trying to reach it. I watched it capsize, men swarming then like insects on the overturned hull.

  The second longboat was now amongst the floating debris, but four mercenaries, with spears, were thrusting at those trying to clamber aboard. The boat seemed to float on a scarlet sea. Several dorsal fins began to cut toward the boat. We watched a few men drawn aboard, while others were repelled at the point of bloody spears.

  “They are saving officers,” said Sakim.

  “What of the others?” I asked.

  “The others are not officers,” said Sakim.

  “I know that man,” I said, “he just drawn aboard! It is Ctesippus, a colleague of Glaukos, proprietor of the tavern, The Living Island, in Sybaris!”

  “Does it surprise you?” asked Sakim.

  Ctesippus now stood in the boat, shuddering, drenched and dripping. He regarded us, shaking his fist.

  “He is displeased,” said Sakim.

  “Does it surprise you?” I asked.

  Ctesippus was now apparently issuing orders to the crew of the longboat. It turned about and, the mercenaries with spears continuing to fend off desperate swimmers, began to make its way back toward the two unharmed corsair ships, waiting closer to shore.

  “The boat could hold several more occupants,” I said.

  “It seems that Ctesippus has no wish to take on further passengers,” said Sakim.

  One fellow was clinging to an oar of the longboat but lost his grip, a spear jabbed into his face.

  The third lifeboat, like the first, overloaded, awash, capsized; the fourth lifeboat, like the second, bore policing spearmen and, in the midst of shrieking swimmers, seemed determined to take on only elite passengers, presumably officers and special persons. As it turned out, its intentio
ns, despite an undoubted adherence to orders, were frustrated, three, massive, whiplike coils of the monstrous hith wrapping themselves about the boat and, tightening, reducing in as little as a dozen Ihn the boat and certain occupants to little more than floating debris.

  “The hith, the sharks,” I said, “it is a slaughter.”

  “Nature is so bred,” said Sakim.

  “Many,” I said, “despairing of rescue, swim for the corsair ships, the shore.”

  “It is a long swim,” said Sakim.

  “Surely many will make it,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” said Sakim, “if they can get outside the compass of the feeding. It is a gauntlet.”

  “If some reach the shore,” I said, “they may fall into the hands of the Peasants, or of those of Mytilene. That is a fate I would not envy them.”

  “Many men, terrified, confused, blinded by sea water, swim toward the open sea,” said Sakim.

  “I would we could turn them toward the shore,” I said.

  “Do not be concerned,” said Sakim. “Those on the corsair ships can see. They will have the glass of the Builders.”

  Hardly had Sakim said this than the oar drums on the corsair ships began to sound, the reverberations carrying over the water.

  “The mother vulo calls to her chicks,” said Sakim.

  Suddenly the huge, wide head of the hith, slick, wet, shedding water, rose more than twenty feet out of the water, some ten feet aft of the Tesephone, a body grasped in its jaws.

  “It is looking at us,” I whispered.

  “Do not move,” said Sakim.

  Then it, with its prize, disappeared under the waves.

  “I think,” said Sakim, “that this would be a good time to take our departure.”

  “Let us wait a little,” I said.

  “Why?” asked Sakim.

  We could still hear the oar drums of the corsair ships carrying over the water.

  “What do you think would happen if we took our departure now?” I asked.

  “The corsair ships would pursue us, but presumably under sail,” said Sakim.

  “Not picking up the survivors, their men, but abandoning them to the sharks, to the sea, to the Peasants, to the citizens of long-suffering, beleaguered Mytilene,” I said.

  “Of course,” said Sakim.

  “Let us wait a little,” I said.

  “Why?” asked Sakim.

  “Codes,” I said. “Codes.”

  “They are mercenaries, killers,” said Sakim.

  “Some are caste brothers,” I said.

  “You would save a fellow whom in battle you would think nothing of driving a sword into his heart?” said Sakim.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Codes?” said Sakim.

  “Yes, codes,” I said.

  An Ahn later, shortly before sundown, oars inboard, we brought the long, sloping yard into the wind.

  “The corsairs will follow us,” said Sakim.

  “We will have the cover of darkness,” I said.

  “But there is the Brigand Island,” said Sakim. “It can trail us, like a sleen of the sea.”

  “It may have already led the balance of the corsair fleet, four ships, to the Dorna,” I said.

  “I fear so,” said Sakim.

  “We did our best,” I said. “We tried to draw attention away from the Dorna.”

  “Sometimes one’s best is not good enough,” said Sakim.

  “We will try to rendezvous with the Dorna,” I said.

  “Her eyes may no longer see,” said Sakim.

  “There might be wreckage,” I said.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  We Rendezvous with the Dorna; Enemy Ships; Masts are Down

  “Look!” cried Sakim. “The Dorna can see!”

  “She lives!” cried a man, and cheers rang from the benches.

  “She lists,” I said. “She has taken on water. She is crippled. She must have lost oars.”

  Normally the Dorna has twenty-five oars to a side. From my current position I could see but seven on what we may refer to as her port side, these presumably matched by another seven, plus or minus one, on what we may refer to as her starboard side.

  Our mast was still raised.

  We had been proceeding under sail, to spare oarsmen whose strength we might soon need, and sorely.

  The mast of the Dorna was not visible. The mast is always lowered when battle is imminent.

  I had stationed Thurnock on the stern deck, with a glass of the Builders, to scan the horizon aft.

  I was sure that the two unharmed corsairs we had sighted near the coast, their masts now down, now that they would be past the waters in which the hith was feared, must be close. But, masts down, it can be difficult amongst the waves of gleaming Thassa to detect the presence of a swift, shallow-drafted Gorean fighting ship. This feature, naturally, conditions naval actions. It facilitates advantages to be found in stealth, for example, in stalking, surprise, and evasion.

  “Our rendezvous is kept,” said Clitus.

  He was beside us on the stem deck with a second glass of the Builders. “I see Captain Tab, at the railing,” he said. “He is gesturing us away.”

  “We may be able to effect simple repairs,” said Sakim. “Too, we have spare oars.”

  “The Dorna must have had spare oars as well,” said Clitus. “Where are they?”

  “The Dorna has been in action,” I said, “doubtless more than once.”

  “Captain Tab is waving us away,” said Clitus.

  “The enemy must be about,” said Sakim.

  I called back to the helm deck, to draw alongside the listing Dorna.

  “Captain Tab is agitated,” said Clitus, peering through the glass of the Builders. “He declines converse. He is vehement. He waves us away, fiercely, plaintively.”

  “He warns us of a trap,” said Sakim.

  “And the Dorna is the bait,” I said.

  “He wants us to depart,” said Clitus. “He demands to be deserted, to be left behind.”

  “With not even a transfer of personnel, not even a taking on of the injured and wounded?” said Sakim.

  “Clearly the enemy is close,” I said.

  I called to the stern deck, that Thurnock might join us. I wished him to hear what might ensue. Surrendering his glass of the Builders to Aktis, he was soon at our side.

  Not long thereafter the Tesephone rocked gently against the hull of the Dorna.

  “You might have escaped,” said Tab. “You might have had at least a slim chance of survival. But now you are lost.”

  “Then,” I said, “we will be lost together.”

  “Why did you not flee?” said Tab, angrily.

  “We are short of paga,” I said. “We hoped that you might have some.”

  “You are mad,” said Tab.

  “Or thirsty,” I said.

  “It seems we shall die together,” said Tab.

  “Perhaps,” I said, “we will live together.”

  I supposed that there were worst places to die, if one must, than in the midst of ringing metal on a goodly morning, on the deck of a fine, if disabled, ship, on the bright waves of Thassa, amongst friends, in the light of Tor-Tu-Gor.

  But death will take care of itself. It is life which requires attention.

  “Dear Captain,” I said, “I had hoped, mast high, posing as a tempting prey, to draw the corsair fleet away from you. But my plan failed of fruition. I sorrow. It is much to my regret.”

  “Regret nothing,” said Tab. “Rather it is I who should lament, had I profited from the risk you took, the sacrifice you hazarded.”

  “Four ships of the corsair fleet followed you,” said Sakim.

  “How did you know?” asked Tab.

  “We s
ighted the other three near Chios,” said Sakim.

  “Only two of the three remain,” said Thurnock.

  “Surely the tiny Tesephone did not engage a fifty-oared vessel,” said Tab, “let alone manage to sink such a foe.”

  “Sakim, with a little help, possibly from an old friend, managed it,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” said Tab.

  “One should not sing in the vicinity of a sleeping larl,” said Thurnock. It was a Gorean saying, not unlike many others. Gorean, like most languages, furnishes many such sayings, almost one of which is likely to be applicable in any conceivable situation.

  It seemed clear that Tab’s puzzlement was not much dissipated in the light of Thurnock’s observation.

  “Sakim brought us to waters in which there lurked a territorial hith,” I said. “We trod softly, the enemy did not.”

  “The hith,” said Tab, “is a creature of mythology.”

  “But not, it seems,” I said, “of mythology alone.”

  “It does not exist,” said Tab.

  “The hith itself,” I said, “was unaware of that.”

  “Two of the three ships, then,” said Tab, “remain.”

  “They search for us,” I said, “I am sure.”

  “They may be near,” said Thurnock.

  “Four corsair ships followed me,” said Tab, “even in darkness, unerringly. It is uncanny. It speaks of the hands of Priest-Kings. I could not slip away.”

  “It is done by means of a living island,” said Sakim, “that island we speak of as the Brigand Island, a pathetic, enormous aquatic beast under the control of corsairs and mercenaries. It is that which has followed you. As a sleen, tenacious and swift, can follow scent on land, tenacious and swift, a living island can follow sounds, disturbances, stirrings, in the water, schooling fish, the wake of a passing vessel, and such. The enemy has taught the island to associate feeding with ships, so it seeks ships.”

  “Why would it leave the corsair ships?” asked Tab.

  “They will not feed it,” said Sakim. “So it seeks another ship.”

  “And it would lead them to the Dorna,” said Tab.

  “It is so,” said Sakim.

  “It will get no feeding from the Dorna,” said Tab.

  “The island does not know that,” said Sakim.