Raiders of Gor (22 page)

from Tyros, in their green ships, painted to resemble the sea, but neither of

them had chosen ot engage us. We gathered that, seeing how low we sat in the

water, they assumed our cargo to be one of bulk goods and departed, doubtless

having higher hopes for gain upon the sea. It is scarely worth the risk of crew

and ship, unless desperate, to win a hold filled with lumber or stone.

My men were mostly pirates and cutthroats. Doubtless many of them did not much

care to ply an honest trade. Better, they would think, to lie in wait on the

open sea for the slave galleys of Tyros or the treasure ships of Cos. But two

who challenged me for the captaincy I slew within a dozen strokes, and the

others, thus given pause, chose to confine their disgruntlement, if any, to

their cups and conclaves. Any who did not wish to continue in my service were

free to go. I instructed Luma to discharge any such with a gift of gold, of half

a stone’s weight. Surprisingly, few left my ships. I do not think they cared to

foresake their piracies, but, too, I think they felt pride in serving one who

was said, now, after the incident of the paga tavern, to possess one of the

finest blades in Port Kar.

“When do we sail against the ships of Cos and Tyros?” asked Tab of me.

“Cos and Tyros,” I said, “have not injured me.”

“They will,” said he.

“Then,” said I, “we will sail against them.”

Ashore my crews were roisterous and brawling but on the ships, strange as it is

to relate, they were serious and disciplined men.

I attempted to treat them fairly.

On land I did not see much of them, preferring it this way, remaining aloof.

But I did, of course, pay them well and, in my holding, knowing men, saw that

they could have their pick of some of Port Kar’s most beautiful slave girls.

I had purchased the girl whom I had seen dance in the Paga Tavern, for forty

pieces of gold. I had called her Sandra, after a girl once known on Earth. I had

put my collar on her and, after using her, had consigned her to my men, that she

might please their senses.

My fifth voyage was one ot satisfy my interest, and made in a light swift

galley.

I had wanted to see both Tyros and Cos.

Both lie some four hundred pasangs west of Port Kar, Tyros to the south of Cos,

separated by some hundred pasangs from her. Tyros is a rugged island, with

mountains. She is famed for her vart caves, and indeed, on the island, trained

varts, batlike creatures, some the size of small dogs, are used as weapons. Cos

is also a lofty island, even loftier than Tyros, but she has level fields to her

west. Cos had many terraces, on which the Ta grapes are grown. Near her, on

night, lying off her shore, silently, I heard the mating whistles of the tiny,

lovely Cosian wingfish. This is a small, delicate fish; it has three or four

slender spines in its dorsal fin, which are poisonous. It is called the wingfish

because it can, on its stiff pectoral fins, for short distances, glide through

the air, usually in an attempt to flee small sea tharlarion, who are immune to

the poison of the spines. It is also called a songfish, because, in their

courtship rituals, males and females thrust their heads from the water, uttering

a kind of whistle. Their livers are regarded as a delicacy. I recalled I had

once tried one, but had not cared for it, at a banquet in Turia, in the house of

a man named Saphrar, who had been a merchant.. Saphrar, I recalled, had once

been a perfumer from Tyros but, being exiled as a thief, had made his way to

Port Kar, and thence had gone to Turia.

I had learned on the rail of the light galley, and, in the moonlight, had

listened to the mating whistles of the small fish.

The seemed so small, and innocent.

“The moons are now full,” had said Tab to me.

“Yes,” I said, “weigh the anchors.”

Silently, oars scarcely touching the water, we had moved from Cos, leaving her

behind in the moonlight.

While I made my five voyages my other six ships were engaged in commercila

ventures similar to those which had occupied my first four voyages. I seldom

returned to Port Kar without learning from Luma that my fortunes had been

augmented even further in my absence. I had made, to date, only the five voyages

mentioned. In the last two months, in my holding, I had been largely occupied

with matters of business and management, mostly organizing and planning the

voyages of others. I expected I would again, however, return to Thassa. She, as

it is said, cannot be forgotten.

I had made one innovation in practices common to Port Kar. I used free men on

the rowing benches on my round ships, of which I had four, not slaves, as is

traditional. The fighting ship, incidentall, the long ship, the ram-ship, has

never been, to my knowledge, in Port Kar, or Cos, or Tyros, or elsewhere on Gor,

rowed by slaves; the Gorean fighting ship always has free men at the oars. The

galley slaves I thought worth freeing, I freed, and found that many would stay

with me, taking me for their captain. Those I did no wish, for one reason or

another, to free, I sold to other captains, or exchanged them for slaves whom I

might free, several of whom, when freed, also agreed to serve with me. Gaps on

my benches were easily filled. I would purchase a strong man from the market

chain on the slave wharf, and then, saying nothing, set him free. I think not

once did such a man not follow me to my holding, asking to be my man. Not only

did fre men render more efficient service at the oars, but, when they were given

the opportunity, I found them eager to train with arms, and so hired masters to

teach them weapons. It was thus that the round ships of Bosk, the captain from

the marshes, with their free crews, became in their own right dangerous,

formidable ships. Merchants of Port Kar began to apply to me that they might

transport their goods in my ships. I preferred, however, to buy and sell my own

cargos. Certain other captain, I noted, were now also experimenting, on certain

of their shiips, with free crews.

My attention was then returned to the meeting of the council of captains.

A motion was on the floor that a new preserve in the northern forests be

obtained, that more timber for the arsenal be available. In the northern forests

Port Kar already had several such perserves. There is a ceremony in the

establishment of such a perserve, involving proclamations and the surrounds of

trumpets. Such preserves are posted, surrounded by ditches to keep out cattle

and unlicensed wagoners. There are wardens who watch the trees, guarding against

illegal cutting and pasturage, and inspectors who, each year, tally and examine

them. The wardens are also responsible, incidentally, for managing and improving

the woods. They do such work as thinning and planting, and trimming, and keeping

the protective ditch in repair. They are also responsibel for bending and

fastening certain numbers of young trees so that tey will grow into desired

shapes, usually to be used for frames, and stem and sternposts. Individual

trees, not in the perserves, which are claimed by Port Kar, are marked with the

seal of the arsenal. The location of all such trees is kept in a book available

to the Council of Captains. These preserves are usually located near rivers, in

order to facilitate bringing cut trees to the sea. Trees may also be purchased

from the Forest People, who will cut them in the winter, when they can be

dragged on sleds to the sea. If there is a light snowfall in a given year, the

price of timber is often higher. Port Kar is, incidentally, completely dependent

on the northern timber. Tur wood is used for galley frames, and beams and clamps

and posts, and for hull planking; Ka-la-na serves for capstans and mastheads;

Tem-wood for rudders and oars; and the needle trees, teh evergreens, for masts

and spars, and cabin and deck planking.

The motion to obtain a new preserve carried. I abstained from voting, not having

been convinced that a new preserve was needed. I supposed it might be, but I did

not know; i had not been convinced; so I had abstained.

But why should Cos and Tyros come against Port Kar at this time? But it was a

rumor, I reminded myself again, forcibly, a rumor, a baseless rumor. I was

angry. I again forced the thought from my mind.

I now had the means whereby I might purchase yet two more ships for my fleet.

They would be deep-keeled round ships, with mighty holds, and high, broad sails.

I had alread, to a great extent, selected crews. I had projected voyages for

them to Ianda and to Torvaldsland. Each would be escorted by a medium galley.

They would bring me, I conjecture, much riches.

I took the note from the boy, who appeared suddenly beside my chair. He had long

hair, and wore a tunic of red and yellow silk. I recognized him, he being a page

of the council.

The note, folded, was sealed with a disk of melted wax. The wax did not bear the

imprint of a signet ring.

I opened it.

The message was simple. It read, printed it block letters: I WOULD SPEAK WITH

YOU. It was signed, also in block printing, SAMOS.

I crumpled the paper in my fist.

“Who gave you this message?” I asked the boy.

“A man,” he said. “I do not know him.”

I saw Lysias, with his helmet, with the two golden slashes, with its captain’s

crest of sleen hair, on the arm of his curule chair. He was looking at me,

curiously.

I did not know if the message truly came from Samos, or not.

If it did, doubtless he had come to learn that Tarl Cabot was now in Port Kar.

But how would he have come to know this? And how could he have come to

understand that Bosk, fighting man and merchant, was the same as he who once had

been a warrior of the towered city of Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning?

Doubtless he wished to summon me to his presence, that he might recall me to the

service of Priest-Kings.

But I no longer served Priest-Kings. I served now only myself.

I was angry.

I would ignore the message.

At that moment a man burst into the hall in which was sitting the Council of

Captains.

His eyes were wild.

It was Henrak, who had worn the white scarf, who had betrayed the rencers.

“The arsenal!” he cried. “The arsenal is afire!”

11
   
The Crest of Sleen Hair

The Captains leaped from their chairs, crying out. Great chairs fell bounding

down the tiers of the council chamber. The Scribe at the table before the

thrones was on his feet shouting. Papers were scattering to the floor. Feet were

pounding toward the great double door, leading to the hallway beyond, leading

out to the tiled piazza fronting on the hall of the council. I saw pages

scurrying about, in their red and yellow silk. Ink had spilled on the great

table.

Then I saw that Lysias, with the captain’s crest of sleen hair on his helmet,

had not stirred from his chair.

And I saw, too, that the Scribe who normally sat his attendance at the right arm

of the empty throne of Henrius Sevarius, the Fifth, in the council chamber was

gone.

Outside, in the distance, through the great door, flung open, I heard cries of

alarm, and the clash of weapons.

Then I saw Lysias, his hair tied behind his neck with the scarlet string, rise.

He placed on his head his helmet.

He unsheathed his weapon.

So, too, did my steel leave its sheath.

But Lysias then, weapon at the ready, backed away, and then turned and fled

through a side door, leading from the council hall.

I looked about.

A small fire was burning to one side, where a lamp with candle had been knocked

to the floor, in the rush toward the door.

Chairs lay knocked over, furniture was broken. The floor was covered with

papers.

The scribe at the central table, that before the empty thrones, stood numb

behind the table.

Other scribes came and stood with him, looking from one to the other. To one

side, cowering, stood several of the page boys.

Then, staggering, bloody, the quarrel of a crossbow protruding from the emblem

on his velvet tunic, a captain reeled into the room and fell, clutching at the

arm of one of the curule chairs. Then, behind him, in the groups of four and

five, crying out, many bleeding from wounds, weapons brandished, and sometimes

bloodied, there came those captains who could.

I went to the place before the thrones.

I indicated the small fire burning to one side, that which had been caused by

the fallen lamp with candle. “Put it out,” I told two of the frightened pages.

I resheathed my sword.

The two pages leapt to do my bidding.

“Gather up and guard the book of the Council,” I told the Scribe who had been at

the great table.

“Yes, Captain,” said he, leaping to seize it up.

I then, throwing papers to the floor, scattering ink, lifted the great table

over my head.

There were cries of astonishment.

I turned and, step by step, carrying the great table, advanced toward the large

door leading to the hallway.

More captains, their back to the room, fighting, falling, were retreating