Raiders of Gor (24 page)

tharlarion oil, still blazed. The city was heavy with the smell and smoke of it.

As nearly as I could gather, Chung had been the most afflicted by the fire,

losing perhaps thirty ships. The Ubars, it seemed, had not had their power

halved, but it had been considerably reduced. The damage to the arsenal, which I

had seen with my own eyes, and had taken statistical reports on from the

scribes, had not been particularly serious. It amounted to the destruction of

one roofed area where Ka-la-na wood was stored, and the partial destruction of

another; one small warehouse for the storage pitch, one of several, had been

destroyed; two dry docks had been lost, and the shop of the oarmakers, near the

warehouse for oars, had been damaged; the warehouse itself, as it turned out,

had escaped the fire.

Some of those who had started these fires, who had been apprehended, now, under

the torches, screamed on the racks beneath the chamber of the council of

Captains. Most, however, their retreat covered by crossbowmen, had excaped and

fled to the holding of Henrius Sevarius.

The two slaves near me bent to the rack windlass. There was a creak of wood, the

sound of the pawl, locking, dropping into a new notch on the ratchet, a hideous

scream.

“Have the patrols been doubled?” I asked a captain nearby.

“Yes,” he said, “and their perimeters extended by fifty pasangs.”

The man on the rack screamed again.

“What,” I asked a captain, “is the military situation?”

“The men of Henrius Sevarius,” said he, “have withdrawn into his holdings. His

ships and wharves are well defended. Men of the captains maintain their watch.

Others are in reserve. Should the forces of Sevarius emerge from his holdings we

shall meet them with steel.”

“What of the city?” I asked.

“It has not rallied to Sevarius,” said the captain. “In the streets men cry

‘Power to the Council!’”

“Excellent,” I commented.

A scribe came to my side. “An envoy from the House of Sevarius demands to speak

before the council,” he said.

“Is he a captain?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the scribe. “Lysias.”

I smiled. “Very well,” I said, “send a page, and a man with a torch, to conduct

him hither, and give him guard, that he may not be torn to death on the

streets.”

The scribe grinned. “Yes Captain,” said he.

A captain near me shook his head. “But Sevarius is a Ubar,” he said.

“The council,” I said, “will adjudicate his claims.”

The captain looked at me, and smiled. “Good,” he said, “Good.”

I gestured for the two slaves at the rack windlass to again rotate the heavy

wooden wheels, moving the heavy wooden pawl another notch in the beam ratchet.

Again there was a creak of wood and the sound of the pawl, locking, dropping

into its new notch. The thing fastened on the rack threw back its head on the

cords, screaming only with his eyes. Another notch and the bones of its arms and

legs would be torn from their sockets.

“What have you learned?” I asked the scibe, who stood with his tablet and stylus

beside the rack.

“It is the same as the others,” he said. “They were hired by the men of Henrius

Sevarius, some to slay captains, smoe to fire the wharves and arsenal.” The

scribe looked up at me. “Tonight,” he said, “Sevarius was to be Ubar of Port

Kar, and each was to have a stone of gold.”

“What of Cos and Tyros?” I asked.

The scribe looked at me, puzzled. “None have spoken of Cos and Tyros,” he said.

This angered me, for I felt that there must be more in the coup than the work of

one Port Kar’s five Ubars. I had expected, that very day, or this night, to

receive word that the fleets of Cos and Tyros were approaching. Could it be, I

asked myself, that Cos and Tyros were not implicated in the attempted coup?

“What of Cos and Tyros!” I demanded of the wretch fastened on the rack. He had

been one who had, with his crossbow, fired on the captains as they had run from

the council. His eyes had moved from his head; a large vein was livid on his

forehead’ his feet and hands were white; his wrists and ankles were bleeding;

his body was little more than drawn suet; he was stained with his own excrement.

“Sevarius!” he whispered. “Sevarius!”

“Are not Cos and Tyros to attack?” I demanded.

“Yes! Yes!” he cried. “Yes!”

“And,” I said, “what of Ar, and Ko-ra-ba, and Treve, and Thentis, and Turia, and

Tharna and Tor!”

“Yes, yes, yes!” he whimpered.

“And,” I said, “Teletus, Tabor, Scagnar!”

“Yes, yes!” he cried.

“And,” I said, “Farnacium, and Hulneth and Aperiche! And Anango and Ianda, and

Hunjer and Skjern and Torvaldsland! And Lydius and Helmutsport, and Schendi and

Bazi!”

“Yes,” he cried. “All are going to attack.”

“And Port Kar!” I cried.

“Yes,” he raved, “Port Kar, too! Port Kar, too!”

With disgust I guestured for the slaves to pull the pins releasing the

windlasses.

With a ratle of cork and chain the wheels spun back and the thing on the rack

began to jabber and whimper and laugh.

By the time the slaves had unfastened him he had lost consciousness.

“There was little more to be learned from that one,” said a voice near me. It

might have been a larl that had spoken.

I turned.

There, facing me, his face expressionless, was one who was well known in Port

Kar.

“You were not at the meeting of the council this afternoon,” I said to him.

“No,” he said.

The somnolent beat of a man regarded me.

He was a large man. About his left shoulder there were the two ropes of Port

Kar. These are commonly worn only outside the city. His garment was closely

woven, and had a hood, now thrown back. His face was wide, and heavy, and much

lined; it, like many of those of Port kar, showed the marks of Thassa, burned

into it by wind and salt; he had gray eyes; his hair was white, and

shortcropped; in his ears there were two small golden rings.

If a larl might have been transformed into a man, and yet retain its instincts,

its heart and its cunning, I think it might look much like Samos, First Slaver

of Port Kar.

“Greetings, noble Samos,” I said.

“Greetings,” said he.

It then occured to me that this man could not serve Priest-Kings. It occured to

me then, with a shudder which I did not betray, that such a man could serve only

the Others, not Priest-Kings, those Others, in the distant steel worlds, wh

osurreptitiusly and cruelly fought to gain this world and Earth for their own

ends.

Samos looked about, gazing on the various racks, to many of which there were

still fastened prisoners.

The torches lit the room with unusal shadows.

“Have Cos and Tyros been inplicated?” he asked.

“These men will confess whatever we wish,” I said dryly.

“But there seems nothing genuine?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“I suspect Cos and Tyros,” he said, gazing at me, evenly.

“I, too,” I said.

“But these minions,” he said, “they will know nothing.”

“It appears so,” I said.

“Would you,” asked Samos, “reveal your plans to such as these?”

“No,” I said.

He nodded, and then turned, but stopped, and spoke over his shoulder. “You are

the one who calls himself Bosk, are you not?”

“I am he,” I told him.

“You are to be congratulated on taking the leadership this afternoon,” he said.

“You did the council good service.”

I said nothing.

Then he turned. “Do you know who is senior captain of the council?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“I am,” said Samos, of Port Kar.

I did not respond.

Them Samor addressed himself to the Scribe near the rack. He gestured toward the

other racks. “Take down these men,” he said, “and keep them chained. We may wish

to question them further tomorrow.”

“What do you expect to do with them eventually?” I asked.

“Our round ships,” said Samos, “require oarsmen.”

I nodded.

So they would be slaves.

“Noble Samos,” I said.

“Yes,” said he.

I recalled the note I had received before Herak had burst in upon the council,

crying that there was fire in the arsenal. I had thrust the note in the wallet I

wore at my belt.

“Earlier today,” I asked, “did Noble Samos send word to me that he wished to

speak to me?”

Samos looked at me. “No,” he said.

I bowed my head.

Then Samos, who was senior captain of the Council of Captains of Port Kar,

turned and left.

“Samos,” said one of the scribles nearby, “only made landfall in Port Kar this

night, at the eighteenth hour, from Scagnar.”

“I see,” I said.

So who then, I asked myself, would write such a note? Apparently there were

others then in Port Kar who would have business with me.

I was near the Twentieth Hour.

Lysias, captain, client of Henrius Sevarius, spoke before the council. He stood

before the thrones of the Ubars, before even the large table, which now, on its

upper face, was marked by sword cuts and the apertures splintered open by the

passage of crossbow quarrels earlier this afternoon.

The Hall of the Council, this night, was surrounded by the men of the captains,

who, too, patrolled the rooftops and the walks beside the canals for a full

pasang on all sides.

The hall was lit by torches, and by many lamps with candles, set on tables

between curule chairs.

As Lysias spoke he walked back and forth before the table, his cloak swirling

behind him, his helmet, with its captain’s crest of sleen hair, in the cook of

his arm.

“And so,” concluded Lysias, “I bring you all amnesty in the name of the Ubar of

Port Kar, Henrius Sevarius!”

“Henrius Sevarius the Captain,” said Samos, speaking from his curule chair, in

the name of the council, “is most kind.”

Lysias dropped his head.

“Henrius Sevarius, the Captain,” said Samos, in measured words, “may, however,

find that the council is less inclined to lenience that he.”

Lysias lifted his head in alarm.

“His power is greater than any of yours!” he cried. And then he spun about to

face the Ubars, each, with men about him, on his throne. “Greater even than any

of yours!” cried Lysias.

I gazed upon the Ubars, squat, brilliant Chung; narrowfaced, cunning Eteocles;

tall, long-haired, Nigel, like a warlord from Torvaldsland; and Sullius Maximus,

who was said to write poetry and be a student of the properties of various

poisons.

“How many ships has he?” asked Samos.

“One hundred and two!” said Lysias proudly.

“The captains of the council,” said Samos, dryly, “have some one thousand ships

pledged to their personal service. And further, the council is executor with

respect to the disposition and application of the ships of the city, in the

number of approzimately another thousand.”

Lysias stood scowling before Samos, his helmet in the crook of his arm, his long

cloak falling behind him.

“The council commands,” summarized Samos, “some two thousand ships.”

“There are many other ships!” cried Lysias.

“Perhaps,” asked Samos, “you refer to those of Chung, and Eteocles, and Nigel

and Sullius Maximus?”

There was upleasant laughter in the council.

“No!” cried Lysias. “I refer to the ships of the minor captains, in the number

of better than twenty-five hundred!”

“In the streets,” said Samos, “I have heard the cry ‘Power to the council!’”

“Proclaim Henrius Sevarius sole Ubar,” said Lysias numbly, “and your lives will

be spared, and you will be granted amnesty.”

“That is your proposal?” asked Samos.

“It is,” said Lysaias.

“Now hear,” said Samos, “the proposal of the council, that Henrius Sevarius and

his regent, Claudius, lay down their arms, and divest themselves of all ships,

and men and holdings, all properties and assets, and present themselves,

stripped and in the chains of slaves, before the council, that its judgement may

be passed on them.”

Lysias, his body rigid with fury, his hand on the hilt of his sword, stood not

speaking before Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar.

“Perhaps,” said Samos, “their lives may be spared, that they may take their seat

on the benches of the public round ships.”

There was an angry cry of affirmation, and a shaking of fists, from those of the

council.

Lysais, looked about himself. “I claim the immunity of the herald!” he cried.

“It is yours,” said Samos. Then he spoke to a page. “Conduct Lysias, Captain, to

the holdings of Henrius Sevarius,” said Samos.

“Yes, Noble Samos,” said the boy.

Lysias, looking about himself, his cloak swirling, followed the boy from the

room.

Samos rose before his curule chair. “Is it true,” he asked, “that in the eyes of

the council Henrius Sevarius is no longer Ubar or Captain in Port Kar?”

“It is,” cried the voices. “It is!”

And none, I think, cried louder than the other Ubars upon their thrones.

When the tumult had subsided, Samos faced the four thrones of the Ubars.

Uneasily they regarded him.

“Glorious Captains,” said Samos.

“Ubars!” cried Sullius Maximus.

“Ubars,” said Samos, bowing his head with a smile.

The four men, Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, rested back on their