Raiders of Gor (25 page)

thrones.

“Be it known to you, Ubars,” said he, “that Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar, now

proposes to the council that it take into its own hands the full and sold

governance of the city of Port Kar, with full powers, whether of policy and

decree, of enforcement, of taxation and law, or other, pertinent to the

administration thereof.”

“No!” cried the Ubars, leaping to their feet.

“It will be civil war!” cried Eteocles.

“Power to the council,” said Samos, bowing his head.

“Power to the council!” cried the men in the tiers. Even the page boys and

scribes, and minor captains, in the back of the room and about the sides, cried

out these words. “Power to the council!”

I sat still in my curule chair, smiling.

“Further,” said Samos, “I propose that the council decree that all bonds among

clients and patrons in Port Kar be now dissolved, to be reestablished only on

the basis of mutual consent and explicit contract on the part of the parties

involved, which documents, in copy, are to be placed with the council.”

Sullius Maximus shook his fist at Samos. “You will not shear us of your power!”

he cried.

“Further,” said Samos, “let the council decree that any who fail to abide by the

resolutions of the council, or act against it, at the council’s convenience,

subject to her pleasure.”

There was much enthusiastic shouting from the tiers.

The Ubar Chung, throwing his cloak about his shoulders, followed by his men,

left the chambers.

Then Nigel, with lofty disdain and measured tread, carrying his helmet, departed

the chamber.

“I now ask the table scribe,” said Samos, “to call the roll of Captains.”

“Antisthenes,” called the scribe.

“Antisthenes accepts the proposals,” said a man in the third row, some yards

from me.

In fury, with a shout of rage, Eteocles, cloak swirling, his hand on the hilt of

his sword, strode to the table. He took his sword from its sheath and plunged it

through the scribe’s papers, pinning them to the table.

“There is the power in Port Kar,” he cried.

Slowly Samos drew his own weapon and placed it across his knees. “Here, too,” he

said, “is power.”

And almost every one of the captains in that council drew their weapon, as had

Samos, and placed it across their knees.

I, too, unsheathed my weapon, and rose to my feet, regarding Eteocles.

He looked at me, and then, with a cry of anger, drew his blade from the papers

and wood, slammed it back into its sheath, and turned and strode from the room.

I returned to my seat.

I saw that now, quietly, and with little show of emotion, Sullius Maximus had

risen to his feet. A man behind him helped him adjust his cloak, so that it fell

from its golden clasp, as he wished. Another man behind him held his helmet.

Sullius Maximus stopped before the table of the scribem and regarded the

council.

“I shall write a poem,” he said, “lamenting the downfall of Ubars.” Then he

smiled, and turned and left.

He, I told myself, would be the most dangerouls of the Ubars.

I resheathed my blade.

“Bejar,” called the scribe.

“Bejar accepts the proposals of Samos,” said a captain, a dark-skinned man with

long, straight hair, who sat in the second row, some two chairs below me and to

the right.

“Bosk,” called the scribe.

“Bosk,” I said, “abstains.”

Samos, and many of the others, looked at me, quickly.

“Abstention,” recorded the scribe.

I saw no reason, at the moment, to commit myself to the programs of Samos and

the council. It seemed clear to me that his proposals would be accepted.

Moreover, I regarded them as presumably in my best interest. But, by abstaining,

my intentions and allegiances might perhaps remain usefully ambiguous. The

abstention, it seemed to me, might well give me a wider eventual latitude of

action. Besides, I told myself, it was still rather early to determine on which

curule chairs the tarns of power might alight.

As I thought it would, the group of proposals set before the council by Samos

passed overwhelmingly. There were some absentions, and some nays, perhaps from

those who feared the power of one or another of the Ubars, but the decision on

the whole was clear, a devastating of the claims of the Ubars and the, in

effect, enthronement of the council of captains as the sovereign of the city.

The council met late that night, and much business was conducted. Even before

dawn walls were being reaised about the holdings of Henrius Sevarius, and his

wharves were being blockaded with ships of the arsenal, while large watches were

being maintained on the holdings of the other four Ubars. Several committees

were formed, usually headed by scribes but reporting to the council, to

undertake various studies pertaining to the city, particularly of a military and

commercial nature. One of these studies was to be a census of ships and

captains, the results of which were to be private to the council. Other studies,

the results of which would be kept similarly private to the council, dealt with

the city defenses, and her stores of wood, grain, salt, stone and tharlarion

oil. Also considered, though nothing was determined that night, were matters of

taxation, the unification and revision of the codes of the five Ubars, the

establishment of council courts, replacing those of the Ubars, and the

acquistion of a sizable number of men-at-arms, who would be directly responsible

to the council itself, in effect, a small council police or army. Such a body of

men, it might be noted, though restricted in numbers and limited in

jurisdiction, already existed in the arsenal. The arsenal guard, presumably,

would become a branch of the newly formed council guard, if such became a

reality. It is true, of course, that the council already controlled a large

number of ships and crews, but it must be remembered that these forces were

naval in nature; the council already had its navy; the events of the afternoon

had demonstrated that it would be well if it had also at its disposal a small,

permanent, dependable, rapidly deployable infantry. One might not always be able

to count on the rallying of the men of individual captains to protect the

council, as had been the case this afternoon. Besides, if teh council were to

become truly sovereign in Port Kar, as it had proclaimed itself, it seemed

essential that it should soon have its own military forces within the city.

One other incident of that council meeting I shall mention.

It was shortly past daybreak, and the gray light of Port Kar’s dawn was

filtering in through the high, narrow windows of the council of captains. I had

taken the note which I had received the preceding afternoon from my wallet, that

which had purported to be from Samos, which he had denied sending. Bemused, I

had burned it in the tiny flame of the candle on the table near me, now little

more than a twig of wick in a puddle of clear, melted wax, and then I had, with

the plam of my hand, snuffed out the tiny flame. It was day.

“I suspect,” Samos was saying, “that Cos and Tyros are implicated in the

attempted coup of the House of Sevarius.”

I myself would not have been surprised if this had been true.

His words received grunts of affirmation from the assembled captains. It seemed

they, too, had their suspicions. Surely it did not seem likely that Sevarius

would have moved if he had not been assured, at some point, of the support of

the power of Cos and Tyros.

“Myself,” Samos went on, “I am weary of war with Cos and Tyros.”

the captains looked at one another.

“Now that the council is sovereign in Port Kar,” Samos said, his fist clenched

on the arm of his curule chair, “might not peach be possible?”

This puzzled me.

I saw one or two of the captains reaise their heads from the arms of their

curule chairs.

One captain, leaning back in his curule chair, said, “There has always been war

between Port Kar, and Cos and Tyros.”

I did not expect these remarks from Samos. I was curious to know his motivation,

his plan.

“As you know,” said Samos, speaking evenly, “Port Kar is not the most loved, nor

the most greatly respected nor the highest honored among the cities of Gor.”

There was rough laughter at this.

“Have we not been misunderstood?” he asked.

There was an unpleasant undercurrent of amusement which greeted his question. I

myself smiled. Port Kar, I told myself, was only too well understood bu the

other cities of Gor.

“Consider our trade,” said Samos. “Would it not be trebled if we were accounted,

among Gorean cities, a city of love, of peace?”

There was a guffaw of laughter at this, and men pounded the arms of the curule

chairs. There were none now in that room who were not awake. I saw even the

pages and scribes laughed, poking one another.

When there was silence, it was suddenly, unexpectedly, broken by the voice of

Bejar, the dark-skinned captain with the long, straight hair. He said simply,

answering the question of Samos, “It would.”

Then the room was very silent. And I think there were noe then in that room who

did not hold his breath for that moment, to hear the words of Samos.

“It is my proposal,” said Samos, “that the council approach Cos and Tyros,

offering terms of peace.”

“No!” came the cry from the assembled captains. “No!”

When the tumult had subsided, Samos spoke, softly. “Of course,” said Samos, “our

terms will be rejected.”

The captains looked at one another in puzzlement, and then they began to smile,

and then several laughed.

I smiled to myself. Samos was indeed a shrewd man. The facade of magnanimity

would indeed be a valuable posseession for a maritime Ubarate. Further, men

might be willing to believe Port Kar now other than she had been, that the

coming to power of the council would have reformed her. And what better gesture

than this mission of peace to the hereditary enemies Cos and Tyros? If the

burden of maintaining the conflict were clearly on them, it was possible that

allies of theirs might be influenced to diminish or, perhaps, withdraw their

support, or, perhaps pledge it even to Port Kar. And there were undeclared ports

and cities to consider. Surely these might then be dissuaded from becoming

allies of Cos and Tyros, and perhaps might be inclined to offer their services

to Port Kar? At the very least, the ships of Port Kar might, in such a

situation, become suddenly welcome in ports that had hitherto been closed to

them. And who knew what trading ships might make their way to Port Kar, if they

thought her a fair and honest city? The estimate of Samos, taht such a gesture

on Port Kar’s part might eventually result in a trebling of her trade, seemed to

me possibly conservative.

“What if the offer of peace is accepted?” I asked Samos.

The captains looked at me, dumbfounded. Some laughed. But most looked then to

Samos.

“I do not think it likely,” said Samos, smiling.

Several of the captains then laughed.

“But,” I asked, “if it is?”

Samos scowled, and then his clear gray eyes met mine, but without emotion. I

could not read his heart. Then he smiled, and spread his hands. “Then,” said he,

“it is accepted.”

“And,” I asked, “Do we abide by their acceptance? Would there then be truly

peace between Port Kar, and Cos and Tyros?”

“That,” smiled Samos, “may always be taken under consideration at a future

meeting of the council.”

There was rough laughter at this.

“The time is opportune,” said Samos, “to offer peace to Cos and Tyros. For one

thing, the Council has newly come to power. For another, I have learned from

spies that this very week the Ubar of Tyros visits Cos.”

The captains muttered angrily. It did not bode well for Port Kar that the Ubar

of Tyros should voyage to Cos. More than the Ubar of Tyros should voyage to Cos.

More than ever it now seemed possible, or probable, that the two island Ubarates

might well be conspiring against Port Kar. Why else should there be a meeting of

the two Ubars? Generally, there was almost as little love lost between them as

between them and the Ubars of Port Kar.

“Then,” said one of the captains, “they must intend to bring their fleets

against us.”

“Perhaps,” said Samos, “members of a mission of peace might learn such matters.”

There was a grunt of agreement from the captains.

“What of your spies,” I asked, “who seem so well informed? Surely, if they can

learn the itineraries of the Ubar of Tyros, it must be difficult to conceal from

them a gathering of the fleets of two such powers as Cos and Tyros?”

The hand of Samos went instinctively to the hilt of his weapon, but then he

closed his hand and slowly placed the fist on the arm of his curule chair. “You

speak quickly,” he said, “for one who is new to the Council of Captains.”

“More quickly than you choose to answer, it seems, Noble Samos,” said I.

I wondered what the interess of Samos in Cos and Tyros might be.

Samos spoke slowly. I saw that he did not care to speak. “The fleets of Cos and

Tyros,” he said, “have not yet gathered.”