Raiders of Gor (28 page)

He had long black hair, tied behind his neck with a scarlet string.

He carried, in the crook of his left arm, a helmet, bearing the crest of sleen

hair that marks a captain of Port Kar. The helmet, too, bore two golden slashes.

A long cloak swirled behind him.

I had expected it to be Samos.

“I am Lysias,” he said. “Bosk, you remember me.”

I smiled to myself. He, with a handful of men, had managed to escape from the

holding of Henrius Sevarius. It had occurred the night following my rescue of

the boy from the canal. The guard had since been increased. I did not think more

would escape.

“Yes,” I said, “I remember you perhaps better than you know.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Are you not the one who, in the delta of the Vosk, was overcome by vast numbers

of rencers, and forced to abandon your barges, and a treasure of rence paper and

slaves?”

“This man is dangerous,” said Lysias to Chenbar. “I recommend that he be slain.”

“No, no,” said Chenbar. “We will sell him and make a profit on him.”

The girl, Lady Vivina, threw back her head and laughed merrily.

“He is dangerous,” said Lysias.

Chenbar looked at me. “The money that we obtain from your sale,” he said, “will

be applied to the outfitting of our fleets. It will not be a great deal, but

that way you can feel that you have not been left out, that you have done your

small bit to augment the glories of Cos and Tyros.”

I said nothing.

“I trust, too,” said Chenbar, “that you will not be the last of the captains of

Port Kar to pull an oar on the round ships of Cos and Tyros.”

“Apparently I have business to attend to,” I said. “If I may, I request your

permission to withdraw.”

“One thing more,” said Chenbar.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Have you not forgotten,” he asked, “to bid the Lady Vivina farewell?”

I looked at Chenbar.

“Doubtless,” said he, “you will not see her again.”

I turned to face her.

“I do not frequent the rowing holds of round ships,” she said.

There was laughter in the room.

“Have you ever been in the hold of a round ship?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she said.

High born ladies commonly sailed in cabins, located in the stern castle of the

galleys.

“Perhaps someday,” I said, “you shall have the opportunity.”

“What do you mean by that?” said she.

“It is a joke,” said Chenbar.

“When,” I asked, “High Lady, will you drink the wine of the Free Companionship

with Lurius, noble Ubar of Cos?”

“I shall return first to Tyros,” she said, “where I shall be made ready. Then,

with treasure ships, we shall return in festive voyage to the harbor of Telnus,

where I shall take the arm of Lurius and with him drink the cup of the Free

Companionship.”

“May I wish you, Lady,” said I, “a safe and pleasant voyage, and much future

happiness.”

She nodded her head, and smiled.

“You spoke of treasure ships,” I said.

“Of course,” said she.

“It seems then,” said I, “that your body alone is not enough for noble Lurius.”

“Tarsk!” she said.

Chenbar laughed.

“Take him away,” cried Lurius, leaning forward in the throne, fists clenched

upon its arms.

I felt the chains at my wrists.

“Farewell, Lady,” said I.

“Farewell,” said she, “Slave.”

I was spun about and dragged stumbling from the high throne room of Cos.

When, early the next morning, chained and under guard, I was taken from the

palace of Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, the streets were mostly deserted. It had

rained the night before and, here and there, there were puddles among the stones

of the street. The shops were shuttered with wood, and the wood was still

stained dark from the night’s rain. There were few lights in the windows. I

recall seeing, crouched against the wall of a building near the postern gate of

the palace of Lurius, a coarse-robed figure, foolishly come too early to sell

his vegetables, suls and tur-pah, near the palace. He seemed asleep, and

doubtless scarcely noticed us. He was a large man in the rough rain robes of the

peasant. Near him, leaning against the wall behind him, wrapped in leather to

protect it from the dampness, was a yellow bow, the long bow of the peasants. He

had shaggy yellow hair. I smiled as I passed him.

On the slaves’ wharf I was, with little ceremony, added to the market chain.

By the eighth hour various captains of round ships had arrived and begun to

haggle with the slave master over the prices of the oarsmen. The slave master,

in my opinion, wanted far too much for his merchandise, considering we were

merely fodder for the benches of the round ships. Having no particular interest

in being struck to silence I refrained from pointing this out to him. Besides,

He doubtless had his instructions to receive as much pay as possible. Apparently

Cos was outfitting her fleets and her treasury was currently strained. Every

copper tarn disk I told myself, in such a situation doubtless assumes greater

importance than it normally would. I was a bit irritated at being slapped and

punched, and told to exhibit my teeth, but, in all honesty, these indignities

were no worse than those heaped upon my chain mates. Besides, I was not,

considering that I was about to be sold to the galleys, in a particularly bad

mood.

To one side, leaning against a heavy, roped post, supporting part of the

structure of the slaves’ wharf, crosslegged, there sat a fisherman. He was

working carefully on a net spread across his knees, repairing it. Near him there

lay a triden. He had long black hair, and gray eyes.

“Let me test your grip,” said one of the captains. “I use only strong men on my

ships.”

He extended his hand.

In an instant he was screaming for mercy.

“Stop, Slave!” cried the slave master, striking me with the butt of his whip.

I released the man’s hand, not having chosen to break it.

He stood unsteadily, half crouching over, looking at me with disbelief, his hand

thrust into his left armpit.

“Forgive me, Master,” asid I, with concern.

Unsteadily he went elsewhere, to examine others farther along the market chain.

“Do that again,” said the slave master, “amd I will cut your throat.”

“I doubt,” said I, “that Chenbar and Lurius would much approve of that.”

“Perhaps not,” said the slave master, grinning.

“What do you for that slave?” asked a captain, a tall man with a small,

carefully trimmed beard.

“Fifty copper tarn disks,” said the slave master.

“It is too much,” said the captain.

I agreed, but it did not seem up to me to enter into the question.

“That is the price,” said the slave master.

“Very well,” said the captain gesturing to a scribe near him with a wallet of

coins slung over his shoulder, to pay the slave master.

“May I ask,” I asked, “the name of my master and his ship?”

“I am Tenrik,” said he, “Tenrik of Temos. Your ship will be the Rena of Temos.”

“And when do we sail?” I asked.

He laughed. “Slave,” he said, “you ask questions like a passager.”

I smiled.

“With the evening’s tide,” he said.

I bowed my head. “Thank you, Master,” said I.

Tenrik, followed by the scribe, turned and left. I noted that now the fisherman

had finished with his net and that he, too, was preparing to depart. He folded

the net carefully and dropped it over his left shoulder. He then picked up his

trident in his right hand and, not looking back, took his way from the slaves’

wharf.

The slave master was again counting the fifty copper tarn disks.

I shook my head. “Too much,” I told him.

He shrugged and grinned. “Whatever the market will bear,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “I guess you are right.”

I was not displeased when I was conducted to the Rena of Temos. She was indeed a

round ship. I noted with satisfaction the width of her beam and the depth of her

keel. Such a ship would be slow.

I did not much care for the crusts, and the onions and peas, on which we fed,

but I did not expect to be eating them long.

“You will not find this an easy ship to row,” said the oar-master, chaining my

ankles to the heavy footbrace.

“The lot of a slave is miserable,” I told him.

“Further,” he laughed, “you will not find me an easy master.”

“The lot of a slave is indeed miserable,” I lamented.

He turned the key in the locks and, laughing, turned about and went to his seat,

facing us, in the stern of the rowing hold.

Before him, since this was a large ship, there sat a keleustes, a strong man, a

time-beater, with leather-wrapped wrists. He would mark the rowing stroke with

blows of wooden, leather-cushioned mallets on the head of a huge copper-covered

drum.

“Out oars!” called the oar-master.

I, with the others, slid my oar outboard.

Above us, on the upper deck, I could hear the crieds of the seamen, casting off

mooring lines, shoving away from the dock with the traditional three long poles.

The sails would not be dropped from the yards until the ship was clear of the

harbor.

I heard the creak of the great side-rudders and felt the heavy, sweet, living

movement of the caulked timbers of the ship.

We were now free of land.

The eyes of the ship, painted on either side of the bow, would now have turned

toward the opening of the harbor of Telnus. Ships of Gor, of whatever class or

type, always have eyes painted on them, either in a head surmounting the prow,

as in tarn ships, or, as in the Rena, as in round ships, on either side of the

bow. It is the last thing that is done for the ship before it is first launched.

The painting of the eyes reflects the Gorean seaman’s belief that the ship is a

living thing. She is accordingly given eyes, that she may see her way.

“Ready oars!” called the oar-master.

The oars were poised.

“Stroke!” called the oar-master.

The keleustes struck the great copper drum before him with the leather-cushioned

mallet.

As one the oars entered the water, dipping and moving within it. My feet thrust

against the footbrace and I drew on the oar.

Slowly the ship, like a sweet, fat bird, heavy and stately, began to move toward

the opening between the two high, round towers that guard the entrance to the

walled harbor of Telnus, capito city of the island of Cos, seat of its Ubar’s

throne.

We had now been two days at sea.

I and the others, from our pans, were eating one of our four daily rations of

bread, onions and peas. We were passing a water skin about among us.

The oars were inboard.

We had not rowed as much as normally we would have. We had had a fair wind for

two days, which had slacked off yesterday evening.

The Rena of Temos, like most round ships, had two permanent masts, unlike the

removable mast of the war galleys. The main mast was a bit forward of amidships,

and foremast was some four or five yards abaft of the ship’s yoke. Both were

lateen rigged, the yard of the foresail being about half the length of the yard

of the mailsail. We had made good time for a heavy ship, but then the wind had

slacked.

We had rowed fro several Ahn this morning.

It was now something better than an Ahn past noon.

“I understand,” said the oar-master, confronting me, “that you were a Captain in

Port Kar.”

“I am a captain,” I said.

“But in Port Kar,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “I am a Captain in Port Kar.”

“But this is not Port Kar,” he said.

I looked at him. “Port Kar,” I said, “is wherever her power is.”

He looked at me.

“I note,” I said, “the wind has slackened.”

His face turned white.

“Yes,” I said.

At that moment, from far above, from the basket on the main mast, came the cry

of the lookout, “Two ships off the port beam!”

“Out and read oars!” cried the oar-master, running to his chair.

I put down my pan of bread, onions and peas, sliding it under the bench. I might

want it later.

I slid the oar out of the thole port and readied it.

Above on the deck I could hear running feet, men shouting.

I heard the voice of the Captain, Tenrik, crying to his helmsmen, “Hard to

starboard!”

The big ship began to swing to starboard.

But then another cry, wild, drifted down from the basket on the main mast, “Two

more ships! Off the starboard bow!”

“Helm ahead!” cried Tenrik. “Full sail! Maximun beat!”

As soon as the Rena had swung to her original course, the oar-master cried

“Stroke!” and the mallets of the keleustes began to strike, in great beats, the

copper-covered drum.

Two seamen came down from the upper deck and seized whips from racks behind the

oar-master.

I smiled.

Beaten or not, the oarsmen could only draw their oars so rapidly. And it would

not be rapidly enough.

I heard another cry drifting down from the basket far above. “Two more ships

astern!”

The heavy, leather-cushioned mallets of the keleustes struck again and again on

the copper-covered drum.

I heard, about a half an Ahn later, Tenrik call up to the lookout.

The man carried a long glass of the builders.