Mariners of Gor (15 page)

“And now I die?” I asked.

“We shall see,” said the tarnsman.

“Hail Rutilius!” we heard. “Rutilius of Ar!”

The men who were crowded about then parted, and stepped back, clearing a space on the deck.

I removed my cloak, setting it aside, on the rail.

The man identified as Rutilius of Ar then stood at the edge of a circle, some feet of cleared space between us. Without taking his eyes off me he unclasped his cloak and handed it to a fellow, a fellow garbed as he was, in the yellow livery of what I would come to recognize as that of Lord Okimoto’s retinue. I saw nothing of Lord Okimoto himself. Perhaps the morning’s work of Seremides was of little interest to him, the outcome being a foregone conclusion, or perhaps, merely, he did not care to share, or dabble in, the pleasures of his subordinates.

I wondered if Lord Okimoto had instructed Seremides that survivors were to be put to the sword. I rather doubted it. He had not seemed much concerned, in the interrogation, with my fate, one way or another. Quite possibly he had issued no instructions. Quite possibly he had left such matters to the judgment of Seremides, the Seremides I knew.

“Are you ready to die?” asked Seremides.

“I am unarmed,” I said.

He slipped the sheath from his left shoulder, and, grasping it, drew his blade, easily, casually. It made no sound, as the sheath was lined. This is not uncommon with the sheath of an Assassin’s weapon, this permitting the weapon’s noiseless departure. It does, slightly, slow the draw. The sheath with belt he then handed, as he had the cloak, to the fellow with him. When danger is not imminent, the sheath belt is usually worn across the body, as this provides greater security, the weapon then at the left hip. If a locale is deemed dangerous the sheath belt is usually looped over the left shoulder. In this way, the weapon freed, the sheath and belt may be discarded, as it constitutes a graspable encumbrance. The sword was the
gladius
, double-edged, some eighteen inches of steel, long enough to outreach a knife, short enough, light enough, dexterous enough, to work behind the guard of a longer, heavier weapon.

“Five days ago,” said Seremides, addressing himself to the seeming rabble about, “without provocation, we were attacked by Cosian pirates, who attempted to burn our ship. We fought. We resisted. We conquered. Then we punished. Those who did not drown were executed, with but one exception, the sleen before you who was mistakenly spared, who should have been bloodied and given to Thassa’s hungry children, an offering to her justice, that he not soil our ship with his unclean, impenitent, criminal presence.”

“My name is Callias,” I said. “My Home Stone is that of Jad, on Cos. Perhaps some of you share her Home Stone with me. I was an oarsman on the Cosian patrol ship, the
Metioche
, out of Telnus. We are not pirates. You were in Cosian waters. We pursued you, investigating. We fired on you in self-defense. If any have been wronged here it is surely we, and not you. I think a mountain has little to fear from a pebble, a draft tharlarion from a stable urt.”

Seremides regarded me, measuring me, and smiled.

Some men enjoy killing, and I did not doubt but what one of these was Seremides, formerly first sword amongst the Taurentians. On the other hand, had I been another, and not one who knew him from Ar, I doubt that he would have been much concerned with me, nor would have so zealously set himself to have my blood. I was a witness, as was the slave, Alcinoë, who might identify him as the former captain of the Taurentians, traitor and arch-conspirator, he who had stood high in Ar during the reign of the puppet Ubara, Talena, one of those who, like Talena and the former Lady Flavia of Ar, her confidante, had a price on his head. I recalled how he had so persistently urged my death in the meeting below decks yesterday. He might have killed me then, had it not been for the intervention of the tarnsman, Tarl Cabot. Apparently I constituted a threat to him, at least in his mind, of considerable portent. Were I he I would doubtless have been similarly apprehensive. I looked over the rail, at Thassa, wanting to see her, again, if only for the last time. But she seemed uneasy, cold and dark, and there was a roll of clouds unfurling over her brow in the north.

“I, Rutilius of Ar,” said Seremides, “do not countenance an enemy amongst us. Who knows whose throat might be cut in his sleep by this sleen? Will you share water and rations, and loot and slaves, with one who would have delivered you to the teeth of flames or the fangs of sharks? Will we have an enemy, a deadly foe, amongst us?”

It interested me that Seremides seemed to feel it incumbent upon him to justify a projected murder. It had not been that way in Ar. Here it seemed he was not captain, here it seemed a certain wariness might be in order. For that I was grateful. The sword here did not seem to be a law unto itself, or at least his sword. The fellows about, as far as I could see, were not much interested in charges and countercharges, denunciations and defenses, and such, as in seeing what might ensue. I recalled that in Ar, I, and others, in the early morning, had occasionally gathered to watch Seremides make a kill.

“I see no judge here, no court,” I said.

“This is the court,” said Seremides, “and I am the judge.”

“I do not think so,” said a polite voice.

I looked to the side, and saw standing there he of the Pani, whom I would learn was Lord Nishida. I did not know how long he had been there, how much he had heard. I did remember that he had said that today was to be the day on which I would live or die.

I was pleased to see Lord Nishida present. He wore an oddly cut robe, with short, wide sleeves. In his sash were two swords. This, I sensed, from yesterday, and today, given the deference with which he was regarded, was a person of moment. I knew not how long I might live, so, in this august presence, I pointed to Seremides, and stated, clearly, loudly, and emphatically, “His name is not Rutilius of Ar!”

Seremides instantly rushed at me and I saw the flash of the blade descending but heard a ringing of steel and saw a flash of sparks and another blade had been interposed, that of the tarnsman. Seremides backed away, warily, his weapon poised, the point moving like the head of an excited, coiled ost.

“Many men here,” said Lord Nishida, quietly, “are known elsewhere by other names. The guard of Lord Okimoto, as he wills, is Rutilius of Ar amongst us. That is acceptable to us, and is not to be questioned. If you know another name, or another time, or another place, do not speak it. This ship, and our mission, is now our world. What matters elsewhere does not matter here. What matters here does not matter elsewhere.”

“I see,” I said.

“So,” said Lord Nishida, “what is his name?”

I looked at Seremides. “His name,” I said, “is Rutilius of Ar.”

Seremides smiled.

Could it be, I asked myself, that it does not truly matter to them that Seremides of Ar might be amongst them? But then I thought, perhaps it does not matter, not here. Who would act upon such intelligence? To whom would one remand Seremides of Ar? How would one petition for, or collect, the bounty? Who is there to pay, or act in this matter? Information which might mean wealth and power on the continent, information which might put armies on the march, which might launch ships, which might flight tarn cavalries, would here be without practical consequences. Indeed, here, some might not even know of Seremides of Ar, and of those who knew some might see their fortunes as best linked to his, particularly if, through his agency, Talena might be found. Who would be more likely to know the Ubara, her habits, her hiding places, than Seremides of Ar, from whom she had been stolen on the height of the Central Cylinder months ago? I wondered how he came to be on this ship, and for what reason. I knew the secret of Seremides, but here that knowledge was of little consequence, other than to place my life in jeopardy. Seremides had little to fear from me now. But I had much to fear from him, or from those who might be enleagued with him. Perhaps, I thought, his identity was known to Lord Okimoto, even to Lord Nishida. I did not know. I would be silent. Presumably Seremides knew that the former Lady Flavia of Ar was on board. I recalled that he had asked that she be given to him. I suspected that she did not know he was on board. As a slave, she might have been kept much in ignorance. That is not unusual with slaves. They are slaves. Thus, she might not know that he, unbeknownst to herself, might have seen her, might have looked upon her now-bared face, a face now slave-bare, a face now denied the dignity and modesty of veiling, a face which must now be as exposed to public view as that of any other animal, a face recalled by him from her vanity in Ar. How terrified she might be if she, now as any other slave, a purchasable object, a mere article of property, might be given to him.

“This Cosian sleen,” said Seremides to Lord Nishida, while not taking his eyes off me, “is an enemy, to be put to death, one who wished us harm, not to be tolerated amongst us.”

“Do you speak on behalf of Lord Okimoto?” inquired Lord Nishida.

“I bespeak on behalf of all,” said Seremides.

“Not on my behalf,” said Tarl Cabot, quietly.

I was pleased to see that several of the fellows about seemed to take this seriously. The words of the tarnsman, I gathered, were words to which several present might attend.

I would learn later he was a commander amongst them.

“Did you not say, yesterday,” asked Seremides, “that today this Cosian sleen was to die?”

“That he was to live, or die,” said Lord Nishida.

“That may be easily determined,” said Seremides.

“I am unarmed,” I said.

“Then kneel down, and lower your head, to be swiftly slain, unarmed. I shall be quick. Or, if unarmed, run, until there is nowhere else to run, and then die. Or seek Thassa. Perhaps you can swim to Cos!”

I recalled the thought of the cage of sleen. Where, within the bars, might a small sleen flee?

“Permit me to perform the execution,” said Seremides.

“Execution?” inquired Lord Nishida.

“To put to death this enemy,” said Seremides.

“There will be no execution,” said Lord Nishida.

“Very well,” said Seremides, and turned to me. “Challenge!” he said.

“I am unarmed,” I said.

“Arm him!” said Seremides.

“I know your blade,” I said. “I am no match for it.”

“Arm him!” said Seremides.

“No,” I said.

“Challenge! Challenge!” cried Seremides.

“I do not accept your challenge,” I said.

The men about reacted to this, looking about, startled. Amongst them, this response was incomprehensible.

Seremides himself seemed startled.

“Cosian,” sneered a fellow.

“They are all alike,” said another.

“No,” said another fellow who, I supposed, was Cosian. Under his reproachful gaze I suffered.

“No place here for such as he,” said a man.

“True!” said the fellow I took to be Cosian.

“Craven urt,” said another.

“Over the rail with him,” said a fellow.

“Kill him,” said another, “and be done with it.”

I clenched my fists.

“Not at our table will he eat,” said a man.

“Let him fear to go on deck after dark,” said another.

“Perhaps,” said Tarl Cabot, quietly, “you would accept a champion?”

“No!” cried several men, in gray.

Seremides stepped back a pace. Had a sudden flicker of disquiet crossed his features? In any event, for whatever reason, it seemed clear he did not welcome this intrusion. Yet I knew well the former captain of the Taurentians. What had he to fear? City champions had reeled from his blade.

“No,” I said, “I will not have another fight for me.” The tarnsman, Tarl Cabot, I gathered, did not know the skills of Seremides. I would not have another die for me. Even were he, somehow, a match for the former Taurentian’s skills, it would be wrong of me to accept his intervention. A Merchant, a laborer, a free woman might accept it, but I could not, not in honor. I had served Cos.

“A challenge has been issued,” said Seremides. “I do not accept its rejection. That is my right.”

“An Assassin’s right,” I said.

“Prepare to die,” said Seremides, “armed or unarmed.”

“Hold,” said Lord Nishida, lifting his hand, the sleeve falling back about his wrist, as he did so. “Good Callias,” said Lord Nishida, “I do not think you are a coward. Why, then, do you refuse to accept the challenge?”

“It is a challenge without honor,” I said. “The animosity borne to me by your Rutilius of Ar has nothing to do with Cos and Ar, with politics or war, with defense or security, nor with justice or law. It is personal, and from the past. I know of things of which I gather I am not to speak, and it is because of this that your Rutilius of Ar seeks my blood, that he may have nothing more to fear from me. He knows I am no match for him. Thus, he would conceal a murder beneath a veil of equitable arbitration, of fair contest, mask a murder under the mantle of a duel. If he would kill me let him do so now, publicly, in cold blood, dishonorably cutting down an unarmed man, one who holds him in contempt. So let my death soil him, and cling to him in the eyes of men, marking him, proclaiming him for what he is in fact, a wretch, a dissembler, a fugitive, a criminal, a coward, a butcher.”