Mariners of Gor (46 page)

“You belong to the ship,” I said.

She looked up, pleading. “Master!” she protested.

“Go to the Kasra keeping area,” I said, “and beg to be put on your chain.”

“Master!” she wept.

“Need a command be repeated?”

“No, Master!” she said.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I will go to the Kasra keeping area, and beg to be put on my chain,” she said.

“Go,” I said. “Run!”

She leaped up and fled, sobbing, to the nearest open hatch.

“I see,” said Lord Nishida, smiling, “you are fond of the slave.”

I shrugged. “The little beast is not without her attractions,” I said.

“Do not forget she is a slave, and only that,” said Lord Nishida.

“I will not,” I said.

“Lord Okimoto approaches,” observed Lord Nishida.

Lord Nishida bowed first.

There is apparently a certain order to such things, who bows first, how deeply one bows, and such. On continental Gor, and the familiar islands, it is common to give the right hand, the usual weapon hand, to the other, though mariners sometimes clasp one another’s wrist, in the mariner’s grip, far more secure than the clasping of hands. Giving the weapon hand to the other is certainly a gesture of trust. Perhaps that is why one seldom shakes hands with strangers. The business of bowing seemed to me to make a good deal of sense. One exchanged a greeting with courtesy, and, at the same time, retained the freedom of the weapon hand. Hands, too, amongst the higher Pani, are often concealed in the broad sleeves of their robes. This makes possible the concealment, and the ready availability, of a sleeve dagger. The continental custom, on the other hand, makes it possible to draw the other off balance, and, obviously, if one is right-handed, one is more at risk from a fellow who might favor the left hand.

Lord Okimoto moved his larger bulk to the rail.

Both lords wore sandals.

The hair of each was drawn behind the head and fastened in a ball or top knot. This was the case with many of the Pani, not all.

Tyrtaios had returned with Lord Okimoto.

The warrior, Turgus, was nearby, who, as it may be recalled, had replaced Tyrtaios in the retinue of Lord Nishida.

Each lord seemed more comfortable, on the whole, dealing with the armsmen and mariners by means of an intermediary, Tyrtaios for Lord Okimoto, Turgus for Lord Nishida, though there was nothing rigid in this matter. Lord Nishida, for example, seemed somewhat more flexible in attending or not attending to this protocol. They both, for the most part, dealt openly with high officers. Lord Nishida, it might be noted, had spoken pleasantly to me, and I was not even an officer.

Lord Okimoto was handed a glass of the Builders by a Pani guardsman.

I heard a scratch and a tap, from my right, some feet along the rail, and saw Seremides bracing himself against the rail, shading his eyes. I saw men draw away from him. He was unarmed, as far as I could tell, in the ragged brown tunic. This was perhaps just as well, as there were more than a thousand men on board who could now, given his handicap, his helplessness on a single leg, his need of the crutch, easily best him with the blade, and perhaps a hundred or so would have been pleased to do so. Several had tried to goad him into seizing up a sword, placed before him, and entering into the games of steel, but he had not done so, enduring rather abuse and jeers, insults and ridicule, the raillery of many, and some, fools who, in his day of power, would have feared to speak before him, or come armed into his presence. How pathetically, with helpless tears, he would sometimes strike about him with the crutch, and then fall. How he would sometimes cringe, and weep, at his helplessness, begging to be left alone. How keenly, I thought, would so proud, and once so terrible, a man, have felt his reduction, its humiliation. To be sure, even in his ruin, there remained a sense of something formidable within him, particularly when others were not about him, and this, I thought, was primarily a matter of mind and will, of resolution. I did not doubt but what he might strangle a man with one hand, or, lunging, thrust his crutch through a body, but what I most feared in Seremides was something that had always been there, but had often been overlooked, something intangible, what I could not see, the sinister depth of his character, the danger of his mind, his capacity to hate, and remember. The
kajirae
, even more than the men, avoided him, fleeing at the sound of the tap and scratch of the crutch, hastening away, lest his large, awkward shadow fall upon them.

Lord Okimoto handed the glass of the Builders back to the guardsman.

He then turned to Turgus, subordinate to Lord Nishida. “Have Aëtius instruct the helmsman to bring the ship closer to shore, a half pasang.”

I detected a subtlety here.

Lord Nishida, on the other hand, did not object.

“Is this wise?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Are we to put to?” inquired Turgus.

“No,” said Lord Okimoto. “Continue our present course.”

“Why so close?” inquired Lord Nishida.

“It is my calculation,” said Lord Okimoto, “from the charts, that we have abeam the lands which were once those of Lord Temmu.”

“The ancestral lands,” said Lord Nishida.

“Lost early in the war,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Fortunes wax and wane,” said Lord Nishida.

“In any event, it is from this coastline that the signal is to rise,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Secretly, doubtless,” said Lord Nishida.

“Doubtless,” said Lord Okimoto.

“I fear the war goes not well,” said Lord Nishida.

“Something may be told from the signal.”

“Or,” said Lord Nishida, “if there is no signal.”

“Yes,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Why so close?” asked Lord Nishida.

“There will be no signal,” said Lord Okimoto, “if our presence is unnoted.”

“So close,” said Lord Nishida, “any might note our presence.”

“It is a risk,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Surely,” said Lord Nishida, “you will not put to, and risk a landing.”

“No,” said Lord Okimoto, “not without the signal.”

I did not understand much of this conversation.

I did gather that some uncertainty attached to certain political and military matters.

In a quarter of an Ahn, we began to see more detail abeam, a steep, sandy beach, with hills and trees beyond it.

I estimated we were something like a half pasang offshore. Our course continued north.

That we were closer to shore, whatever might be its advantages or disadvantages, did increase the tension on board, and various crew members, acting as spokesmen for one group or another, from one deck or another, urged minor officers to petition for a landing. More Pani now appeared on deck, armed, as they always were. Lords Nishida and Okimoto had never disarmed their own men. The Pani, of course, were far outnumbered by the armsmen and mariners. Too, I had little doubt but what a number of weapons were concealed about the ship. Certainly several had never been recovered, for placement in the weapon rooms.

I muchly feared disorder.

When night came, we anchored.

I gathered this was a precaution, taken to minimize the chances of missing a possible signal.

* * * *

It was now the next day, the second day of the sixth month, the day following the first sight of land.

We were still offshore, something like a half pasang, moving north.

As earlier, slaves had been freed of their chains, and many enjoyed the liberty of the deck.

I had seen Iole, Thetis, Alcmene, Pyrrha, Procris, and many others about. I also saw Alcinoë. I did not order her back to her chain. I enjoyed looking at her, in her tunic, the minimal tunic allowed to the Kasra girls. How amusing, I thought, that the former Lady Flavia of Ar should be so clad. To be sure, she did not seem to object, and was, often enough, in my vicinity. These were all ship slaves. Several privately owned slaves, too, were on deck, such as Lord Nishida’s Saru. I also noted Cabot’s Cecily, and Pertinax’s Jane. ‘Jane’ is a barbarian name, like ‘Cecily’, but the woman herself, as I had learned, had had the benefits of civilization. Perhaps she had been given the name because it pleased her barbarian master, or, perhaps, as a punishment, that she would be thought of as, and treated no differently from, a barbarian slave.

I also speculated, as I had before, as to what might be the motivation of allowing so many slaves, mere ship slaves, such liberty.

Lords Nishida and Okimoto had been on the open deck, near the port rail, since the seventh Ahn. Each had at their disposal a glass of the Builders. Each had several guards at hand. I think they remained amidships not only to better monitor the fevers of the day, less accessible from the stem castle or stern castle, but to dispatch their guardsmen in case of need, perhaps to quell some disorder, or batten down hatches, keeping many below decks.

It was my impression, given the increasing restlessness of the men, which might approach the level of danger, given the excitements of the sight of land, that they thought it might be unwise, unless clearly called for, to order a clearing of the deck. We had been nearly a year at sea and the discipline of the armsmen, now that land was near, hung by little more than a thread.

Tyrtaios continued to urge a landing. I suspected he genuinely dreaded another mutiny.

“If a landing is made,” said Lord Okimoto, “all treasure must remain on board.”

“Of course,” said Tyrtaios.

It was my understanding that a dialect of Gorean was spoken at the World’s End, that the Priest-Kings had seen to this. By their mysterious power, and secret sky ships, it seems they had long ago placed Initiates amongst the Pani, perhaps centuries ago, who had taught them Gorean. These Initiates, as the legends went, had sought to exploit their prestige in an attempt to secure power, and had been done away with. The Priest-Kings, on the other hand, by various manifestations of their power, doubtless the Flame Death, and such, had made clear the wisdom of retaining Gorean. It was written however, amongst the Pani, in an unfamiliar script, or set of signs, as it is, as well, I understand, in the Tahari. Whereas a variety of languages are spoken on Gor, Gorean, as you know, is almost universal. The common wisdom on such matters is that the Priest-Kings favor a common language, as a means to more easily communicate their views to humans, for example, with respect to the technology and weapon laws. It is apparently simpler to do this in one language than in several. Linguistic drift, at least on the continent, is managed by the standardization promulgated in scribal conferences held during the great fairs, held four times annually in the vicinity of the Sardar. I recalled that Lord Nishida had asked me, early in the voyage, if I could understand his Gorean. I could, though it was somewhat different. To be sure, there are many dialects of Gorean. I am told I have a Cosian accent, but I am not aware of this, or not much aware of it. But it is doubtless so. Certainly I would not deny it. One is seldom aware of one’s own accent. As Alcinoë suggested, long ago in the cell, is it not the others who always have an accent?

Lord Okimoto clearly feared a mass desertion, particularly if the armsmen and mariners might depart with their packs filled with treasure.

The armsmen and mariners, however, as it later became clear, would not have been well advised to put such plans into effect, at least in the territories at hand.

Slaves, of course, another form of treasure, however desperate they might be to set foot on land, however pathetically they might plead, would remain on board, as well.

I then suspected the motivation for the unprecedented liberty that had of late been accorded to our shapely
kajirae
. Their display was to incite the interest of the men, and make their desertion less likely. Whereas I had no interest in desertion, had I any, I would not have wished to leave the ship without at least one of its slaves thonged and on my leash, perhaps Alcinoë, though I had no interest in her. To be sure, should I return her to Ar, I might collect a nice bounty on her, for she had once been the Lady Flavia, a traitress, once even the confidante of Talena, the muchly sought, false Ubara. I suspected that there were few slaves on board who had not caught the eye of one or more of the men. Aeacus, for example, I was sure, would not have minded having the lovely Iole squirming in his slave straps. There was something rather deceitful or meretricious in all this, of course, as the Pani had surely not brought these goods across the vast width of turbulent, green Thassa without plans for their disposition. Indeed, save for a brief time early in the voyage, these girls had been kept muchly away from the men, to the later annoyance of the men, and the misery and anguish of many of the slaves, pulling at their chains, tethered in place, their bodies denied the caress of masters, their hearts the ecstasy of the yielded slave.

It was in the late afternoon, shortly past the fifteenth Ahn, when a cry went up and I rushed, with others, to the port rail. Ashore, atop what appeared to be the left side of narrow defile, leading between hills into a wooded area, there was a narrow, ascending trail of reddish smoke. A moment later, near it, another narrow, ascending trail of smoke stood out against the sky, over the defile and woods. The second trail of smoke was yellow.