We saw my second-wave ships sweep past, the pairs scattering themselves, each pair following its assigned task force.
The Dorna rested, rocking on the waters, her oars inboard.
I kept in reserve fifty-five tarn ships, which, simultaneously with the fifth wave, that of the flanking fleets, would draw within signal distance of the Dorna.
"Shall I lower our mast, Captain?" asked one of my officers.
"No," I told him.
I would wish to use its height to observe, as well as I might, the battle.
It was fall, and the wind was cold whipping across the water. Clouds scudded across the sky. In the north there was a darkness lying like a line against the horizon. We had had a frost in the morning.
"Furl the sail," I told an officer.
He began to cry orders to the seamen.
Soon seamen were clambering out on the long sloping yard and, assisted by others on the deck, hauling on brail ropes, were tying in the long triangular sail.
I studied the surface of the water to windward.
"What shall we do now?" asked an officer.
"Lay to," I told him.
"What will you do now?" he asked.
"I am going to sleep," I told him. "Call me in half an Ahn."
* * * *
After some sleep I felt much refreshed.
Upon awakening I was served some bread and cheese in my cabin.
I came out on the deck.
The wind was very cold now, and the Dorna shook in it, the windward waters striking at her hull. We had both the stem and stern anchors down.
I was given my admiral's cloak and I put this about my shoulders.
I had with me, brought from the cabin, the glass of the builders. The strap to which it was attached ran from my right shoulder to my left hip.
"I fear the weather, Captain," said an officer.
I nodded. It was late in the season.
"Let Cos and Tyros fear her as well," said I.
Chenbar's brilliance at coming unseasonably, unexpectedly, against Port Kar, was not without its risk.
Doubtless he had expected to make the crossing quickly, and to meet with little or no resistance.
He would have had no way of knowing, of course, that in Port Kar there was now a Home Stone.
I thrust some strips of dried tarsk meat in my belt.
I called the lookout down from the basket, that I might climb to his place. In the basket I wrapped the admiral's cloak about me, began to chew on a piece of tarsk meat, as much against the cold as the hunger, and took out the glass of the builders.
I examined the state of the battle.
Tarsk meat tends to be salty. There is usually a water gourd kept at the masthead, for the lookout. I uncorked the gourd and took some of the water. There had been a light film of ice in it. Some of the crystals melted in my mouth.
The line of darkness in the north was now a margin of darkness.
I turned my attention again to the battle.
As I watched, the long, strung-out line of round ships of Port Kar moved past, tacking, scarcely using their oars, their small, triangular storm sails beaten from the north. The lateen-rigged galley, whether a round ship or a ram-ship, although it can furl its sail, cannot well let out and take in sail; it is not a square-rigged craft; accordingly she carries different sails for different conditions; the yard itself, from the mast, is lowered and hoisted, sails being removed, or attached; the three main types of sail used are all lateens, and differ largely in their size; there is a large, fair-weather sail, used with light winds; there is a smaller sail, used with strong winds astern; and yet a smaller sail, a storm sail, used most often in riding out storms. It was the latter sail which, although it was unusual, the round ships were using for tacking; had they used either of the larger sails, with the sharp wind, they would have heeled dangerously toward the water, perhaps shipping water through the leeward thole ports.
I smiled as the ships swept past. Their decks were almost deserted. But I knew that, crowded in the stem and stern castles, in the turrets, below decks, in the rowing and cargo holds, there were hundreds of men.
I resumed my watch, lifting again the glass of the builders toward the west.
The ships of my first wave had now struck the lines of the fleet of Cos and Tyros.
It was cold in the basket.
Behind them, scattered across the cold waters of Thassa, I could see the pairs of the second wave proceeding, swiftly gliding, oars dipping, toward the long lines of yellow and purple sails in the distance, yellow for Tyros, purple for Cos.
I wondered how many men would die.
I pulled the admiral's cloak more closely about me.
I asked myself who I was, and I told myself, I did not know. I knew only that I was cold, and that I was alone, and that, far in the distance, men were fighting, and so, too, would others.
I wondered if my plans had been good ones, and I told myself I did not know that, either. There were so many thousands of factors, impossible to foresee, so much that might alter, or shift unaccountably.
I knew Chenbar to be a brilliant Ubar and captain, but even he, the brilliant Chenbar, could not well have understood our plans, our dispositions and our ventures, for we ourselves, until hours before, had not known with what we might work and how it might be used.
I did not expect to win the day.
It seemed to me a fool's choice that I had not, when it had been possible, fled Port Kar. Surely many captains, of the council and otherwise, had done so, their holds filled with their chained slaves and secured treasures. Why had I not fled? Why had not these others? Were all men fools? Now men would die. Is anything worth so much as a human life? Is not the most abject surrender preferable to the risk of its loss? Is it not better to grovel as a slave, begging the favor of life from a master, than to risk the loss of even one life? I recalled that I, once, in the far marshes of the delta of the Vosk, had whined and groveled that I might live, and now, I, that same coward, wrapped in the robes of an admiral, watched the locking of the lines of battle, watched men move to fates and destructions, or victories, to which I had sent them, knowing as little as I did of life, or war, or fortunes.
Surely there must be others more fitted than I to assume the responsibilities of such words, sending men forth to fight, to die or live. What would they think of me as they fell beneath the cold waters of Thassa or reeled from the blows of sword blades, their death's blood in their mouths? Would they sing me then? And what guilt must I bear for each of those deaths, for it had been my words, those of an ignorant fool, which had sent them to the waters and the blades?
I should have told them all to flee. Instead I had given them a Home Stone.
"Admiral!" cried a voice below. "Look!" The voice came from a seaman, he, too, with a glass, high on the prow of the Dorna. "The Venna!" he cried. "She has broken through!"
I lifted the glass to the west. There, far off, I could see my tarn ship, the Venna. She had struck the line of Cos and Tyros, had torn her way through, and was now coming about, to strike again. With her was her sister ship, the Tela. I saw two of the tarn ships of Cos and Tyros, one heeled over in the water, the other slipping stern first beneath the waves. There was wreckage in the water.
The Venna was under the command of the incomparable Tab.
There was a cheer from the men below me.
Well done, I thought, well done.
Several of the ships in the lines near the point where my task force had struck were now coming about to meet their enemy.
But, behind them, low in the water, almost invisible, masts down, came the second wave of my attack.
I saw the lines of Cos and Tyros shortening, compressing their formations to bring more ships into play at given points. As they deepened their lines I could now see the borders of their fleet, as I had not been able to before.
Behind my second-wave ships, I saw, scattered in its long enveloping line stretching from horizon to horizon across
Thassa, their small storm sails pounded by the wind, the third wave, that of the round ships.
I glanced back.
Astern of the Dorna, not hurrying, at half beat, came fifty tarn ships, their masts high, storm sails bound to their long, sloping yards. In the turmoil of the battle I had little doubt that they would be taken, at first, and perhaps until it was too late, as a second wave of round ships.
Following the fourth wave, its own attack timed to occur half an Ahn after that of the fourth wave, would come the fifth wave, the two small fleets of tarn ships, of forty ships apiece, masts down, who would initiate their pincers attack from the north and the south.
And simultaneously with the initiation of the pincers attack the balance of my fleet, the reserves, fifty-five tarn ships, should draw within signal distance of the Dorna.
With the reserves would come ten more round ships, wide-beamed lumber ships from the arsenal. Their cargoes were unknown even to my highest officers.
All the factors which had entered into my calculations were now in motion.
But there would be other factors, always others.
I glanced to the north. Then I opened the glass and studied the waters to the north. I snapped shut the glass. Above the waters to the north there was now a towering blackness. Overhead the white clouds swept past, like white, leaping tabuk fleeing from the jaws of the black-maned larl.
It was late in the season.
I had not counted on Thassa herself, her swiftness and her moods.
I was cold in the basket, and I chewed on another piece of dried tarsk meat. The water had now frozen in the gourd, splitting it.
I reopened the glass of the builders, turning it again to the west.
* * * *
For better than three Ahn I had sat in the basket at the masthead of the Dorna, whipped by the wind, my fingers numb on the glass of the builders, observing the battle.
I had watched my first wave break in dozens of places the long lines of Cos and Tyros, and had seen the ships of the great fleet turn to face them, and had witnessed their vulnerability to the slender second wave of ships, each wreaking destruction beyond what might be expected of their sizes and weights. Then, as the lines of Cos and Tyros had closed and deepened, to match formations with my task forces, the great encircling line of round ships had cast its net about them. Hundreds of ships had turned to destroy these clumsy intruders, but, of these hundreds, great numbers discovered, too late, that they fought not common round ships but floating fortresses jammed with armed men, eager to engage. And then I had seen fleet ships, in their fifties, come about to move against what they had taken to be a new wave of round ships, only to be taken off-guard by the rams and shearing blades of ships as swift and terrible as their own. I was proud of my men and their ships. I think they did well. And I did not feel my strategies were negligible. And yet, as I sat there, I felt that in time the weight of ships and numbers would be felt. I had only some twenty-five hundred ships, most of them round ships, to bring against a fleet of prime vessels, some forty-two hundred in strength, each a tarn ship, with fierce ram and shearing blades.
I could see numerous ships burning in the dark, windswept afternoon. Sparks and flames were carried from one ship to another. In places ships were crowded together, in tens and twelves, like floating wooden islands in the sea.
The sea was now growing high, and the darkness in the north was now half the sky, looming like a beast with wild fur rooting and sniffing for its prey.
The fifth wave was late.
The Dorna fought her anchors. We had lifted them that she might swing into the wind, and had then dropped them once more, but still she shook and reared, lifted and dropped into the waters. Her timbers groaned, and I could hear the creaking of the bolts, the irons and great chains that, in places, reinforced her beams.
My fifth wave was divided into two portions, the pincer blade striking from the north under the command of the tall, long-haired Nigel with his fifteen ships, supplemented by twenty-five of the arsenal, and the pincer blade from the south under the command of Chung, with his twenty ships, supplemented by another twenty, from the arsenal. All of these ships were tarn ships.
But I did not see the fifth wave.
I could see, now, approaching the Dorna, from the east, the reserves, the fifty-five tarn ships, and the ten wide-beamed round ships, lumber ships from the arsenal, whose cargoes were unknown even to my highest officers.
I wondered if I should have trusted the Ubars Nigel and Chung.
The command ship of the reserves heaved to within hailing distance of the Dorna.
With the glass I saw, on her stern castle, Antisthenes, that captain of the council whose name had been always first on her rolls.
The other ships took their places in four lines behind the command ship of the reserves.
And between them, heavy, their hulls buffeted by the wind, even their small storm sails now furled to their yards, came the ten round ships, the lumber ships from the arsenal. Even they, broad-beamed and deep-keeled, pitched and bucked in the roiling waters of late Se'Kara on Thassa.
I turned the glass again to the west, to the smoke in the distance.
I saw now that the tarn ships of Cos and Tyros were, where possible, not engaging the round ships, but concentrating their superior numbers on my tarn ships. The round ships, slow, much at the mercy of the wind, were now being abandoned as antagonists.
I smiled. Chenbar was an excellent admiral. He chose to fight wars with which he was most familiar. He would use his superior numbers on my tarn ships, leaving the round ships for later, when they might be struck by as many as four or five tarn ships simultaneously. The round ships, of course, were too slow to offer the swift, decisive support to my tarn ships which they would surely need shortly.
I closed the glass, and blew on my fingers. It was very cold, and it now seemed to me that the outcome of the battle was written on that great board, the width of the horizon, the pieces ships and men, which lay burning and smoking in the distance.
The wind whipped past.
Then I heard a cry from below me, and a cheer. The man on the height of the prow, his builders' glass slung about his shoulder, standing, his feet fixed in ropes, was waving his cap in the air. The oarsmen below were crying out and waving their caps.
I snapped open the glass of the builders. From both the north and the south, like distant black slivers knifing through the cold waters of Thassa, masts down, came the fleets of the fifth wave.
I grinned.
Chung had been forced to beat his way northward against the wind. Nigel, wise in the ways of sea war, had held back his ships, the wind pounding behind them, that the blades of the pincers might strike simultaneously, as though wielded by a single hand and will.
I let the builders' glass, attached to the strap about my shoulder, fall to my side. I crammed the last of the tarsk meat into my mouth and, chewing, climbed down the narrow rope ladder, fastened to the deck near the mast well.
I leaped from the ladder to the deck of the Dorna and waved my hand to Antisthenes, some hundred yards away on the stern castle of the command ship of the reserves. He, in turn, ran a flag up the halyard running to the height of the stem turret.
I climbed to my own stern castle.
To cries of wonder from my men, and those of other ships nearby, the deck planking of the ten round ships was lifted and thrown aside.
The tarn is a land bird, generally of mountainous origin, though there are brightly-plumaged jungle tarns. The tarns crowded into the holds of the round ships were hooded. Feeling the wind and the cold suddenly strike them they threw back their heads and beat their wings, pulled against the chains that bound them to the keel timbers.
One was unhooded, the straps that bound its beak unbuckled.
It uttered its scream, that pierced even the freezing winds of Thassa.
Men shook with fear.
It is extremely difficult to take a tarn far out over the water.
I did not know if they could be controlled at sea.
Generally even tarn-goads cannot drive them from the sight of land.
I took the glass of the builders, and its strap, from my shoulder. I handed them to a seaman.
"Lower a longboat," I told an officer.
"In this sea?"
"Hurry!" I cried.
The boat was lowered to the water. At one of the oars, as though he belonged there, was the slave boy Fish. The oar-master took the longboat's tiller.
We approached the first of the round ships on its leeward side.
Soon I stood on the deck of the round ship.
"You are Terence," I asked, "mercenary captain of Treve?"
The man nodded.
Treve is a bandit city, high among the crags of the larl-prowled Voltai. Most men do not even know its location. Once the tarnsmen of Treve had withstood the tarn cavalries of even Ar. In Treve they do not grow their own food but, in the fall, raid the harvests of others. They live by rapine and plunder. The men of Treve are said to be among the proudest and most ruthless on Gor. They are most fond of danger and free women, whom they bind and steal from civilized cities to carry to their mountain lair as slave girls. It is said the city can be reached only on tarnback. I had once known a girl from Treve. Her name had been Vika.
"You have, in the ten round ships," I said, "one hundred tarns, with riders."
"Yes," said he, "and, as you asked, with each tarn a knotted rope and five of the seamen of Port Kar."
Raiders of Gor Page 30
