The Hand of Zei

by L. Sprague DeCamp

  The commanders came aboard, one by one. Barnevelt explained his plans, cutting short arguments. "That's all-carry on."

  As he lowered himself into the longboat, hails came from the mastheads of the allied fleet: "Sail ho!" "Sail ho!"

  "SAIL HO!"

  The Duro fleet had been sighted.

  On the Jimsar, the missile fight went on. All the ships were looking battered where catapult bullets had carried away parts of their rails or stove in their deckhouses. One Majburo ship had her mizzenmast knocked over, another her forward catapult smashed, while the decks of the enemy seemed to be heaped with wreckage.

  From the Junsar's poop, Barnevelt and Tangaloa watched the main fleet get under way, the big Kumanisht in the middle, the others spread out across the sea in a crescent formation with horns forward. On the horizon, little pale rectangles appeared: the sails of Dur.

  After two hours, the men of the Majburo squadron had torn away about half the weed of the plug, which brought them closer to the Sunqaro guard ship and made the fight hotter.

  The Majburo admiral said, "My lord Snyol, methinks they make a sally, as you predicted."

  Beyond the guard ship, down the channel came the galleys of the Sunqar in double column. Barnevelt could not count them because the hulls of the leading pair obscured the rest, but he knew he was outnumbered. The allied armada was caught between Dur and the pirates as in a nut-cracker.

  Tangaloa paused in his motion-picture making to say, "Those blokes will try to make contact with us, then line up, ship to ship, so they can pour an endless supply of boarders into us."

  "I know. Wish I could persuade you to wear some armor."

  "And if I fell into the water?"

  Barnevelt somberly watched the Sunqaruma approach. If he could only think up some bright idea… If the pirates did break through his blockade, would they fall on the allied fleet from the rear or flee to parts unknown? It wouldn't matter to him; he'd be dead.

  The noise forward died down. The guard ship's people had stopped shooting in an effort to turn her around so that she should not block the way for her sisters. Her oars moved feebly, leading Barnevelt to guess that most of them had less than their normal complement of rowers.

  Barnevelt told the Majburo admiral, "Have 'em stop shooting to clear wreckage, build up the bulwarks, and gather more ammunition. How's it holding out?"

  "Well enough, sir, with all the bolts and arrows that prickle my ship like the spines of the irascible 'evashq."

  "Lash our six ships together the way I told you and push forward against the plug; And remind the men about that man we want taken alive." Barnevelt felt-his sword edge.

  The Majburo ships made fast, all the rowers except those on the outside banks of the outside pair shipping their oars because there was no longer room to ply them. The remaining rowers began to drive this super-catamaran forward, pushing the plug of weed and the crippled guardship ahead of it up the channel.

  But soon the two leading pirate ships thrust their rams into the weed from their side and began to push back. Having more oars in use, they halted the movement of the plug and started it back towards the open sea.

  Barnevelt asked, "What are you doing, George?"

  "Just an idea of mine," said Tangaloa. He held a broken length of catapult arrow about a meter long, to the end of which he was tying a light rope several meters long.

  "Here they come," said Barnevelt.

  The two leading Sunqaro galleys had pushed the plug and the six Majburo ships back far enough down the channel so that it opened out enough to let one of the smaller following pirates slip past and work around the plug, albeit fouling its oars in the vine at every stroke. Little by little it crawled through the narrow lane in the terpahla until its bow touched that of the outermost starboard ship of the Majburo squadron.

  Barnevelt and Tangaloa had hurried to the outermost ship, crowded with men released from oar duty. As they arrived, spiked planks were flung across from ship to ship. Trumpets blared and boarding-parties rushed from each end of the planks. They met with a crash in the middle. Men clinched and tumbled off the planks, to thump against the rams below or splash into the weedy water. Others pressed up behind them while, on the forecastles of both ships, archers and crossbowmen sent missiles into the thick of the opposing fighters. The archers of the Majburo ship's neighbor added their weight to the fire.

  Tangaloa elbowed his way through the throng at the bow. At the rail he unlimbered his improvised whip and sent it snaking across the gap. Crack! The end coiled around the neck of a Sunqaru, and a jerk pulled the man over his own rail. Splash! He gathered up the rope and let fly again. Crack! Splash!

  Barnevelt had worked himself into an adrenal state where he was eager to fight, but the crowd at the bow blocked his way. Between the superior fire-power of the Majburuma and Tangaloa's whip, the Sunqaruma on the planks began to give way, until the Majburuma poured into the waist of the pirate galley, sweeping Barnevelt along in the current. He stumbled over bodies, unable to see for the crowd or hear for the din.

  The pressure and the noise increased as another force of pirates swarmed over this ship's stern from another Sun-qaro ship. As Tangaloa had predicted, the pirates were passing from ship to ship to bring their full force into use. Barnevelt found himself pushed back towards the bow of the Sunqaro ship, until the rail pressed against the small of his back. Now, while a sudden push might send him over the side, he could at least see. The after half of the ship was full of Sunqaruma fighting their way forward.

  Unable to reach the crowded gangplanks, Barnevelt put his sword away, climbed over the rail of the Sunqaro ship and down on the ram, stepped over a corpse, leaped to the ram of the Majburo ship, and climbed up. The forecastle was still crowded, the Majburo admiral, armored like a lobster, bellowing orders in the midst of it all.

  Tangaloa leaned against the rail, smoking. The latter said, "You shouldn't have done that, Dirk. The commander-in-chief ought to stay back where he can command-in-chief, and not get mixed up in vulgar fighting."

  "Matter of fact, I haven't been near the actual fighting."

  "You will be soon. Here they come!"

  A wedge of Sunqaruma had bored through their opponents and gained the planks. The Majburuma on the planks were struck down or hurled off or pushed back on their own ship, and then the pirates were after them, fighting with insensate ferocity. At their head stormed a stocky Earthman with a red face seamed with many small wrinkles.

  "Igor!" yelled Barnevelt, recognizing his chief behind the nasal of the helmet.

  Igor Shtain saw Barnevelt and rushed upon him, whirling a curved blade. Barnevelt parried slash after slash, and now and then a thrust, but the blows came so fast he could do no more than defend himself.

  Step by step Shtain drove him back towards the stern of the Majburo ship. Barnevelt's helmet clanged from a blow that got home. Once or twice Shtain laid himself open to a riposte, but Barnevelt's hesistancy cost him his chance. If he could only hit the guy with the flat over the head, as he had done with the artist in Jazmurian… But he'd break his sword on Shtain's helmet.

  Barnevelt was vaguely aware that fighting had spread throughout the mass of Majburo ships. He threw occasional glances over his shoulders lest somebody stab him from behind. He caught a glimpse of Tangaloa staving a pirate skull with his mace; of a pirate thrusting a Majburu over the side with the point of his pike.

  Shtain continued, with demoniac force, to press him back. Barnevelt wondered where the hell a man of Shtain's age got such physical endurance. Though much younger and a better fencer, Barnevelt was beginning to pant. His aching fingers seemed hardly able to hold the sweaty hilt, and still Shtain came on.

  The poop of this ship was raised only half a deck. Bar-nevelt felt the steps to the quarterdeck behind him and went up them, step by step, parrying Shtain's swings at his legs. It was unfair to have to fight a man who wanted to kill you while you were trying to avoid killing him.

  Back across the quart
erdeck they went. Barnevelt thought that if he didn't disable Shtain pretty soon, Shtain would kill him. He began thrusting at Shtain's arm and knee. Once he felt his point hit something, but Shtain kept coming as furiously as ever.

  The rail touched Barnevelt's back. Now he had no choice between the wicked blade in front and the Banjao Sea behind. In back of Shtain appreared the bulk of Tangaloa, but for some reason George simply stood there on the quarterdeck.

  Shtain paused, glaring, shifted his grip on the saber, and threw himself upon Barnevelt. Still Tangaloa stood idly. This time it would be one or the other…

  There was an outburst of trumpet calls. At the same time something flicked out, cracked, and coiled itself around Shtain's left ankle. The rope tautened with a jerk, yanking Shtain's foot from under him and sending him asprawl on the deck. Before he could rise, the huge brown form of Tangaloa landed on him, squeezing the wind out of him like an accordion.

  Barnevelt leaped forward, stamped on the fist that held the saber, and wrenched the weapon out of Shtain's hand. He pulled off the helmet and smote Shtain smartly with the flat of his blade. Shtain collapsed.

  All over the Majburo ships, the Sunqaruma were running back towards the gangplanks leading to their own vessels. A little fighting still flickered, but for the most part the Majburuma, having lost a quarter of their number, were glad to let their foes go unmolested. The ships were littered with swords, pikes, axes, helmets, bucklers, and other gear, and with the bodies of friends and foes.

  As Tangaloa tied Shtain's hands behind his back, Barnevelt asked, "How'd you get so handy with a whip, George?"

  "Something I picked up in Australia. Beastly business, fighting. A scientist like me has no business getting mixed up in it."

  "Why th& hell did you stand there like a dummy when you first arrived? The guy nearly got me!"

  "I was shooting film."

  "What?"

  "Yes, I got a marvelous sequence of you and Igor battling. It will make our Sunqar picture."

  "Jeepers cripus!" cried Barnevelt. "I like that! I'm fighting for my life and losing, and all you think of is to shoot film! I suppose…"

  "Now, now," said Tangaloa soothingly. "I knew such an expert fencer as yourself was in no real danger. And it came out all right, didn't it?"

  Barnevelt hardly knew whether to rage, to laugh, or to be flattered. He finally decided that since George was incorrigible he might as well drop the subject. He asked, "Why are the Sunqaruma running away? I thought they'd won!"

  "Look behind you!"

  Barnevelt looked around, and there came the entire allied fleet, gongs beating time for the oars. In the center wallowed the carrier Kumanisht, towing a huge square-rigged galley with great eight or ten-man oars staggered in two banks.

  The pirates, having all regained their own ships, pried the gangplanks loose and pushed off from the Majburo galleys with poles, pikes, and oars. Presently the whole lot were splashing back up the channel towards the main body of pirate ships.

  For the first time in hours Barnevelt noticed the sun, now low in the west. The fight had lasted most of the afternoon.

  The sun had set. Shtain was safely stowed in the Junsar's brig. Barnevelt's wounds—a couple of superficial cuts—had been bandaged. Barnevelt presided over a meeting of his admirals in the big cabin on the Junsar.

  "How about it, Lord Snyol?" cried Prince Ferrian. "The men will have it you led the boarders into the Sunqaro ship, smiting off three piratical heads with one blow and generally winning the fight single-handed. Is't true?"

  "They exaggerate, though Tagde and I did personally capture that Earthman we were looking for."

  "Won't you let me boil him in oil?" said Queen Alvandi. "The pirates of our own world be bad enough, but…"

  "I have other plans, Your Altitude. Prince Ferrian, tell me what happened at your end."

  'Twas no great affray—rather a comedy worthy of Harian's genius. You know that Dur uses slave rowers on those monstrous ships, for not even their ill-gotten wealth suffices to hire so many thousands of free oarsmen. And the usage is, when going into action, to run a chain through a shackle on the leg of each thrall, binding him securely to his bench by means of a bronze eye set in the wood.

  "Now, these Duro ships were bearing down upon us like a charge of wild bishtars; but, seeing nought but our masts on the horizon, like a picket fence, they thought themselves well provided with time to make ready, when down upon them swooped the first of my intrepid lads in his glider, to drop his jar upon the flagship. It struck square among the rowers' benches, ere the slave masters had half finished shackling their rowers, and wrought most wondrous confusion, the fondaqa squirming and snapping, the slaves screaming and those bitten writhing in their death agonies, the slave drivers rushing about with their whips, and all in turmoil.

  "Then came two more such love epistles, and the slaves went genuinely mad and mutinied. Those still free unshackled the rest, whilst others assailed the drivers and marines with bare hands, hurling some to a briny doom and others rending in bloody bits. The Duro admiral saved his gore by doffing his cuirass and leaping into the sea, where a dinghy picked him up.

  "Meanwhile other fliers had dropped their jars. While some of these fell in the water, others struck home, with admirable results. For, even if the slaves in the other ships were bound, still the presence of these loathsome sea creatures destroyed all order and made maneuver flat impossible. In short, the novel nature of this onset so demoralized the foe that some of their ships began to flee before we came upon them.

  "Others, seeing the carnage still raging on the flagship and not knowing that the admiral had been saved—for he'd left his personal flags behind—hesitated, and when the Saqqand of Suruskand rammed another of the great ships, the latter doing nought to avoid the dolorous stroke, and breaking up in consequence, away the rest of 'em went. We boarded the flagship, where still the anarch battle raged, quelled both disputing parties, and towed her back with us. Our total loss was one of my fliers, who missed his alighting and drowned, poor wight."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Next morning, as Roqir redly burst the bounds of the hazy horizon, the trumpets of the allied fleet sounded the assault. Up the channel rowed the Majburo squadron, the battered Junsar in the lead.

  Meanwhile, along the edge of the solid terpahla on both sides of the entrance to the pirate stronghold, in a far-reaching crescent, troops with skis on their feet lowered themselves from their ships on to the weed. They teetered and splashed on the wet and wobbly footing. Some fell and had to be helped up again. At length they began to move forward, hundreds of them in three lines: the first line carrying huge wicker shields to protect themselves and those behind them from missile fire; the second line with pikes; the third with bows.

  From the pirate stronghold came no sound. During the night the Sunqaruma had drawn most of their ships together in a kind of citadel, the biggest galleys in the middle, around them a ring of smaller ships, and around these again an outwork of rafts and scows. This formation would prevent the attackers from sinking the pirate ships by ramming, at least until the low craft around the edge had been gotten out of the way.

  Closer came the Junsar; still an ominous silence. The men splashing over the terpahla came closer from their side, lapping around the settlement so as to approach it from opposite sides.

  As she came within catapult range, the Junsar slowed to let the bireme Saqqand pass her: the same ship that had so doughtily rammed a Duro galley thrice her size the previous day.

  From the outlying houseboats around the edges of the settlement came the thrum of crossbows, and bolts streaked towards the lines of advancing ski troops. B^arnevelt realized that not all the pirates had withdrawn to the central citadel, but they would fight delaying actions around the edges of their city. The archers among the ski troops shot back over the heads of their own men.

  A catapult went off in the citadel. A giant arrow soared down the channel to dive into the water beside the S
aqqand. And then the creak and thump of catapults and the snap of bow-strings began their din again.

  The Saqqand nosed up to the nearest of the rafts around the citadel. The Junsar made her bow fast to the starboard quarter of the smaller ship, while Queen Alvandi's Douri Dejanai made fast to her port quarter. Other ships nosed up behind these two, like a parade of elephants, and their people threw planks from rail to rail so that fighters could pour up towards the citadel as they were needed.

  Barnevelt, in the Junsar's bow, heard the yell and clatter of combat around the far fringes of the settlement as the ski troops reached the outlying ships and strove to secure a lodgment on them. He could see little of this, however. Behind him his warriors lined up to go down the rope to the Saqqand's deck, while on the Saqqand herself they began to climb over the bow to the raft.

  Then from the citadel burst the greatest storm of missile-fire Barnevelt had seen: catapult missiles, bolts, arrows, and sling bullets. The whistle of missiles merged into a continuous ululation. The deadly rain swept over the raft and over the Saqqand's deck, dropping men everywhere. The survivors pushed forward and closed up, to be mown down in their turn. The lucky ones dashed across the raft to climb the rail of the small galley on the other side. Sunqaruma rose to meet them.

  Barnevelt found himself yelling, "Go on! Go on!"

  Now another element appeared: From the citadel a large rocket with a spear shaft or catapult arrow for a stick soared down the channel, leaving a trail of thick smoke. It went wild, as did the next, but then one struck the Junsar's deck forward of the poop and burst with a roar, showering the ship with burning fragments. The men lined up on the catwalk, awaiting their turn to attack, scattered, and the Junsar's crew had to turn to put out a dozen small fires. Another such rocket hit the bow of the Douri Dejanai. The smoke and flame broke up the supporting fire from the ships.

  Finally the attack broke. The men streamed back, dozens of them hobbling with arrows sticking in them, while other dozens lay scattered about the Saqqand and the raft, dead or too badly hurt to flee.