Guardsman of Gor coc-16

by John Norman

  “No,” I cried out, angrily. “No!”

  “It is a derelict,” said another man. “She is dark. Her rudders are free!”

  It must, then, be a ship drifting unmanned, lost, and carried by the current from the concourse of war. Even if it should be a trick, it was but one ship. Given the men of Ar we had, though only two fighting ships, and the Tuka, crews enough to man at least five vessels.

  The Tuka slipped another yard back, toward the water. With two hands I hoisted myself through the rupture in the hull of the Tuka. I drew my sword. The men of the Tais, I knew, after her disabling, had briefly boarded her. She had, at that time, been abandoned. I did not doubt but what she was now, too, empty. Yet I did not know that. My sword was drawn. The Tuka is a large ship and I could stand upright within her first hold. I felt her move beneath me, impelled again by the ropes and men, toward the river. It was dark in the hold. As the Tuka slipped in the sand, being drawn backward into the river, water from the hold rushed about my feet, for a moment some six inches in depth. It then drained through the rupture. I could feel the wet wood beneath my bare feet. Beneath the first hold is the lower hold, but this is little more than a damp crawl space, containing the bilge, and sand, which, on Gorean vessels, commonly serves as ballast. I stood back from the rupture. I was uneasy.

  I listened. The hold was dark. I seemed to hear nothing. It had been nothing. Surely it had been nothing.

  I did not move. I was uneasy.

  Suddenly in the darkness there was the rush of a body toward me. I stepped to the side. Steel slashed down. I heard it cut into the wood at my left almost at the same time that I turned and, in the darkness, slashing, cut at it. I knelt beside it. With my left hand I felt it. The neck, struck in the back, had been half severed.

  I then rose to my feet. I stood there, in the darkness, and in the silence, my sword ready.

  Then I felt soft lips press themselves against my feet. “Please do not kill me, Master,” begged a woman.

  I lowered my sword until the point of it was at the back of her neck.

  “Please, do not kill me,” she begged.

  She was at my feet, on her belly, in the darkness.

  “Cross your wrists,” I told her, “palms facing one another, and touch your fingers to my ankle.”

  She did this, lying on her stomach. With her hands in this position, a girl can exert almost no leverage, and it may be determined, too, that her hands are empty. This is a simple Gorean procedure, not uncommon, for determining that a girl encountered in the darkness is both helpless and unarmed.

  I reached downward and, with my left hand, closing it about her small wrists, pulled her wrists up, drawing her into a kneeling position, her hands, in my grip, held over her head. With my blade, I gently felt between her legs. Feeling the steel between her thighs, she shuddered. This pleased me, for it indicated that she was hot. I then, with the blade, felt along the outside of her thighs and belly. “Yes, Master,” she said. “I am naked.” I had determined that she wore no cords, or belts, from which a weapon might be suspended. I then touched the side of the blade lightly to her neck. There I felt it move against a steel collar. “Yes, Master,” she said. “I am a slave.”

  “Who was he, he who attacked me?” I asked.

  “Alfred,” she said, “a man of Alcibron, captain of the Tuka.”

  “What was he doing here?” I asked.

  “He was left here to kill those, not of the pirates, who might seek refuge in the hulk of the Tuka,” she said. “He killed five,” she said.

  “And what were you doing here?” I asked.

  “I was put here, that I might content and please him,” she said, “that his duties might be made more enjoyable.”

  “Are you beautiful?” I asked.

  “Some men have found me not displeasing to their senses,” she said.

  “Who is your master?” I asked.

  “Alcibron, Master of the Tuka, was my Master,” she said, “but now you are my Master, and you own me, fully.”

  “You sound familiar,” I said. “Do I know you?”

  “I was once a girl of Port Cos,” she said, “one born free, but one who knew herself in her heart to be a slave. I fled Port Cos to avoid an unwanted companionship. He who desired me, too much respected me, and though I muchly loved him, I knew that he could not satisfy my slave needs. He wanted me as his companion and I wanted only to be his slave. He wanted me in veils and silk, and wished to serve me. I wanted only to be naked, and collared, and at his feet, kissing his whip.

  “I confessed my needs to him and he was scandalized, and that he was scandalized shamed and mortified me. Each outraged by the other we parted.

  “I then decided that I would hate men, and do without them. I would be bold and insolent with them, and make them suffer, punishing them for their rejection of my womanhood. If they could not, or would not, understand me, then I would take my vengeance on them, making them miserable! Even in my hatred, of course, I could never forget that in a corner of my heart, kneeling, there languished a love slave. Our parents, naturally, knowing nothing of what had occurred between us, pressed us to intertwine our arms and drink the wine of the companionship.

  “He, furious but resigned, cognizant of his expressed intentions and earlier proposals, became convinced that his duty lay in this direction. I had little doubt that if I were but once taken into companionship by him I should be sequestered, and left untouched, that that would be my punishment for having shamed him; be would keep me as his official ‘companion’ but he would not so much as put his hands on me; I would be forced to endure honor and freedom; respect and dignity would be forced upon me, like chains. I would lie alone, twisting in the darkness, while he reveled elsewhere, contenting himself, in the lascivious embraces of obedient slaves, painted, bangled girls, such as might be purchased in any slut market. How I would envy such girls their collars and the lash of his whip!

  “It was thus that I fled Port Cos. I thought I did so, at the time, to make my fortune, but, as I understand it now, I did so to become enslaved. It was soon done to me. In the beginning, true to my resolves, I tried to be rebellious, but the impracticality of that was soon brought home to me. I soon learned that I was a slave. Gorean men allow women little latitude in this regard. She quickly learns she is a slave or she is slain. Yet I did not mind being a slave, truly, for it was what I was. I had known it for years, since my body had developed the contours and needs of a slave. It pleased me deeply that I had been given no choice in the matter, that my slavery, like the brand and collar, had been forced upon me. I had been given no choice but to be what I was. This pleased me. I have known many whips. I have had many masters, good and bad. My longest slavery was in Vonda, in a slaver’s house, the House of Andronicus.”

  “I know who you are,” I said.

  “Master?” she asked. “Oh!” she said. “Master’s grip is tight on my hands!” I was holding her hands over her head, together, she kneeling before me in the darkness. It pleased me to let her feel herself again in my grasp, helpless.

  “By what name have you commonly been known, Slave?” I inquired.

  “Oh!” she said. “Please, do not kill me, Master!” I had put the point of the blade I carried to her belly. I could feel her, through the steel, wince. She knew that even a slight pressure on that blade, Gorean steel, at that location and angle, could slit her open to the heat of her.

  “By what name have you commonly been known, Slave?” I asked. It is sometimes useful to let a slave know that she may be easily killed.

  “Lola, Master!” she said, frightened. “Lola!”

  I released her hands. I sheathed my sword. “You may lick and kiss at my feet, Lola,” I said.

  She did so.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “My Master,” she said, “my Master.”

  “Stand, Girl,” I said.

  She did so.

  “I am Jason,” I told her, “Jason, of Victoria.”


  “Master!” she cried out, suddenly, tearfully. “Master!” She seized me in her arms, sobbing, pressing herself against me. I put my arms about her, permitting myself this tenderness towards her, though she was but a branded slave. “She sold me! She sold me!” she sobbed. “She took me to the wharves, while you were at work. She sold me!”

  “She had no right to do so,” I said.

  The girl was sobbing, against me. I could feel her tears against my chest. “I was sold to a merchant from Tetrapoli,” she said. “In Tetrapoli I was again sold, to an agent, who proved to be in the fee of Alcibron, one of the high captains of Ragnar Voskjard.”

  “He brought you along for his pleasure on the Tuka,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I took her by the arms, and held her from me. “I have little time for you now,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Oh, Master!” she said, as I pressed her back, and then put her on her back, on the wet boards of the hold. Swiftly I had her, for I had little time for her, then. She clutched at me, hot and shuddering. The Tuka was then free of the bar. I could hear feet on the deck over our heads. Men were taking their places at the benches. The ropes by which the Tina and the Tais had drawn the Tuka from the bar were being cast off. I could hear Aemilianus giving orders. I rose from the girl’s side. I snapped my fingers. “On your feet,” I told her. “We must board the Tina.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said. She groaned, gaining her feet.

  I went to the rupture in the side of the Tuka. Through the jagged rupture I could see the Tais, and the river chain, behind her.

  I tumbled the body of the fellow who had struck at me from the hold, into the water.

  The girl joined me, at my side.

  “Can you swim?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said.

  I took her by the arm and, lowering my head and crouching, pulling the girl with me, leapt downward into the water.

  “Turn about,” I said, “lie on your back, relax, completely.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, frightened.

  I then, my hand in the girl’s hair, drawing her behind me, swam slowly about the bow of the Tuka and to the side of the Tina. In moments, helped by crewmen, we had attained the deck of the Tina.

  “Welcome, Jason,” said Callimachus. He grinned. “While we have been hard at work, moving the Tuka, it seems you have been trying chain luck.”

  “I did my share of the work,” I laughed. “It merely chanced that she fell across my path.”

  We turned to regard the wet, shivering girl. Like most girls, either of Earth or Gor, she was short, curvaceous and luscious, sweetly slung.

  “She is nice,” said Callimachus.

  “She is a pretty bauble,” I granted him. The girl put down her head, smiling.

  “Bring a cloak,” I said. I then put the cloak about her. She drew it closely about her, holding it with her small hands.

  “Thank you, my Master,” she whispered.

  “Lock her in the hold,” I told a sailor.

  “Yes, Jason,” he said, and conducted the lovely slave to her confinement.

  “We must soon make away,” said Callimachus.

  “I shall find a place at one of the benches,” I said.

  “Sir,” said an officer to Callimachus, “there is movement on the ship to starboard.”

  “Then she is not abandoned,” said Callimachus. “I thought not.”

  I remembered, then, the ship I had heard of, shortly before entering the hold of the Tuka, that which had been identified as a derelict, one presumably drifting downriver, lost from the confusion of the night, illuminated by our diversion of the burning Olivia, a pasang or so to the east. She had perhaps been struck by one of the pirate ships, or perhaps, earlier, a casualty from a previous day, had come loose from one of the bars in the river.

  Callimachus and I, with the officer, went to the starboard rail of the Tina.

  We saw oars sliding outboard. The ship was not dead.

  “Surely it does not mean to attack three ships,” said the officer.

  “Why has it not attacked earlier?” asked a man.

  “Doubtless it has been waiting,” I said, “hoping that other ships would join it.”

  “Why should it be preparing to attack now?” asked a man. “It is not supported by other ships.”

  “It knows the Tuka is free,” said Callimachus. “If it is going to attack, it must now do so.”

  “But we are three ships,” said a man.

  “Two, if we do not count the Tuka,” said a fellow.

  “The odds, even so, are decisively in our favor,” said a man. One ship, in oared battle, cannot well defend itself against two. One flank, at least, must be exposed.

  “The captain is desperate,” I said.

  “Do you know the ship?” asked Callimachus.

  “It was the first ship which left the line, the first ship to strike at us,” I said. “In the movement and clashing of ships, in the confusion, in spite of the diversion, in spite of the Voskjard pennons which we have flown, she has not lost us. She has stayed with us. She has followed us, tenaciously.”

  “Ah,” said Callimachus.

  “Yes,” I said, “it is the Tamira.”

  “She is moving!” said the officer.

  “So, too, is the Tais,” cried a man. I spun about. The Tais, dark, low in the water, beautiful, scarred and lean, fierce, one of the most dangerous fighting ships in the navy of Port Cos, under the command of Calliodorus, captain in Port Cos, swept about the stern of the Tuka and the bow of the Tina. She, too, had spotted the Tamira.

  “She must not be sunk!” I cried. “Signal Calliodorus!”

  “No,” said Callimachus, grimly. “The horns would give away our position.”

  I watched the advance of the Tamira. She was an armed merchantman.

  “Her captain must be mad,” said a man.

  “He has doomed his own ship,” said another.

  I did not even know if Reginald, on the Tamira, was aware of the Tais.

  “She must not be sunk,” I cried. “If anything, she must be boarded.”

  There was a rending of wood, a jarring and ripping of timber. I heard the screaming of men.

  “It is too late,” said Callimachus.

  “Blood for Port Cos,” said a man.

  “To the Tamira,” I begged Callimachus. “Please, Callimachus!”

  “There is no time, Jason,” said Callimachus.

  “Other ships will be searching for us,” said an officer.

  “We must make away,” said Callimachus.

  I discarded my belt and sword and dove from the rail of the Tina. I heard Callimachus cry out behind me, “Come back, Jason!”

  In moments I was at the side of the Tamira. The dark hull rolled toward me, and pressed me beneath the water. I felt her keel with my two hands, and pushed away, and again came to the surface of the water. My arm struck against an oar, unmanned, projecting downward from her side. I was aware of other men in the water about me. Some yards away I saw the dark shadow in the darkness which was the Tais. I pushed away a man in the water near me. My hand struck on a piece of wreckage.

  “She is coming again!” I heard a man cry out in misery.

  I turned in the water. The dark shape that was the Tais seemed almost upon me. I twisted to the side. Under the water I felt myself being lifted and flung back and to the side by the bow wave of the Tais and, at the same time, I heard the second impact. For the moment I could not think. I was aware only of the sound, my motion, and the pain. My head then again broke the surface, and I could once more breathe. I was at the side of the Tais. Men in the water were crying out about me. I put out my hand. I could feel the port shearing blade of the Tais. Then the blade moved back and the Tais, oars cutting at the dark river, with a ripping of strakes, extricated her ram from the hull of the stricken Tamira. Through wood and men I swam to the side of the Tamira. A dozen feet of planking, lengthwise, and s
ome three planks vertically, had been lost.

  I put my hand onto the breakage. The hole in the hull was some two feet in height. Water, as the hull shifted, would rush past me, flooding into the hold. I climbed into the hold. It was dark. A crate, loose in the water, struck against my legs. The water was then to my knees. I felt the Tamira shudder, and water rushed past me, aft. The floor of the hold tilted beneath my feet. Outside I saw the dark shape of the Tais swinging to starboard. Then, not hurrying, she withdrew. She had done her work.

  The ship suddenly tilted sternward and I slipped in the hold, and slid aft, then struggling in the water. The breakage in the hull, through which I could see stars, was several feet away, and up the steep slope of the tilted floor of the hold. More water poured in through the breakage. Holding to the side of the hold I pulled my way toward the breakage. I got my hands on its edges and pulled myself through. I dove swiftly into the water.

  I turned in time to see the Tamira, stern first, slip under the water. I fought back against the undertow. Then, again, the water was calm.

  “Help!” I heard. “Help!”

  My heart leapt. I swam toward the sound. I came to the two men struggling in the water.

  “I cannot support him!” cried a voice.

  “I shall help you!” I said.

  I reached out and clutched the iron collar locked on the man’s neck. “Do not struggle!” I told him. His hands, in manacles, on a single chain passing through a loop on the collar, thrashed at the water. Too, from the manacles other chains disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

  “Do not struggle, Master!” begged the other man.

  “Can you stay afloat? Can you swim?” I asked them.

  “Our feet are chained!” said the man who had spoken.

  “Hold to your fellow,” I said. “I can support you.”

  I then drew them through the water to a piece of floating wreckage. I drew the first man upon it. The second climbed painfully, hampered by the chains, to its surface.

  “I had not thought to meet you thus,” I told them. “Strange indeed can be the fortunes of war.”

  “We are alone, in the river,” said the first man, he whom the second had addressed as ‘Master.’ “It is night. We are among enemies.”