Avengers of Gor

by John Norman

  I much doubted that the Admiral was interested in Bosk of Port Kar. I found it far more likely that his absence from Sybaris had more to do with the schemes of Archelaos. Perhaps his presence in Mytilene was to absent himself from Thera, to open the very harbor at Sybaris to attack. Perhaps it was to permit the unchallenged, uninvestigated delivery of new ships to the corsairs in Sybaris. Perhaps his ships were being used to land corsairs on some coast, from which, following a raid or raids, they might be conveyed back to safety. This would be feasible while they still lacked their own ships. Who knew? Perhaps his own ships might turn to piracy themselves, seizing riches and even ships which might later be refitted as corsairs themselves. Crews of such prizes might be recruited or exterminated.

  At the sound of a woman’s cry, startled, and laughing, from the rowing deck, Sakim and I turned back from the bow. “No, no, Master!” she laughed from between the benches. “Water, only water!” She then handed the leather bota to an oarsman, who, head back, drank, and then passed the container to his fellows.

  “She is pretty,” said Sakim.

  “I call her ‘Lais’,” I said.

  “I have seen her,” said Sakim, “when not working, wandering about the ship. When she is not working, why do you not chain her at the foot of the steps to the stem deck?”

  There was a ring there, which might well serve such a purpose, as well as one aft, at the foot of the steps to the stern deck.

  “I do not think she will leap overboard,” I said.

  “Are you taking her to Mytilene to sell her?” asked Sakim.

  “What do you think she would bring?” I asked.

  “A silver tarsk, easily,” said Sakim.

  “She is a barbarian,” I said.

  “Then not so much,” said Sakim.

  There is a superstition shared by many Gorean mariners, that it is unlucky to have a free woman aboard ship, particularly if there is only one. As with many superstitions, it may have its origin in forgotten or neglected realities. For example, many Goreans will give up, or postpone, a journey which begins with a misstep, or stumble. This view may be less pointless than it seems. If one recognizes, perhaps only subconsciously, that a journey is likely to be ill-advised, or ill-fated, such a little thing as a stumble may constitute a warning to be well-heeded. In the case of the free woman, mysterious, exalted, lofty, veiled, possibly beautiful, and inaccessible, particularly in a long voyage, as tensions rise, one has something analogous to fresh, raw meat cast before hungry sleen, or, say, a banquet placed before starving men. Add to this the normal penchant of a woman to affect men and the very natural, human pleasure she is likely to derive from stimulating masculine desire, even without satisfying it, one has a concoction which well may prove inflammatory. Many such women who begin a journey as a free woman complete it in the chains of a slave. She is, after all, a female. A female slave, on the other hand, despite her obvious attractions, does not excite similar apprehensions. She is owned; she is property; she is collared chattel; she is in her natural place, and is, in theory, havable, even if not had; she is accessible, not inaccessible; she is possessable, even if not your particular possession. She is exhibited and displayed, openly presented before one, for one’s delectation, consideration, and appraisal. She is vendible, even if not, at the moment, vended. She is a delight to have aboard; she is soothing to the eyes, and a promise as to what may be waiting for one in the next port.

  Lais continued to dispense the contents of the heavy bota.

  I turned back to the rail.

  Sakim was white, grasping the rail. “Do you feel it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. Something was different.

  “Oars inboard!” I called. Those mighty levers were drawn back, inward through the thole ports. “Lower the yard,” I said. Down came the yard, the canvas folding and crumpling. The Tesephone rocked, quiet in the waves. “Be silent,” I said. “No noise. Be easy, fellows, be easy, do not move! We are not here. We are not here!”

  “There,” whispered Sakim, pointing.

  To the left, from the bow, some points to port, I saw a heaving and roiling in the water, several yards in length, and then it seemed as though there was a slow, swelling, rising of water, and it was as if a long, low, broad river of water had risen from the surface, and then, as suddenly and inexplicably, it sank back and disappeared.

  Other than this phenomenon I saw nothing.

  “What now, Captain?” asked Sakim, his hands clenched on the rail.

  “We shall wait a bit,” I said. “Then we shall resume our course to Mytilene.”

  “Perhaps we should rely on the sail,” he said.

  “In these waters,” I said, “I think that is an excellent idea.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  We Attend the Fair at Mytilene

  Clitus had cast his net expertly, it enveloping and settling about the opponent like a swift, soft, corded rain. Another turn and twist and the opponent’s feet were drawn from under him, and Clitus stood over him, his trident poised at the opponent’s throat.

  “A kill,” announced the umpire.

  “Nicely done,” said several of the spectators.

  A judge awarded Clitus the copper tarsk.

  The opponent disentangled himself from the net, carefully, folded it, and returned it to Clitus. “Well done,” he said.

  Few blades in the islands can divide a loose, falling, unresisting net. I had seen one or two which could do so at the World’s End. I was not sure whether the opponent had thought to cut through the net or simply lift it, or brush it, aside. Whatever might have been his intention, it had been unsuccessful. In dealing with the net and trident, it is desirable, if possible, which it seldom is, to have seen the fishermen earlier, in other matches. Many fishermen have habits, techniques, or tricks which tend to characterize their play, an over-the-head cast, a side cast, a certain movement of the feet before the cast, and so on. Clitus varied such things from match to match, which made it difficult to anticipate, and thus compensate for, his moves. Some fishermen sometimes feign an awkwardness or loss of balance to lure the opponent within range. Sometimes I had seen Clitus use the net as a distraction, preparing for a thrust of the trident. No rule determines whether the net or trident is to have priority. The common foe of the fisherman is a swordsman or spearman, but sometimes it is another fisherman. Who says that fishermen cannot have disagreements with one another, who is to cast first and where, over women, and so on? It is common for a swordsman or spearman to underestimate the fisherman as a foe. He does not seem an armed warrior. He is different. Can the net and trident be taken seriously as weapons? Are they not rather, merely, the tools of a trade, not weapons but the equipment of a way of life, like the peasant’s sickle and plow? Needless to say, in war, such an error of judgment is likely to be made only once. Each net, of course, has a diameter and a likely range of flight. Such things can be important. Few fishermen will risk a long cast for two reasons, first, the extra bit of an Ihn that the net is in the air gives the opponent that much more time to avoid the net, and, second, the net, if avoided, may be lost. Without the net the fisherman is little more than a lightly armed spearman, the bearer of a javelin. My recommendation for the foe in these matters is movement and patience, maintaining a constant change of place while staying outside the range of the net as much as possible. One tries to make oneself a difficult target while searching for opportunities. If the net is being spun it can be spun only so long before the arm tires and weakens. When the arm lowers or the arm draws back for a cast, that is an opportunity. Sometimes one can roll under the net before it settles, and then spring up, blade ready, between the net and the fisherman.

  “We have been at the fair four days,” said Thurnock, “and we know no more now than when we came.”

  “Some days are left,” I said.

  “New ships, with merchants and their goods, stil
l arrive each Ahn,” said Clitus.

  Lais came up beside us, knelt, looked up, and smiled. “Master,” she said.

  “You seem pleased,” I said.

  “I am,” she said. “I have learned the name of my Master.”

  Thurnock and Clitus reacted, exchanging quick, apprehensive glances.

  “It is on my collar,” she said, “as you said. I found a slave to read it to me. I gave her the candy you gave me yesterday. I saved it for such a purpose.”

  “If the slave could read,” said Clitus, “she was probably once of high caste.” Clitus, like many Goreans, could not read. Many Goreans deemed it sufficient that Scribes could read. Reading was for Scribes.

  “Even if she was once of high caste,” sniffed Lais, “she is now no more than me, only another slave.”

  “I am surprised she read it for you,” said Thurnock, “you, a barbarian.”

  “I do not think she knew I was a barbarian,” said Lais.

  “Who could not know that?” said Thurnock, of the Peasants.

  “My Gorean is improving,” she said. “Besides, she wanted the candy.”

  “But she did not take the candy and then strike you afterwards?” asked Thurnock.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “Perhaps your Gorean is improving,” granted Thurnock.

  “There are many accents on Gor,” she said. “What is another, particularly in a slave, who might be from anywhere?”

  “How do you know that she read the collar correctly?” asked Thurnock. “Perhaps she knew you were a barbarian and lied. Perhaps she could not read but pretended to read, to get the candy.”

  Lais suddenly looked dismayed.

  “What did she tell you the collar said?” I asked.

  “It said,” she said, “‘I am Lais. I am the slave of Eiron of Brundisium.’”

  “That is correct,” I said.

  The girl smiled; her anxieties melted away like a spoonful of snow in a bowl of steaming black wine.

  “I had thought,” she said, “in the tavern, long ago, you were Kenneth Statercounter, of Brundisium. Then you told me to speak of you as Eiron of Naxos. Then you were Fenlon of Ti.”

  “Names are like caps,” I said. “One may put them on and take them off.”

  It is one thing, and a useful thing, to tell a slave to speak of me to others as Eiron of Naxos when in a tavern on Thera. People would think little of that. That would not arouse suspicion. It is quite another thing, however, given the accents involved, to try to pass oneself off as an Eiron of Naxos when one’s accent is not only not that of Naxos, a town on Daphna, but would be unusual in the Farther Islands themselves, where accents tended to be much like those of Cos and Tyros. Therefore, as I had had little difficulty in passing myself off as Kenneth Statercounter of Brundisium, a far port and one of many accents, I deemed ‘Eiron of Brundisium’ a plausible alias. Given the looting and burning of the Inn of Kahlir in Sybaris, it did not seem wise for me to retain the Statercounter name, at least publicly.

  “It seems,” said Lais, “that you put them on and take them off frequently.”

  “Have you been whipped recently?” I asked.

  “No, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”

  We stopped speaking, for three palanquins, one after the other, with drawn curtains, moved past. They were borne, I noted, not by slaves, but free men who had more the look of mercenaries than bearers. Swords were at their belts. These palanquins, too, were accompanied by armed guards, two to a palanquin.

  “Free women,” said Thurnock.

  Lais shuddered, and shrank down a little.

  “Possibly of high caste,” said Clitus.

  “At least rich,” said Thurnock.

  When the palanquins had passed, Lais was noticeably relieved.

  “The curtains were drawn,” I said. “They did not even see you.”

  “Why do they hate us so?” she asked.

  “Perhaps you should ask one,” I said.

  Lais turned white.

  “I will not order you to do so,” I said.

  She smiled, gratefully.

  She looked very beautiful, kneeling at my feet. One of the joys of a slave is kneeling before her Master, being at his feet. How right that seems to her, in her collar. That is where she belongs, and where she wants to be. Free women, too, I have heard, from several slaves who were once free women, often feel the inclination, the impulse, the desire, the temptation, to kneel before a suitable male. How troubling and tormenting must this be for the regal free woman! Is she, despite her robes and veils, a slave? And some do so kneel, freely, scorning the pressure of prescribed resistance, putting themselves at the feet of such a male, in effect, offering themselves to be his slave.

  “In the four days we have been here,” I said, “I have received six offers for you.”

  “I did not know,” she said, uneasily.

  “One does not discuss such things with a tarsk, a verr, a slave.”

  “What were the offers?” she asked.

  “What a vain she-tarsk,” said Thurnock.

  “A slave is curious about such things, Master,” she said.

  “All of them,” I said, “were for far more than you are worth.”

  “You are a barbarian,” Thurnock reminded her.

  “Please,” she said, lifting her head to me, her eyes suddenly bright with tears, “do not sell me, Master.”

  “Some men,” said Thurnock, “grow rich, speculating in slaves, buying and selling them.”

  “I am not one of them,” I said.

  “May I speak, Master?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  The control of her speech is one of the mightiest and most effective of controls to which a woman may find herself subject. Women are marvelous speakers, bright, charming, gifted, and loquacious, nimble-tongued, perceptive, and quick-witted. What a joy to hear them speak! Her words are much to her, and important to her; they are her offense and defense, her shields and her weapons. With her words she can startle and soothe, delight and amaze, humiliate and lash, stab and cut, mock or encourage, bolster or humiliate, exalt or diminish. Take from her her words and she finds herself disarmed and helpless. Let us suppose that she wishes to speak, and is not permitted to do so. Few things can so convince her that she is a slave. And, chafing under this restriction, suffering from this frustration, she has the exquisite pleasure of realizing that she is where she wants to be, at the feet of her Master.

  The long street, dusty and bordered by stalls and tents, was crowded. Most of the visitors to the fair were men, but many women were present, as well. Most of the women were free, but some slaves were also in evidence, approximately one slave to every fifteen or twenty free women. The slaves took care to avoid the free women, often crossing to the other side of the street, and keeping their heads down. Much of the garmenture in the crowd, in cuts, lengths, and folds, in brightness, richness and texture, was festive, as Fair Days are holidays. Whereas the main colors about were the peasant browns, in their variations, brightened with pins, ribbons and sashes, the colors of several other castes were visible, as well. The slaves were easy to recognize, with their bare arms and legs, their brief tunics, the collars on their necks.

  A fellow with a stick was herding an immense tarsk past. That you would not have seen at a Sardar Fair.

  “What a splendid animal,” marveled Thurnock.

  I motioned that Lais should rise.

  “Watch where you step,” I said.

  “Guardsmen,” whispered Clitus.

  I did not turn about. “Guardsmen of the fair?” I asked.

  “I think not,” said Clitus.

  “Then of Mytilene,” I said.

  “I do not know the uniform,” said Clitus.

  I turned about. “Those are the uniforms
of regulars,” I said, “of Cos.”

  “The laws of Cos march with the spears of Cos,” said Thurnock. It was a saying.

  “What are they doing?” I asked.

  “They are making inquiries,” said Thurnock.

  “Let us take our leave,” said Clitus.

  “Why are soldiers of Cos at the fair?” asked Thurnock.

  “They may not be soldiers of Cos,” I said.

  “Let us be on our way,” said Clitus.

  “Hold,” said one of the two men in uniform.

  We turned about.

  “How may we be of assistance?” I asked.

  “We search for a forbidden weapon,” said he who seemed first of the two, he who seemed most in authority.

  “It has been reported at the fair,” said the second man.

  “In the possession of a man named Aktis,” said the first.

  “What weapon?” I asked.

  “The terrible bow,” he said, “from which fly the birds of death.”

  “It is not like the glorious spear, or the noble sword,” said the second man.

  “It is an unfair weapon,” said the other. “It can kill at more than a hundred paces.”

  “Dreadful,” I said.

  “Farther than the spear can be cast, far beyond the reach of the sword,” said the second.

  “Terrifying,” I said.

  “It is a weapon of cowards,” said the first, “who dare not face a real weapon.”

  “I did not know that,” I said.

  “Its use, if permitted to any, should be restricted to those who are entitled to its use,” said the second.

  “The servants of the state?” I said.

  “Obviously,” he said.

  We knew that the bow had been prohibited to the Peasantry of the islands by Cosian law. Accordingly, Thurnock did not carry his bow at the fair. As far as I knew Aktis did not either. Certainly he was aware of the law, and doubtless more so than we.

  “The citizenry must be kept safe, they must be protected from one another,” said the first.

  “The banning of the bow is thus for their own good,” said the second.