by John Norman
“The captain of that ship,” said Sakim, “is a fool.”
“Perhaps only ignorant,” I said.
We had all by now had evidence of the capacity of the Brigand Island, and perhaps other such islands, to detect motion in the water. Had we not been followed unerringly, even in the night?
“He abandons his fellows,” said Clitus.
“He should rest his oars,” said Sakim.
“It is unwise to wake the sleeping larl,” said Thurnock.
“Or the fierce bosk,” said Sakim, looking at me.
“I wonder if a mountain can hate,” said Clitus.
“If so,” said Thurnock, “I would not care to be the object of its wrath.”
“Do you think,” asked Clitus, “that it now understands what was done to it, that it now associates its pain and misery with a visible, independent, identifiable source, something that can be dealt with, another form of life, an enemy, men?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“I think so,” said Sakim. “Moreover, I think it, in some way, feels it was misled or betrayed.”
“How is that?” asked Clitus.
“It was trained to expect, as a result of certain behaviors, rewards, at least occasionally,” said Sakim. “Then, following the behavior, there was not only no reward, but dreadful, disgusting, keen disappointment.”
“The ringing of the bell signifies food to the animal,” I said, “and it welcomes the sound of the bell and salivates. Then, after a time, the ringing of the bell is followed not by food, but by unexpected disappointment and pain. The animal is confused. It goes insane.”
“What animal?” asked Sakim.
“It is not important,” I said.
“What is this about ringing bells?” said Sakim.
“Nothing, my friend,” I said, “nothing.”
“Look!” said Clitus. “The island rolls over and submerges!”
“The observation ship turns about, it flees,” said Sakim.
“It wishes to join its fleet,” said Thurnock.
“I do not think the fleet will be pleased about that,” I said.
Some Ihn passed, perhaps nearly an Ehn.
“Aiii!” screamed Clitus.
I gripped the rail of the Tesephone.
Once more, the enormous living weight of the Brigand Island exploded up from the sea and then, from some sixty to eighty yards above the surface, plunging downward, it fell athwart the retreating corsair ship, snapping it in two.
“What is going on now?” asked Clitus.
Sakim disengaged a glass of the Builders from his belt and trained it on the divided sinking corsair ship.
“Where once was a fine ship,” said Sakim, “there is now debris.”
“No, not that,” said Clitus. “What of the beast?”
“I think it is calm,” said Sakim. “It is going away. It moves slowly, peacefully, toward the horizon.”
“It is now free,” I said.
“In time its burns and wounds will heal,” said Thurnock.
“What did you have cast into the sea, from the baskets?” asked Clitus.
“What I hoped the island would take for its long-anticipated reward,” I said, “bundles of sip root.”
“Disappointment and betrayal, horror and disgust,” said Clitus.
“That was my hope,” I said.
“So the bell of pleasure became the bell of pain,” said Sakim.
“Something like that,” I said.
“Sometimes a tarsk-bit, cast into the scale,” said Sakim, “can unbalance the weight of mountains.”
“That was my hope,” I said.
“The island gone, the corsair fleet will set itself to rescue survivors,” said Clitus. “Should we not then unlash our ships and attempt to withdraw?”
“No,” I said. “It is early. We could easily be overtaken.”
“What shall we do then?” asked Clitus.
“Care for our wounded,” I said, “and prepare to resist boarding.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
War at Sea
“They are coming!” called the lookout.
I lifted my hand to Captain Tab on the stern deck of the Dorna, and he returned this salute.
Following the sinking of the forward ship, or observation ship, by the maddened living island, which we commonly spoke of as the “Brigand Island,” the corsair fleet was reduced to four vessels, two of which were now drawing close, one to attempt drawing alongside the port side of the Dorna, and the other intending to draw alongside the starboard side of the Tesephone.
The grapnels of the enemy, as I had anticipated, had some seven or eight feet of chain between the eye of the grapnel and the normal casting ropes. This arrangement made it impractical to chop away the casting rope, thus rendering the grapnel ineffective. The usual negative effect of this arrangement was to shorten the distance the grapnel could be cast by one individual, necessitating then greater proximity, the use of an engine, or the vulnerable clustering of two or more individuals. More importantly, in understanding the nature of the grapnel, with its customary three or four hooks, one recognizes that it must have an accessible, independent anchoring point to render it effective, such as the top of a wall, the girth of a branch, a railing, or such. If the grapnel is denied purchase, its utility to the enemy is nullified.
We surveyed the ship approaching our starboard side.
“The decks are crowded with mercenaries!” said a man.
“How can we resist such steel?” asked a man.
“Take heart,” called another, stringing his bow. “How could you miss, even you, firing into that throng.”
“Pick your targets,” I said.
“Attend the captain,” roared Thurnock. “You do not aim at a herd of tabuk, you aim at one tabuk.”
“Shields will be raised,” I said. “Keep swords, knives, bludgeons, axes, ready.”
On the other side of our small ‘fort in the sea’, Tab and the crew of the Dorna were similarly observing the approach of a corsair ship and readying themselves for action.
The enemy would, to the best of his ability, attack simultaneously at the port side of the Dorna and the starboard side of the Tesephone, but this maneuver, given a choppy sea, intermittent gusts of wind, the difference in vessels, a disparity of helmsmen and command, and the rocking of the target is more easily planned than executed. Ideally, from our point of view, the enemy vessels would be unable to attack our ‘fort’ at the same time, this permitting us to concentrate our forces in such a way as to match, or nearly match, the width of at least a first boarding party on one side. As suggested earlier, the lashing together of the Dorna and Tesephone made this possible, permitting a rapid, judicious distribution of men and resources, allowing them to be applied when and where most needed.
As the prow of the corsair ship at our starboard side slipped past our stern deck, like a long, gliding sea tharlarion, her port oars were withdrawn. She ground against our side. As she did so, I called, “Oars outboard,” and the oars of the Tesephone’s starboard benches thrust out, trying to force a distance between the Tesephone and the corsair. Given the weight of the corsair and surge of the sea, several oars snapped, but others, some bending and others half broken, interposed themselves between the two hulls. Some of the corsair mercenaries had leapt between the ships at the moment of contact, but these, isolated from their fellows who could not follow them, were cut down or forced back over the rail, some of whom were being crushed between the vessels in our battle to force the hulls apart. Then, in the wash of the sea, the corsair was separated from our proximity and rocked some ten feet to the side. Clearly the enemy must strive to close with us. He must strive to draw our ships together, or draw back and bring his beak or ram into play.
“Bold fellows,” called Thurnock, admi
ringly.
“Bold for an additional bounty of gold,” hissed Clitus.
Several mercenaries had plunged into the sea with hand axes, and, reaching and climbing upward in the rolling sea, assisted by oars thrust forth from the corsair, dipping and rising, had clambered onto the few remaining oars of the Tesephone which were still holding the corsair at bay. These they were frenziedly attacking with their axes. “Stay back!” I cried to our fellows. Given the railing of the Tesephone we could not well interfere with their work without unduly exposing ourselves.
“The grapnels are next!” I cried. “Fire on any who touch them!”
Bows were leveled.
On the corsair ship, several who held the casting ropes hurled them down.
One was killed by a screaming officer, and then men with shields rushed to the rail, that those who would cast the grapnels might loft them from behind shielding. Suddenly dozens of these devices, heavy with seven or eight feet of chain, most cast by two men, hurtled toward the Tesephone.
A cheer went up from the corsairs.
As much as seven or eight men would drag on each grapnel rope, to pull the corsair ship and the Tesephone together.
I heard an oar snap and then another.
I also heard screams from the water between the vessels. The oars of the enemy, to which the mercenaries had clung, had been withdrawn, forcing them from the oars, into the water. It was more than apparent to these brave fellows that their position, as the ships’ hulls began to approach one another, was not an enviable one. Some swam desperately to make their way to and about the prow or stern of the corsair vessel. Some dove under its hull, and would hope to be reboarded on its starboard side. Others were crushed.
A grapnel is ineffective without purchase.
For example, it cannot fasten itself to the side of a vertical wall. Similarly, it cannot hold on a smooth flat surface. In such applications it can do little more than slide and scratch.
The sides of the two vessels were coming closer and closer to one another.
“Pull,” I heard from the corsair vessel, and then, again, “Pull!”
The two hulls, rocking in the sea, approached one another, more and more closely.
The grapnel chains and ropes were taut.
Then, suddenly, there was a splintering of wood in several locations and the grapnels leaped backward with force, several even striking the corsair ship itself, others disappearing between the hulls, splashing into the water. Simultaneously, strings of men who, behind shields, were hauling on the grapnel ropes, lost their balance and spilled backward onto the deck of the corsair.
The ideal points of purchase for grapnels, the likely targets of their application, had been partially sawed through, and, given the stress imposed by the straining ropes, these points, mostly railings, broke loose.
Thus, for most practical purposes, the grapnels, denied purchase, were useless.
Freed of the grapnels, the two ships, responsive to the physics of the sea, once more rocked apart.
“Archers, shields!” blared a hand-held speaking tube on the corsair ship.
“Screens up!” I cried.
Scarcely had I cried than the plank screens, hitherto unnoticed, were raised and set.
Across the water, the speaking tube fell to the deck and Thurnock refitted another arrow to his string.
Quarrels like a rain of metal struck the shaken screens. Had it not been for the screens I fear the deck would have been raked with death. The planks bristled like the back of the poison-spined urt.
“Men for the Dorna!” cried a voice from behind me.
I looked about, wildly. “Every other man to the Dorna,” I shouted. The other corsair ship, that addressing itself to the port side of the Dorna, had, despite the general neutralization of grapnels, grated alongside her, and, in the moment, was held in place by the sea. Mercenaries were trying to clamber over the corsair ship’s railings, to force themselves to the muchly leveled deck of the Dorna. I was sure that the doubling of defenders could hold back at least a given wave of attackers. Should another and another wave mount to the railings, I had no doubt a boarding could be forced, that requiring that we must meet the enemy on our own decks. On our side of the ‘fort’, the storm of quarrels had lessened, and then cleared.
“Their quarrels are spent,” called a man.
“Glory to the screens!” cried another.
“Do not neglect cover,” I called.
Surely they did not think that an enemy would expend all his ammunition so early in battle. A trick as old as war itself, whether waged with rocks or bullets, is to pretend the paucity or absence of resources and then suddenly unleash them on a startled, unexpecting foe. To be sure, the cessation of fire was doubtless connected, at least in part, with the recognition that little was to be gained by wasting ammunition on stout wooden screens, an impervious target.
“The foe is quiet,” said Clitus.
“He rests,” said another, gratefully.
“Can it be?” asked Clitus.
“No,” said Thurnock. “They are preparing a boarding party.”
“Grapnels have failed,” said Clitus.
“They will try to close with us, as the other ship with the Dorna,” I said.
“That is precarious,” said Clitus.
“We are content that the risk be theirs,” I said.
“We are half manned,” said a seaman, apprehensively.
“They are doubtless well aware of that,” said Thurnock.
“Recall our fellows from the Dorna,” said a man.
“They are needed there,” said another.
“We cannot meet them at the rail,” said a man. “We are now too few.”
That was true. They could, sooner or later, overextend any line we could bring to the rail.
“We will meet them on the deck,” I said. “The screens are ready. It takes but a moment to spread the oil. Our footing will be secure.”
“It will be a slaughter,” said Thurnock.
“If all goes well,” I said.
“We shall make it go well,” said Thurnock.
“The foe! The foe!” cried an oarsman.
“Steady, steady!” I called. “There may be a shock. Keep the screens steady.”
And there was a shock, long and grating. The screens tottered but remained in place.
“Oil!” I called.
It was cast from buckets on the deck.
Almost at the same time dozens of mercenaries, unopposed, uttering war cries, leapt over the rail of the corsair ship on our starboard side, and landed on the smooth, glistening deck, only to cry out in dismay and alarm, as they slipped, skidded, and lost their footing.
At the same time our men, bearing swords, axes, knives, and even clubs, rushed out from behind the screens, sure footed from the bits of nails fastened in their sandals and boots, and fell, like butchers on verr, on the numerous discomfited and often helpless foes, most unable to regain or maintain their footing.
Other mercenaries, dozens on the corsair ship, milled behind its railing, unwilling to follow their fellows, much aware of the hazard of placing themselves on so treacherous a surface.
Without grappling holding the ships together it was difficult for the corsair ship, given the sea, to retain its position, and soon, pitching and rocking, it was no longer at the side of the Tesephone but lay abeam of her by some seven or eight feet.
In this interval several of our men, moving the screens forward like walls, thrust mercenaries from the slick deck. Some other mercenaries, comprehending their predicament, had already cast aside their shields and weapons and had crawled or rolled to the railless edge of the Tesephone and plunged overboard, preferring the jeopardy of Thassa to the near certitude of extermination.
“Victory is ours!” cried a man.
“Co
ver!” I cried.
A volley of quarrels struck screens, penetrated the raised mast, skidded or tumbled across the deck, even to the Dorna.
“They will come again,” said Thurnock.
“And the deck, next time, will be no surprise to them,” said Clitus.
“Perhaps it will be,” I said.
“Perhaps they will not come again,” said a man.
“I think they will,” said Thurnock. “They cannot be unaware that, on this side, we are still grossly undermanned.”
“Mercenaries can take only so much,” said Clitus, folding his net. “They fight for gold, not death.”
“What mercenary shrinks from a fight he deems easily and profitably won,” asked Thurnock, “a fight in which he risks little and is likely to gain much?”
“It is true,” I said, “the corsairs have four ships to our two, and the Dorna is crippled.”
“They are coming again!” cried a man, pointing.
The corsair ship was maneuvering to come alongside once more. It was a beautiful ship, low in the water, with fine lines, with the eyes on either side of the graceful, concave prow. I remarked how the beak, mostly submerged, divided the water before its passage. It reminded me a little of the dorsal fin of the nine-gilled Gorean shark, so much like those of Earth, a graceful, efficient, savage form of life, presumably selected for efficient predation, just as the Earth shark in similar environments.
“They will beware the deck,” said Clitus. “They will wrap leather or rags about their boots and sandals. They will test their footing. They will step with care.”
“They are land fighters,” said Clitus. “Under the best of conditions, the rhythms of a deck, with its pitching and rolling, however subtle and gentle, is not to their liking.”
“I hear no war cries,” said a man.
“See the helmets and faces,” said a man.
“They are proud, dangerous men,” said Thurnock. “They have been surprised and humiliated. They seek blood and vengeance.”
“Draw back, behind the screens,” I called. “Do not contest the boarding.”
“The lamp is ready,” said Thurnock.
