by John Norman
“Do you not owe me a gold stater, of Brundisium, in compensation for the loss of a map?” I said.
“As agreed!” stammered Glaukos, reaching into his belt pouch, extracting such a coin, and pressing it into my hand.
“In the parade,” I said, “I saw no float proclaiming the glory of Archelaos, nor did I see one representing The Living Island.”
“There is bad blood, jealousy, between Archelaos and Nicomachos,” said Glaukos. “Archelaos declined to contribute to the triumph of Nicomachos, by implicitly saluting the glory of a rival, and Nicomachos did not wish his triumph diminished by implicitly accrediting any share of his glory to the governor.”
“And thus,” said Thurnock, “even enemies may find solidarity on sensitive matters.”
“And I,” said Glaukos, “in deference to the possible feelings of Archelaos, did not place a float in the parade.”
“It all hangs together,” said Clitus.
“Things often do,” I said.
“It is unfortunate,” said Glaukos. “My float would have been the finest of the tavern floats.”
“I am sure of it,” I said.
“Perhaps you wish a written confession,” he said, “one in which I specify a crime, that of conspiring with the dreaded Bosk of Port Kar, and name the governor as its perpetrator?”
“That will not be necessary,” I said. “Its authenticity could be challenged, as having been forged, or its validity nullified, as having been exacted under duress.”
“Thus time, paper, and ink may be spared,” he smiled.
“Do you truly believe,” I asked, “that the governor conspired with Bosk of Port Kar?”
“Of course,” he said.
“And you recruited on behalf of Bosk of Port Kar?”
“I, and others,” he said. “We were well paid.”
“How came it about,” I asked, “that Nicomachos, Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands, encountered the corsair fleet near Mytilene on Chios?”
“I do not know,” he said. “It was unfortunate. The sea is vast. Yet such things can happen. The governor was much distressed.”
“You have been helpful,” I said.
“I detected little choice in the matter,” he said.
“I take it,” I said, “that you will not report our small discussion to the governor.”
“Certainly not,” he said, eyes glinting. “Should I learn more, or recall some item inadvertently omitted, where may I contact you?”
“Perhaps,” I said, “at the Inn of Kahlir.”
“Of course,” he said.
He would know, of course, that the Inn of Kahlir, by supposed rioters, had been torched and looted months ago. It was now no more than rubble and ashes.
I put my boot against the left shoulder of the kneeling slave and thrust her to her right shoulder on the rug. She remained in this position, not having been given permission to move. She looked up at me. Her eyes, over the gag, were frightened.
“What do you want for her?” I asked.
“She is worth at least two silver tarsks,” he said.
“Here,” I said, flipping him the gold stater of Brundisium.
“Yours!” he said, snatching the coin in flight.
The slave went gladly to her belly and humbly, fervently, pressed her lips to my boot.
Perhaps she had not been thrilled to be the property of Glaukos. But then a slave has no choice as to whom she will belong. That is one of the pleasant things about slaves. Does it not help them to understand that they are slaves?
I gestured that she might kneel before me, and she struggled to that position.
“Would you like to belong to a peasant?” I asked.
She shook her head negatively, fiercely.
“Shall I sell you to a peasant?” I asked.
She shook her head pleadingly, “No.”
“Very well,” I said. “I will not do so.”
Joy flooded her features.
“I will give you to one,” I said.
She shook her head wildly, “No.” Tears burst from her eyes. She shuddered in misery.
“Do not be concerned,” I said. “I have had you in mind for him, for some time. Indeed, you have met him before, though you might not have been told his name. He charged you with giving a message to your Master.”
She looked at me, her features startled.
“I see you remember,” I said. “His name is Aktis, and he is of the village of Nicosia, on Chios. You will be well worked during the day, and, I expect, well used whenever it pleases your master, day or night, in the furrows, or, chained, on a hut mat.”
“I have spoken to Aktis,” said Thurnock. “He will chain her naked, outside, in the weather, until she begs to be pleasing. If that is insufficient, he can break her to the whip.”
“That will not be necessary,” I said. “She will soon be as helpless as a she-tarsk in heat. Slaves are the prisoners, and victims, of their own needs. She will soon crawl to him on her belly, begging for slave use.”
“It seems,” said Glaukos, “the slave has fainted.”
“Yes,” I said.
“What is this business about a message?” asked Glaukos.
“It is not important,” I said.
“About falarian?” he said.
“Possibly,” I said.
“Nothing came of that,” he said.
“Oh?” I said.
“It was a hoax,” he said.
“Such things often are,” I said.
“I trust I may no longer be of service,” said Glaukos.
“I do not think so,” I said.
I lifted the blade of the short, double-edged weapon, the Gorean gladius.
“Do not kill me!” he cried.
The hilt of the weapon clutched in my right fist, I delivered him a heavy blow.
“I could have struck him,” said Thurnock.
“He asked not to be killed,” I said.
“What of the slave?” asked Thurnock.
“Gather her up, gently in your arms,” I said to Thurnock. “And outside, in the corridor, wrap her features in her removed garments, that she not be recognized.”
“Why did you mention the Inn of Kahlir?” asked Thurnock.
“As soon as he recovers consciousness,” I said, “he will hurry to report our conversation to Archelaos. In going over the conversation, detail by detail, my mention of the Inn of Kahlir should be recalled. That will remind Archelaos of his attempt to rid himself of Kenneth Statercounter, troublesome merchant of Brundisium. That will suggest that the supposed Fenlon of Ti, of the recent conversation, is either Kenneth Statercounter, or someone in league with him.”
“Then Archelaos will be searching for Kenneth Statercounter,” said Clitus.
“And he should not be hard to find,” I said, “as he has two ships in the harbor.”
“You risk much,” said Thurnock.
“We cannot storm the palace,” I said. “How else can we arrange an interview with the governor?”
Chapter Sixty
We Await a Messenger from the Palace
“You see them?” asked Clitus.
“Yes,” I said.
“The tridents make them fishermen,” said Thurnock.
“My dear friend,” said Clitus, “it takes more than a trident to make a fisherman.” His eyes were narrow. He shook out his own net, and unstrapped his trident.
“There are two of them,” I said.
We were standing on the dock, near the Tesephone. The Dorna was moored within fifty yards. Our men were not at the ships. Most were in Sybaris. I had wanted to make it easier, and less intimidating, to be approached by a messenger from the palace. Let it seem we were few in number, and, perhaps, open to dialogue. Who were we, really? Wha
t did we want? What did we know? Did we have a role in these dark games? Might we not have something to sell the governor? Information? Silence?
“There are six more, hooded, farther away,” said Clitus, “those fellows carrying amphorae.”
“Deep enough to hold swords,” I said.
“I will fetch my staff,” said Thurnock.
This was the peasant staff, less an accessory to walking than a stout weapon, some six or seven feet in length, some two inches, or so, in thickness. In the hands of a strong, skilled man it is a formidable weapon.
“What are those two doing?” I asked.
“I inquired, when they were less close,” said Clitus. “Supposedly they seek to clean the harbor, in particular, to reduce the number of serpentine spined tharlarion in the harbor. They cast garbage into the water and spear the tharlarion when it rises to the surface to seize the garbage.”
“I see,” I said.
Something very much like that was done in Port Kar, as well, only a tethered, swimming slave is used to attract the canal urts.
Thurnock then joined us, staff in hand.
“Perhaps they are what they seem,” said Thurnock, “hunters of the spined tharlarion.”
“No,” said Clitus, loosening his net further. “They hold the tridents improperly. They hold them like they were spears. The trident is light. It is not hurled; it is darted.”
“They are coming closer,” I said. “Seemingly paying us no mind.”
“Seemingly,” said Clitus.
“The others with the amphorae, drift closer, too,” I said.
The two closer men stopped now and then, began to cast scraps into the water, these extracted by handfuls from canvas sacks worn at their belts.
“I had hoped to be contacted civilly, by messengers from the palace of the governor,” I said.
“Perhaps the governor is not granting interviews today,” said Thurnock.
“Their guise,” I said, “would have been more convincing if they had a cart with them, heaped with their kills.”
“That would be dangerous,” said Clitus. “The spines are deadly, for days, even when the thing is dead, and it is not always dead, and, for some time after death, it may, like the ost, toss and twitch. The least scratch can lead to a swift, terrible death.”
Thurnock, turning away, spun his staff, twice, and thrust at some imaginary foe. Such a thrust, with the force of a man of the size and strength of Thurnock, can, lifting a fully-grown man, plunge through the belly to the backbone.
“Thurnock practices,” I said.
Clitus walked to the edge of the dock. I joined him there. “Look,” he said, pointing down, into the water.
“I see nothing,” I said.
“Wait,” he said. “Another is coming.”
“Yes!” I said. The slender, serpentine body, a yard long, surfaced for a moment, eyes beady, drawing air, and then slipped beneath the surface, the water raked by its double array of brightly colored spines.
“I have seen at least four,” he said.
“It is the garbage,” I said.
“It is not only the spined tharlarion which seeks food,” he said.
He then looked down the dock, to the two fellows with tridents and bait sacks. They were still some yards away. “I wonder if they know what they are doing,” he said.
“One supposes so,” I said.
“I trust they are well paid,” he said.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because the risk is great,” he said.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“I think they are ignorant,” he said.
“How so?” I asked.
“I do not think they know what else is in the water,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Something far more dangerous than the passive spined tharlarion,” he said, “something small, numerous, mindlessly aggressive, and hungry.”
“Of course,” I said. “Harbor sharks!”
These are a breed of sharks which, as far as I know, are found only in the Farther Islands, small sharks, seldom more than a foot in length, but they can vary from three or four inches, a size one could hold in one’s hand, to a foot and a half.
“I see no harbor sharks,” I said.
“They are there,” said Clitus.
“Perhaps we should chat with our friends, with the tridents,” I said.
“Why not?” agreed Clitus.
The two fellows with tridents and bait sacks were now quite close, but seemingly unconcerned with us, seemingly intent only on their fishing. The six others, hooded, with amphorae, were a few yards behind them, down the dock.
“Tal,” I said, to the two fellows with tridents.
“Tal,” said they, as though surprised to have been addressed.
“It is a strange day,” I said.
“How so, Master?” asked one.
“Behold the six fellows down the way, with amphorae,” I said. “Surely they are not bringing water to ships.”
“That does seem strange,” said one.
Amphorae are familiar vessels on Gor but, given their shape, as they cannot stand by themselves, they are commonly used buried, to keep contents fresh and cool, or mounted in racks, which, on ships, is something of a waste of space. Water on ships is commonly stored in barrels or leather bags.
“Perhaps they are porters, and intend to take on water,” said the second of the trident bearers.
“The water of Thassa?” I asked.
Thassa was not a fresh-water sea. Hundreds of rivers and streams, for centuries, had been bringing salt into its deep, turbulent waters.
“That does seem strange,” said the first trident bearer, warily.
“Perhaps,” I said, “the amphorae themselves are trade goods, to be stored aboard certain ships.”
“That must be it,” said the first fellow.
“But they seem rather plain, rather common stuff, for trade goods,” said Clitus.
“It is indeed mysterious,” said the second trident bearer.
“How goes your hunting?” I asked.
The six hooded fellows were drifting closer now.
“We have had little luck,” said the first trident bearer, “—as yet.”
I saw a large shadow in front of me, to the right. Thurnock, with his staff, as though curious, had joined us.
“Perhaps it will improve,” I said.
“I think it will,” said the first trident bearer.
“It is hard to say,” I said.
“Not so hard as you might think,” said the second trident bearer.
By this time the six hooded fellows with the amphorae were quite close, so close that they might easily overhear our conversation.
“What do you think is in the amphorae?” asked the first trident bearer.
“I do not much care,” I said.
“Perhaps it is wine,” he said, “or perhaps it is oil.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“But it is neither,” he said.
“How would you know?” I asked.
“It is swords!” he cried, and, at the same moment, the six hooded fellows flung off their hoods and drew forth swords, discarding the amphorae.
Two of these earlier hooded fellows were minions of Archelaos, proprietor of The Living Island, Ctesippus and Laios.
“Why, you are right,” I said, “swords.”
“You are amazed!” laughed the trident bearer.
“Who would not be?” I asked.
“Such things are cumbersome sheaths for steel,” said Thurnock.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked. I thought it an appropriate question, surely one to be expected.
“You will have little time to ponder that,” said the seco
nd trident bearer.
“Perhaps longer than you think,” I said.
“Watch out,” said Ctesippus, “he has a sword.”
I had withdrawn this from within my cloak, but I had called no attention to this move, fixing my attention elsewhere, and, it seems, the second trident bearer noticed this just now. I had picked up this trick from an old friend, the impresario, rogue, and magician, Boots Tarsk-Bit.
“It matters not,” said the second trident bearer. “He is a Merchant. His weapons are the abacus, ledger, and scales.”
“I trust that you are not threatening us,” I said. “In any event, be warned. I can summon the harbor guard.”
“You may summon them,” said Ctesippus, “but they will not come.”
“They have been withdrawn,” said Laios.
“By order of the governor?” I asked.
“As it happens,” said Laios.
I stepped slightly to my left, near the edge of the dock. In this way I could be approached only frontally, or on my right, and on my right was Thurnock, with his weighty, formidable staff. I did not think this subtlety was noted by our visitors.
“Your array,” I said, “could easily be construed as hostile.”
Laios laughed, and glanced at Ctesippus, which glance informed me of what I had long suspected, that Ctesippus was first between them.
“On whose behalf do you brandish your weapons?” I asked.
I recalled the codes.
It was not inadmissible to make such an inquiry.
“On behalf of the noble Glaukos of Thera,” said Ctesippus.
“Surely there is some misunderstanding,” I said. “I am Kenneth Statercounter, a simple merchant of Brundisium. What fault has the noble Glaukos to find with me, or I with him?”
“You are inconveniently about too often,” said Ctesippus. “You appear too frequently in surprising places. You are either a conniving villain or a spy on behalf of Brundisium. You ask too many questions. You guess shrewdly at too many answers. Uninvited, unauthorized, you seek truth, an enterprise often fraught with peril. Have you not guessed that some knowledge is less safely grasped than an ost?”
“Are you sure,” I asked, “that the harbor guard has been withdrawn?”
“Yes,” said Ctesippus.
“Good,” I said, “then there will then be fewer questions to answer.”
