upon the ships of Cos and Tyros. Fortunately for us the tarns responded to their straps as though over land. They may have taken the ships below as land, as islands, so to speak, or, perhaps, it was a mere matter that we had not triggered or engaged the bird’s reluctance to forsake the sight of land. I supposed this disposition had been selected for in the course of the beast’s evolution. Tarns which were disposed to leave the sight of land might have perished in the sea, and thus failed to replicate their genes. Tarns which, for whatever reason, or random gift of genes, were reluctant to leave the sight of land might nest, and reproduce.
“The size of the vessel,” said my informant, “is such as to house tarns, their tarnsmen, their tarnsters, their gear, their provender, and such. They may be exercised regularly at sea, and then return to their vessels. Ports for their entry and exit are built into the hull.”
“It is very different from what I am familiar with,” I said.
“There are here, as well,” said Aetius, “six common galleys. They might prove of use, and are such as may be housed in the great ship.”
“Within the great ship?” I said.
“Precisely,” said Aetius.
“Are you sure about the single rudder?” I asked. That there was to be a single rudder was clear not only from the claim of Aetius, but from the massive socketing, at the stern.
“One is enough,” said Aetius. “The design is effective.”
“I see,” I said. It did seem to me that in a vessel of this size a double rudder might be impractical, and difficult to mount. Too, in a vessel of this size one would not, in any case, look for a delicate responsiveness to the helm, or helms. This was not a long ship, or a dragon of Torvaldsland.
“In a calm sea,” said Aetius, “there need be only a single helmsman.”
“I see,” I said. One helmsman, of course, can observe, and communicate with, a second helmsman, some yards across the helmdeck. On the other hand, even a single helmsman would not be likely to be alone. There would presumably be a watch in place.
“Where is Tersites?” I asked.
I remembered having seen him long ago, from the Council of Captains, which, at that time, was subordinate to the Five Ubars, competitive captains in the port. Later the council itself had become sovereign. He had tried to bring several of his proposals, dreams, and ideas, before the council, but they had been deemed too radical, even absurd, and had provoked much derision. This lonely genius, or madman, had become a laughing stock. Certainly he had been badly treated. He had tried later to carry his ideas even to the enemies of Port Kar, Cos and Tyros, but had met with no better success in these island ubarates. He had returned destitute to Port Kar, and had fed off garbage in the canals, and, on a pittance provided for him by the shipwrights, despised and derided, had begun to frequent the taverns of the city. He had then disappeared from Port Kar, and his fate had become unknown, at least to most. It was rumored he was somewhere in the vicinity of the northern forests. I had now begun to suspect that someone, or something, sometime, somewhere, had paused to listen, and carefully, thoughtfully, to the ravings of the demented shipwright, and that that someone, or something, had had plenteous resources at its disposal. Repudiated in Port Kar, mocked in Cos and Tyros, humiliated, outraged, and hating, mad, half-blind Tersites, here on the banks of the Alexandra, was selling the fruits of his genius to a buyer whose identity I doubted he knew. Who cares from what purse the gold to realize dreams may be drawn?
“Where is Tersites?” I asked, again.
“I do not know,” said Aetius, “perhaps on board.”
“I did not see him coming to greet Lord Nishida,” I said.
“We have had nasty weather here,” said Aetius. “You must have encountered it in the forest.”
“We did,” I said.
“Given a few days,” said Aetius, “the ship will be ready. The galleys are seaworthy now.”
I supposed the galleys had come from the south, and had been brought upstream, under oars, or towed, perhaps by tharlarion on shore, where the current might be difficult.
“Have you see Tersites of late?” I inquired.
“No,” he said.
“I would like to see him,” I said.
“I am sure you will,” said Aetius.
“When?” I asked.
“The weather has now changed,” said Aetius. “This is better for the carpentry.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“The tarns can be exercised now,” he said.
“I am glad to hear it,” I said.
“What do you think of her?” asked Aetius, gesturing to the incredible structure looming over us.
“It is not a ship,” I said. “It is an
“Do not look for the lines of a long ship,” said Aetius. “She is not intended to be such.”
“It is a country, an island of wood,” I said.
“No,” said Aetius. “She is a ship.”
“She is not made for the shelter of coasts,” I said.
“No,” agreed Aetius.
I considered the mighty structure. How different it was from the common ships of Gor. It was not built for speed, and its low bulwarks and lowered masts, for concealment. It was not made for approaching, difficult to detect, low on the horizon, for the raid and swift departure. It was not made to come and go, severally, frequently, to beach at night, and embark at dawn. This vessel might venture far, might spend months at sea, with no sight of land. This, I feared, was no common vessel, and intended no common voyage.
“When you get to know her,” said Aetius, “you will see her might, her power, the beauty of her lines.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“And soon,” he said, “she will be ready, and will depart.”
“Soon ready, perhaps,” I said. “But not to soon depart.”
“Yes,” he said, “to soon depart.”
“Not soon, surely,” I said.
“No, soon,” said he.
“It will soon be winter,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
I was apprehensive.
“How many men were brought from Tarncamp?” asked Aetius.
“I do not know,” I said, “perhaps eighteen hundred, perhaps nineteen hundred.”
“That is more than we will need,” he said.
“Then release them, with pay,” I said.
“Do not be foolish,” he said.
“You will not pay them?” I asked.
“They will have to be killed,” he said.
“I think not,” I said.
“Do not fear,” he said, “tarnsmen, tarnsters, and such are precious. They are safe. And Lord Nishida will not consent to the decimation of his men. Therefore it is mercenaries, preferably those less skilled, who will have to be thinned.”
“No,” I said.
“Most are renegades, outlaws, sword hirelings, killers,” he said.
“No matter,” I said.
“Berths are limited,” he said.
“I have fought with these men,” I said. “They are sword brothers.”
“Do not fear,” he said. “All this will be done of their own free will. Gold will set them upon one another. They are such. Too, in this way the most skilled will survive.”
“Who is first in this camp?” I asked.
“The
“I would see him,” I said.
