Mariners of Gor

The two guardsmen now withdrew.

“It is over now, is it not?” said Demetrion.

“Yes,” said Captain Nakamura. “But, if you wish, we will conclude all trading, return to the ship, and take to the sea, and then perhaps this ship, and none like it, will ever again come to the piers of great Brundisium.”

“No, no,” said Demetrion, hastily, and then, raising his voice, he called out, “It is over! It is done, all done. Return to business! To business! The house remains open late this night!”

This announcement was met with pleasure.

“I will have the body delivered to the pool, by garbage slaves,” said Demetrion.

Supposing this allusion might be obscure to the stranger and Captain Nakamura, I explained it to them. For any who might come upon this manuscript and are not familiar with Brundisium, the pool, when the grating is raised, is accessible from the sea, and may be entered by sharks, and grunt. It serves several purposes. It tends to draw predatory fish away from the piers, and it provides a convenient way of disposing of large forms of garbage, the bodies, say, of dead animals. It is also used as a place of execution, in particular, for minor offenses, such as theft. The grating is raised, which is a signal to fish in the vicinity that a feeding is at hand. If the victim is alive, a limb is severed, which distributes blood in the water, and then the limb and the victim are cast into the pool.

The head which had been removed from the body, with the apparent intention of bringing it eventually to the attention of Tyrtaios, was given into the keeping of the Pani, Tatsu, who accepted it, and, holding it by the hair, bowed, and then withdrew, with his three fellows, presumably to the ship.

“I will have warm water and dry cloths brought,” said Demetrion, “that you may wash and dry your swords.”

“My thanks,” said the stranger.

The captain bowed, slightly, acknowledging the courtesy.

One seldom sheaths an unclean sword, and, one supposes, one would be reluctant to return such a blade to a clean sash, as well. In the field, leaves, and grass, may be used. Some use the hair and clothing of the fallen. Others carry a soft cloth for such a purpose. When the blade is clean and dry, it is often given a thin coating of oil, which protects against rust, and, some believe, facilitates the flight from the scabbard.

The body of Cineas, headless, was removed by two garbage slaves, short brawny men, kept by the harbor office.

Shortly thereafter a lad, employed in the warehouse, brought the stranger and Captain Nakamura two small vessels of heated, colored, scented water, and two soft, brightly white, deeply napped, scarflike cloths.

Captain Nakamura, one gathers, a man of refinement, if not the stranger, appeared to recognize and appreciate the nature and quality of this homely amenity. Many of the high Pani, I am told, are sensitive to beauty, to matters of artistry and grace, even in small things, such as the serving of tea, the arrangement of flowers.

The two blades were soon cleaned and returned to their respective housings. The stranger, being right- handed, ran his sheath strap from his right shoulder to his left hip, so the blade was at his left hip. Before he met Cineas he had removed both the strap and sheath, for such things may be seized. When danger is imminent the strap is usually, for a right-handed swordsman, simply put loose over the left shoulder, where, in a moment, the blade drawn, the belt and sheath may be held, as the stranger did, or, as is often the case, discarded altogether, to be retrieved later, this being permitted by the outcome of the encounter.

“We have accomplished much, successfully, noble Callias,” said Captain Nakamura. “We have journeyed to the World’s End, Brundisium, we have founded a trade route, we are in the process of obtaining much needed goods for our shogun, Lord Temmu, we have foiled, or meddled in, the plot of the traitor, Tyrtaios, have perhaps saved your life, and, in any event have deprived him of his agent, Cineas, and we have conveyed to you greetings, those of Lord Nishida and Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman.”

“I wish you well,” said the stranger, Callias, to the captain, Nakamura, of the ship, the River Dragon.

I would have thought they might then have clasped hands, hand to hand, or, perhaps, exchanged with one another the mariner’s clasp, hand to wrist, wrist to hand, but, instead, the stranger bowed to Captain Nakamura, and he, in turn, returned the bow. This seemed to me rather cool, rather formal, but in it was clearly expressed, I sensed, much respect.

“What will you do now, noble Callias?” inquired Captain Nakamura. “What are your are your plans, when we sail?”

“I would sail with you, of course, to return,” said the stranger.

“That is not possible,” said the captain.

“I must!” said the stranger.

“You have enemies amongst those who would have deserted,” said the captain. “Your interference at the gate will be recalled. We could not guarantee your safety from such men, even at the castle.”

“It is a risk I accept, a risk I welcome,” said the stranger.

“I fear,” said the captain, “matters are far more serious.”

“I do not understand,” said the stranger. He was much agitated. I had not understood the gravity of his determination to return to such a far, strange, and dangerous place, the World’s End.

Would one not rather strive to avoid a resumption of that perilous journey, at all costs?

What sort of men would dare to journey to the World’s End?

“You would be killed,” said the Captain. “Lords Temmu and Okimoto would see to it, for your part in stealing the great ship.”

“They would have destroyed it!” said the stranger.

“Yes,” said the captain, “and you were instrumental in foiling that design. Do you think that would be forgotten?”

“I was not alone!” he said.

“Tarl Cabot is important to the tarn cavalry,” said the captain. “I fear his men would die for him. It would be very dangerous to dispose of him, and, worse, presumably unwise. He may be needed. And Lord Nishida is a daimyo, with villages, rice fields, peasants, and ashigaru. He is respected by a hundred minor daimyos, and important in significant diplomacies, maintaining precarious neutralities amongst those who might lean to Lord Yamada, and perhaps, eventually, he might prove significant in the enlistment of allies.”

“And Callias,” said the stranger, bitterly, “has no such weight, no such power.”

“Certainly not,” said the captain.

“One who steals a sul may be mutilated, crippled, or killed,” said Callias, “whereas one who steals cities may be gifted with the medallion of a Ubar.”

“Or the throne of a shogun,” said the captain.

“I must go, in any event,” said the stranger.

“I will give you no berth,” said the captain.

“Why?”

“I have given my word on the matter,” said the captain.

“How so?” asked the stranger. “To whom?”

“To Lord Nishida, and Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman,” said the captain.

“But you have conveyed their greetings!” he said. “Are they not well disposed toward me?”

“More so than you realize,” said the captain.

“I do not understand, I do not understand,” said the stranger.

“Why is it so important to you?” inquired the captain, politely.

The stranger seemed about to speak, but he did not speak. He turned away.

“I fear,” I said, “Captain, that the matter has to do with a slave.”

“No, no!” said the stranger.

“A slave?” said the captain.

“I fear so,” I said.

“Ah!” said the captain, suddenly. “I had forgotten.”

The stranger turned to face him.

“Forgive me,” said the captain. “It had slipped my mind, doubtless in the press of circumstances, arranging matters with the harbor master, renting space, organizing goods, supervising trading, and such.”