Mariners of Gor

“I am famished,” I said.

We then left the back room, and, a bit later, Callias had exchanged one of the tiny beadlike golden tarsks for nine silver tarsks, ninety-nine copper tarsks, and a hundred tarsk-bits, at one of the changing tables maintained in the warehouse by the harbor administration, to facilitate trading.

I might have been concerned here, but the warehouse seemed filled with bulging purses, and the counting boards on several of the long tables were so filled that coins lay loose, spilled beside them.

At that point the nineteenth bar sounded.

The house would close at the twentieth Ahn, to open in the morning, with the first light. Several Merchants, I did not doubt, would arrive well before dawn.

“As I recall,” said the stranger, “you were going to buy us some food.”

“Yes,” I said.

“That should be easy, as there are still several vendors about.”

“Yes,” I said. I did have some tarsk-bits in my purse, and I had certainly volunteered to buy something to eat. On the other hand, that was at a time, as I recalled, when I thought the stranger had not a tarsk-bit to his name. He was now a wealthy man, quite possibly the most wealthy man in Brundisium not of the Merchant caste. I suddenly began to suspect something of the economic dispositions, calculations, and shrewdness of the extremely wealthy, which shrewdness, and such, apparently, it did not take long to acquire. After all, I thought to myself, too, he is a Cosian, and everyone knows what Cosians are like, though to be perfectly honest I had never given much thought up to that point as to Cosians in general. Still, he was not a bad fellow. And some fellows are changed by a single tarn disk, so there was some excuse for him.

“Wait here,” I said.

In a few moments I had made my way to a vendor’s cart and purchased some wrappings of food. I spent a bit more than I had intended, an extra tarsk-bit or two, but, in this manner, I thought, I might demonstrate the munificence of the Caste of Scribes, apparently a munificence well beyond that of warriors, mariners, the common oarsman, the newly rich, and such, a munificence, to be sure, commonly exercised within judicious limits.

“Where is your master?” I asked Alcinoe.

She was kneeling where I had left her and the stranger.

“I do not know, Master,” she said.

“You are not secured,” I said.

“No, Master,” she said.

Usually one does not leave a good-looking slave alone, unless properly secured. There were, at the wall, for example, some slave rings, to which more than one slave was chained.

“What is going on?” I asked. “Was there trouble?”

“I do not know, Master,” she said. “I do not think there is trouble. My Master said for me to wait here, and we might begin to eat.”

“Is he coming back?” I asked. “The warehouse will close shortly.”

“I am very hungry,” she said.

I gave her one of the wrappings of food, and took another. After a time, as the stranger had not returned, and the warehouse was to close in a bit, we divided the last wrapping of food between us.

Let Callias take that, I thought.

Still I was uneasy.

“I fear for your master,” I said.

“He is armed,” she said.

“What business would take him from your side?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said.

“It must be of great importance,” I said.

“I would like to think so,” she said, licking her fingers.

“The closing bar will ring shortly,” I said. “It will be the twentieth Ahn. We will be expelled.”

Already some of the tables were closing.

Some men were exiting the warehouse.

“Where is he?” I asked. “I am concerned. I am apprehensive. The streets may be dangerous.”

Actually I did not have too much concern along these lines, as the night lamps would be lit, and, given the warehouse, the exiting Merchants, and such, there would be a number of guardsmen about, private guards, city guards, and guards in the employ of the harbor administration. Too, I had little doubt there would be a sufficient number of Pani about, as well, some to assure the safe conduct of their goods, gains, and such, back to the ship, and others outside, to guard the warehouse, and the abundant stores still within.

“I trust he had something to eat,” I said.

“I would suppose so,” she said.

“He was to return, and meet us here, was he not?” I asked.

“He did not say so,” she said.

“It seems he has been detained,” I said.

“He is armed,” she reminded me.

“On what business was he embarked?” I asked. “Did he say nothing?”

At that point the trading bar began to ring.

“It is the twentieth Ahn,” I said.

“I think we must leave,” she said.

That was very clear, as goods were being covered, lamps were being extinguished, the praetors had left their platforms, and attendants were marshalling folks out. To dally was to invite the intervention of guardsmen, impatient for the conclusion of their day’s duty. It is well to follow the requests and instructions of such fellows punctually. The pounding of spear shafts and butts produces serious bruising.

“I still do not see him,” I said, looking about, outside the large portal to the warehouse.

The street was darker than I had anticipated. I could see lights on the River Dragon, moored at the nearby wharf. The crowds were thinning out, and, I feared, the streets would be soon deserted. I did see a pair of guardsmen at the land end of the wharf, and a number of Pani were taking up stations near the now-closed warehouse.

That much was surely to the good.

I supposed it was safe enough in the vicinity of the warehouse.

I was not at all sure about some of the nearby streets.

Where was Callias?

If he had not met us in the warehouse, should he not, at least, meet us here, outside the warehouse?

The bar had rung.

It was clearly past the twentieth Ahn.

“Should I not be bound and leashed?” asked the slave.

“Your master retained the sirik,” I said.

“You have no binding fiber, no leash?” she asked.

“I am a Scribe,” I said.

“Do not Scribes have slaves?” she asked.

“This one does not,” I said.

“If you had one, you would doubtless have such things,” she said.

“Doubtless,” I said.

“Poor master,” she said.

I could think of a slave I would have enjoyed having in my binding fiber, and on my leash, a slender brunette, a barbarian paga slave, whom I knew from The Sea Sleen.

I looked down the dark street, about the right-hand corner of the warehouse, as one faced it.

“I would rather have you free,” I said, “so that you can scream, and run for guardsmen.”

“But men might emerge from a doorway,” she said, “and subdue and gag me before I could do so.”

“We will keep to the center of the street,” I said.

“The streets seem to be quite narrow,” she said.

“Ho!” called a cheery voice.