Mariners of Gor

pennon.

The ship that I had seen was much like those lost amongst the serpentine entanglements of the Vine Sea.

It held no steady course, and was, as far as we could tell, until investigated, adrift.

The hoisting of the green pennon had been premature, a mistake that would not be repeated.

We would lose, in consequence, one of our four remaining galleys.

By the time the great ship drew near the drifting vessel, my watch was done, but I remained on deck. The galley was drawn up alongside the apparent derelict. From the starboard rail, given the height of the ship of Tersites, we could look down on both our galley and, higher, the deck of the seemingly unmanned ship.

“I do not like it,” said Tarl Cabot to Pertinax, the two of them some few feet from me.

“It is ugly,” said Pertinax.

The encountered ship had two masts, but it bore no sails. From each of the two yards there hung several bound bodies, suspended by the feet, whose throats, it seemed, from the condition of the deck below, had been cut, perhaps a moment before they were emplaced, dying. Similarly, several others were nailed, by hands and feet, to the masts, the deck, and bulwarks.

“Yes,” said Cabot to Pertinax, “ugly, indeed, but that is done. What I do not like, now, is what is not done.”

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“I am not sure,” said Cabot. “It may be nothing.” He looked about, and saw me. “Callias,” he said, “summon Lord Nishida.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Lord Okimoto, who was nearby, Tyrtaios at his side.

“Lord?” said Cabot.

“Speak to the commander,” said Lord Okimoto to Tyrtaios.

“I am informed, commander, by Lord Okimoto,” said Tyrtaios, “that the ship, as seems obvious, is a warning ship, and that it is perhaps one of several. Further, you may have noted the scrolls which were hung amongst the bodies, and from the yards. They are identical. Some have been brought aboard. I cannot read the writing as it is in a strange script, but the message is in Gorean, and has been conveyed to me by his Excellency, Lord Okimoto. The scrolls allege that the bodies on the ship are those of criminals, men who were enemies of the shogun, men who conspired against him, who dared oppose his will, whose loyalty was suspect, who failed to pay their taxes, who tried to hide food, who failed to speak of him with sufficient reverence, such things.”

“I see,” said Cabot. “And who is this shogun?”

“The great lord, Yamada, our enemy,” said Lord Okimoto.

“I am uneasy,” said Cabot.

“You may speak to Tyrtaios,” said Lord Okimoto.

“I would consult with Lord Nishida,” said Cabot to Tyrtaios.

Tyrtaios looked to Lord Okimoto. “Of course,” said Lord Okimoto. He then turned about, and left, and, in a moment, was followed by Tyrtaios, who, I suspected, did not care to follow any man.

“There is danger here,” said Cabot to me.

I recalled the beacon.

Cabot looked over the rail, at the presumed derelict. “Was the ship examined?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Men went below decks. Else the green pennon would not have been flown.”

“Were any of the Pani?” asked Cabot.

“No,” I said. The launched galley had been manned by mariners, oared by armsmen.

“Summon Lord Nishida,” said Cabot to me.

“Lord Okimoto will not be pleased,” I said.

“Summon him,” said Cabot.

I turned about and hurried aft, below decks, where I found Lord Nishida, in his cabin, in meditation.

“Lord,” I said, softly, for he seemed utterly still, sitting on a woven mat, with his legs crossed.

Two contract women, as they are called, Sumomo and Hana, knelt nearby.

Though he had been absolutely still, at this tiny sound, my voice, he lifted his head, instantly alert.

“The commander of the tarn cavalry would speak with you,” I said. “We have come upon a ship, a strange ship, adrift, filled with bodies and scrolls.”

“Why was I not informed?” he asked.

I looked to the two women in the background, kneeling. The woman, Hana, looked at Sumomo, frightened. “Lord Nishida,” said Sumomo, “was in meditation.”

“Men have been about,” I said, “there has been noise, shouting, the bar was hammered, to signal an alert.”

“Lord Nishida was in meditation,” said Sumomo.

“I feared this,” said Lord Nishida, winding his sash about his widely sleeved robe, and thrusting two swords, both curved, a longer and a shorter, within the sash.

In an Ehn he was on the open deck, hurrying to the starboard rail, where he stood beside Cabot, his hands on the rail, looking over, past the galley, to the deck of the seeming derelict.

“The demon, Yamada,” he hissed.

“It is a warning ship, it seems,” said Cabot.

“I fear it is more than that,” said Lord Nishida. “Who has boarded that ship?”

“Mariners, armsmen,” said Cabot.

“None of my men, none of the men of Lord Okimoto?” said Lord Nishida.

“I do not think so,” said Cabot.

“Have you heard or seen anything unusual,” asked Lord Nishida, “a whistle, a flash of fire?”

“No,” said Cabot.

“There may be time,” said Lord Nishida. “Do not strike the bar. Call softly. Recall the galley, the men, instantly.”

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“They are waiting for the others,” said Lord Nishida.

At that moment there was a long whistle, and I picked out a shaft, an ascending arrow, fired from somewhere on the ship below. It reached the zenith of its flight, turned in the air, scarcely visible, and then, with a different whistling pitch, descended. Almost at the same time, another arrow, trailing a spume of smoke, ascended from the ship, paused at the height of its trajectory and then, trailing its tail of smoke, descended, falling into the water.

While this was going on Lord Nishida cried to the deck watch, “The bar, the bar, strike it, strike it.”

Below, as though from nowhere, large numbers of men, of the Pani sort, emerged wildly from hatches, screaming, wielding weapons, swarming over the deck.

The bar began to sound, hammered again and again.

Weapons would be issued.

The boarding party below had been armed, of course, but on the great ship itself, on deck, few were armed, only the officers, some guards, and the deck watch. Our first defense, of course, was the ship itself, its height.

To my dismay I saw the boarding party, surprised and outnumbered by dozens to one, swept aside in bloody rout. A hundred Pani must have leapt into the galley, which rocked and almost capsized.

The enemy, I gathered, had not expected a vessel the size of the ship of Tersites, and many stood confused below, crying out, and shaking their weapons. This was no ascent of a few feet, to the deck of a common round ship, or that of the batten-sailed ships of the sort with which we had familiarized ourselves in the Vine Sea.

Some grapnels, on knotted rope, were slung upward from the galley, but fell short.

I heard weapons being spilled on the deck, brought from below, and men seized up blades, spears, axes, and pikes. And armed men, in their dozens, were pouring onto the deck, having armed themselves below in the weapon rooms.

I saw fires lit on the ship which had seemed deserted, save for the dead, when we had come upon it.

Fire, if it can but obtain its hold, may climb to the clouds.

The Pani below had set fire to our galley and were trying to thrust it against our hull. Those who had boarded