Mariners of Gor

it but moments ago leapt into the water or perished in the flames.

“Bring water from port!” screamed Aetius from the stern-castle deck. “Protect my ship! Save my ship!” screamed Tersites, from beside him.

Buckets, on ropes, were thrown to port, to draw water, to fight flames.

Our galley burned beside our hull, on the starboard side.

The Pani who had surprised our boarding crew had apparently been concealed below, under the compartments. Our Pani might have suspected this, but the boarding crew, being less familiar with the draft and construction of such ships, had not.

“To port, to port!” cried Aetius to the helm deck.

The great ship, sails unfurled to the wind, rudder turned, moved to port, away from the derelict, and our burning galley.

Many men were now armed.

But there seemed little need, now, of the sword, the spear.

“Take in all weapons!” called Aetius from the stern castle, to the deck watch. “Turn in all weapons.” Aetius, since the mutiny, was zealous to keep the crew unarmed.

“No!” called Tyrtaios. “No, by order of his Excellency, Lord Okimoto!”

Weapons had been issued, as noted, in the general alarm. I was not sure it would be easy to retrieve them from men such as manned the great ship.

Why, I wondered, would Lord Okimoto wish to have the men retain arms. It now seemed clear, as it had not before, that there was little danger of being boarded, that the enemy had not the engines by means of which that might be effected.

Then I shuddered, suspecting the purpose of the Pani lord. The ship, the danger of fire now muchly averted, was to return to the derelict, and men were to descend to the derelict, and eliminate any who might live to tell of the great ship, its nature, its men, its course. I shuddered, remembering the fate of the Metioche. Too, I suspected that the Pani on board would not be likely to accommodate themselves to the housing of Pani prisoners, who might be as uncompromising, resolute, and irreconcilable as they themselves, as fanatically dedicated to their leaders as ours were to theirs, Lords Nishida and Okimoto.

In retrospect, it seems likely to me that the enemy anticipated a dalliance on the part of the great ship, a lingering to avenge a boarding party, a lingering to exterminate survivors.

In any event, hardly had Tyrtaios conveyed the order of Lord Okimoto, than we heard the high watch, from the platform and ring, high above, cry out, “Beware! There are a hundred ships! We are surrounded!”

I had no doubt the ship we had encountered was a warning ship, and an ambush ship, but, too, it seems, it had served another purpose, that of a trap, a distraction, a bait, of sorts.

The alarm bar continued to sound.

There were no hundred ships, but there were a great many. They were small, and oared.

They reminded me of a swarm of insects, as in the Vine Sea. They were low ships, green, partly covered, some two hundred yards away.

“The glass, a glass!” cried Tarl Cabot, and a glass of the Builders was thrust into his hand.

Buckets of sea water were still being spilled over the starboard side of the great ship, where small, scattered red plants of fire sought to grow.

In a moment Tarl Cabot lowered the glass of the Builders.

He sought out Lord Nishida. “There will be fire, there will be boarders!” he said.

“How can it be?” inquired Lord Nishida.

The small ships were approaching rapidly. Such an oar count can be maintained only for a short time.

“Marshall two hundred armsmen,” said Lord Okimoto to Lord Nishida.

“To what end?” asked Lord Nishida.

“We have lost a galley,” said Lord Okimoto. “The demon Yamada has violated the truce of the warning ship, which should be but a warning.”

“Small ships approach,” said Lord Nishida.

“We will launch the galleys, and deal with them later,” said Lord Okimoto.

“We have little room for prisoners, lord,” said Tyrtaios.

“There will be no prisoners,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Excellent,” said Tyrtaios.

A cloud of the small ships clung now about the hull of the great ship.

“To starboard,” called Lord Okimoto. “Come against the warning ship!”

We were some fifty yards from the warning ship.

“Beware the small ships, lord!” exclaimed Cabot. “They are all about!”

“Does the larl fear urts?” inquired Lord Okimoto.

“A thousand urts may easily kill the larl,” said Cabot.

“I find the apprehension of a warrior surprising,” said Lord Okimoto. “The small ships may be dealt with at our convenience. They are harmless. They cannot reach us.”

“They are not harmless,” said Cabot.

“They cannot reach us,” said Lord Okimoto, quietly, patiently. He then turned to Tyrtaios. “To starboard,” he said. “We shall come against the ship of deceit. We shall administer a rebuke to the demon, Lord Yamada.”

“Yes, lord,” said Tyrtaios.

“Have boarding nets prepared,” said Lord Okimoto. “Form boarding parties. The nets will be cast at my word.”

By means of such nets dozens of men might simultaneously descend the side of the ship.

“Prepare, rather, to repel boarders!” said Cabot.

“You are mad,” said Lord Okimoto.

At that point a grapnel, attached to a length of chain, and that to a course of knotted rope, looped over the rail, struck the deck, scraped back across the deck, and was caught against the rail.

I wondered at the arm which might have flung such a device so high, so far.

I saw the grapnel jerk against the rail, and twist in stress, and knew one or more men were climbing the rope.

“There will be others!” cried Cabot.

“Do not let them anchor!” cried Cabot. “Throw them over the side. Cut the ropes, behind the chain!”

He had hardly spoken when two, and then ten or more, such devices dropped to the deck.

Men hurled some back over the side, before they could catch. The knife, the sword, slashed at the ropes of others. Many, however, given the swiftness with which they were drawn back, caught against the rail. Once this was done, they were difficult to dislodge, for the stress on the device, and the chain.

I saw one of the enemy Pani put an arm over the rail and he dropped back, headless, and fell into the sea. Nodachi drew back, readying himself for another stroke.

I retrieved a sword from the deck, and went to the side.

I also heard a striking at the sides of the great ship, like a rain of wood, and smelled burning pitch.

Each of the small boats, as far as I could tell, was similarly equipped. Each grapnel, with its rope and chain, was launched from a small engine, a tiny catapult, mounted between the benches. And behind the catapult was a vat, filled, from the odor, with burning pitch. Archers were dipping arrows, whose shaft, behind the point, was wrapped in cloth, which cloth was then saturated with flaming pitch, which arrows, one after another, were then being fired into the hull.

This, doubtless, was what had been determined earlier by Cabot, with the glass of the Builders.

One could not well cut the chain behind the grapnels, but axes cut at the rails, and several of the grapnels, given the stress of climbers, broke loose.

We heard men plunge back, into the sea, or onto the small boats at our hull.

I heard more striking of arrows into the hull.

I saw more than one man, trying to free the hold of a grapnel, felled by a long arrow, fired from one of the small boats.

Some enemy Pani did attain the deck, mostly forward, on the port side. They were met by our Pani and armsmen.