Mariners of Gor

of concern.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Looking,” she said. “The land is there!” She pointed, at a tiny line against the horizon.

“Are you not standing rather close?” I asked.

She looked up. “Does Master fear the closeness of a lowly slave?” she asked.

“Perhaps you should be behind me, to my left,” I said.

“Master does not own me,” she said.

“That is my good fortune,” I said. “If I owned you, you would learn your collar a thousand times better than you know it now.”

“Perhaps then,” she said, “it is my good fortune that Master does not own me.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

Then, suddenly, she knelt beside me, sobbing, her head down to my feet.

“Own me, own me, Master,” she begged.

“Who would want you?” I asked.

“I have seen many men look at me,” she said. “Many men would want me!”

“Then let them buy you,” I said.

“I want to belong to Master,” she said. “Even from Ar, when I was the freest of the free, I wanted to belong to you!”

“You belong to the ship,” I said.

She looked up, pleading. “Master!” she protested.

“Go to the Kasra keeping area,” I said, “and beg to be put on your chain.”

“Master!” she wept.

“Need a command be repeated?”

“No, Master!” she said.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I will go to the Kasra keeping area, and beg to be put on my chain,” she said.

“Go,” I said. “Run!”

She leaped up and fled, sobbing, to the nearest open hatch.

“I see,” said Lord Nishida, smiling, “you are fond of the slave.”

I shrugged. “The little beast is not without her attractions,” I said.

“Do not forget she is a slave, and only that,” said Lord Nishida.

“I will not,” I said.

“Lord Okimoto approaches,” observed Lord Nishida.

Lord Nishida bowed first.

There is apparently a certain order to such things, who bows first, how deeply one bows, and such. On continental Gor, and the familiar islands, it is common to give the right hand, the usual weapon hand, to the other, though mariners sometimes clasp one another’s wrist, in the mariner’s grip, far more secure than the clasping of hands. Giving the weapon hand to the other is certainly a gesture of trust. Perhaps that is why one seldom shakes hands with strangers. The business of bowing seemed to me to make a good deal of sense. One exchanged a greeting with courtesy, and, at the same time, retained the freedom of the weapon hand. Hands, too, amongst the higher Pani, are often concealed in the broad sleeves of their robes. This makes possible the concealment, and the ready availability, of a sleeve dagger. The continental custom, on the other hand, makes it possible to draw the other off balance, and, obviously, if one is right-handed, one is more at risk from a fellow who might favor the left hand.

Lord Okimoto moved his larger bulk to the rail.

Both lords wore sandals.

The hair of each was drawn behind the head and fastened in a ball or top knot. This was the case with many of the Pani, not all.

Tyrtaios had returned with Lord Okimoto.

The warrior, Turgus, was nearby, who, as it may be recalled, had replaced Tyrtaios in the retinue of Lord Nishida.

Each lord seemed more comfortable, on the whole, dealing with the armsmen and mariners by means of an intermediary, Tyrtaios for Lord Okimoto, Turgus for Lord Nishida, though there was nothing rigid in this matter. Lord Nishida, for example, seemed somewhat more flexible in attending or not attending to this protocol. They both, for the most part, dealt openly with high officers. Lord Nishida, it might be noted, had spoken pleasantly to me, and I was not even an officer.

Lord Okimoto was handed a glass of the Builders by a Pani guardsman.

I heard a scratch and a tap, from my right, some feet along the rail, and saw Seremides bracing himself against the rail, shading his eyes. I saw men draw away from him. He was unarmed, as far as I could tell, in the ragged brown tunic. This was perhaps just as well, as there were more than a thousand men on board who could now, given his handicap, his helplessness on a single leg, his need of the crutch, easily best him with the blade, and perhaps a hundred or so would have been pleased to do so. Several had tried to goad him into seizing up a sword, placed before him, and entering into the games of steel, but he had not done so, enduring rather abuse and jeers, insults and ridicule, the raillery of many, and some, fools who, in his day of power, would have feared to speak before him, or come armed into his presence. How pathetically, with helpless tears, he would sometimes strike about him with the crutch, and then fall. How he would sometimes cringe, and weep, at his helplessness, begging to be left alone. How keenly, I thought, would so proud, and once so terrible, a man, have felt his reduction, its humiliation. To be sure, even in his ruin, there remained a sense of something formidable within him, particularly when others were not about him, and this, I thought, was primarily a matter of mind and will, of resolution. I did not doubt but what he might strangle a man with one hand, or, lunging, thrust his crutch through a body, but what I most feared in Seremides was something that had always been there, but had often been overlooked, something intangible, what I could not see, the sinister depth of his character, the danger of his mind, his capacity to hate, and remember. The kajirae, even more than the men, avoided him, fleeing at the sound of the tap and scratch of the crutch, hastening away, lest his large, awkward shadow fall upon them.

Lord Okimoto handed the glass of the Builders back to the guardsman.

He then turned to Turgus, subordinate to Lord Nishida. “Have Aetius instruct the helmsman to bring the ship closer to shore, a half pasang.”

I detected a subtlety here.

Lord Nishida, on the other hand, did not object.

“Is this wise?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Are we to put to?” inquired Turgus.

“No,” said Lord Okimoto. “Continue our present course.”

“Why so close?” inquired Lord Nishida.

“It is my calculation,” said Lord Okimoto, “from the charts, that we have abeam the lands which were once those of Lord Temmu.”

“The ancestral lands,” said Lord Nishida.

“Lost early in the war,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Fortunes wax and wane,” said Lord Nishida.

“In any event, it is from this coastline that the signal is to rise,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Secretly, doubtless,” said Lord Nishida.

“Doubtless,” said Lord Okimoto.

“I fear the war goes not well,” said Lord Nishida.

“Something may be told from the signal.”

“Or,” said Lord Nishida, “if there is no signal.”

“Yes,” said Lord Okimoto.

“Why so close?” asked Lord Nishida.

“There will be no signal,” said Lord Okimoto, “if our presence is unnoted.”

“So close,” said Lord Nishida, “any might note our presence.”

“It is a risk,” said Lord Okimoto.