Mariners of Gor

We had seen no sign of the fleet of Lord Yamada.

I regarded the great ship.

Tersites had insisted, in the cove, that it come about, so that its bow might point toward the sea. This seemed to have met with general approval, certainly amongst the men. Treasure in hand, from the Vine Sea, what more was to be gained on a dangerous shore, at the World’s End?

The orientation of the great ship, bow to sea, would allow it, should the fleet of Lord Yamada be sighted, to slip its moorings and escape the cove, to the security of the open sea. The orientation also, of course, would facilitate an expeditious departure at any time, independent of some emergency, perhaps one conducted at night, in haste, by stealth.

Did not the great ship, in its way, seductive and beckoning, constitute a temptation?

I lingered on the wharf, past the fourth and fifth contingents.

Interestingly, nothing was permitted to leave the ship through the galley nests, which, if opened, might have provided a convenient access to the wharf. The nests remained closed, almost invisible in the hull, and, I had little doubt, were fastened shut, and guarded, from the inside, by Pani. Opened, they would provide a breach into the ship, quickly and easily exploited. Aside from Tersites and Aetius, who refused to come ashore, some officers, and a handful of mariners, only Pani were allowed on board, and their role, one supposed, was to prevent a general return to the ship, if not now, later.

I feared for the ship.

And, I suspect, I was not the only one. I saw Tersites at the high starboard rail, that of the stem castle, looking over the side. Then he had turned back, and I could see him no longer.

I feared for the ship.

Had it not served its purpose? Had it not traversed Thassa? Had it not vindicated the madness, the bizarre faith, the superstition and conviction, of its malformed master, half-blind Tersites, a jest amongst the islands, a joke in a hundred ports, who had sent it eyeless upon the open sea? I had long thought this omission, that he would not give the ship eyes, to the uneasiness of many, was cast down as a challenge to Thassa, that it was in its way a defiance, a boast that so mighty a structure had nothing to fear from mother Thassa, from whose womb the land was born, from her moods, her violence, her turbulence, and wind. But now it struck me, and eerily, that this seemingly fearful omission, the denial of eyes, was not so much a bold repudiation of common marine practice and lore as a concession to it deeper than was easily understood. She had been denied eyes that she might not understand how daunting were the long sea roads stretched before her, the perils into which she would be introduced. So, too, might a kaiila be hooded before being raced through the flames of a burning forest, in which arrested, it and its rider would perish.

I saw Tyrtaios stride by.

He was muchly independent now, as Lords Okimoto and Nishida were elsewhere, I supposed in attendance on the shogun, Lord Temmu.

“Tal, noble Callias,” said he to me.

“Tal, noble Tyrtaios,” I said.

He was followed by some eleven or twelve men. I did not know them. They hailed from more than one deck. This made me apprehensive. Tyrtaios, I suspected, was of the Assassins.

I looked up from the wharf toward the castle.

It would be a long, unpleasant climb.

The walls of the narrow trail, I had supposed, were to protect the passage from the castle to the water.

Certainly they would deter small groups, at least, from harrying, if not closing off, that passage, from impeding, if not cutting, the connection between the castle and the sea. On the other hand, such walls, serving to keep some out, serve as well to keep others within.

The most interesting cargo I noted being disembarked from the great ship, a cargo handled with great gentleness, and one not surrendered to the lower Pani, but to warriors, were the eggs of tarns. Each was given to a single warrior, who bowed to the egg courteously, wrapped it in silk, and then began to mount the trail to the castle. I would later learn there had been a much larger number of eggs, but many had perished on the vessel, and been cast overboard. Several had apparently been stolen or destroyed in the mutiny. Some had been broken into, for food. The Pani had slain more than one man for such acts.

A large cage, containing an enormous sleen, snarling and obviously discomfited, was slung over the rail, and lowered toward the wharf. It took eight of the lower Pani to manage the cage up the ascent to the castle. Whereas I had heard this animal from time to time, this was only the second time I had seen it. The first time it had been on deck, in the company of Tarl Cabot. As it moved, twisting angrily about in the cage, its left, hind paw dragged on the cage floor. Any sleen is a dangerous beast. Why would one keep one which was crippled? Slowed, less able to hunt, perhaps in pain, might it not be even more dangerous?

The slaves had been disembarked after the third contingent. They were put in left-wrist coffle, and, ten at a time, were lowered in nets. Once on the wharf, the first girl of one ten was fastened to the last girl of the preceding ten, and so on, until there was a single line of slaves, some two hundred, all joined by the left wrist. Interestingly, they were permitted clothing. Usually kajirae, weather permitting, are marched naked in their coffles. This is healthy, allowing the air to refresh their bodies. It also makes it easier to wash the stock, sponging it down, immersing it in local streams, ponds, and such. Too, it saves on garmenture, which might be soiled in a long march, perhaps in dust, or mud. Too, of course, when a woman is chained naked, it is difficult for her to forget she is a slave. The clothing permitted to the slaves, considering their status as livestock, was rather ample, as the tunics, their single garment, extended to the center of the calf, as opposed to being high on the thigh, and often cut at the hip. Further, the tunics were rather coarse, and opaque. They were sleeveless, of course, and their simplicity left no doubt that they were slave garments. As is common the slaves were barefoot. The generosity of the tunics, and their conservatism, had possibly to do with the introduction of such lovely beasts into a new environment, which they might find unfamiliar, and which might find them unfamiliar. Once such beasts would become familiar, and one could better assess how they might be received, with respect to the local populace, one could always display them, relate to them, and do with them as seemed appropriate. For example, they should not, at least initially, be so desirable, and exciting, that Pani free women might kill them. The Pani free women must come to understand that they are no threat to them, no threat to their beauty, prestige, station, and power, but only animals, and slaves, work beasts and toys for their men.

Having reached the wharf in the second contingent, disembarked, I, and some others, of both the first and third contingents, had waited about. It is pleasant to see the marshaling, chaining, and marching of beautiful slaves. Such helpless, lovely creatures, whom one might visualize on the block, whom one might buy, own, train, and master, fill the hearts of men with zest and unrestrained joy. To be sure, these were, on the whole, the livestock of the Pani, to be dealt with as they might please. Some of the fellows, of course, may have been waiting on friends. And others, one supposes, were not eager to essay a narrow, closed, walled-in path, which was clearly steep and long, and at the end of which lay a beautiful, but strange and mysterious structure, which might forebode we knew not what. But most, I think, were waiting to see the slaves. How marvelous that one might own such creatures, as one might own a verr or tarsk.

The slaves, being aligned on the wharf, each ten being fastened to the next ten, looked fearfully up the heights, at the rearing, surmounting castle far above. We were all apprehensive, at having come to the World’s End, of course. But they were slaves, vulnerable, and utterly helpless. They were frightened belongings, soon to be fastened together. We were men; we were armed.

One of the girls was sobbing, her body shuddering. Perhaps she was frightened, apart from the security of her mat and chain.

Then the shackle was closed on her left wrist.

I had a special interest in these matters, other than the usual pleasures associated with the inspection and surveying of slaves. I wished to make sure that a particular slave, Alcinoe, was present, that she had not been kept on the ship. She was, after all, of some value. There was a bounty on her.

Accordingly, I had been pleased when I had detected her in the net, being lowered to the wharf with other girls, and had noted that she, the last of her ten, would be attached to the first of the next ten.

She was special to me.

I liked to keep my eye on her.

There was, after all, a bounty on her.