'An eel fisher,' he said.
'What city?'
'The Isle of Cos,' he said.
I looked to another man.
'What is your caste?' I asked.
'I am of the peasants,' he said proudly. It was a large, broad man, with yellow, shaggy hair. His hair, too, was sheared at the base of his neck; he, too, wore a collar of hammered iron.
'Do you have a city?' I asked.
'I had a free holding,' he said proudly.
'A Home Stone?' I asked.
'Mine own,' he said, 'I my hut.'
'Near what city,' I asked, 'did your holding lie?'
'Near Ar,' said he.
I looked out, over the marsh. Then I again regarded the eel fisher, who was first oar.
'Were you a good fisherman?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said. 'I was.'
Again I regarded the yellow-haired giant, of the peasants.
'Where is the key to your shackles kept?' I asked.
'It hangs,' said he, 'in the arm of the chair of the oar-master.'
I examined the broad arm of the chair, and, in the the right arm, I found a sliding piece of wood, which I slid forward, it extending beyond the chair arm. Inside was a cavity, containing some rags, and binding fiber, and, on a hook, a heavy metal key.
I took the key and unlocked teh shackles of the eel fisher and the peasant. 'You are free men,' I told them.
They did not get up for a long timem but sat there, looking at me.
'You are free men,' I said, 'no longer slaves.'
Suddenly, with a great laugh, the yellow-haired giant, the peasant, leaped to his feet. He struck himself on the chest. 'I am Thurnock!' he cried. 'Of the Peasants!'
'You are, I expect,' I said, 'a master of the great bow.'
'Turnock,' he said, 'draws a great bow well.'
'I knew it would be so,' said I.
The other man had now stood easily, stepping from the bench.
'My name is Clitus,' he said. 'I am a fisherman. I can guide ships by the stars. I know the net and trident.'
'You are free,' I said.
'I am your man,' cried the giant.
'I, too,' said the fisherman. 'I, too, am your man.'
'Find among the bound slaves, the rencers,' I said, 'the one who is called Ho-Hak.'
'We shall,' said they.
'And bring him before me,' I said.
'We shall,' said they.
I would hold court.
Telima, kneeling bound below me, on the left, the binding fiber on her throat, tethered to the mooring cleat, looked up at me. 'What will be the pleasure of my Ubar with his captives?' she asked.
'I will sell you all in Port Kar,' I said.
She smiled. 'Of course,' she said, 'you may do what you please with us.' I looked upon her in fury. I held the blade of the short sword at her throat. Her head was up. She did not flinch.
'Do I so displease my Ubar?' she asked.
I slammed the blade back in the sheath.
I seized her by the arms and lifted her, bound, to face me. I looked down into her eyes. 'I could kill you,' I said. 'I hate you.' How could I tell her that it had been by her instrumentality that I had been destroyed in the marshes. I felt myself suddenly transformed with utter fury. It was she who had done this to me, who had cost me myself, teaching me my ignobility and my cowardice, who had broken the image, casting it into the mud of the marsh, that I had for so many years, so foolishly, taken as the substance and truth of my own person. I had been emptied; I was now a void, into which I could feel the pourings, the dark flowings, of resentment and degradation, of bitterness and self-recrimination, of self-hatred. 'You have destroyed me!' I hissed to her, and flung her from me down the steps of the tiller deck. The woman with the child screamed, and the boy cried out. Telima rolled and then, jerked up short, half choked, by the tether, sha lay at the foot of the stairs. She struggled again to her knees. There were now tears in her eyes.
She looked up at me. She shook her head. 'You have not been destroyed,' said she, 'my Ubar.'
Angrily I took again my seat on the chair of the oar-master.
'If any has been destroyed,' said she, 'it was surely I.'
'Do not speak foolishly,' I commanded her, angrily. 'Be silent!'
She dropped her head. 'I am at the pleasure of my Ubar,' she said.
I was ashamed that I had been brutal with her, but I would not show it. I knew, in my heart, that it had been I, I myself, who had betrayed me, I who had fallen short of the warrior codes, I who had dishonored my own Home Stone, and the blade I bore. It was I who was guilty. Not she. But everything in me cried out to blame some other for the treacheries and the defections that were my own. And surely she had most degraded me of all. Surely, of all, she had been the most cruel, the one before whom I had groveled most slave. It was in my mouth, black and swollen, that she had put the kiss of the Mistress.
I dismissed her from my mind.
Thurnock, the peasant, and Clitus, the fisherman, approached, holding between them Ho-Hak, bound hand and foot, the heavy collar of the galley slave, with its dangling chain, still riveted about his neck.
They placed him on his knees, on the rowing deck, before me.
I removed my helmet.
'I knew it would be you,' he said.
I did not speak.
'There were more than a hundred men,' said Ho-hak.
'You fought well, Ho-hak,' said I, 'on the rence island, with only an oar-pole.' 'Not well enough,' said he. He looked up at me, from his bonds. His great ears leaned a bit forward. 'Were you alone?' he asked.
'No,' I said. I nodded to Telima, who, head down, knelt at the foot of the stairs.
'You did well, Woman,' said Ho-Hak.
She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. She smiled at him.
'Why is it,' asked Ho-Hak, 'that she who aided you kneels bound at your feet?' 'I do not trust her,' I said, 'nor any of you.'
'What are you going to do with us?' asked Ho-Hak.
'Do you not fear that I will throw you bound to the tharlarion?' I asked. 'No,' said Ho-Hak.
'You are a brave man,' I said. I admired him, so calm and strong, though before me naked and bound, at my mercy.
Ho-Hak looked up at me. 'It is not,' he said, 'that I am a particularly brave man. It is rather that I know you will not throw me to tharlarion.' 'How can you know that?' I asked.
'No man who fights a hundred,' said he, 'with only a girl at his side, could act so.'
'I shall sell you all in Port Kar!' I cried.
'Perhaps,' said Ho-Hak, 'but I do not think so.'
'But I have won you and your people, and all these slaves,' I told him, 'that I might have my vengeance on you, for making me slave, and come rich with cargo to Port Kar!'
'I expect that is not true,' said Ho-Hak.
'He did it for Eechius,' said Telima.
'Eechius was killed on the island,' said Ho-Hak.
'Eechius had given him rence cake when he was bound at the pole,' said Telima. 'Ti was for him that he did this.'
Ho-Hak looked at me. There were tears in his eyes. 'I am grateful, Warrior,' said he.
I did not understand his emotion.
'Take him away!' I ordered Thurnock and Clitus, and they dragged Ho-Hak from my presence, taking him back somewhere on the second barge, among other bound slaves.
I was angry.
Ho-Hak had not begged for mercy. He had not demeaned himself. He had shown himself a dozen times more man than me.
I hated rencers, and all men, saving perhaps the two who served me. Ho-Hak had been bred a slave, a degraded and distorted exotic, and had served even in the darkness of the stinking rowing holds of cargo vessels of Port Kar, and yet, before me, he had shown himself a dozen times more man than me. I hated him, and rencers.
