The boy looked up angrily. 'I am not stupid,' he said.
I looked at the boy, absently, as though I could not place him.
'What is your name?' I asked.
He looked at me. Then he said, '-Fish.'
I permitted myself to betray that I now remembered the name. 'Yes,' I said, '-Fish.'
'Do you like your name?' I asked.
'No,' he said.
'What would you call yourself,' I asked, 'if you had your choice of names?' 'Henrius,' said he.
The kitchen master laughed.
'That is a proud name for a kitchen boy,' I commented.
The boy looked at me proudly.
'It might,' I said, 'be the name of a Ubar.'
The boy looked down angrily.
I knew that Thurnock and Clitus, and others, had taken a liking to the boy. He had often, I had heard, snuck away from the kitchen to observe the ships in the courtyard and the practices of men with weapons. The kitchen master had had his hands full with the boy, there was no doubting that. Tellius had, and deserved, my sympathies.
I looked at the boy, the blondish hair and the frank, earnest eyes, blue, pleading.
He was a spare, strong-limbed lad, and perhaps might, if trained, be able to handle a blade.
Only three in my holding, other than himself, knew his true identity. I knew him, and so, too did Thurnock and Clitus. The boy himself, of course, did not know that we knew who he was. Indeed, he, a price on his head from the Council, had excellent reasons fro concealing his true identity. And yet, in a sense, he had no true identity other than that of Fish, the slave boy, for he had been enslaved and a slave has no identity other than that which his master might care to give him. In Gorean law a slave is an animal: before the law he has no rights; he is dependent on his master not only for his name for for his very life; he may be disposed of by the master at any time and in any way the master pleases.
'The slave boy, Fish,' I said to the kitchen master, 'has come unbidden into my presence and he has not, in my opinion, shown sufficient respect for the master of my kitchen.'
The boy looked at me, fighting back tears.
'Accordingly,' I said, 'he is to be beaten severely.'
The boy looked down, his fists clenched.
'And beginning tomorrow,' I said, 'if his work in the kitchen improves to your satisfaction, and only under that condition, he is to be permitted one Ahn a day to train with weapons.'
'Captain!' cried the boy.
'And that Ahn,' I said, 'is to be made up in extra work in the evening.' 'Yes Captain,' said the kitchen master.
'I will work for you, Tellius,' said the boy. 'I will work better than any for you!'
'All right, Lad,' said Tellius. 'We shall see.'
The boy looked at me. 'Thank you,' he said, 'Captain.'
'Master,' corrected Tellius.
'May I not,' asked the boy of me, 'address you as Captain?'
'If you wish,' I said.
'Thank you,' said he, 'Captain.'
'Now begone, Slave,' said I.
'Yes, Captain!' he cried and turned, followed by the kitchen master. 'Slave!' I called.
The boy turned.
'If you show skills with weapons,' I said, 'perhaps I shall change your name.' 'Thank you, Captain,' he said.
'Perhaps we could call you Pulius,' I suggested, '-or Tellius.'
'Spare me!' cried Tellius.
'Or,' I said, 'Henrius.'
'Thank you, Captain,' said the boy.
'But,' said I, 'to have such a name, which is a proud name, one would have to handle weapons very well.'
'I shall,' he said. 'I shall!'
Then the boy turned and ran joyfully from the room.
The kitche master looked at me and grinned. 'Never,' said he, 'Captain, did I see a slave run more eagerly to a beating.'
'Nor did I,' I admitted.
Now, at my victory feast, I drank more paga. That, I told myself, letting a boy train with weapons, have been a moment of weakness. I did not expect I would allow myself more such moments.
I observed the boy bringing in yet another roasted tarsk.
No, I told myself, I should not have shown such a lenience to a slave. I would not again allow myself such moments of weakness.
I fingered the broard scarlet ribbon and the medallion, pendant about my neck, brearing its tarn ship and initials, those of the Council of Captains of Port Kar.
I was Bosk, Pirate, Admiral of Port Kar, now perhaps one of the richest and most powerful men on Gor.
No, I would not again show such moments of weakness.
I thrust out the silver paga goblet, studded with rubies, and Telima, standing beside my thronelike chair, filled it. I did not look upon her.
I looked down the table, to where Thurnock, with his slave Thura, and Clitus, with his slave, Ula, were drinking and laughing. Thurnock and Clitus were good men, they had taken a fancy to the boy, Fish, and had helped him with his work in weapons. Such men were weak. They had not in themselves the stuff of captains.
I sat back on he great chair, paga goblet in hand, surveying the room. It was crowded with tables of my retainers, feasting.
To one side musicians played.
There was a clear space before my great table, in which, from time to time, during the evening, entertainments had been provided, simple things, which even I had upon occasion found amusing, fore eaters and sword swallowers, jugglers and acrobats, and magicians, and slaves, riding on one another's shoulders, striking at one another with inflated tarsk bladders tied to poles. 'Drink!' I cried.
And again goblets were lifted and clashed.
I looked down the long table, and, far to my right, sitting alone at the end of the long bench behind the table, was Luma, my slave and chief scribe. Poor, scrawny, plain Luma, thought I, in her tunic of scribe's cloth, and collar! What a poor excuse for a paga slave she had been! Yet she had a brilliant mind for a the accounts and business of a great house, and had much increased my fortunes. So indebted to her was I taht I had, this night, permitted her to sit at one end of the great table. No free man, of course,would sit beside her. Moreover, that my other scribes and retainers not be angered, I had had her put in slave bracelets, and about her neck had had fastened a chain, which was bolted into the heavy table. And it was thus that Luma, she of perhaps greatest importance in my house, saving its master, with us, yet chained and alone, apart, shared my feast of victory.
'More paga,' said I, putting out the goblet.
Telima poured more paga.
'There is a singer,' said one of my men.
This irritated me, but I had never much cared to interfere with the entertainments which were presented before me.
'It is truly a singer,' said Telima, behind me.
It irritated me that she had spoken.
'Fetch Ta grapes from the kitchen,' I told her.
'Please, my Ubar,' said she, 'let me stay.'
'I am not your Ubar,' I said. 'I am your master.'
'Please, Master,' she begged, 'let Telima stay.'
'Very well,' I said.
The tables grew quiet.
The man had been blinded, it was said, by Sullius Maximus, who believed taht blinding improved the quality of a singer's songs. Sullius Maximus, who himself dabbled in poetry, and poisons, was a man of high culture, and his opinions in such matters were greatly respected. At any rate, whatever be the truth in these matters, the singer, in his darkness, was now alone with his songs. He had only them.
I looked upon him.
He wore the robes of his caste, the singers, and it was not known what city was his own. Many of the singers wander from place to place, selling their songs for bread and love. I had known, long ago, a singer, whose name was Andreas of Tor. We could hear the torches crackle now, and the singer touched him lyre.
