Krozair of Kregen

party, those stern fighters who were the cream of a crew.

Again I went a little way up the mast. Grodnim swifters still had only the one mast, apart from the smaller one for the boat sail forward. I studied the oncoming swifters. Their tall upflung sterns towered. Men clustered their quarterdecks and poops, armed and armored men, anxious to revenge their fellows in Green Magodont.

I called down to Fazhan standing on the quarterdeck.

“Get under way and aim for the rast to larboard.”

He was a merry soul, this Fazhan ti Rozilloi, when not being flogged at the oars.

“I have ample volunteers to act as whip-Deldars, Dak. But not many oar-slaves.”

“We do not need a great speed. Just enough to get our beakhead onto his quarterdeck.”

“That I will do.”

Vax met me as I reached the deck.

“And the cramph to starboard?”

“If Rukker can handle his swifter, I’ll take that one.”

“Then I will stand with you.”

I lifted an eyebrow, but did not comment. Truth to tell, at that moment I was pleased to have him with me in the fight. Rukker had his party poised, and I saw he had about twenty Katakis with him. Again the incongruity of Katakis actually being slaves, instead of slavers, struck me. We could all hear the steady double drumbeat from the oncoming swifters. Their helm-Deldars kept them sweetly on course, going stern first, and I fancied they would both be smart ships. This was not going to be as easy as many of the ex-slaves seemed to think, screeching their joy at freedom and their malefic hatred of the damned Green Grodnims.

Duhrra said, “The one to starboard is Vengeance Mortil, Duh — just let me get aboard of her. .”

Vax lifted his handsome, fine-featured face, with the blood staining under the skin. “It will give me exquisite pleasure to chastise her whip-Deldars.”

I said, “And each time you strike you will strike at your father, no doubt.”

He flung me a scorching look.

“It is likely, for he and they have much in common. He has done me a great injury and I shall never forgive him.”

“My old man,” said Nath the Slinger, walking up dripping wet, carrying a leather bag filled with stones,

“used to knock the living daylights out of us kids. But he meant well, the old devil.”

“Back in Crazmoz,” said Duhrra, fussing with his hand, “my father was always chasing the women. My mother used the broomstick on him right merrily. Duh — how we all ran!”

My father had died of a scorpion sting, back on Earth; but now was no time to consider how that had affected my life.

“Just so long as we get onto the deck. By Zair! We hold the Grodnims in play and the men slide below and release the slaves. That’s the only way we’ll win.”

It was not the only way, of course; but it would be the easiest. And I wished this fight to be over so that I might resume my tasks in the Eye of the World.

A brief inquiry among the men as the two swifters hauled up to us established the second galley as Pearl. She was smaller, a two-banked six-four hundred-and-twenty swifter. She was not a dekares of the Golden Chavonth type. I eyed both of them as they backed up. Fazhan had those men of ours who had not found weapons at the upper tank looms. A little byplay had ensued there, for a group of ex-slaves without weapons had protested vigorously at taking their places on the rowing benches. I strode up, mighty fierce, not happy but knowing what I did was right.

“Give us weapons’“ bellowed the men. “We will fight!”

“You will row,” I said. “That will be your fighting.”

I did not say that by not already snatching up weapons they proved themselves less able than their comrades who had. But I glowered at them, and spoke more about the glory of Zair, and shook the Genodder, and finished with, “And two last things! Once we strike the damned Grodnims you will have weapons in plenty. And if you do not row I shall beat you most severely.”

They were convinced.

My friends, even, say that sometimes I have a nasty way with me. This is so. And even if I deplore my manner, it does get things done in moments of crisis. As I went back to the station I had taken on the quarterdeck, Vax gave me a dark look, sullen and defiant.

“You are a right devil, Dak.”

“Yes,” I said, and went off bellowing to a party of men to sort themselves out, with the bowmen in rear, a great pack of famblys, asking to be slaughtered.

Rukker looked back. The gap narrowed.

I yelled at him: “Get your fool hands down! They’ll be shooting any moment.”

As I spoke, the first shafts rose from the two Green swifters.

“Get the ship moving, Fazhan!” I swung about and roared at the two men who had taken the helm positions. “Bring her around to starboard! Put some weight into it!”

Green Magodont’s wings rose and fell. We could put out only a few oars; but these gave us sufficient way to take us out into midstream. I judged the distances. Arrows struck down about us. The helmsmen looked at me, hard-muscled men, hanging on to their handles, waiting my orders.

“Hard over! Larboard!” I bellowed at Fazhan. “Every effort, Fazhan! Make ’em pull! Speed! Speed!”

The oars beat raggedly and then settled and the swifter’s hard rostrum swirled to larboard and cut through the blue water. We surged ahead, aiming for the starboard quarter of the larboard vessel, Pearl. Our stern swung to starboard. We formed a diagonal between the swifters. Arrows crisscrossed now. I saw Nath leap up and swing his cloth about his head, let fly. I had the shrewd suspicion his stone would strike. The swifters neared. Any minute they would strike.

“Ram! Ram! Ram!”

The bull roar bashed up and men tensed for the shock of impact.

We struck.

The bronze ram gouged into Pearl. Both vessels shuddered and rocked with the impact. Men were yelling. I bawled out to Rukker; but there was no need. With his knot of Katakis about him, a compact force of devils, he leaped onto the swifter’s deck. Instantly a babble of brilliant fighting ensued. Our stern swerved on, still going.

“Rowed of all!” I screamed at Fazhan. Our oars dropped.

The stern hit.

Somehow I was first across, scrambling over gilding and scrollwork, hurling myself onto the deck of Vengeance Mortil. Like a pack of screeching werstings my men followed. The blades flamed and flashed in the light of the twin suns, and then we were at our devil’s tinker work, hammering and bashing, thrusting and slicing.

Vax followed and Duhrra leaped at my side. We swept a space for ourselves and then flung forward; for to stand gaping was to invite feathering.

“Below!” I yelled and men darted off to drop into the stinking gloom of the rowing banks and begin the task of freeing the slaves.

A monstrous man in green and gold fronted me, swirling his longsword. This kind of work demanded a longsword; but I made shift with the Genodder, dropped him, and with no time to snatch up his sword engaged the next man with a clang. Swords flamed all about me. Men screamed and dropped. The rank raw tang of blood smoked on the morning air.

“Grodno! Grodno!” rang the shrieked battle cries.

“Zair! Zair!” the answering screams ripped out.

Mailed men boiled across the quarterdeck. For the next few murs the mere strength and solidity of packed men would tell. I cursed the damned shortsword, for its premier advantage in the thrust availed little against mailed men, although I gave a couple of fellows sore ribs before I got the point into their faces. I swung the Genodder in a short blurred arc and bashed through a mailed shoulder. A longsword hissed past my ear. It was a case of duck and