The blond-haired barbarian dipped her paddle into the water, and drew it backwards.
"Is the lake endless?" she asked.
"No," I said.
We had been twenty days upon the lake, living by fishing, drinking its water.
I could see brownish stains in the lake. I could smell flowers. Somehow, the mouth of the Ua must lie ahead.
"Do you carry slaves into danger?" asked the blond-haired barbarian.
"Yes," I told her.
She trembled, but did not lose the stroke of the paddle. She had tried to speak to me at various times during the past few days, but I had responded little to her, usually confining my responses to curt utterances. Once I had gagged her, with her own hair, and leather.
She continued to peddle, miserably, knowing herself to be in disfavor with her master.
"Surely, by now," said Ayari, speaking from the bow, "we must be hear the Ua."
"Observe the water," said Kisu. "Smell the flowers and the forest. I think that already we may be within its mouth."
I was startled. Could its mouth be so wide? Already we were perhaps within the Ua.
Kisu pointed overhead. "See the mindar," he said.
We looked up and saw a brightly plumaged, short-winged, sharp-billed bird. It was yellow and red.
"That is a forest bird," said Kisu.
The mindar is adapted for short, rapid flights, almost spurts, its wings beating in sudden flurries, hurrying it from branch to branch, for camouflage in flower trees, and for drilling the bark of such trees for larvae and grubs.
"Look!" said Ayari, pointing off to the left.
There we saw a tharlarion, sunning itself on a bar. As we neared it it slipped into the water and swam away.
"We are within the river," said Kisu. "I am sure of it."
"The lake is dividing," said Ayari.
"No," laughed Kisu, pleased. "That is an island in the river. There will doubtless be many of them."
"Which way shall we go?" I asked.
"Go to the right," said Kisu.
"Why?" I asked. I am English. It seemed to me more natural to pass on the left. That way, of course, one's sword arm faces the fellow on the other side of the road who might be passing you. Surely it is safer to keep a stranger on your right. Goreans generally, incidentally, like the English, I am pleased to say, keep to the left of a road. They, too, you see, are a sensible folk. They do this, explicitly, for reasons quite similar to those which long ago presumably prompted the English custom, namely, provision for defense, and the facilitation, if it seems desirable, of aggression. Most Goreans, like most men of Earth, are right-handed. This is natural, as almost all Goreans seem to be derived from human stock. In Gorean, as in certain Earth languages, the same word is used for both stranger and enemy.
"In entering a village on the Ngao coast," said Kisu, "one always enters on the right."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"One thus exposes one's side to the blade of the other," said Kisu.
"Is that wise?" I asked.
"How better," asked Kisu, "to show that one comes in peace?"
"Interesting," I said. But, for my part, I would have felt easier in passing to the left. What if the other fellow does not desire peace? As a warrior I knew the value of an eighth of an Ihn saved in turning the body.
"Thus," said Kisu, "if there are men in these countries and their customs resemble those of the Ngao villages, and Ukungu, we shall make clear to them our peaceful intentions. This may save us much trouble."
"That sounds intelligent to me," I said. "If there are men in these countries, they may then be encouraged to leave us alone."
"Precisely," said Kisu.
"And we might, of course, if need be," I said, "bring the canoe about."
"Yes," said Kisu.
We then took the canoe to the right. In half of an Ahn the island was on our left. It was pasangs in length.
"I do not even think there are men in these countries," said Ayari. "We are too far to the east."
"You are probably right," said Kisu. It was then that we heard the drums. "Can you read the drums?" I asked. "No," said Ayari.
"Kisu?" I asked.
"No," he said, "but doubtless they are announcing our arrival."