Mariners of Gor

Chapter Fourteen

Oars snapped, and the small galley, the large glistening body rising under it, tipped fearfully to port.

She was one of the six nested galleys, normally housed in the hull of the great ship.

Water poured over the bulwarks. I stood at the oar which I shared with a fellow from Turmus, Licinius Lysias.

The large body, rolling beside us in the water, was almost as large as the galley itself. It turned away from us suddenly, its arched spine high above the water, and buffeted the galley which lay to starboard. There a fellow, cursing, jabbed down at it with a spear. There was a snort of pain and the large form was gone. The blade of the spear was awash with blood.

That would bring the sharks lurking beneath the vines, which extended some yard or two beneath the water.

Our galley, and the other, rocked back to an even keel.

All six galleys were forward of the great ship, like a mountain behind us. From each galley there looped two stout ropes back to the ship.

Before us was a cloud of small ship’s boats, filled with oarsmen and armsmen, attacking the vines.

The sails of the great ship behind us hung loose, scarcely stirring.

Looking back I could see a tarn against the bright sky.

Eleven days now we had been at the oars.

With tarns we were muchly advantaged. Without them small boats would have had to scout the Vine Sea to find its nearest edge. It had not been visible from the foremast. Oddly enough we had had a considerable change in course, in seeking open water. Some said that the Vine Sea had shifted in its restlessness, extending its blossomed tentacles, and that what had been nearest was no longer nearest, and that a new tortuous route must be now devised before one might reach the open sea, but others said that sails had been seen afar, and it was that, and that alone, which had dictated our new course.

Two spare oars were set in place to starboard, and we transferred two oars, as well, from port to starboard, one of which was manned by myself and Licinius Lysias. I could see the galley to starboard, some yards away. It was captained by Seremides. I recalled my mates of the Metioche. He had returned none to the great ship. Our galley was captained by the warrior Pertinax, a friend, it seemed, of the commander of the tarn cavalry, Tarl Cabot. This Pertinax, with some others, was a student of the taciturn swordsman, Nodachi, of whom I knew little. I had seen him at the time of the mutiny. I had also seen him at times on the open deck, sitting cross-legged, immobile, staring forward, for long periods, an Ahn or two at a time. And then, sometimes, he would rise to his feet, remove his two curved blades from his sash, and engage unseen opponents. I thought him insane, but I would not have cared to meet him in the business of war.

“Pull, pull!” screamed Seremides, and I saw his knotted rope fall, again and again, amongst his oarsmen. I did not care for this. How was it that they did not rise up, did not object? They were not slaves, chained to their benches. They were free men. Why did they not rise up and attack him? Because, I supposed, he was Seremides. He may have wanted to be attacked, for it was long since his sword had tasted blood. It may have been thirsty for that sudden, bright, exhilarating draught. The thick ropes jerked tight, leading back to the great ship. He should coordinate his efforts with the draw of the companion galley, ours. Was he so importunate and impatient, or was he, rather, anxious to intimidate our captain, Pertinax, the friend of Tarl Cabot? Certainly there were few whom the sword of Seremides, former master of the Taurentians, could not render diffident and complaisant. All feared him, save perhaps Tarl Cabot. Seremides had requisitioned me for his crew, but Cabot had assigned me to that of his friend, Pertinax. Again and again, to my right, across the yards between the galleys, the rope fell. I am not sure that I would have accepted the blows of Seremides. And that, I supposed, was why he had requested that I be assigned to him, that I might rise up, attack him, and then be slain for insubordination. Well would he have been within the rights of his captaincy. Discipline demands that one endure and obey, but it is not always easy to do. I supposed I would have accepted the blows. Yes, I would have accepted the blows. I guessed that Seremides, who knew my fear of him, knew that, but, still, he would have derived some satisfaction in their administration. He had little to fear, given his sword, and his standing with Lord Okimoto.

Amongst the slashed, trailing vines between the galleys, sometimes entangling the oars, I saw, occasionally, the dorsal fin of a shark, briefly emergent, then whipping again beneath the water. Usually the fin disappears gracefully, slipping from sight, but the creature was excited. I recalled the tharlarion, struck earlier. There would linger ribbons of blood in the water. The shark of the Vine Sea, though nine-gilled like his cousins of the shorelines and tropics, is sinuous and eel-like, which, I suppose, facilitates its movements amongst the vines. Suddenly, ahead, some twenty yards, between the galleys and the numbers of ship’s boats, the gigantic body of the wounded tharlarion emerged, its vast body, neck, head, and wide paddlelike appendages running with water, bright in the sunlight. It bellowed with pain, and dived again. “Back oars!” cried Pertinax. We rocked in place. The galley of Seremides, too, paused. The waters seemed placid. The other galleys, too, farther to starboard, must have held their position, as the great ship behind us neither moved, nor was drawn to the side. “Oars inboard!” called Pertinax. We drew the large levers inward. This is sometimes done in battle, when shearing is imminent. It takes no more than four or five Ihn. The ropes leading back to the great ship, no longer taut, slipped into the water. The oars on the galley commanded by Seremides were similarly retracted. I wondered what horrors might be being enacted in the depths. Many blossoms floated on the surface, amongst the vines. The sea tharlarion, in its varieties, not other than its brethren of the land, breathes air. Like the sea sleen, on the other hand, it can remain submerged for several Ehn, whilst fishing. I stood by the bulwarks and looked down. I could see no shimmer of parsit near the surface. They had departed the area. The sunlight glistened on the water, amongst the streamers of cut vines, the floating blossoms. Four or five Ehn passed. By now I supposed the tharlarion, and its relentless pursuer, or pursuers, might be a pasang or more distant. Still I had seen no parsit beneath the water. “Out oars!” cried Seremides. “Wait!” called Pertinax. “Wait!” “Out oars!” cried Seremides, angrily, and, his rope falling amongst his oarsmen, the oars of his galley slid outward. We grasped our oars. “Hold!” said Pertinax. “Pull!” called Seremides, to starboard. “Wait!” Pertinax warned us. “Pull, pull!” said Seremides, and the ropes attached to his galley, leading back to the great ship, lifted, dripping, from the water. “Stop!” called Pertinax. “Move, fool!” called Seremides. “Move, slackard!” “Keep your distance!” cried Pertinax. Seremides’ galley began to move toward ours. “To port!” he called to us. “Out oars! Row! Move!” The galley of Seremides kept its original heading, dictated by its towing ropes, while we were still, towing ropes slack, now almost across his bow, rocking in the water. “Poles!” cried Pertinax, and men seized up the launching poles, used in thrusting a galley from a wharf, cushioning her approach to a wharf, holding her away from rocks, or such. It is customary that there be three such poles, as you of the port know, one for the bow, one amidships, one aft. “Back oars!” cried Seremides, alarmed. The two galleys grated against one another. I heard oars splinter. Our oaring was inboard. “Fool, fool!” screamed Seremides to Pertinax. Pertinax’s face went white and I saw his hand move to the hilt of his sword. But already the blade of Seremides was free of its sheath, and, his eyes alight with eagerness, he leaped aboard our galley. I rose at the bench and cried, though it might be insubordination, to Pertinax, “Do not unsheathe your blade!” He slammed the blade, half free, back in its sheath, looked at Seremides before him, unflinching, and said, “Welcome aboard, noble Rutilius.”

Seremides cried out with rage, looked about himself, saw that he might have to deal with twenty angry, violent men who would stand with their captain, and returned his weapon to its housing. “I see,” said he, “barbarian, that you are not only a fool and a slackard, but a coward, as well.”

“Barbarian I may be,” said Pertinax, “but I am neither fool nor slackard, and I trust, not a coward.”

“Tell your men to hold, to remain in place,” said Seremides, “and we will make test of the matter.”

Several others, as well as I, had risen from the benches.

“Hold!” said Pertinax.

“No!” cried more than one.

The hand of Pertinax went to his weapon.

Seremides grinned, stepped back, drew his blade, and set himself, easily, his body swaying a little, with the movement of the vessel. His galley scraped a little against ours. I saw no love for him across the rail.

I sensed a rising under my feet, something stirring, something approaching, from far below, water moving away from it. I do not think that either Seremides or Pertinax noted this.

“Defend yourself,” said Seremides. I had heard those words, sensed the eagerness in the voice before, more than a dozen times, in the early morning, in the dampness and cold, in a park, or in the Plaza of Tarns, long ago, in Ar. I sensed that the whole rationality of Seremides was now focused narrowly, exultantly, on the victim before him, that the ship, its discipline, Tarl Cabot, Lords Nishida and Okimoto, the apprehension of the former Lady Flavia of Ar, or even of the former Ubara, Talena, was as though they were not. I thought of the sleen whose hunt is done, who has the tabuk or verr cornered before him. What command could stay him, what consideration could distract him, what give pause to so single-minded and formidable a force of nature?

The blade of Pertinax was but half drawn when both galleys burst apart, leaping from one another, the gigantic body of the tharlarion rising between them, springing forty feet or more from the water, expelling a snorting burst of air, several of the eel-like sharks fastened in its flanks; it seemed oddly still for a moment, upright, at the height of its leap, and then fell back in the water, drenching us, half filling the galleys with water; I pulled rent vines from about me; blossoms were at my knees in the water. I felt a descent as of heated fog, and realized it was the air the creature had expelled, settling cloudlike about us. The thing had returned. How could that be? Surely it was a coincidence, that the great beast, lacerated, in its agony, running blood, had come back to this place. The long neck, yards in length, snakelike, lifted, and the small head swayed about, as though searching, with the single eye left. It had returned to the place where it had been first hurt. I could see the tails of sharks whipping against the water, trying to drive their jaws deeper into the beast’s flesh. Other fins were approaching, knifing through the blossoms. I heard a man scream on the galley of Seremides, and he poked upward with his spear. The small head on the great body, with its triangular jaws, with its rows of tiny, fine teeth, reached down, almost gracefully, and lifted the screaming fellow yards into the air. It then threw its gigantic, massive, glistening body, sharks clinging to it, over the gunwales of the galley of Seremides, pressing it under the waves, men leaping into the sea on either side. It then, dragging its burden of sharks, its victim still struggling in its jaws, dove, and the snap of that great tail, striking upward, tipped us, and then, striking downward, propelling that enormous bulk, clove our galley, and we were plunged into the water. The sea about us was red, and I spit out water. Within it was the taste of blood. I saw a fellow two yards away drawn beneath the water. “Ho!” I heard. “Ho!” The small ship’s boats had put about and were returning. The other galleys, too, loosing their towing ropes, would be soon at our side. I pulled myself half onto a nest of vines, half in the water, half not. A splintered oar floated past. “Here!” I heard. Men were being drawn into small boats. But they would be soon swamped. They clung to the gunwales of the ship’s boats, and armsmen and oarsmen struck down with tools and oars, to protect those in the water. I heard an oar count being called, over the water, and one of the towing galleys was near. I could see it in a bit then, with ship’s boats clustered about it, men being drawn aboard, from the boats, from the water. A dorsal fin moved smoothly by. I remained as still as possible. I was not bloodied. If one moves, one should move as smoothly as possible, not awkwardly, not hastily, not erratically, not as though one might be injured, or helpless.

Men swam toward the small boats, the nearest galley.

I saw more than one drawn beneath the surface. Fins were everywhere. I felt the mat of vines to which I clung turn, and begin to drift. The wreckage of the galley of Seremides seemed farther away now. I saw no sign of the galley of Pertinax. Soon, as I lay, I could no longer see the small boats, or any galleys. There is restlessness in the Vine Sea, as in any sea, and swells, and local currents, and the sea itself, tangled and beautiful, oppressive, and terrible, despite its vastness, moves from time to time, seasonably, predictably, even hundreds of pasangs, as might any object, large or small, afloat on Thassa, with her hundred moods and thousand currents.

I think most of my fellows had sought the small boats.

As noted, I could not now see them, as I was positioned, but I knew they were there. I could hear men in the distance. Were I able to stand I had little doubt I could see them, and certainly one or more galleys. Even as I lay still in my bed of vines and blossoms I could, turning my head, see the great ship, in the distance.

It was now quiet about me, save for the lapping of the water.

There seemed none about.

I was much alone.

I was not afraid of being left, or abandoned. I was afraid, rather, of what I knew was in the water.

“Ho, Callias!” I heard.

“Tal, Durbar!” I called.

I remembered him from the pumps, when, during the time of the great storms they had been manned twenty Ahn a day.

He was better situated than I, for he crouched on two nailed beams, which must have been from the hull of one of the two destroyed galleys.

He was some forty feet away.

There was other wreckage about.

Needless to say, I was much pleased to see him.

“You are in danger!” he called.

I considered swimming to join him.

A blossom floated by.

A fin glided past.

“Perhaps less here than there!” I said.

I was not eager to negotiate the water between us.

“As you will!” he said.

But I saw a swimmer clamber to his makeshift vessel. One end of the beams descended beneath the waves, under the weight of the newcomer. I did not think they would well bear the weight of two. Durbar turned about, cried once, and reeled from the beams, plunging into the water, his jacket red. Across the space between us I saw Seremides, his eyes on me. He did not have his sword, but there was a knife in his hand. He stood unsteadily on the narrow wreckage.

In the water Durbar, the water red about him, gasping, confused, extended his hand to Seremides, who did not accept his hand, perhaps fearing the loss of balance, but motioned him closer. When Durbar got his hands upon the beams Seremides kicked out, viciously, and Durbar, I think his neck was broken, slipped away, beneath the water.

Seremides stood on the beams, regarding me.

“Noble Callias,” said he, affably. “Approach.”

I remained where I was, and looked about. I saw no one near.

“That is an order!” said Seremides.

“Deliver it to another,” I said.

Seremides looked about, and then put the knife in his belt, and then, kneeling on the beams, pulled at some floating vinage, and his narrow vessel inched toward me. He tried to urge it toward me, too, with his body. He dipped his right arm into the water, and pushed back, against the water. Again his tiny bark approached me, a little. It was heavy, and not easily moved. I did not think he would risk throwing the knife. I suspected the turning currents, the natural eddies amongst the vines, might bring us together, sooner or later. It would be a matter of time.

I wondered how many men, if about, would welcome this opportunity to do away with Seremides.

But we seemed much alone.

The nearest galley, I conjectured, from the faint sounds I heard, men calling out, was two hundred yards distant. It would probably be encircled by small boats.

Much vinage was now about, as it had drifted back, tending to close the road which had been cut through it. Such things shift in the currents, closing gaps, being arrested only against more of its kind.

Seremides stood up and looked about.

Apparently he saw no one, at least nearby.

He then, eyes glinting, once more kneeling down, tried more earnestly, even rashly, even heedlessly, to force his way toward me.

I took it he wanted to reach me before others might note our position.

I did not think it wise for Seremides to splash at the side of his support.

There was still blood in the water, from the tharlarion, from some fellows taken by sharks, and, now, from Durbar.

Too, I had seen a fin glide by, but a moment ago.

Perhaps he, then in the water, had seen it, too.

The possible danger of his activity must have occurred to him, as he soon ceased to propel his craft in that perilous fashion.

The splashing, of course, had occurred.

Hopefully, it had been unnoted.

An occasional swell, lifting the circumambient vines and blossoms, moved his small vessel, and the raft of vinage to which I clung.

“Ho!” I called, half in water, half prostrate amongst the vines, unable to stand. “Help! Help!”

But none heard me.

“Swim to me,” coaxed Seremides. “Join me. It will be safe. I will not hurt you.”

We were now some ten or fifteen feet apart.

I felt something long, seven or eight feet in length, and rough, like a rasp, pass, moving beneath the water, against my leg.

I clutched the vinage.

“So,” smiled Seremides, “you are frightened.”

He removed his knife from his belt.

I did not think, again, he would risk throwing it.

He stood, unsteadily, on his support.

“The sea is my ally,” he said. “It will soon enable me to greet you.”

I said nothing. There seemed no one about.

His small bark drifted nearer, as did a number of vines and blossoms. So, too, it must have, Ehn earlier, when bearing Durbar.

“I have waited long for this,” said he, “noble Callias.”

There was then a swell of water, and I saw it lift his vessel two or three feet, and he cried out in triumph and I knew that, in its descent, sliding down the slope of that swell, it would be upon me, and I plunged beneath the water, dragged myself down, beneath the vines, swam what I could, some yards, and then, gasping, shaking my head, I emerged amongst clustered vines, some wrapped about my body, and legs, snakelike.

But I saw nothing of Seremides.

I was terrified to be in the water, as I knew what was there.

I knew he must be in the water, but I feared him the least of what might be about.

I forced myself down again and, as I could, circled back, and, after twice emerging amongst the vines, came to some open water, and felt wood, and drew myself, panting, wiping my eyes, onto the two fastened beams which had borne, in turn, Durbar, and Seremides, and now bore me.

I saw nothing of Seremides.

I stood, unsteadily, on the beams.

I could then see two of the four intact galleys in the distance and, several hundred yards away, the great ship itself.

I cried out and waved, but did not know if my presence was noted.

I was not overly concerned about being picked up, as I was sure the great ship was far from clear of the Vine Sea, and I had little doubt that there would be a thorough search for survivors, perhaps extended over two or three days. I had gathered that every man was valued, if only as a tool or beast of sorts, by the Pani, and I was sure that I could count on the patience, and diligence, of Tarl Cabot, and several others. I took them as good officers and honorable men. They would seek the best accounting possible.

“Help!” I heard. “Help!” The cry was weak, and yards away. At first I could not locate its source, but then I saw a hand lifted over the vines, and a head, lifted, briefly, which then slipped again from sight. Something was struggling, tangled in the vines. I did not know if the two beams on which I stood had moved muchly or not. I knew I was now in relatively open water, which suggested it was part of the road cut by the ship’s boats through the vines, though it was much narrower now than hitherto, given the eddies, and the drifting of the vegetation.

“Help!” I heard, and saw the head of Seremides emerge from the vines. “I am caught!” he cried. An arm flailed about, grasping at vines. It was possible he could be pulled under, as the vines beneath the surface shifted in the currents. In any event, it seemed he was tangled in the ropelike growth, and, apparently, could neither dive beneath it, should he wish to do so, nor swim through it.

“Help!” called Seremides. “Help!” He held out a hand to me, tangled in vines.

I stood unsteadily on the beams.

“All is forgiven!” cried Seremides. “I pledge friendship! I have power! I can do much for you! Help me! I will reward you! I will secure you promotion! When the ship is ours you will stand high! Gold, women! I will see that she who was once Flavia of Ar is given to you! Would she not be pleasing in your collar? When the voyage is done, take her to Ar for the bounty!”

“Pull yourself out, by the vines,” I said.

I was not anxious to approach him, and much vinage lay between us.

“I cannot!” he said. “By the Priest-Kings, by the Home Stone of Cos, save me!”

I crouched on my small craft and caught at vines, trying to pull the two nailed beams toward him.

“You agree!” he cried.

“I agree to nothing,” I said.

“Hurry!” he cried. “Hurry!”

My makeshift bark caught in the vines. I was then some twenty feet from him. I could make no further progress.

“It is safe,” he said. “Crawl on the vines. Draw me free!”

As the vines were thick there, it was possible, on one’s belly, half in the water, half out, to reach him.

He was an officer of the ship.

He stood high.

He was much my superior.

In the swell he must have lost his footing and plunged into the foliage, submerged, swam, came to the surface, and found himself feet away from the beams, snagged in the coiling vines.

“Help!” he said, reaching out.

I lowered myself from the nailed beams, and, half swimming, half crawling, muchly supported by the dense growth, came nigh.

“Closer!” he said.

I moved closer.

“Give me your hand!” he said, reaching out.

I extended my hand, but suddenly drew it back.

In a flash of thought I recalled Seremides, from a dozen times and places, images rushing upon me, a goblet lifted, a door opened, a hand gesturing, a pen in hand, signing an order, a sword, reddened, held over an adversary’s throat in the early morning.

“Your hand!” he demanded, angrily.

The hand extended to me, that it might grasp mine was his left hand. His right hand was under the water.

Seremides, former master of the Taurentians, was right-handed.

“Die, Sleen!” he cried, tearing himself upward, out of the vines, the right hand dripping with water, the sun flashing on the wet blade in its grasp.

I had not given him my hand. I had kept back, a little. That meant he must close the gap between us, must move toward me, and this, in the water, given the absence of footing, the presence of the foliage, could not be easily done. He was trying to scramble toward me, half in water, half out, over the raft of vegetation. The knife struck out at me twice, three times. I backed away as I could, slipping, half sinking through the vines, while he, similarly hampered, cursing, pursued me, foot by foot. I, backing away, suddenly slipped downward, through a gap in the vinage, and felt circles of vines about my legs and lower body, through which I had plunged. I was enmeshed. I reached about. I could obtain no purchase. I was held in place. “Noble Callias!” grinned Seremides, moving a hort closer. My only chance would be to grasp his knife wrist, and I thought there was little chance of that. Seremides would not be so foolish as to make a long strike, which might be blocked or intercepted. He would prepare carefully for the kill, feinting, darting, keeping the blade forward of my grasp, but slashing, striking, again and again, at the hand, from which he might sever fingers, or slash a wrist, disabling the hand. I would then, eventually, be as helpless as if bound. I did not think he would finish me quickly. I had seen him finish more than one man slowly, pleasantly. Some had begged to be done with.

“Ho!” we heard. “Is anyone there?”

Seremides turned white.

It must be a search party, in a small boat.

“Yes!” I called, loudly. “Here! Here!”

“Sleen!” hissed Seremides, and, his leisure vanished, he lunged forward, desperately, but the blow was short. He crawled closer and struck again. There was no leverage, no footing. He struck again. I reached for his wrist, but missed it. He struck again, and I managed to grasp his wrist, with two hands, and we turned in the water amidst the vines, struggling, thrashing about. “Here! Here!” I screamed, for there were men somewhere about. I suddenly sensed the blade was no longer in his right hand, and swept backward, water in my eyes, fending myself as I could. The knife cut through my tunic ripping it across the chest. I had not even seen it. Then I saw the knife was again in his right hand. I was then muchly on my back, where I had thrown myself backward, and my arms were tangled in the vines. I saw the glint of delight in his eyes, and saw the knife raised. I could not free my arms, either to block or intercept the blow. In a moment I might work myself free but the moment was not mine. In that moment a tethered tarsk could not have been more helpless. “Now, Sleen!” he whispered.

I saw the sky, a bright blue in the spring afternoon.

“Aiiii!” I heard, a sudden, startled, weird, hideous cry, and the knife arm, and the head, and the torso of Seremides suddenly disappeared beneath the water, which churned, rocking the mat of vines, lifting and scattering the broad blue and yellow blossoms amongst the foliage.

“Where are you?” called a voice.

“Here, here!” I said.

I was not thinking clearly.

It was a moment before I understood what had happened.

I saw Seremides emerge then from amidst the vines and blossoms. He was alive. He was some eleven feet away. He no longer held the knife. He grasped at the vines. I had never seen the eyes of a man look so. I had never seen such an expression on a human face, one of such horror.

“Callias!” he whispered, holding out a hand to me.

I made my way to him, a bit before he lost consciousness. I turned him on his back, and drew him through the water, and over the vines, to where I had departed the small vessel of nailed beams. Behind us there was a trail of blood, in the water, over the vines.

I drew him onto the makeshift vessel.

The shark had taken the left leg, from above the knee.

I heard the dip of oars in the water.

“Here!” I called, standing up, lifting my hand.

In moments I, and two oarsmen, had put Seremides in the ship’s boat.

“You have saved the life of Rutilius of Ar, well done,” said the rudderman.

“He is a high officer,” observed one of the oarsmen.

“You will be commended for this,” said another.

“Why did you not let him die?” asked an armsman.

“He will bleed to death,” said another armsman.

I tore away part of my tunic and thrust it against the part of the leg left.

“Let him die,” said a fellow.

“Put him overboard, kill him,” suggested an oarsman.

“Have you twine, rope, a belt?” I asked.

“Use this,” said the rudderman, tossing me a length of knotted rope, which bore some reddish stains.

“We found it floating nearby,” said an armsman.

I fastened the rope about the stump of the leg, and tightened it. The blood slowed, and then stopped.

“He needs care,” I said, “the attention of physicians.”

“Back to the ship,” said the rudderman.

“There is no hurry,” said an armsman.

“He is going to die,” said an oarsman, looking at the prostrate figure between the thwarts.

“No,” I said, “he is Seremides, he is strong.”

“He will wish he was dead,” said an oarsman.

“He is an officer,” said an armsman.

“No longer,” said another armsman. “There are no crippled officers.”

We began to make our way, largely through open water, to the great ship.

Seremides opened his eyes. They did not seem the eyes of the Seremides I knew. He looked up at me. “Do not hurt me,” he said.