Raiders of Gor

11 The Crest of Sleen Hair

The Captains leaped from their chairs, crying out. Great chairs fell bounding down the tiers of the council chamber. The Scribe at the table before the thrones was on his feet shouting. Papers were scattering to the floor. Feet were pounding toward the great double door, leading to the hallway beyond, leading out to the tiled piazza fronting on the hall of the council. I saw pages scurrying about, in their red and yellow silk. Ink had spilled on the great table.

Then I saw that Lysias, with the captain's crest of sleen hair on his helmet, had not stirred from his chair.

And I saw, too, that the Scribe who normally sat his attendance at the right arm of the empty throne of Henrius Sevarius, the Fifth, in the council chamber was gone.

Outside, in the distance, through the great door, flung open, I heard cries of alarm, and the clash of weapons.

Then I saw Lysias, his hair tied behind his neck with the scarlet string, rise. He placed on his head his helmet.

He unsheathed his weapon.

So, too, did my steel leave its sheath.

But Lysias then, weapon at the ready, backed away, and then turned and fled through a side door, leading from the council hall.

I looked about.

A small fire was burning to one side, where a lamp with candle had been knocked to the floor, in the rush toward the door.

Chairs lay knocked over, furniture was broken. The floor was covered with papers.

The scribe at the central table, that before the empty thrones, stood numb behind the table.

Other scribes came and stood with him, looking from one to the other. To one side, cowering, stood several of the page boys.

Then, staggering, bloody, the quarrel of a crossbow protruding from the emblem on his velvet tunic, a captain reeled into the room and fell, clutching at the arm of one of the curule chairs. Then, behind him, in the groups of four and five, crying out, many bleeding from wounds, weapons brandished, and sometimes bloodied, there came those captains who could.

I went to the place before the thrones.

I indicated the small fire burning to one side, that which had been caused by the fallen lamp with candle. "Put it out," I told two of the frightened pages. I resheathed my sword.

The two pages leapt to do my bidding.

"Gather up and guard the book of the Council," I told the Scribe who had been at the great table.

"Yes, Captain," said he, leaping to seize it up.

I then, throwing papers to the floor, scattering ink, lifted the great table over my head.

There were cries of astonishment.

I turned and, step by step, carrying the great table, advanced toward the large door leading to the hallway.

More captains, their back to the room, fighting, falling, were retreating through the door.

They were the last of the captains.

Over their heads in the doorway I flung the great table.

Its great weight, to screams of horror, fell crushing upon men who, with shields and swords, were closely pressing the captains.

I saw, wide with horr in the apertures of their helmets, the eyes of men pinned beneath its beams.

"Bring curule chairs!" I ordered the captains.

Though many were wounded, though all could scarcely stand, they leaped to gather up chairs and hurl them into the doorway.

Crossbow bolts flashed through the chairs, splintering their backs and sides. "More tables!" I cried.

Men, and scribes, and pages, too, came forward, four and six men to a table, adding the tables ot our barricade.

From the outside some men tried to climb the barricade, and break it down. On its height they met Bosk, in his hands the wine-tempered steel of a Ko-ro-ban blade.

Four men fell reeling backward, tumbling down the chairs and tables. Crossbow bolts flashed about my head.

I laughed, and leaped down. No more men were trying to climb the wood of the barricade.

"Can you hold this door?" I asked the captains, and the scribes and pages there. "We will," they said.

I gestured to the side door, through which Lysias and, I assumed, he who had been scribe for Henrius Sevarius, had escaped. Several of the pages, incidentally, and some of the scribes had also fled through that door. "Secure that door," I told four of the captains.

Immediately they went to the door, calling scribes and pages to help. I myself, taking with me two captains, went to a rear corner of the great chamber, whence, via a spiraling stairwell, the roof of the hall of council might be attained.

We soon found ourselves on the sloping roof of the hall of the council, shielded and turrets and decorative embrasures at its edge.

From there, in the late afternoon sun, we could see smoke from the wharves and arsenal to the west.

"There are no ships from Cos or Tyros in the harbor," said one of the captains standing near me.

I had seen this.

I indicated wharves. "Those wharves," I said, "are those of Chung and Eteocles?" "Yes," said one of the captains.

"And those," I asked, indicating other wharves, farther to the south, "are those of Nigel and Sullius Maximus."

"Yes," said the other captain.

"Doubtless there is fighting there," said the first captain.

"And along the wharves generally," said the second.

"It seems," I said, "that the holdings of Henrius Sevarius, patron of the captain Lysias, are untouched."

"It does indeed," said the first captain, through gritted teeth.

Below in the streets we heard trumpets. Men were shouting.

We saw some waving banners, bearing the design of the house of Sevarius. They were trying to urge men into the streets to support them.

"Henrius Sevarius," they were crying, "Ubar of Port Kar."

"Sevarius is proclaiming himself Ubar," said the first captain.

"Or Cladius, his regent," said the other.

We were joined by another captain. "It is quiet now below," he said. "Look there," I said. I pointed down to some of the canals, cutting between the buildings. Slowly, moving smoothly, there oars dipping in rhythm, from various sides, we saw tarn ships moving toward the hall of the council.

"And there!" cried another captain, pointing to the streets.

There we saw crossbowmen fleeing, in lines along the edges of the buildings. Some men-at-arms were joining them.

"It appears," said one of the captains at my side, "that Henrius Sevarius in not yet Ubar of Port Kar."

At the far edge of the piazza, in one of the bordering canals, nosing forward to take a berth between two tiled piers, we saw a ram-ship, medium class. Her mast, with its long yard, was lashed to the deck. Doubtless her sail was stored below. These are the arrangements when a galley moves through the city, or when she enters battle. On a line running from the forward starboard mooring cleat to the stem castle, furnishing cover for archers and spearmen, there flew a flag, snapping in the wind. It was white with vertical green stripes on its field and, over these, in black, the head of a Bosk.

I could see, even at the distance, leaping from the prow of the ship to the tiles of the piazza, running across the large, oblique-looking, colored squares toward the Hall of the Council of Captains, the great Thurnock, with his yellow bow, followed by Clitus, with his net and trident, and by Tab, with my men. "Estimate for me," I said, "the damage to the arsenal,"

"It appears," said one, "to be the lumber sheds and the dry docks." "The warehouses of pitch and that of oars, too," said the other.

"Yes," said the first. "I think so."

"There is little wind," said another.

I was not dissatisfied. I was confident that the men of the arsenal, in their hundreds, almost to the count of two thousand, would, given the opportunity, control the fire. Fire has always been regarded as the great hazard to the arsenal. Accordingly many of her warehouses, shops and foundries are built of stone, with slated or tinned roofs. Wooden structures, such as her numerous sheds and roofed storage areas tend to be separated from one another. Within the arsenal itself there are numerous basins, providing a plenitude of water. Many of these basins, near which, in red-painted wooden boxes, are stored large numbers of folded leather buckets, are expressly for the purpose of providing a means for fighting fires. Some of the other basins are large enough to float galleys; these large basins connect with the arsenal's canal system, by means of which heavy materials may be conveyed about the arsenal; the arsenal's canal system also gives access, at two points, to the canal system of the city and, at tow other points, to the Tamber Gulf, beyond which lies gleaming Thassa. Each of these four points are guarded by great barred gates. The large basins, just mentioned, are of two types: the first, unroofed, is used for the underwater storage and seasoning of Tur wood; the second, roofed, serves for heavier fittings and upper carpentry of ships, and for repairs that do not necessitate recourse to the roofed dry docks.

Already it seemed to me there was less smoke, less fire, from the areas of the arsenal.

The wharves of Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, I conjectured, from the blazings along the waterfront on the west and south, would not fare well. The fires at the arsenal, I supposed, may have been even, primarily, a diversion. They had surely served to draw the captains of Port Kar into the ambush prepared for them outside the hall of council. I supposed Henrius Sevarius might not have wished to seriously harm the arsenal. Could he come to be the Ubar of Port Kar, it would constitute a considerable element of his wealth, indeed, the major one.

I, and the three other captains, stood on the sloping roof of the hall of the council and watched the ships burning the wharves.

"I am going to the arsenal," I said. I turned to one of the captains. "Have scribes investigate and prepare reports on the extent of the damage, wherever it exists. Also have captains ascertain the military situation in the city. And have patrols doubled, and extend their perimeters by fifty pasangs." "But surely Cos and Tyros-" said one of the Captains.

"Have the patrols doubled, and extend their perimeters by fifty pasangs," I repeated.

"It will be done," he said.

I turned to another man.

"Tonight," I said, "the council must meet again."

"It cannot-" he protested.

"At the twentieth hour," I told him.

"I will send pages through the city with torches," he said.

I looked out over the city, at the arsenal, at the burning wharves on the west and south.

"And summon the four captains," I said, "who are Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus."

"The Ubars!" cried a captain.

"The captains," I said. "Send for them only a single page with guard, with his torch. Summon them as captains."

"But they are Ubars," the man whispered.

I pointed to the burning wharves.

"If they do not come," I told him, "tell them they will no longer be captains in the eyes of the council."

The captains looked at me.

"It is the council," I said, "that is now the first power in Port Kar." The captains looked at one another, and nodded.

"It is true," said one of them.

The power of the captains had been little diminished. The coup intended to destroy them,swift as the falling of the assassin's blade, had failed. Escaping into and barricading themselves within the hall of the Council, most had saved themselves. Others, fortunately as it had turned out for them, had not even been in attendance at the meeting. The ships of the captains were usually moored, beyond this, within the city, in the mooring lakes fronting on their holdings and walled. And those who had used the open wharves did not seem to have suffered damage.

The only wharves fired were apparently those of the four Ubars.

I looked out over the harbor, and over the muddy Tamber to the gleaming vastness beyond, my Thassa.

At any given time most of the ships of Port Kar are at sea. Five of mine were, at present, at sea. Two were in the city, to be supplied. The ships of the captains, returning, would further guarantee their power in the city, their crews being applicable where the captains might choose. To be sure, many of the ships of the Ubars were similarly at sea, but men pretending to the Ubarate of Port Kar commonly keep a far larger percentage of their power in port than would a common captain. I expected the power of the four Ubars, Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, might have been, at a stroke, diminished by half. If so, they might control, among themselves, a force of about one hundred and fifty ships, most of which were still at sea. I did not expect the Ubars would cooperate with one another. Further, if necessary, the council of captains, with its power, might intercept and impound their ships, as they returned, one by one. I had long felt that five Ubars in Port Kar, and the attendant anarchy resulting from this division of power, was politically insufferable, with its competition of extortions, taxes and decrees, but more importantly, I felt that it jeopardized my own interests. I intended, in Port Kar, to accumulate fortunes and power. As my projects developed I had no wish to suffer for not having applied for client-hood to one Ubar or another. I did not wish to have to be sue for the protection of a strong man. I preferred to be my own. Accordingly I wished for the council to consolidate its power in the city. It seemed that now, with the failure of the coup of Henrius Sevarius, and the diminishment of the power of the other Ubars, she might well do so. The council, I expected, itself composed of captains, men much like myself, would provide a political structure within which my ambitions and projects might well prosper. Nominally beneath its aegis, I might, for all practical purposes, be free to augment my house as I saw fit, the House of Bosk, of Port Kar.

I, for one, would champion the council.

I expected that there would be support for this position, both from men like myself, self-seeking men, wise in political realities, and from the inevitable and useful fools, abundant even in Port Kar, hoping simply for a saner and more efficient governance of their city. It seemed the interests of wise men and fools lay for once conjoined.

I turned and faced the captains.

"Until the twentieth hour, Captains," said I.

Dismissed, they left the roof.

I stood alone on the roof, and watched the fires. A man such as I, I thought, might rise high in a city such as this, squalid, malignant Port Kar. I then left the roof to go to the arsenal, to see for myself what might be the case there.

It was now the nineteenth hour.

Above us, in the chamber of the council of captains, I could hear feet moving about on wooden floor, chairs scraping.

Each captain in Port Kar had come to the meething, saving some of those most closely associated with the house of Sevarius.

It was said, even, that the four Ubars, Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, sat now, or would soom sit, upon their thrones.

The man on the rack near me screamed in agony.

He was one of those who had been captured.

"We have the reports on the damage to the wharves of Chung," said a scribe, pressing into my hands the documents. I knew that the fiers on the wharves of Chung still blazed, and that they had spread northward to the free wharves south of the arsenal. The reports, accordingly, would be incomplete.

I looked at the scribe.

"We will bring you further reports as soon as they arrive," he said. I nodded, and he sped away.

The fires were now substantially out in the properties of Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, though a warehouse of the latter, in which was stored tharlarion oil, still blazed. The city was heavy with the smell and smoke of it. As nearly as I could gather, Chung had been the most afflicted by the fire, losing perhaps thirty ships. The Ubars, it seemed, had not had their power halved, but it had been considerably reduced. The damage to the arsenal, which I had seen with my own eyes, and had taken statistical reports on from the scribes, had not been particularly serious. It amounted to the destruction of one roofed area where Ka-la-na wood was stored, and the partial destruction of another; one small warehouse for the storage pitch, one of several, had been destroyed; two dry docks had been lost, and the shop of the oarmakers, near the warehouse for oars, had been damaged; the warehouse itself, as it turned out, had escaped the fire.

Some of those who had started these fires, who had been apprehended, now, under the torches, screamed on the racks beneath the chamber of the council of Captains. Most, however, their retreat covered by crossbowmen, had excaped and fled to the holding of Henrius Sevarius.

The two slaves near me bent to the rack windlass. There was a creak of wood, the sound of the pawl, locking, dropping into a new notch on the ratchet, a hideous scream.

"Have the patrols been doubled?" I asked a captain nearby.

"Yes," he said, "and their perimeters extended by fifty pasangs."

The man on the rack screamed again.

"What," I asked a captain, "is the military situation?"

"The men of Henrius Sevarius," said he, "have withdrawn into his holdings. His ships and wharves are well defended. Men of the captains maintain their watch. Others are in reserve. Should the forces of Sevarius emerge from his holdings we shall meet them with steel."

"What of the city?" I asked.

"It has not rallied to Sevarius," said the captain. "In the streets men cry "Power to the Council! "

"Excellent," I commented.

A scribe came to my side. "An envoy from the House of Sevarius demands to speak before the council," he said.

"Is he a captain?" I asked.

"Yes," said the scribe. "Lysias."

I smiled. "Very well," I said, "send a page, and a man with a torch, to conduct him hither, and give him guard, that he may not be torn to death on the streets."

The scribe grinned. "Yes Captain," said he.

A captain near me shook his head. "But Sevarius is a Ubar," he said. "The council," I said, "will adjudicate his claims."

The captain looked at me, and smiled. "Good," he said, "Good."

I gestured for the two slaves at the rack windlass to again rotate the heavy wooden wheels, moving the heavy wooden pawl another notch in the beam ratchet. Again there was a creak of wood and the sound of the pawl, locking, dropping into its new notch. The thing fastened on the rack threw back its head on the cords, screaming only with his eyes. Another notch and the bones of its arms and legs would be torn from their sockets.

"What have you learned?" I asked the scibe, who stood with his tablet and stylus beside the rack.

"It is the same as the others," he said. "They were hired by the men of Henrius Sevarius, some to slay captains, smoe to fire the wharves and arsenal." The scribe looked up at me. "Tonight," he said, "Sevarius was to be Ubar of Port Kar, and each was to have a stone of gold."

"What of Cos and Tyros?" I asked.

The scribe looked at me, puzzled. "None have spoken of Cos and Tyros," he said. This angered me, for I felt that there must be more in the coup than the work of one Port Kar's five Ubars. I had expected, that very day, or this night, to receive word that the fleets of Cos and Tyros were approaching. Could it be, I asked myself, that Cos and Tyros were not implicated in the attempted coup? "What of Cos and Tyros!" I demanded of the wretch fastened on the rack. He had been one who had, with his crossbow, fired on the captains as they had run from the council. His eyes had moved from his head; a large vein was livid on his forehead' his feet and hands were white; his wrists and ankles were bleeding; his body was little more than drawn suet; he was stained with his own excrement. "Sevarius!" he whispered. "Sevarius!"

"Are not Cos and Tyros to attack?" I demanded.

"Yes! Yes!" he cried. "Yes!"

"And," I said, "what of Ar, and Ko-ra-ba, and Treve, and Thentis, and Turia, and Tharna and Tor!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" he whimpered.

"And," I said, "Teletus, Tabor, Scagnar!"

"Yes, yes!" he cried.

"And," I said, "Farnacium, and Hulneth and Aperiche! And Anango and Ianda, and Hunjer and Skjern and Torvaldsland! And Lydius and Helmutsport, and Schendi and Bazi!"

"Yes," he cried. "All are going to attack."

"And Port Kar!" I cried.

"Yes," he raved, "Port Kar, too! Port Kar, too!"

With disgust I guestured for the slaves to pull the pins releasing the windlasses.

With a ratle of cork and chain the wheels spun back and the thing on the rack began to jabber and whimper and laugh.

By the time the slaves had unfastened him he had lost consciousness. "There was little more to be learned from that one," said a voice near me. It might have been a larl that had spoken.

I turned.

There, facing me, his face expressionless, was one who was well known in Port Kar.

"You were not at the meeting of the council this afternoon," I said to him. "No," he said.

The somnolent beat of a man regarded me.

He was a large man. About his left shoulder there were the two ropes of Port Kar. These are commonly worn only outside the city. His garment was closely woven, and had a hood, now thrown back. His face was wide, and heavy, and much lined; it, like many of those of Port kar, showed the marks of Thassa, burned into it by wind and salt; he had gray eyes; his hair was white, and shortcropped; in his ears there were two small golden rings.

If a larl might have been transformed into a man, and yet retain its instincts, its heart and its cunning, I think it might look much like Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar.

"Greetings, noble Samos," I said.

"Greetings," said he.

It then occured to me that this man could not serve Priest-Kings. It occured to me then, with a shudder which I did not betray, that such a man could serve only the Others, not Priest-Kings, those Others, in the distant steel worlds, wh osurreptitiusly and cruelly fought to gain this world and Earth for their own ends.

Samos looked about, gazing on the various racks, to many of which there were still fastened prisoners.

The torches lit the room with unusal shadows.

"Have Cos and Tyros been inplicated?" he asked.

"These men will confess whatever we wish," I said dryly.

"But there seems nothing genuine?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"I suspect Cos and Tyros," he said, gazing at me, evenly.

"I, too," I said.

"But these minions," he said, "they will know nothing."

"It appears so," I said.

"Would you," asked Samos, "reveal your plans to such as these?"

"No," I said.

He nodded, and then turned, but stopped, and spoke over his shoulder. "You are the one who calls himself Bosk, are you not?"

"I am he," I told him.

"You are to be congratulated on taking the leadership this afternoon," he said. "You did the council good service."

I said nothing.

Then he turned. "Do you know who is senior captain of the council?" he asked. "No," I said.

"I am," said Samos, of Port Kar.

I did not respond.

Them Samor addressed himself to the Scribe near the rack. He gestured toward the other racks. "Take down these men," he said, "and keep them chained. We may wish to question them further tomorrow."

"What do you expect to do with them eventually?" I asked.

"Our round ships," said Samos, "require oarsmen."

I nodded.

So they would be slaves.

"Noble Samos," I said.

"Yes," said he.

I recalled the note I had received before Herak had burst in upon the council, crying that there was fire in the arsenal. I had thrust the note in the wallet I wore at my belt.

"Earlier today," I asked, "did Noble Samos send word to me that he wished to speak to me?"

Samos looked at me. "No," he said.

I bowed my head.

Then Samos, who was senior captain of the Council of Captains of Port Kar, turned and left.

"Samos," said one of the scribles nearby, "only made landfall in Port Kar this night, at the eighteenth hour, from Scagnar."

"I see," I said.

So who then, I asked myself, would write such a note? Apparently there were others then in Port Kar who would have business with me.

I was near the Twentieth Hour.

Lysias, captain, client of Henrius Sevarius, spoke before the council. He stood before the thrones of the Ubars, before even the large table, which now, on its upper face, was marked by sword cuts and the apertures splintered open by the passage of crossbow quarrels earlier this afternoon.

The Hall of the Council, this night, was surrounded by the men of the captains, who, too, patrolled the rooftops and the walks beside the canals for a full pasang on all sides.

The hall was lit by torches, and by many lamps with candles, set on tables between curule chairs.

As Lysias spoke he walked back and forth before the table, his cloak swirling behind him, his helmet, with its captain's crest of sleen hair, in the cook of his arm.

"And so," concluded Lysias, "I bring you all amnesty in the name of the Ubar of Port Kar, Henrius Sevarius!"

"Henrius Sevarius the Captain," said Samos, speaking from his curule chair, in the name of the council, "is most kind."

Lysias dropped his head.

"Henrius Sevarius, the Captain," said Samos, in measured words, "may, however, find that the council is less inclined to lenience that he."

Lysias lifted his head in alarm.

"His power is greater than any of yours!" he cried. And then he spun about to face the Ubars, each, with men about him, on his throne. "Greater even than any of yours!" cried Lysias.

I gazed upon the Ubars, squat, brilliant Chung; narrowfaced, cunning Eteocles; tall, long-haired, Nigel, like a warlord from Torvaldsland; and Sullius Maximus, who was said to write poetry and be a student of the properties of various poisons.

"How many ships has he?" asked Samos.

"One hundred and two!" said Lysias proudly.

"The captains of the council," said Samos, dryly, "have some one thousand ships pledged to their personal service. And further, the council is executor with respect to the disposition and application of the ships of the city, in the number of approzimately another thousand."

Lysias stood scowling before Samos, his helmet in the crook of his arm, his long cloak falling behind him.

"The council commands," summarized Samos, "some two thousand ships." "There are many other ships!" cried Lysias.

"Perhaps," asked Samos, "you refer to those of Chung, and Eteocles, and Nigel and Sullius Maximus?"

There was upleasant laughter in the council.

"No!" cried Lysias. "I refer to the ships of the minor captains, in the number of better than twenty-five hundred!"

"In the streets," said Samos, "I have heard the cry "Power to the council! " "Proclaim Henrius Sevarius sole Ubar," said Lysias numbly, "and your lives will be spared, and you will be granted amnesty."

"That is your proposal?" asked Samos.

"It is," said Lysaias.

"Now hear," said Samos, "the proposal of the council, that Henrius Sevarius and his regent, Claudius, lay down their arms, and divest themselves of all ships, and men and holdings, all properties and assets, and present themselves, stripped and in the chains of slaves, before the council, that its judgement may be passed on them."

Lysias, his body rigid with fury, his hand on the hilt of his sword, stood not speaking before Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar.

"Perhaps," said Samos, "their lives may be spared, that they may take their seat on the benches of the public round ships."

There was an angry cry of affirmation, and a shaking of fists, from those of the council.

Lysais, looked about himself. "I claim the immunity of the herald!" he cried. "It is yours," said Samos. Then he spoke to a page. "Conduct Lysias, Captain, to the holdings of Henrius Sevarius," said Samos.

"Yes, Noble Samos," said the boy.

Lysias, looking about himself, his cloak swirling, followed the boy from the room.

Samos rose before his curule chair. "Is it true," he asked, "that in the eyes of the council Henrius Sevarius is no longer Ubar or Captain in Port Kar?" "It is," cried the voices. "It is!"

And none, I think, cried louder than the other Ubars upon their thrones. When the tumult had subsided, Samos faced the four thrones of the Ubars. Uneasily they regarded him.

"Glorious Captains," said Samos.

"Ubars!" cried Sullius Maximus.

"Ubars," said Samos, bowing his head with a smile.

The four men, Chung, Eteocles, Nigel and Sullius Maximus, rested back on their thrones.

"Be it known to you, Ubars," said he, "that Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar, now proposes to the council that it take into its own hands the full and sold governance of the city of Port Kar, with full powers, whether of policy and decree, of enforcement, of taxation and law, or other, pertinent to the administration thereof."

"No!" cried the Ubars, leaping to their feet.

"It will be civil war!" cried Eteocles.

"Power to the council," said Samos, bowing his head.

"Power to the council!" cried the men in the tiers. Even the page boys and scribes, and minor captains, in the back of the room and about the sides, cried out these words. "Power to the council!"

I sat still in my curule chair, smiling.

"Further," said Samos, "I propose that the council decree that all bonds among clients and patrons in Port Kar be now dissolved, to be reestablished only on the basis of mutual consent and explicit contract on the part of the parties involved, which documents, in copy, are to be placed with the council." Sullius Maximus shook his fist at Samos. "You will not shear us of your power!" he cried.

"Further," said Samos, "let the council decree that any who fail to abide by the resolutions of the council, or act against it, at the council's convenience, subject to her pleasure."

There was much enthusiastic shouting from the tiers.

The Ubar Chung, throwing his cloak about his shoulders, followed by his men, left the chambers.

Then Nigel, with lofty disdain and measured tread, carrying his helmet, departed the chamber.

"I now ask the table scribe," said Samos, "to call the roll of Captains." "Antisthenes," called the scribe.

"Antisthenes accepts the proposals," said a man in the third row, some yards from me.

In fury, with a shout of rage, Eteocles, cloak swirling, his hand on the hilt of his sword, strode to the table. He took his sword from its sheath and plunged it through the scribe's papers, pinning them to the table.

"There is the power in Port Kar," he cried.

Slowly Samos drew his own weapon and placed it across his knees. "Here, too," he said, "is power."

And almost every one of the captains in that council drew their weapon, as had Samos, and placed it across their knees.

I, too, unsheathed my weapon, and rose to my feet, regarding Eteocles. He looked at me, and then, with a cry of anger, drew his blade from the papers and wood, slammed it back into its sheath, and turned and strode from the room. I returned to my seat.

I saw that now, quietly, and with little show of emotion, Sullius Maximus had risen to his feet. A man behind him helped him adjust his cloak, so that it fell from its golden clasp, as he wished. Another man behind him held his helmet. Sullius Maximus stopped before the table of the scribem and regarded the council.

"I shall write a poem," he said, "lamenting the downfall of Ubars." Then he smiled, and turned and left.

He, I told myself, would be the most dangerouls of the Ubars.

I resheathed my blade.

"Bejar," called the scribe.

"Bejar accepts the proposals of Samos," said a captain, a dark-skinned man with long, straight hair, who sat in the second row, some two chairs below me and to the right.

"Bosk," called the scribe.

"Bosk," I said, "abstains."

Samos, and many of the others, looked at me, quickly.

"Abstention," recorded the scribe.

I saw no reason, at the moment, to commit myself to the programs of Samos and the council. It seemed clear to me that his proposals would be accepted. Moreover, I regarded them as presumably in my best interest. But, by abstaining, my intentions and allegiances might perhaps remain usefully ambiguous. The abstention, it seemed to me, might well give me a wider eventual latitude of action. Besides, I told myself, it was still rather early to determine on which curule chairs the tarns of power might alight.

As I thought it would, the group of proposals set before the council by Samos passed overwhelmingly. There were some absentions, and some nays, perhaps from those who feared the power of one or another of the Ubars, but the decision on the whole was clear, a devastating of the claims of the Ubars and the, in effect, enthronement of the council of captains as the sovereign of the city. The council met late that night, and much business was conducted. Even before dawn walls were being reaised about the holdings of Henrius Sevarius, and his wharves were being blockaded with ships of the arsenal, while large watches were being maintained on the holdings of the other four Ubars. Several committees were formed, usually headed by scribes but reporting to the council, to undertake various studies pertaining to the city, particularly of a military and commercial nature. One of these studies was to be a census of ships and captains, the results of which were to be private to the council. Other studies, the results of which would be kept similarly private to the council, dealt with the city defenses, and her stores of wood, grain, salt, stone and tharlarion oil. Also considered, though nothing was determined that night, were matters of taxation, the unification and revision of the codes of the five Ubars, the establishment of council courts, replacing those of the Ubars, and the acquistion of a sizable number of men-at-arms, who would be directly responsible to the council itself, in effect, a small council police or army. Such a body of men, it might be noted, though restricted in numbers and limited in jurisdiction, already existed in the arsenal. The arsenal guard, presumably, would become a branch of the newly formed council guard, if such became a reality. It is true, of course, that the council already controlled a large number of ships and crews, but it must be remembered that these forces were naval in nature; the council already had its navy; the events of the afternoon had demonstrated that it would be well if it had also at its disposal a small, permanent, dependable, rapidly deployable infantry. One might not always be able to count on the rallying of the men of individual captains to protect the council, as had been the case this afternoon. Besides, if teh council were to become truly sovereign in Port Kar, as it had proclaimed itself, it seemed essential that it should soon have its own military forces within the city. One other incident of that council meeting I shall mention.

It was shortly past daybreak, and the gray light of Port Kar's dawn was filtering in through the high, narrow windows of the council of captains. I had taken the note which I had received the preceding afternoon from my wallet, that which had purported to be from Samos, which he had denied sending. Bemused, I had burned it in the tiny flame of the candle on the table near me, now little more than a twig of wick in a puddle of clear, melted wax, and then I had, with the plam of my hand, snuffed out the tiny flame. It was day.

"I suspect," Samos was saying, "that Cos and Tyros are implicated in the attempted coup of the House of Sevarius."

I myself would not have been surprised if this had been true.

His words received grunts of affirmation from the assembled captains. It seemed they, too, had their suspicions. Surely it did not seem likely that Sevarius would have moved if he had not been assured, at some point, of the support of the power of Cos and Tyros.

"Myself," Samos went on, "I am weary of war with Cos and Tyros." the captains looked at one another.

"Now that the council is sovereign in Port Kar," Samos said, his fist clenched on the arm of his curule chair, "might not peach be possible?"

This puzzled me.

I saw one or two of the captains reaise their heads from the arms of their curule chairs.

One captain, leaning back in his curule chair, said, "There has always been war between Port Kar, and Cos and Tyros."

I did not expect these remarks from Samos. I was curious to know his motivation, his plan.

"As you know," said Samos, speaking evenly, "Port Kar is not the most loved, nor the most greatly respected nor the highest honored among the cities of Gor." There was rough laughter at this.

"Have we not been misunderstood?" he asked.

There was an unpleasant undercurrent of amusement which greeted his question. I myself smiled. Port Kar, I told myself, was only too well understood bu the other cities of Gor.

"Consider our trade," said Samos. "Would it not be trebled if we were accounted, among Gorean cities, a city of love, of peace?"

There was a guffaw of laughter at this, and men pounded the arms of the curule chairs. There were none now in that room who were not awake. I saw even the pages and scribes laughed, poking one another.

When there was silence, it was suddenly, unexpectedly, broken by the voice of Bejar, the dark-skinned captain with the long, straight hair. He said simply, answering the question of Samos, "It would."

Then the room was very silent. And I think there were noe then in that room who did not hold his breath for that moment, to hear the words of Samos. "It is my proposal," said Samos, "that the council approach Cos and Tyros, offering terms of peace."

"No!" came the cry from the assembled captains. "No!"

When the tumult had subsided, Samos spoke, softly. "Of course," said Samos, "our terms will be rejected."

The captains looked at one another in puzzlement, and then they began to smile, and then several laughed.

I smiled to myself. Samos was indeed a shrewd man. The facade of magnanimity would indeed be a valuable posseession for a maritime Ubarate. Further, men might be willing to believe Port Kar now other than she had been, that the coming to power of the council would have reformed her. And what better gesture than this mission of peace to the hereditary enemies Cos and Tyros? If the burden of maintaining the conflict were clearly on them, it was possible that allies of theirs might be influenced to diminish or, perhaps, withdraw their support, or, perhaps pledge it even to Port Kar. And there were undeclared ports and cities to consider. Surely these might then be dissuaded from becoming allies of Cos and Tyros, and perhaps might be inclined to offer their services to Port Kar? At the very least, the ships of Port Kar might, in such a situation, become suddenly welcome in ports that had hitherto been closed to them. And who knew what trading ships might make their way to Port Kar, if they thought her a fair and honest city? The estimate of Samos, taht such a gesture on Port Kar's part might eventually result in a trebling of her trade, seemed to me possibly conservative.

"What if the offer of peace is accepted?" I asked Samos.

The captains looked at me, dumbfounded. Some laughed. But most looked then to Samos.

"I do not think it likely," said Samos, smiling.

Several of the captains then laughed.

"But," I asked, "if it is?"

Samos scowled, and then his clear gray eyes met mine, but without emotion. I could not read his heart. Then he smiled, and spread his hands. "Then," said he, "it is accepted."

"And," I asked, "Do we abide by their acceptance? Would there then be truly peace between Port Kar, and Cos and Tyros?"

"That," smiled Samos, "may always be taken under consideration at a future meeting of the council."

There was rough laughter at this.

"The time is opportune," said Samos, "to offer peace to Cos and Tyros. For one thing, the Council has newly come to power. For another, I have learned from spies that this very week the Ubar of Tyros visits Cos."

The captains muttered angrily. It did not bode well for Port Kar that the Ubar of Tyros should voyage to Cos. More than the Ubar of Tyros should voyage to Cos. More than ever it now seemed possible, or probable, that the two island Ubarates might well be conspiring against Port Kar. Why else should there be a meeting of the two Ubars? Generally, there was almost as little love lost between them as between them and the Ubars of Port Kar.

"Then," said one of the captains, "they must intend to bring their fleets against us."

"Perhaps," said Samos, "members of a mission of peace might learn such matters." There was a grunt of agreement from the captains.

"What of your spies," I asked, "who seem so well informed? Surely, if they can learn the itineraries of the Ubar of Tyros, it must be difficult to conceal from them a gathering of the fleets of two such powers as Cos and Tyros?" The hand of Samos went instinctively to the hilt of his weapon, but then he closed his hand and slowly placed the fist on the arm of his curule chair. "You speak quickly," he said, "for one who is new to the Council of Captains." "More quickly than you choose to answer, it seems, Noble Samos," said I. I wondered what the interess of Samos in Cos and Tyros might be.

Samos spoke slowly. I saw that he did not care to speak. "The fleets of Cos and Tyros," he said, "have not yet gathered."

If he had known this, I asked myself, why had he not spoken before? "Perhaps," I asked, "Samos will propose that we now withdraw our patrols from Thassa?"

Samos looked at me, and the look was as cold and hard as Gorean steel. "No," he said, "I would not propose that."

"Excellent," I said.

The captains looked at one another.

"Let there be peace in the council," said the scribe behind the great table, taht before the now-empty five thrones of the Ubars of Port Kar.

"I have less interest in piracy, I gather, than many of my collaegues," I said. "Since my interests are substantially in commerce I, for one, would welcome peace with Cos and Tyros. It seems not unlikely to me that these two powers may well be weary of war, as Samos informs us he is. If that is true, it seems they may well accept an honorable peace. Such a peace would, I note, open the ports of Tyros and Cos, and their allies and others, to my ships, and of course, to yours. Peace, my captains, might well prove profitable." I regarded Samos. "If an offer of peace is to be made to Cos and Tyros," I said, "it is my hope that it would be genuine."

Samos looked at me strangely. "It would be genuine," he said.

The captains murmured among themselves. I myself was taken aback.

"Bosk," said Samos to the group, "speaks well the advantages of peace. Let us consider his words with care, and favorably. I think there are few of us here who are not more fond of gold than blood."

There was some laughter at this.

"If peace was made," challenged Samos, "which of you would not keep it?" He looked from man to man. To my surprise none denied that he would keep the peace, were it made.

It then seemed to me, so simply, that there was for the first time the possibility of peace of Thassa, among her three major Ubarates.

Somehow, suddenly, I believed Samos.

I was astonished but it was my sensing of the group that, if peace were made, Port Kar would keep it.

There had been war for so long.

None laughed.

I sat numb in the great curule chair, that of a captain of Port Kar. I regarded Samos, wondering of him. He was a strange man, that larl of a man. I could not read him.

"Of course," said Samos, "the offer of peace will be rejected."

The captains looked at one another, and grinned. I realized I was again in Port Kar.

"We will need one to carry the offer of peace to Cos, where he may now find joint audience with the Ubars of both Cos and Tyros," said Samos.

I was scarcely listening now.

"It should be one," Samos was saying, "who has the rank of captain, and who is a member of the council inself, that the authenticity of the offer shall thus be made manifest."

I found myself in agreement with this.

"Further," said Samos, "it should be one who has proved that he can take action, and who has in the past well served the council."

I scratched with my fingernail in the wax, breaking up the bits of charred paper that had bee the note I had burned in the candle flame. The wax was now yellow and hard. It was something past daybreak now, and I was tired. They gray light now filled the room.

"And," Samos was saying, "it must be one who is not afraid to speak, one who is worthy representative of the council."

I wondered if Samos himself might be tired. It seemed to me he was saying very little now.

"And," Samos went on, "it should preferably be one who is not well known to Cos and Tyros, one who has not angered them, nor proven himself to them as blood enemy upon gleaming Thassa."

Suddenly I seemed awake, quite, and apprehensive. And then I smiled. Samos was no fool. He was senior captain of the Council of Captains. He had marked me, and would be done with me.

"Aand such a one," said Samos, "is Bosk — he who came from the marshes. Let it be he who carries peace on behalf of the council to Cos and Tyros. Let it be Bosk!"

There was silence.

I was pleased at the silence. I had not realized until then that I was valued in the council of captains.

Antisthenes spoke, who had been first on the roll of captains. "I do not think it should be a captain," he said. "To send a captain is equivalent to sentencing him to the bench of a slave on the round ships of Cos or Tyros."

There was some muttered assent to this.

"Further," said Antisthenes, "I would recommend that we do not even send one who wears the twin ropes of Port Kar. There are merchants of other cites, voyagers and captains, known to us, who will, for their fees, gladly conduct this business."

"Let it be so," said various voices throughout the chamber of the council. Then all looked at me.

I smiled. "I am, of course, highly honored," I began, "that Noble Samos should think me, that he should nominate me, doubtless the lowliest of the captains here assembled, for a post of such distinction, that of bearing the peace of Port Kar to her hereditary enemies Cos and Tyros."

The captains looked at one another, grinning.

"Then you decline?" asked Samos.

"It only seems to me," said I, "that so signal an honor, and a role so weighty, ought to be reserved for one more august than I, indeed, for he who is most prominent among us, one who could truly negotiate on equal footing with the Ubars of powers so mighty as those of Cos and Tyros."

"Do you have a nomination?" asked the scribe at the center table.

"Samos," I said.

There was laughter among the chairs.

"I am grateful for your nomination," said Samos, "but I scarcely think, in these troubled times, it behooves he who is senior captain of the council to leave the city, voyaging abroad in search of peace when war itself looms at home." "He is right," said Bejar.

"Then you decline?" I asked Samos.

"Yes," said Samos, "I decline."

"Let us not send a captain," said Antisthenes. "Let us send one who is from Ar or Thentis, who can speak for us."

"Antisthenes is wise," I said, "and understands the risks involved, but many of the words Samos has addresssed to us seem to me sound and true, and chief among them his aassertion that it should be a captain who conducts this mission, for how else could we so easily prove the seriousness of our intentions, if not to Cos and Tyros, then to their allies and to undeclared port and cites on the islands and coasts of gleaming Thassa, and to those communites inland as well, with whom we might well improve our trade?"

"But," said Bejar, "who among us will go?"

There was laughter in the council.

When it was silent, I said, "I, Bosk, might go."

The captains regared one another.

"Did you not decline?" asked Samos.

"No," I smiled, "I only suggested that one more worthy than myself undertake so weighty a task."

"Do not go," said Antisthenes.

"What is your price?" asked Samos.

"A galley," I said, "a ram-ship, heavy class."

I had no such ship.

"It will be yours," said Samos.

"— if you can return to claim it," muttered a captain, darkly.

"Do not go," said Antisthenes.

"He will have, of course," said Samos, "the immunity of the herald." The captains said nothing.

I smiled.

"Do not go, Bosk, Captain," said Antisthenes.

I already had a plan. Had I not had one, I should not have volunteered. The possibility of peace on Thassa was an attractive one to me, a merchant. If Cos and Tyros could be convinced to make peace, and it could be held, my fortunes would considerably increase. Cos and Tyros themselves are important markets, not to mention their allies, and the ports and cities either affiliated with Cos and Tyros, or favorable to them. Further, even if my mission failed, I would be richer by a galley, and that a ram-ship of heavy class, the most redoubtalbe naval weapon on gleaming Thassa. There were risks, of course, but I had taken them into account. I would not go as a fool to Cos and Tyros.

"And," I said, "as escort, I will require five ram-ships from the arsenal, of medium or heavy class, to be captained and crewed by men selected by myself." "Whic ships," asked Samos, "are returned to the arsenal upon the completion of your mission?"

"Of course," I said.

"You shall have them," said Samos.

We looked at one another. I asked myself if Samos throught he was so easily rid of me, one who might challenge him, senior captain, in the council of captains of Port Kar. Yes, I said to myself, he thinks he is so easily rid of me. I smiled to myself. I myself did not believe he was.

"Do not go, Bosk, Captain," pleaded Antisthenes.

I rose to my feet. "Antisthenes, Captain, " I said, "I am grateful for your concern." I shook my head, and stretched. And then I turned to the captains of the tiers. "You may continue your business now without me," I said. "I am going to return to my holding. The night has been long, and I have lost much sleep." I gathered up my cloak, and my helmet, it was the captain's crest of sleen hair, and left the chamber.

Outside I was joined by Thurnock and Clitus, and many of my men.