Raiders of Gor

18 How Bosk Returned to His Home

When we struck the icy, wind-driven decks of the Dorna MY men rose at their benches and, cheering, waved their caps.

"Take this prisoner," I told an officer, "and chain him below decks. The council will decide what is to be done with him."

There was another cheer.

Chenbar stood facing me for an instant, his fists clenched, fury in his eyes, and then he was rudely turned about and, by two seamen, forced below decks. "I expect," said the oar-master, "that in the rag of a slave he will eventually find his place at the bench of an arsenal round ship."

"Admiral!" cried the voice from the masthead. "The fleet of Cos and Tyros is putting aboutf They fly!"

I shook with emotion. I could not speak. The men were cheering about me. Then I said, "Recall our ships."

Men ran to signal ships among the reserves, that they might draw toward our engaged fleet, recalling it.

The Doma now heaved and pitched like a snared sleen. She, like most tarn ships, was a narrow vessel, long and of shallow draft. I looked to the round ships. Even they leaped in the water. I did not think the Dorna would long live in such a sea unless she might run before it.

"Lift the anchors," I said. "Set the storm sail!"

Men hastened to do what I had told them, and, as they did so, I sent signals to reserve ships, to be conveyed to the balance of the fleet, that they might save themselves while they could. There could be no question of following up what had appeared to be the victory over the fleets of Cos and Tyros.

I stood on the icy, wind-struck deck of the Doma, my back turned to the storm. My admirals cloak, brought with my returning men from the round ship, was given to me and I wrapped it about my shoulders. A vessel of hot Paga was brought, too.

"The victory draught," said the oar-master.

I grinned. I did not feel victorious. I was cold. I was alive. I swallowed the hot paga.

The yard had been lowered and the small, triangular storm sail was attached to it. The anchors were raised and the yard, on its ropes and pulleys, began to climb toward the masthead. Meanwhile, the starboard oars, under the call of the oar-master began swinging the vessel about, to bring her stern into the wind. The wind struck the side of the hull and the ship heeled to leeward. The deck was suddenly washed with cold waves, and then the waters had slipped back. The two helmsmen strained with their side rudders, bringing the ship about. Then the wind was at the stern and the oar-master began his count, easing the ship ahead until the storm sail was caught by the blasts. When it was it was like a fist striking the sail and the mast screamed, and the bow, for a terrible moment dipped in the water and then, dripping the cold waters, the bow leaped up and tilted to the sky.

"Stroke!" called the oar-master, his cry almost lost in the sleet and wind "Stroke! Stroke!"

The beating of the copper drum of the keleustes took UP maximum beat. The tiny storm sail, swollen with the black wind and sleet, tore at the yard and the brail ropes. The Dorna knifed ahead, leaping between the waves that rose towering on either side.

She would live.

I did not know if the victory we had won, for victory it surely seemed to be, was decisive or not, but I well knew that the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, for that was the day on which this battle had been fought, would not be soon forgotten in Port Kar, that city once called squalid and malignant, but which had now found a Home Stone, that city once called the scourge of gleaming Thassa, but which might now be better spoken of, as she had been by some of her citizens aforetimes, as her jewel, the jewel of gleaming Thassa. I wondered how many men would claim to have fought on the twenty-fiftb of Se'Kara, abroad on Thassa. I smiled. This day would doubtless be made holiday in Port Kar. And those who had fought here would be, in years to come, as comrades and brothers. I am English. And I recalled another vic- tory, in another time, on a distant world. I supposed that in time to come men might, on this holiday, show their wounds to slaves and wondering children, saying to them, "These I had in SeKara." Would this battle be sung as had that one? Not in England, I knew. But on Gor, it would. And yet songs 'I told myself, are lies. And those that had died this day did not sing. And yet, I asked myself, had they lived, would they not have sung? And I told myself, I thought yes. And so, then, I asked Myself, might we not then sing for them, and for ourselves as well, and could there not be, in some way that was hard to understand, but good, truth in songs?

I went to the tarn that I had ridden back to the Dorna. I took off my Admiral's cloak and threw it over the shivering bird.

Standing near it was the slave boy Fish.

I looked intc, his eyes, and I saw, to my surprise, that he understood what I must do.

"I am coming with you," he said.

I knew that the ships of Eteocles and Suilius Maximus had not been added to bur fleet. I also knew that the blockade about the last major holding of Sevarius had been lifted, that its ships, arsenal ships, might participate in the day's battle. There had been, I knew, exchanges of information between Claudius, regent for Renrius Sevarius, and Cos and Tyros. I was not disposed to think that there had not been similar communications between COS and Tyros and Eteocles and Sullius Maximus. Doubtless there would be coordinated actions. The hall of the council itself might now be in flames. The two Ubars, and Claudius, regent for Renrius Sevarius, I supposed, might already have claimed power, as a triumvirate, in Port Kar. Their power, of course, would not last long. Port Kar had not lost the battle. When the storm abated, whether in hours or in one or two days, the fleet would put about and return to Port Kar. But in the meantime I knew that the two Ubars and Claudius, confident but ignorant of the outcome of the battle, would be attempting to rid the city of those who stood against them.

I wondered if my holding still stood.

I had meat brought for the tarn, great chunks of tarsk, thighs and shoulders, which I had thrown before it, on the cold deck. It tore at them greedily. I had had the bones removed from the meat. If it had been bosk I would not, but the bones of the tarsk are thinner and splinter easily. Then I had water brought for the tarn, in a leather bucket, the ice broken through that coated the water like a lid. It drank.

"I am coming with you," said the boy.

In the belt of his tunic he had thrust the sword that I had had the officer give him before the battle.

I shook my head. "You are only a boy," I told him. "No," he said, "I am a man." I smiled at him.

"Why would you come to my holding?" I asked.

"It is to be done," he said.

"Does the girl Vina mean so much to you?" I asked.

He looked at me, and, flustered, looked down at the deck. He kicked at the deck. "She is a mere slave," he said.

"Of course," I said.

"And," said he, defiantly, "a man does not concern himself for a mere female slave."

"of course not," I admitted.

"Even if it were not for her," he said, looking up, angrily, "I would accompany you."

"Why?" I asked.

"You are my captain," he said, puzzled. "Remain here," I told him, gently. He drew the sword I had had given him.

"Test me!" he demanded.

"put away", I said, "the tools of men."

"Defend yourself!" be cried.

My blade leaped from its sheath and I parried his blow. He had come to me much more swiftly than I had expected.

Men gathered about. "It is sport," said one of them.

I moved the blade toward the boy and he parried it. I was impressed, for I had intended to touch him that time.

Then, moving about, on the pitching deck, in the sleet, we matched blades. After an Ehn or two I replaced my blade in its sheath. "At four times," I said, "I could have killed you."

He dropped his blade, and looked at me agonized.

"But," I said, "You have learned your lessons well. I have fought with warriors who were less swift than you."

He grinned. Some of the seamen pounded their left shoulders with their right fists.

The boy, Fish, was a favorite with them. How else, I asked myself, had he been able to take an oat on the long. boat in the canals when I had gone to the hall of the Council of Captains, or been able to board the Dorna, or taken his place in the longboat that had ferried me to the round ship? I, too, was not unfond of the boy. I saw in him, in this boy, wearing a collar, branded, clad in the garment of a kitchen slave, as most others would not, a young Ubar. "You may not come with me," I told him. "You are too young to die." "At what age," asked he, "is a man ready for death?"

"To go where I am to go," I told him, "and do what I must do, is the action of a fool."

He grinned. I saw a tear in his eye.

"Yes," said he, "Captain."

"It is the action of a fool!" I told him.

"Each man," said the boy, "has the right, does he not, to perform, if he wishes, the act of a fool?"

"Yes," I said, "each man may, if he wishes, choose such acts."

"Then," said he, "Captain, the bird having rested, let us be on our way." "Bring a woolen cloak for a young fool," I told a seaman. "And, too, bring a belt and scabbard."

"Yes, Captain," cried the man.

"Do you think you can cling," asked I, "to a knotted rope for hours." "Of course, Captain," said he.

In a few moments the tarn spread his wings before the black wind and, caught in the blast, was hurled before the Dorna, and began, in dizzying circles, to climb in the wind and slee't. The boy, his feet braced on a knot in the swaying rope, his hands clenched on its fibers, swung below me. Far below I saw the Dorna, lifting and failing in the troughs of the waves, and, separated from her, tlae ships of the fleet, round ships and tarn ships, storm sails set, oars dipping, flying before the storm.

I did not see any of the ships of Cos or Tyros.

Terence of Treve, mercenary captain of the tamsmen, had refused to return to Port Kar before the return of the fleet. The environs of Port Kar might now be filled with tarnsmen, other mercenaries, but in the hire of the re- bellious Ubars, and Claudius, regent of Henrius Sevarius. "We men of Treve are brave," had said be, "but we are not mad."

The bird was buffeted by the storm, but it was a strong bird. I did not know the width of the storm, but I hoped its front- would be only a few pasangs. The bird could not fly a direct line to Port Kar, because of the wind, and we managed an oblique path, cutting away from the fleet. From time to time the bird, tiring, its wings wet, cold, coated with sleet, would drop sickeningly downward, but then again it would beat its way on the level, half driven by the wind, half flying.

The boy, Fish, cold, numb, wet, his hair and clothing iced with sleet, clung to the rope dangling beneath the bird.

Once the bird fell so low that the boy's feet and the bottom of the rope on which he stood splashed a path in the — churning waters, and then the bird, responding to my fierce pressures on the one-strap, beat its way up again and again flew, but then only yards over the black, rear- ing waves, the roaring sea.

And then the sleet became only pelting rain, and the rain became only a cruel wind, and then the cruelty of the wind yielded to only the cold rushing air at the fringe of the'storm's garment.

And Thassa beneath us was suddenly streaked with the cold sunlight of Se'Kara, and the bird was across and through the storm. In the, distance we could see rocky beaches, and grass and brushland beyond, and beyond that, a woodland, with Tur and Ka-la-na trees.

We took the shuddering bird down among the trees. Fish leaped free as I let the bird hover, then alight. I unsaddled it and let it shake the water from its wings and body. Then I threw over it the admiral's cloak. The boy and I built a fire, over which we might dry our clothes and by which we might warm ourselves. "We will return to Port Kar after the fall of darkness," I told him. "Of course," he said.

The boy, Fish, and I now stood in the dimly lit great hall of my house, where, the night before, had been celebrated the feast of my victory.

The only light in the huge high-roofed hall was furnished by a single brazier, whose coals, through the iron basket, now glowed redly.

Our footsteps sounded hollow on the tiles of the hall. We had left the tam outside on the promenade fronting on the lakelike courtyard.

We had encountered no tamsmen over the city.

The city itself was much darkened.

We had flown over the city, seeing below us the dark- ened buildings, the reflection of the three moons of Gor Bickering in the dark canals.

Then we had come to my holding and now we stood, together, side by side, in the apparently deserted, almost darkened great hall of my holding.

Our blades were unsheathed, those of an admiral of the fleet and a slave boy. We looked about ourselves.

We had encountered no one in the passageways, or the rooms into which we had come, making our way to.the great hall.

We heard a muffled noise, coming from a comer of the almost darkened hall. There, kneeling on the tiles, back to back, their wrists bound behind their backs to a slave ring, were two girls. We saw their eyes, wild, over their gags. They shook their heads.

They wore the miserable garments of kitchen slaves.

They were the girl Vina, and Telima.

Fish would have rushed forward, but my hand restrained him.

Not speaking, I motioned that he should take his place at the side of the entryway to the great hall, where he might not be seen.

I strode irritably to the two girls. I did not release them. They had permitted themselves to be taken, to be used as bait. Vina was very young, but Telirna should have known better, and yet she, too, the proud Telima, knelt helplessly at the ring, her wrists bound behind her back, securely and expertly gagged, a young and beautiful woman, yet fastened as helplessly to a slave ring as a young girl.

I gave her head a shake. "Stupid wench," I said.

She was trying to tell me that there were men about, to attack me.

"The mouths of rence girls," I said, "are said to be as large as the delta itself."

She could make only tiny, protesting, futile noises.

I examined the gag. Heavy leather strips were bound tightly across her mouth, doubtless holding a heavy packing within, probably rep-cloth. Such a gag would not be pleasant to wear. It had been well done.

"At last," I commented, "someone has discovered a way to keep rence girls quiet."

There were tears in Telima's eyes. She squirmed in futility,'in fear, in fury. I patted her on the head condescendingly.

She looked at me in rage and exasperation.

I turned away from the girls, but stood before them.

I spoke loudly. "Now," I said, "let us release these, wenches."

In that instant I heard, from down the passageway, a sharp whistle, and the sound of running feet, those of several men. I saw torches being carried. "At him!" cried Lysias, helmeted, the helmet bearing the crest of steen hair, marking it as that of a captain. Lysias himself, however, did not engage me. Several men rushed forward, some of them with torches.

Perhaps forty men rushed into the room.

I met them, moving swiftly, constantl shifting my position, drawing them after me, then pressing one or another of them back. I kept, as well as I could, near the girls, that the backs of the men would be, in turn, kept toward the entryway.

I could see, as they did not, a shadow moving — swiftly behind them, it, too, rapidly shifting its position, moving about amidst the frantic shadows of men, torches and confusions, but always staying in the background, like an absence of substance but one which carried a blade of steel. Then the shadow had donned a helmet, and it was almost indistinguishable from the others. Those who fell before that shadow did so unnoticed, and without great cries, for the blade had crossed their throats as unexpectedly as a whisper in the darkness. I myself dropped nine warriors.

Then we heard more shouting, and saw more torches.

Now the room was high with light and even the beams of the hall stood forth, heavy in their ceiling.

Now, discovered, Fish fought by my side, that we might, together, protect one another.

"Now, Slave," said I to Fish, "you should have stayed with the fleet." "Be silent," said he, adding, "a€”Master."

I laughed.

I saw the boy, with a lightning thrust, Hash four inches steel through a body, returning to the on-guard position before the man realized he had been struck. In fighting as we were, one did not use a deep thrust, that the blade might be more swiftly freed.

"You have learned your lessons well," said I, "Slave."

"Thank you, Master," said he.

He dropped another man.

I dropped two others, to my right.

I heard more men coming down the passageway.

Then, from one side, the door to the kitchens, a number of other men came forth, carrying torches and steel.

We are lost, I thought. Lost.

To my fury I saw that these men were led by Samos of Port Kar.

"So," I cried, "as I thought, you are in league with the enemies of Port Kar!" But to my astonishment he engaged and dropped one of our attackers. I saw that some of the men with him were my own, who had been left behind in the holding, to guard it. Others I did not know.

"Withdraw!" cried Lysias, wildly in the fighting.

His men backed away, fighting, and we, and those others who had come to help us, pressed them back even as they retreated through the great door to the high-roofed hall.

At the entryway we stopped and threw shut the doors, dropping the beams into place.

Samos and I, together, dropped the last beam into the heavy iron brackets. He was sweating and the sleeve of his tunic was torn. There was a splash of blood across his face, staining the left side of his face, his short, white, cropped hair and the golden ring in his ear.

"The fleet?" he asked.

"Victory is ours," I told him.

"Good," he said. He sheathed his sword. "We are defending the keep near the delta wall," he said. "Follow me."

Near the bound girls he stopped.

"So here you are," said Samos. He turned to face me. "They snuck away to find you."

"They were successful," I said.

I slashed the binding fiber which, tying their wrists together, had passed through the slave ring, fastening them to it. They struggled to their feet. Their wrists, though no longer tethered to the slave ring, were still fastened behind their backs. They were still gagged. Vina ran to Fish, tears in her eyes, and thrust her head against his left shoulder. He took her in his arms. Telima approached me timidly, head down, and then, looking up, smiling with her eyes, put her head against my right shoulder. I held her to me.

"So," Fish was saying to Vina, "you snuck away from the keep."

She looked at him, startled.

He took her by the shoulders, turned her about and started her stumbling down the kitchen passageway. Then, with a swift motion, he leaped behind her and, with the flat of his blade, dealt her a sharp, stinging blow. She sped down the passageway.

"You, too," I said to Telima, "apparently left the keep unbidden."

She backed warily away from me.

"Have you something to say to me, Rence Girl?" I asked.

"Umm-ummph," protested Telima, shaking her head. I took a step toward her. She shook her head. She had a don't-you-dare-you- beast-you look in her eyes. I took another step toward her.

Telima, dignity to the winds, turned and fled down the passageway, but, before she had managed to make ten yards, she had been stung twice, and roundly, by the flat of my blade.

Twenty yards beyond, running, she stopped, and turned to look upon me. She drew herself up in her full, angry dignity.

I took another step toward her and, wildly, she wheeled and, barefoot, fled stumbling down the passageway.

The dignity of the proud Telima, I gathered, could not endure another such blow. I laughed.

"One must know how to treat women," said the boy, Fish, gravely.

"Yes," I said, gravely.

"One must teach them who is master," said the boy.

"Quite," I agreed.

The men about us laughed and, as comrades in arms, we made our way through the passageway, and then the kit- chens, and the hads to the keep.

The next afternoon Samos and I stood together behind the parapet of the keep. Over our heads, high, between beams, was strung tam wire. Heavy wooden mantelets, mounted on posts, were nearby, under which we might protect ourselves from crossbow fire from tarnsmen.

My large yellow bow of Ka-a-na, tipped with bosk hom and strung with hemp, whipped with silk, was at hand, It had helped to keep besiegers at their distance. There were few arrows left.

Our men were below. We were weary. We had caught what steep we could. Now, only Samos and I stood watch.

Before my return to the holding, Samos, with his men and mine, had withstood eleven assaults on the keep, both by tamsmen and besieging infantry. Since I had returned yesterday evening, we had withstood another four. we now had left only thirty-five men, eighteen who had accompanied Samos to my holding, and seventeen of my own.

"Why have you come to defend my keep, and my holding?" I asked Samos. "Do you not know?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"It does not matter," he said, "now."

"Had it not been for you and your men," I said, "my holding would long ago have fallen."

Samos shrugged.

We looked out over the parapet. The keep is near the delta wall of the holding. We could, from the ramparts, look out over the marsh, stretching far beyond, that vast beautiful delta of the great Vosk, through which I had come, so long ago.

Our men, exhausted, lay below, within the keep. The Ehn of sleep they could obtain were precious to them They, like Samos and myself, were almost overcome with weariness. The waiting, and then the fighting, and the waiting again, had been so long, so long.

Also below were four girls, Vina and Telima, and Lums, the chief accountant of my house, who had not iled, and the dancer, Sandra, who had been afraid to leave the holding. Most others, whether men or women, slave or free, had fled. Even Thumock and Thura, and Clitus and Ula, whom I had expected to stay, had fled. I did not reproach them, even in my heart. They were wise. It was madness to stay behind. In the end, I told myself, it was I, and not they, who was truly the fool. And yet I would not have chosen, at this time, to be any place other than where I stood, on height of my keep, in the holding I had made mine own in Port Kar.

And so Samos, and I, kept watch.

I looked at him. I did not understand the slaver. Why had he come to defend my holding? Was he so irrational so mad, so contemptuous Of the value of his life? He did not belong here.

This holding was mine, mine!

"You are weary," said Samos. "Go below. I will watch." I nodded. There was no longer any point, nor time, to distrust Samos. His sword had been much stained in my behalf. I-Es own life, like mine, had stood stake on the parapet of my keep. If he served the Ubars, or Claudius, regent of Henrius Sevarius, or the Ubarates of Cos and Tyros, or the Others, or Priest-Kings, or himself, I no longer cared. I no longer cared about anything. I had wme back. I was very tired.

I descended through the trap and climbed down the ladder to the first level beneath the keep's roof. There was food and water there, enough for another week of fight- ing. But I did not think we would need that much. Before nightfall doubtless more assaults would take place, and in the first, or the second, or in another, we would surely fall.

I looked about the room. The men were sleeping. It was and littered. They were unshaven. Several of them, men of Samos, were unknown to me, but others, mine, I had cared for. Some were even slaves, who bad fought with poles and hammers. Others were men who had been slaves, whom I had freed and trained with weapons. Others were seamen, and two others were mercenaries, who had refused to leave my service. I saw the boy Fisk sleeping, Vina in his arms. He had done well, I thought.

"Master," I heard.

In one comer of the room I saw Sandra, the dancer. To my surprise, she had arrayed herself in pleasure silu and cosmetics. She was truly beautiful. I went to her side. She was kneeling before a bronze mirror, touching an eyebrow with a brush.

She looked up at me, frightened. "When they come," she asked, "they will not kill Sandra, will they?"

"I do not think so," I said. "I think they will Bad her beautiful, and permit her to live."

She shook with relief, and returned to her mirror, anxiously studying her countenance.

I lifted her gently to her feet and looked into her eyes.

"Please do not disturb my cosmetics," she begged.

I smiled. "No," I said, "I will not. They will find you very beautiful." I kissed her on the side of the neck, beneath the ear, and descended to another level.

She looked after me.

On this level, sitting against a wall, her knees drawn up, I found Luma. I went to her, and stood before her.

She stood up, and touched my check with her bancl There were tears in her eyes. "I would free you," I said, "but I think they might kill free women, if they found theml" I touched her collar.

"With this," I said, "I think you might be permitted to live."

She wept and put her head to my shoulders. I held her in my arms.

"My brave Luma," I said. "My fine, brave Luma."

I kissed her and, pressing her gently from me, descended another level. There Telima had been caring for two men who had been wounded.

I went to one wall and, on a cloak that was lying there, sat down, my head in my hands.

The girl came to be beside me, where, in the fashion of the Gorean woman, she knelt, back on her heels "I expect," she said, after a time, "the fleet will return in a few hours, and we shall be saved."

Surely she knew the fleet, as well as I, had been driven pasangs south, and would not be able to reach the harbor of Port Kar for another two or three days, at the least.

"Yes," I said, "in a few hours the fleet will return and we shall be saved." She put her hand on my head, and then her face was against mine.

"Do not weep," I told her.

I held her against me.

"I have hurt you so," she said.

"No," I said, "no."

"It is all so strange," she said.

"What is so strange?" I asked.

"That Samos should be here," said she.

"But why?" I asked.

She looked at me. "Because," said she, "years ago, he was my master." I was startled.

"I was taken slave at the age of seven in a raid," she said, "and Samos, at a market, bought me. For years he treated me with great concern and care. I was treated well, and taught things that slaves are seldom taught. I can read, you know."

I recalled once, long ago, being puzzled that she, though a mere rence girl, had been literate.

"And I was taught many other things, too," said she, "when I could read, even to the second knowledge."

That was reserved, generally, for the high castes on Gor.

"I was raised in that house," she said, "with love, though I was only slave, and Samos was to me almost as a father might have been. I was permitted to speak to, and learn from, scribes and singers, and merchants and travelers. I had friends among other girls in the house, who were also much free, though not as free as I. We had the freedom of the city, though guards would accompany us to protect us."

"And then what happened?" I asked.

Her voice grew hard. "I had been told that on my seventeenth birthday a great change would occur in my life." She srnfled. "I expected to be freed, and to be adopted as the daughter of Samos."

"What happened?" I asked.

"At dawn that morning," she said, "the Slave Master came for me. I was taken below to the pens. There, like a new girl taken from the rence islands, I was stripped. An iron was heated. I was marked. My head was placed across an anvil and, about my throat, was hammered a simple plate collar. Then my wrists were tied widely apart to wrist rings mounted in a stone wall, and I was whipped. After this, when'l had been cut down, weeping, the Slave Master, and his men, much used me. After this I was fitted with slave chains and locked in a pen, with other girls. These other girls, some of them rence girls themselves, would often beat me, for they knew what freedom I had had in the house, and they knew, as was true, that I had regarded myself as far superior to such as they, only common girls, simple merchandise. I thought there was some great mistake. For days, though the other girls would beat me for it, I begged the Slave Master, the guards, to be taken before Samos. At last, kneeling, in a simple plate collar, beaten and shackled, stripped, I was thrown before him."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He said," said she, "take this slave away."

I looked down, but held her.

"I was taught the duties of the slave girl in that house," she said, "and I learned them well. The girls among whom I had been first would no longer even condescend to speak to me. Guards who had formerly protected me would now, as they chose, take me in their arms, and I must well serve them or be beaten." "Did Samos himself use you?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"The most miserable of tasks were often given to me," continued the girl. "Often I was not permitted clothing. Often I was beaten, and cruelly used. At night I was not even chained, but locked in a tiny slave cage, in which I could scarcely move." She looked at me, angrily. "In me," said she, "a great hatred grew, of Port Kar and of Samos and of men, and of slaves, of whom I was one. I lived only for my hate and the dream that I might one day escape, and take vengeance on men."

"You did escape," I said.

"Yes," she said, "in cleaning the quarters of the slave master I found the key to my collar."

"You were then no longer wearing a plate collar," I said.

"Almost from the beginning, after my seventeenth birthday," said Telima, "I was trained as a pleasure slave. One year after my enslavement I was certified to the house by the slave mistress as having become accomplished in such duties. At that time the plate collar was opened by one of the metal workers and replaced with a seven-pin lock collar."

The common female slave collar on Gor has a seven-pin lock. There are, incidentally, seven letters in the most common Gorean expression for female slave, Kajira.

"It seems careless," I said, "that the slave master should leave, where a slave might find it, the key to her collar."

She shrugged.

"And, too," she said, "nearby there was a golden armlet." She looked at me. "I took it," she said. "I thought I might need gold, if only to bargain my way past guards." She looked down. "But," she said, "I had little difficulty in leaving the house. I told them I was on an errand, and they permitted me to leave. I had, of course, run errands in the city before. Outside the house I removed the collar, that I might move more freely, being unquestioned, in the city. I found some beams and rope, and a pole, bound together a simple raft and through one of the delta canals, which were not then barred, made my escape. As a child I had been of the marshes, and so I did not fear to return to them. I was found by the men of Ho-Hak and accepted into their community. He permitted me, even, to retain the golden armlet."

I looked at the opposite wall. "Do you still hate Samos so?" I asked. "I had thought I would," she said. "But now that he is here, and helping us, I do not hate him. It is all very strange."

I was tired, and I felt I must sleep. I was pleased that Telima had told me these parts of her story, which I had not heard before. I sensed that there was more here than I could clearly understand at the moment, and more than she understood, as well. But I was very tired.

"You know," I said, "the keep will be overrun and most of us, the men, at least, will be slain?"

"The fleet will come," she said.

"Yes," I said. "But if it does not." "It will," she said.

"Where is the collar I took from your throat on the night of the victory feast?" I asked.

She looked at me, puzzled. "I brought it to the keep," she said. She smiled. "I did not know whether you wished me slave or free."

"The men will come with weapons," I said. "Where is the collar?"

She looked at me. "Must I wear it?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. I did not want her slain, if possible, when the men came. If they thought her a free woman, and mine, she might be swiftly killed, or tortured and impaled.

She found the collar.

"Put it on," I told her.

"Is there so little hope?" she asked.

"Put it on," I said to her. "Put it on."

"No," she said. "If you die, I am willing to die beside you, as your woman." Port Kar does not recognize the Free Companionship, but there are free women in the city, who are known simply as the women of their men.

"Are you my woman?" — I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Then," I said, "obey me."

She smiled. "If I must be collared," she said, "let it be at the hand of my Ubar."

I placed the collar on her throat, and kissed her. In her tunic I saw, concealed, a small dagger.

"Would you fight with this?" I asked, taking it from her.

"I do not wish to live without you!" she cried.

I threw the dagger to one side. She wept in my arms. "No," I said, "life is what is important. It is life that is important. Life."

Collared, she wept in my arms.

Weary, I fell asleep.

"They're coming!" I heard cry.

I shook my head, and leaped to my feet.

"My Ubar!" cried Telima. "This I brought to the keep."

To my astonishment she handed me the sword that I had brought originally to Port Kar.

I looked at it.

I put aside the admiral's sword.

"Thank you," I said.

Our lips brushed as I thrust her aside, and ran to the ladder. I slipped the blade into the sheath and began to climb the rungs. I could hear shouts and the feet of men above me.

I climbed the ladder. At my side I now wore the sword that I had brought originally to Port Kar, that which I had carried so many years before, even at the siege of Ar, and in Thama, and in the Nest of Priest-Kings and on the plains of the Wagon Peoples, and in the streets of great Ar itself, when I had seemed to serve Cemus, Master of the House of Cemus, greatest of the slave houses of Ar. It did not have the jeweled hilt or the figured blade of my admiral's sword, but I found it sufficient. Telima had found it among my belongings, and had brought it to the keep, that it might'be waiting for me there. Strangely she had apparent- ly not expected me to do anything other than return to my holding. As I climbed the ladder I was glad that the old blade, the familiar steel, with its memories of another life and time, when I had been Tart Cabot, was at my side. If one must die, how could one better die than with such a blade in hand? We fought on the height of the keep.

The last four arrows of the great yellow bow were fired, and four who threatened us fell from the delta wall beyond the keep, from which they were attempting to cover the climb of the besiegers.

Standing even on the mantelets under the tarn wire, with spears and swords, we thrust at the tarnsmen drop- ping to the wire, leaving go of the ropes to which they had clung.

We heard grappling irons with knotted ropes fly over the parapet, scrape across the stones, and wedge in the crenels. We heard the striking against the walls of the keep of siege poles, like ladders with a single upright, rungs tied transversely on the single axis. We heard the trumpets of the attack, the running feet, the climbing, the clashing of weapons, the shouting of men. Then helmeted heads, eyes wild in the "Y"-like openings of the helmets, appeared at the crenels, and gauntleted hands and booted feet appeared, and men were swarming at the walls.

I leaped down from the mantelet on which I had stood and flung myself to the wall.

I heard the ringing of the steel of Samos, the cries of the men behind me. I caught sight of the boy, Fish, running past, a spear held over his head in both hands, and heard a horrible cry, long and wailing, ending with the abrupt striking of a body far below on the stones.

"Keep more from coming!" I cried to my men.

They rushed to the walls.

Within the parapets we fought those who had scaled the walls.

I saw one invader climbing down the ladder to the lower levels.

Then he cried out and slipped to the level beneath, his hands off the rungs. I saw Telima's head in the opening. In her teeth was the dagger I had seen. In her right hand, bloody, was the admiral's sword I had discarded.

"Go back!" I cried to her.

I saw Luma and Vina climbing up behind her. They picked up stones from the roof of the keep, and ran to the walls, to hurl them at point-blank range against the men climbing.

Telima, wildly, her two hands on the sword, struck a man from behind in the neck and he fell away from the blade. Then she had lost the blade, as an invader struck it from her hand. He raised his own to strike her but I had my steel beneath his left shoulder blade and had turned again before he could deliver his blow.

I saw a man on the parapet fall screaming backward, struck by a rock as large as his head, hurled from the small hands of Luma. Vina, with a shield, whose weight she could hardly bear, was trying to cover the boy, Fish, as he fought. I saw him drop his man, and turn, seeking another.

I threw a man whom I had struck, even before he died, over the parapet, striking another, who, clinging desperately to the siege pole, carried it back in a long arc with him as he fell. I saw one of my former slaves, with a spear shaft, beating another man from the wall.

Samos thrust his blade into the "Y"-shaped opening of a helmet, parried a spear thrust from his body, and met the steel of another man.

We heard the trumpet of retreat, and killed six as they tried to escape back over the wall.

We, panting, bloody, looked about ourselves.

"The next attack," said Samos, indifferently, "will be the last."

Samos survived, and I, and the boy, Fish, and the three girls, and, beyond these, other than the dancer, Sandra, who had remained below, only five men, three who had come to my holding with Samos, and two of my own, one a simple mercenary, one who had once been a slave.

I looked out over the delta.

We heard, behind walls, within the holding, the rnarshalling of men, the click of arms. It would not, this time, be a long wait.

I went to Samos. "I wish you well," I said to him. The heavy, squarish face regarded me, still so much the countenance of the predator. Then he looked away. "I, too," said he, "wish you well, Warrior."

He seemed embarrassed to say what he had. I wondered why he had called me Warrior.

I took Telima in my arms. "When they. come again," I said, "hide below. If you fight you will doubtless be slain. When they come below, submit to them. They may spare you." And then I looked to Vina and Luma. "You, also," I said. "Do not mix in the matters of men."

Vina looked to the boy, Fish.

He nodded. "Yes," he saiid, "go below."

"I, for one," said Telima, "find it stuffy below."

"I, too," smiled Luma.

"Yes," said Vina, firmly "It is very stuffy below."

"Very well," I said, "then it will be necessary, before the next attack, to bind you to the foot of the ladder below."

"I think," said Samos, looking over the parapet, "you will not have time for that." We heard the trumpets signaling a new attack. We heard the rush of hundreds of feet on the stones below.

"Go below!" I cried to the girls.

They stood away, feet fixed apart, in- the garments of slaves, obdurate, rebellious.

"We acknowledge ourselves your slave girls!" screamed Telima. "If we do not please you, beat us or slay us!"

A crossbow quarrel swept overhead. "Go below!" screamed Fish to Vina. "If I do not please you," she screamed, "beat me or kilI me!"

He kissed her swiftly, and turned to defend a wall.

The girls took up stones and swords, and stood beside us.

"Good-bye, my Ubar," said Telima.

"Farewell," said I, "Ubara."

With a great cry the hundreds of men swarmed to the foot of the keep. Again we heard the striking against the walls of siege poles. Again irons, on their ropes, looped over the parapet wall. And across from the keep, on the delta wall, boldly, there stood crossbowmen, now without fear, for our arrows and bolts were gone, to cover the climbing men.

We heard the men nearing us, on the other side of the wall, the scraping of swords and spears on the vertical stones of the keep.

On the delta wall, opposite, I saw the leader of the ssbowmen, standing even on the parapet of the delta wall itself, directing his men.

I heard the climbers approaching even more closely. Then, to my amazement, I saw something, like a streak of light, leap from the delta behind the wall, and the leader of the crossbowmen spun about as though struck with a war hammer and dropped, inert, from the wall. "You're hurting me!" cried Telima.

My hand clutched her arm.

I leaped to my feet.

"Stay down!" cried Samos.

Suddenly more than a hundred irons with ropes struck the delta wall, wedging in the crenels, and I saw the irons tighten in the crenels and strain with the weight on them. One of the crossbowmen looked over the delta wall and flew backwards off the wall, his hands not reaching his head. Protruding from his forehead, its pile stopped by the metal helmet in the back, was the long shaft of an arrow, one that could be only from the peasant bow.

We saw crossbowmen fleeing from the wall.

We heard the men climbing closer on the siege poles. Then, swarming over the delta wall, were hundreds of men.

"Rencers!" I cried.

But each of these men, over his back, carried a peasant bow. In perfect order they stood in line within the para- pet on the delta wall. As one their arrows leaped to the string, as one the great bows bent, and I saw Ho-Hak on the height of the wall bring down his arm with a cry, and I saw, like sheets of oblique rain, the torrent of gull- feathered shafts leap toward the keep. And I saw, too, on the wall, with Ho-Hak, Thurnock, the Peasant, with his bow, and beside him, with net and trident, Clitus. There was a great screaming from the siege ladders, and I heard men crying out with death, and terror, and heard the scraping of the ladders and then their falling back, showering bodies on those crowded below, waiting to scale them. Again and again the great line blasted shafts of pile-tipped tem-wood into those packed at the foot of the keep. And then the invaders began to scatter and run, but each archer picked his target, and few there were who reached cover other than the side of the keep away from the archers. And now archers were running down the side walls, and leaping to other roofs, that every point at the foot of the keep might be within the assailing orbit of the string-flung missiles, and the girls, and the men, too, flung stones from the top of the keep down on the men trying to hide behind it, and then, again, the invaders scattered, running back toward the holding. For an instant, white- faced, wild, I saw below Lysias, with his helmet with its crest of sleen hair, and beside him, with the string of pearls of the Vosk sorp about his forehead, the rencer Henrak, who had, long ago, betrayed the rencers for the gold of Port Kar. And behind them, in a rich swirling cloak of the fur of the white, spotted sea sleen, sword in hand, looking wildly about, was another man, one I did not know.

"It is Claudius!" cried the boy, Fish, beside me. "Claudius!"

So that, I thought, was Claudius, who had been regent for Henrius Sevarius, and who, doubtless, had attempted to have him killed.

The boy's fists were clenched on the parapet.

Then the three men, with some others, fled into my holding.

On the wall Thumock waved his great bow over his head.

"Captain!" he cried.

Clitus, too, raised his hand.

I, too, lifted my hand, acknowledging their salute. And I lifted my hand, too, to Ho-Hak, the rencer. I saw how his men used their bows. I had little doubt that having been taught the might of the great bow in the marshes, when I had freed them from the slavers in the barges, they had traded for the weapons and now had made them their own, and proudly, as much as the peasants. I did not think the rencers would any longer be at the mercy of the men of Port Kar. Now, with weapons and courage, perhaps for the first time, they were truly free men, for they could now defend their freedoms, and those who cannot do this are not truly free; at best they are fortunate.

"Look!" cried Samos.

From the height of the keep, we could see over my holding, even to the canal and sea gate beyond the lake- like courtyard.

Men were fleeing from my holding but, even more important, approaching down the canal, oars flashing, mast down, came a tarn ship, and then another. "It is the Vennal" I cried. "And the Tela!"

Standing at the prow of the Venna, shield on his arm, helmeted, spear in hand, was Tab.

He must have brought the Venna and the Tela into the wind, cutt g away even the storm sails, and risked the destruction of the two ships in the high sea, not to be driven from Port Kar, and then, when the storm had lulled, they had put about and raced for the harbor. The rest of the fleet was still doubtless a hundred or more pasangs to the south.

"A seaman truly worthy of Port Kar," said Samos.

"Do you love the city so?" I asked.

Samos smiled. "It is the place of my Home Stone," he said.

I grinned.

We saw the two ships, the Venna and her sister ship, the Tela, knife into the courtyard and swing about, their bowmen firing on the men running on the Promenade and trying to escape about the edges of the courtyard.

We saw men throwing down their weapons and kneeling. They would be roped together as slaves.

I seized Telima in my arms. She was laughing and crying.

I then seized one of the ropes attached to a grappling iron wedged in one of the crenels and began to descend the outer side of the keep wall. Fish and Samos were not far behind me.

With other ropes the men behind would lower the girls, and then follow themselves.

At the foot of the keep we met Thurnock, Clitus and Ho-Hak.

We embraced.

"You have learned the lesson of the great bow well," I said to Ho-Hak. "You well taught it to us, Warrior," said Ho-Hak.

Thurnock and Clitus, with Thura and Ufa, had gone for aid to the rencers, traditionally enemies of those of Port Kar. And the rencers, to my astonishment, had come to risk their lives for me.

I decided I did indeed know little of men.

"Thank you," said I to Ho-Hak.

"it is nothing," said he, "Warrior."

It is such nothings, I thought, that are our manhood and our meaning. "Three are cornered within," said a seaman.

Samos and I, and Fish, and Thurnock, Clitus and Ho Hak, and others, went within the holding.

In the great hall, surrounded by crossbowmen, stood three men, at bay. Lysias, Claudius and Henrak.

"Greetings, Tab," said I, saluting him as I entered the room.

"Greetings, Captain," said he.

By now the three girls, Telima, Vina and Luma, had been lowered from the height of the keep, and were close behind us.

Lysias, seeing me, flung himself at me. I met his attack The exchange was sharp. Then he fell at my feet, his helmet rolling to the side, blood on the sleen-hair crest, that marking it as that of a captain.

"I am rich," said Claudius. "I can pay for my freedom."

"The Council of Captains of Port Kar," said Samos, "has business with you." "My business is first," said a voice.

We turned to see the slave boy, Fish, his sward in hand.

"You!" cried Claudius. "You!"

Samos looked at the boy, curiously. Then he turned to Claudius. "You seem disturbed," said be, "at the sight of a mere slave boy."

I recalled that there was a price on the head of the young Ubar, Henrius Sevarius.

And he stood there, though branded, though collared, though in the miserable garment of a slave, as a young Ubar. He was no longer a boy. He had loved, and he had fought. He was a man.

Claudius, with a cry of rage, the cloak of white, spotted fur of sea sleen swirling behind him, leaped at the boy, sword high, raining blows upon him. The boy smartly parried them, not striking his own blows.

"Yes," said the boy, "I am not an unskilled swordsman. Now let us fight." Claudius threw aside his swirling cloak and, warily, approached the boy. Claudius was an excellent swordsman, but, in moments, the boy, Fish, had stepped away from him, and wiped his blade on the flung-aside cloak. Claudius stood unsteadily in the center of the great hall, and then, he fell forward, sprawling on the tiles.

"Remarkable," said Samos. "Claudius is dead. And slain only by a slave." The boy, Fish, smiled.

"This one," said Ho-Hak, indicating Henrak, "is a rencer, and he is mine." Henrak regarded him, white-faced.

Ho-Hak regarded him. "Eechius was killed at the rence island," he said to Henrak. "Eechius was my son."

"Do not hurt me!" cried Henrak.

He turned to run, but there was no place to run.

Ho-Hak, solemn and large, removed his weapons, drop- ping them to the floor. About his neck there was still the heavy iron collar he had worn as a galley slave, with its links of heavy, dangling chain. His large ears laid themselves flat against his head.

"He has a knife!" cried Luma.

Ho-Hak, carefully, approached Henrak, who held a knife poised.

When Henrak struck, Ho-Hak caught his wrist. Slowly Ho-Hak's great hand, strengthened from years at the oar, closed on Henrak's wrist, and the knife, as the men sweated and strained, dropped clattering to the floor.

Then Ho-Hak picked up Henrak and, slowly, holding him over his head, carried him screan-ting and struggling from the room.

We went outside, and saw Ho-Hak slowly climb the long, narrow stairs beside the delta wall, until he stood behind the parapet, at its height. Then we saw him, out- lined against the sky, climb to the parapet itself, hold Henrak over his head for a long moment and then fling him screaming from the wall out into the marsh beyond.

At the foot of the delta wall there would be tharlarion.

It was now late at night.

We had supped and drank, on provisions brought from the Venna and the Tela. We were served by Telima and Vina, who wore the garments still of Kettle Slaves. The young man, Fish, sat with us, and was served. Serving us as well, though uncollared, were Midice, and Thura and Ula. When we had been served the girls sat with us, and we ate together.

Midice did not meet my eyes. She was very beautiful. She went and knelt near Tab.

"I never thought," Tab was saying, "that I would find a free woman of interest." He had one arm about Midice.

"On a peasant holding," said Thurnock, defensively, as though he must justify having freed Thura, "one can get much more work from a free woman!" He pounded the table. Thura wore talenders in her hair.

"For my part," said Clitus, chewing, "I am only a poor fisherman, and could scarce afford the costs of a slave."

Ula laughed and thrust her head against his shoulder, holding his arm. "Well," said Samos, chewing on a vulo wing, "I am glad there are still some women slave in Port Kar."

Telima and Vina, in their collars, looked down, smiling.

"Where is the slave Sandra?" I asked Thurnock.

"We found her hiding in your treasure room in the keep," said Thurnock. "That seems appropriate," said Telima, acidly.

"Let us not be unpleasant," I cautioned her.

"So what did you do?" I asked.

"We bolted the door from the outside," said Tburnock. "She screamed and pounded but is well contained within."

"Good," I said.

I would let her remain there for two days without food and water, in among the gold and the jewels.

"When you release her," said Telima, "why don't you sell her?"

Telima was Gorean.

"Would you like me to sell her?" I asked.

"Yes," said Telima.

"Why?" I asked.

"Beast," smiled Telima.

"In my arms," I said, "I have found her a true slave."

"In your arms," said Telima, looking down, "I am a truer slave than Sandra could ever be."

"Perhaps," I said, "I shall let you compete anxiously against one another." "Good," said Telima. "I will compete. I will win."

I laughed, and Telima looked at me, puzzled. I reached across and seized her by the arms, and drew her to me. She was so utterly Gorean. Looking down into Telima's eyes I told her, "In two days, when I free Sandra from the treasure room, I am going to give her her freedom and gold, that she may go where she wishes and do what she pleases."

Telima looked at me, startled.

"It is Telima," I said, "whom I will not free."

Her eyes were wide. She squirmed in my arms.

"It is Telima," I told her, "whom I will keep as a slave."

She laughed, and lifted her lips eagerly to mine, and it was long that we kissed.

"My former mistress kisses well," I said.

"Your slave," said Telima, "rejoices that master finds her not displeasing." "is it not time for some of the slaves to be sent to the kitchens?" asked the young man, Fish.

"Yes," I said. I then addressed myself to Fish and Vina. "Go to the kitchens, Slaves," said I, "and do not permit me to see you until dawn."

Fish lifted Vina in his arms and left the table.

At the entryway to that passage leading to the kitchens he stopped, and then, as she laughed and kissed him, he swept her, once the Lady Vivina, who was to have been the Ubara of Cos, now only a young, collared slave girl, in a brief, miserable garment, through the portal and disappeared down the passageway. And I do not doubt that the Lady Vivina would have found the couch Of the LTbar of Cos less joyful than did the slave girl Vina the blanket and the mat of the kitchen boy, Fish, in the house of Bosk, a captain of Port Kar.

"I see," said Ho-Hak to TeUtna, "that you still wear the golden armlet." "Yes," said Telima.

"It was by that," said Ho-Hak, "that I was to recognize you, when years ago you were to have fled to the marshes."

Telima looked at him, puzzled.

Samos put down a cup of paga. "Now do you suppose matters in the city will proceed?" be asked Tab.

Tab looked down at the table. "The Ubars Eteocles and Sullius Maximus," he said, "have already fled with their ships and men. The last holding of Henrius Sevarius has been abandoned. The council hall, though partly burnt, is not destroyed. The city, it seems to me, is safe. The fleet will doubtless return within four or five days."

"Then," said Samos, "it seems that the Home Stone of Port Kar is secure." He lifted his goblet.

We drank his toast.

"If my captain will permit," said Tab, "it is late, and I shall withdraw." "Withdraw," I said.

He bowed his head and took his leave, and Midice slipped to her feet and accompanied him.

"I do not think it wise for Rencers," said Ho-Hak, "to be over long in Port Kar. Under the cover of darkness we shall depart."

"My thanks to you and your people," said I.

"The rence islands, now confederated," said Ho-Hak, "are yours."

"I thank you," I said, "Ho-Hak."

"We can never repay you," he said, "for having once saved many of us from those of Port Kar, and for having taught us the lesson of the great bow." "I am already more than paid," I said.

"Then no longer," said Ho-Hak, "are we in one another's debt."

"No longer," said I.

"Then," said Ho-Hak, putting out his hand, "let us be friends."

We clasped hands.

"In the marshes," he said, "you have friends."

"Good," I said.

Ho-Hak turned and I saw the board back of the exgalley-slave move through the door. Outside I heard him summoning his men. They would return to their rence craft tied at the foot of the delta wall.

"With your permission, Captain," said Thurnock, with a look at Thura, "it is late."

I nodded, and lifted my hand, and Thurnock and Clitus, with Thura and Ula, left the table.

"Good-night," said I, "my friends."

"Good-night," said they.

Now only Telima, and I and Samos, remained at the table, alone in the great hall.

"It must be nearly morning," said Samos.

"Perhaps an Ahn till dawn," I said.

"Bring cloaks," said Samos, "and let us climb to the height of the keep." We found cloaks, I that of the admiral, and we followed Samos from the room, across the tiled yard behind the great hall, and into the now-opened keep, and climbed behind him to its height.

From the height of the keep we could see the men of Tab, from the Venna and the Tela, here and there on guard. The great sea gate, leading out into the city, had been closed. The rencers, one by one, were climbing down ropes over the delta wall, returning to their small craft below.

We saw Ho-Hak the last to climb over the wall, and we raised our hands to him. He waved, and then disappeared over the wall.

In the light of the three moons the marshes flickered.

Telima looked at Samos, "Then," she said, "I was permitted to escape your house."

"Yes," said Samos, "and you were permitted to take the golden armlet, that Ho-Hak, with his men, would recognize you in the marshes."

"They found me within hours," she said.

"They were waiting for you," said Samos.

"I do not understand," said Telima.

"I bought you when you were a girl," said Samos, "with these things in mind." "You raised me as your daughter," she said, "and then, when I became seventeen-"

"Yes," said Samos, "you were treated with great cruelty as a slave girl, and then, years later, permitted to escape."

"But why!" she demanded. "Why!"

"Samos," said I, "was it from you that the message came, months ago, which I received in the Council of Captains, seeking to speak with me?"

"Yes," said Samos.

"But you denied it," I said.

"The dungeon of the hall of captains scarcely seemed the place to discuss the business of Priest-Kings."

"Priest-Kings?" breathed Telima.

I smiled. "No," I said, "I suppose not." I looked at him. "But when the message was delivered," I said, "you were not even in the city."

"True," said Samos. "I hoped by that ruse to make it easier to deny any connection between myself and the message, should denial seem in order." "You never again attempted to contact me," I said.

"You were not ready," said Samos. "And Port Kar needed you."

"You serve Priest-Kings," I said.

"Yes," said Samos.

"And it was for this reason, to protect me, one who once had served them as well, that you came to my holding?"

"Yes," said Samos, "but also because you had done much for my city, Port Kar. It was because of you that she now has a Home Stone."

"Does that mean so much to you?" I asked. Samos was the predator, the cruel, insensitive larl of a man, the hunter, the killer.

"Of course," he said.

We looked out. Disappearing now in the rence of the marshes, under the three moons, were the many small crafts of the rencers.

Samos, on the height of the keep, regarded me. "Return to the service of the Priest-Kings," he said.

I looked away. "I cannot," I said. "I am unworthy.

"All men," said Samos, "and all women, have within themselves despicable elements, cruel things and cowardly things, things vicious, and greedy and selfish, things ugly that we hide from others, and most of all from ourselves." Telima and I regarded him.

Samos put, not without tenderness, a hand on the shoulder of Telima, and another on my own shoulder.

"The human being," he said, "is a chaos of cruelties and nobilites, of hatreds and of loves, of resentments and respects, of envies and admirations. He contains within himself, in his ferments, much that is base and much that is worthy. These are old truths, but few men truly understand them."

I looked out over the marshes. "It was no accident," I said, "that I was intercepted in the marshes."

"No," said Samos.

"Does Ho-Hak serve Priest-Kings?" I asked.

"Not to my knowledge," said Samos. "But long ago, when was running from the galleys, and hunted, I concealed him in my house. I later helped him get to the marshes. From time to tome he has aided me."

"What did you tell Ho-Hak?" I asked.

"That I knew of one from Port Kar who would soon be traversing the marshes." "Nothing else?" I asked.

"Only," said he, looking at the girl, "that the girl Telima be used as the bait to snare you."

"The Rencers hate those of Port Kar," I said.

"Yes," said Samos.

"They might have killed me," I said.

"It was a risk I took," said Samos.

"You are free with the lives of others," I said.

"Worlds are at stake," said he, "Captain."

I nodded.

"Did Misk," I asked, "the Priest-King, know of any of this?"

"No," said Samos, "He would surely not have permitted it. But Priest-Kings, for all their wisdom, know little of men." He, too, looked out over the marshes. "There are men also who, coordinating with Priest-Kings, oppose the Others." "Who are the Others?" asked Telima.

"Don not speak now, Collared Female," said Samos.

Telima stiffened.

"I will speak to you sometime," I said, "of these things."

Samos has spoken gently, but he was a slaver.

"We anticipated," said Samos, "that your humanity would assert itself, that faced with a meaningless, ignominious death in the marshes, you would grovel and whine for your life."

In my heart I wept. "I did," I said.

"You chose," said Samos, "as warriors have it, ignominious bondage over the freedom of honorable death."

There were tears in my eyes. "I dishonored my sword, my city. I betrayed my codes."

"You found your humanity," said Samos.

"I betrayed my codes!" I cried.

"IT is only in such moments," said Samos, "that a man sometimes learns that all truth and all reality is not written in one's own codes."

I looked at him.

"We knew that, if you were not killed, you would be enslaved. Accordingly, we had, for years, nursing in her hatreds and frustrations, well prepared one who would be eager to teach you, a warrior, a man, one bound for Port Kar, the cruelties, the miseries and degradations of the most abject of slaveries." Telima dropped her head. "You prepared me well, Samos," she said.

I shook my head. "no," I said, "Samos, I cannot again serve Priest-Kings. You did your work too well. As a man I have been destroyed. i have lost myself, all that I was."

Telima put her head to my shoulder. It was cold on the height of the keep. "Do you think," asked Samos of Telima, "that this man has been destroyed? That he has lost himself?"

"No," said the girl, "my Ubar has not been destroyed. He has not lost himself." I touched her, grateful that she should speak so.

"I have done cruel and despicable things," I told Samos.

"So have we, or would we, or might we all," smiled Samos.

"It is I," whispered Telima, "who lost myself, who was destroyed."

Samos looked on her, kindly. "You followed him even to Port Kar," said he. "I love him," she said.

I held her about the shoulders.

"Neither of you," said Samos, "have been lost, or destroyed." He smiled. "Both of you are whole," he said, "and human."

"Very human," I said, "too human."

"In fighting the Others," said Samos, "one cannot be human enough." I was puzzled that he should have said that.

"Both of you now know yourselves as you did not before, and in knowing yourselves you will be better able to know others, their strengths and their weaknesses."

"It is nearly dawn," said Telima.

"There was only one last obstacle," said Samos, "and neither of you, even now, fully understand it."

"What is that?" I asked.

"Your pride," he said. "that of both of you." He smiled. "When you lost your images of yourselves, and learned your humanity, in your diverse ways, and shame, you abandoned your myths, your songs, and would accept only the meat of animals, as though one so lofty as yourself must be either Priest-King or beast. Your pride demanded either the perfection of the myth or the perfection of its most villainious renunciation. I f you were not the highest, you would be nothing less than the worse; if there was not the myth there was to be nothing." Samos now spoke softly. "there is something," he said, "between the fancies of poets and the biting, and the rooting and sniffing of beasts."

"What?" I asked.

"Man," he said.

I looked away again, this time for the marshes, and over the city of Port Kar. I saw the Venna and the Tela in the lakelike courtyard of my holding, and the sea gate, and the canals, and the roofs of buildings.

It was nearly light now.

"Why was I brought to Port Kar?" I asked.

"To be prepared for a task," said Samos.

"What task?" I asked.

"Since you no longer serve Priest-Kings," said Samos, "there is no point speaking of it."

"What task?" I asked.

"A ship must be built," said Samos, "A ship different from any other." I looked at him.

"One that can sail beyond the world's end," he said.

This was an expression, in the first knowledge, for the sea some hundred pasangs west of Cos and Tyros, beyond which the ships of Goreans do not go, or if go, do not return.

Samos, of course, knew as well as I the limitations of the first knowledge. he knew, as well as I, that Gor was spheriod. I did not know why men did not traverse the seas far waest of Cos and Tyros. Telima, too, of course, having been educated through the second knowledge in the house of Samos, knew that "world's end" was, to the educated Gorean, a figurative expression. Yet, in a sense, the Gorean world did end there, as it also, in a sense, eneded with the Voltai ranges to the east. They were the borders, on the east and west, of known Gor. To the far south and north, there was, as far as men knew, only the winds and the snows, driven back and forth, across the bleak ice.

"Who would build such a ship?" I asked.

"Tersites," said Samos.

"He is mad," I said.

"He is a genius," said Samos.

"I no longer serve Priest-Kings," I said.

"Very well," said Samos. He turned to leave. "I wish you well," said he, over his shoulder.

"I wish you well," I said.

Even though Telima wore her won cloak, I opened the great cloak of the admiral, and enfolded her within it, that we both might share its warmth. And then, on the height of the keep, looking out across the city, we watched the dawn, beyond the muddy Tamber gulf, softly touch the cold waters of the gleaming Thassa.