Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Thirty-Seven THE SHIP IS TO SAIL

Strangely, this unsettling me, and many others, the eyes of the great ship had not been painted.

Yet it seemed she was to ply the Alexandra, and, if all went well, reach Thassa.

Should she reach Thassa, the sea, I trusted, would be gifted with wine and salt, and oil would be poured into the waters, that they might be soothed in her path.

I would prefer that these things had been done before she would sail.

I was uneasy.

I knew little of many things.

Tersites, I knew, was a strange man.

Orders must have been given.

Aëtius, I was sure, would respect such orders, had they been delivered to him by his master, and mentor, lame, brilliant, twisted, half-mad Tersites.

I knew little of many things.

I did know that Tersites was a strange man.

Ice had crusted about the cold shore. Pieces, some large, were seen in the river, from upstream.

I drew my cloak more closely about me.

The slaves were now warmly garmented, though not, of course, as might have been free women. The robes of concealment in winter are much like those of gentler weathers, save for darker colors, more absorptive of, and retentive of, heat, heavier materials, some additional layering, and such. In the case of the slave a short, long-sleeved jacket, coming high on the hips, its length resembling that of a slave tunic, is worn over an undershirt. They are also put in trousers, belted with binding fiber. Whereas in the case of the free woman her legs are concealed within her enclosing garmenture, in the case of the slave, even in the winter, it is clear, however warmly they may be clothed, that she has legs, and that this is to be obvious to the scrutiny of men. The wrappings of the legs and calves is wool, over which leather is wrapped. The last garment is a warm, hooded cloak, which may be held closely about the body. Her face is commonly bared, except in severe weather, and, in any case, there is no mistaking her status, given her garmenture. Too, there were no free women in camp. Incidentally, there is a superstition amongst many Gorean mariners that it is bad luck to have a free woman aboard. The foundation of the superstition, I suppose, is not difficult to discern, even if the woman, in such a situation, resists to the best of her ability the manifestations of the lovely temptations natural to her sex. If the meat is not to be eaten, it is a mistake to put it before larls. They may fight amongst themselves, and such. Perhaps larls should not be carnivorous, and should never be hungry, but they are carnivorous, and do get hungry. If there are any objections here, they are best taken up not with larls, but with nature, the disposition to replicate genes, and such, without which there would be no meat and no larls. This superstition, incidentally, does not apply to slave girls, for they are such that, even if one does not get one’s hands on them, one knows they are such that, as the properties of men, they are at least in theory available, and this, interestingly, is often enough to content the male. Too, one may always look at them, tease them, flirt with them, slap them on the fundament, order them about, get them to their knees before you, as you wish, be addressed by them as “Master,” and so on. There are many ways to enjoy a woman without putting her to your pleasure. That is, after all, for her master.

Their collars, of course, even in the winter, are kept on the slaves. They remain collared. They are slaves.

I had heard nothing more of the approach of enemy forces, but I entertained no doubt as to their imminence and reality.

Even now they might be in the vicinity of the Alexandra.

The blows of great hammers were striking away the chocks that held the ship of Tersites in place, on the great sloping frame.

Hundreds of men were gathered on the beach, and slaves, too.

A signal was conveyed by a banner from the stern castle of the great ship, and the hammers struck again.

There was a cry from the crowd.

There was a thundering roll of wood and the mighty body of the ship of Tersites slid toward the river.

It debouched into the Alexandra.

There was a cheer from the crowd.

Then she turned slowly to starboard, downriver, prow westward.

Water slid from her bow, swelling, washed her sides, closed about her huge rudder, and left its flecked, gentle wake.

Many were the cries of pleasure.

She rode well.

She was stately, majestic, surely no lightness like that of a Vosk gull, given her bulk, but as serene and mighty, and as unchallenged here, as might be some vast lake or river tharlarion in its own domain, some ponderous thing, unable and awkward on land perhaps, but, in the water, oddly graceful, and dangerous, a serene monster, at home in the element in which it was Ubar.

I considered carefully the temporary markings on her bow. Unladen, and without her nest of galleys, the river should come to the first mark. It was so. They had calculated well.

Few, I supposed, understood why shipwrights seized one another, cried out, and threw their brimless caps into the air.

An extra tenth of a pasang had been allotted for the turn, in building her wharfage downstream. Given the absence of empirical precedents it had not been clear how responsive she would be to the helm. But she needed not half the length. To be sure, she had not yet nested her galleys, taken on her crew, her supplies, all that she might care to contain. In the vicinity of the camp, as she was under construction, the river had been deepened, to accommodate her keel near shore. Soundings had been taken, months ago, before construction had begun, to determine that the Alexandra would be navigable, as charts claimed, to Thassa herself. To be sure, in many places she must seek the center of the river. Elsewhere she would feel her way by multiple soundings, sometimes between bars, called upward from small boats preceding her. Such things can change, even overnight. Her galleys, of course, were shallow-drafted long ships and could maneuver in water in which a man might stand upright.

In some fifteen Ehn she was alongside her long, readied wharf. Dozens of ropes had been cast down from her starboard side, to be bound about heavy, deeply anchored mooring cleats.

I trusted that she would not move with the current, and drag the cleats free of the wood, or draw the wharf itself, splintering, from its pilings.

I became aware that Lord Nishida was at my side.

“She is huge,” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you think she is sufficiently secured?” he asked.

“On a few moorings, no,” I said, “on many, yes. The helm, too, will be tied, to lead her back to shore, should she be tempted to stray.”

“I know little about these things,” said Lord Nishida.

“Many,” I said, “know little about these things. We are here in new countries.”

“What do you think of her?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“She will be fitted and rigged in two days,” said Lord Nishida.

“So soon?” I said.

“Necessarily,” he said.

“I see,” I said. So close then was the foe.

“It is unfortunate,” said Lord Nishida, “that Tersites did not live to see this day.”

“Yes,” I said.

Lord Nishida then smiled, and withdrew.