John Norman - Rogue of Gor

I glanced over the edge of the wall. We were, as I had intended, in the vicinity of the sea gate. I did not know how deep the water was there. Yet I knew it must be deep enough to accommodate the keel of a captured, heavily laden round ship.

“What do you intend?” asked Kliomenes.

“Tell them to fetch rope,” I said, gesturing to the men on the wall.

Kliomenes grinned. “Fetch rope,” he said.

They hurried down the stairs.

“It seems you will make good your escape,” said Kliomenes. He assumed that I had had the men seriously sent for rope. He assumed that when they returned I would use the rope to descend from the wall. By that time, of course, the men would be again on the wall, doubtless some of them armed, and with bows. Clambering down the rope I would be vulnerable, and the rope, too, could be cut.

“Now, we are alone on the wall,” I said to Kliomenes, leveling the sword at his belly. He backed away, a step. “Do not kill me,” he said, suddenly, turning white. Behind him was the long drop to the walkway below.

I drew back my arm as though to ram the steel through his belly. He twisted away, and fled. I laughed, not pursuing him. I did not think he would stop until he was safely again among his men. Then, discarding the sword, I ascended the parapet and leaped feet first to the waters far below. It seemed I was a long time in the air. The rush of it was cold on my body, and tore at my hair. I then struck the water, seeming to plummet through it, and struck with great force the mud and debris of the bottom. I sank into it to my knees. I feared my legs were broken. The water was swirling about me, loud, roaring, in my ears.

I tore loose, kicking, of the mud, and pushed upward toward the surface, which, after some seconds, gasping, I broke. I shook the water from my head; I blinked it from my eyes. I looked upward, at the parapets, far above. My legs were numb, but I could control them. No arrows struck into the water about me. I gasped for breath, and then submerged, and swam underwater for the brush and trees, half sunken, which bordered the channel leading to the gate. I emerged among roots and reeds.

Only then, looking back, from the cover of the half-submerged growth, did I see men fast appear on the walls. I had had them sent from the walls. They would not even know in which direction I had set out. I then swam again underwater for a time until I emerged in the spongy terrain north and west of the holding, shielded from sight by trees from her walls. I assumed they would think I would have emerged north and east of the channel, for that lies closer Victoria. I would, at any rate, have a good start on any who might wish to give pursuit. It would take several Ehn, I was sure, to get the great sea gate raised. I had seen to that. I could always cross the channel northeastward, at my convenience, under the cover of darkness, to move toward Victoria, or I might, if I chose, move simply to the southern shore of the Vosk. I was certain I could find means from there to make my way back to Victoria. Small ships abound on the Vosk. I began then to move swiftly. I was cold. But I was in good spirits.

“We welcome your sword,” said Callimachus. We stood in the bow of the long galley, below the stem castle. The single mast had been lowered and lay secured, tied, lengthwise on the deck, between the benches.

Our ship lay to, east of the great chain. I could see little, because of the fog. It was a chilly morning. The water licked at the strakes. Far off, unseen, I heard the cry of a Vosk gull.

“It was not necessary that you have joined the fleet,” said Callimachus.

“It is here that I belong,” I said.

“You risked much already,” said he.

“We were betrayed,” I told him.

“Yes,” he said.

I was bitter. The great sea gate had crashed down, destroying the galley on which I had sought to enter the holding of Policrates. I had been captured, and had managed to escape, I had made my way to Victoria, and hence westward, learning of the movement of ships toward the chain. Yesterday evening I had boarded the Tina , out of Victoria, captained by Callimachus.

“If the Voskjard attempts to cross the chain in force,” said Callimachus, “we will not be able to stop him.”

“It was the Earth-girl slave, Peggy, Tasdron’s property, who betrayed us,” I said.

“Can you be sure?” asked Callimachus.

“I am sure,” I said. “Was it Callisthenes?” I asked him.

“It could not be Callisthenes,” said Callimachus. “He is known to me. Too, he is a captain of Port Cos, and of my own caste.”

I looked over the gunnels. To port and starboard, each some fifty yards away, gray and silent, intermittently visible in the fog, each lying to, as was the Tina , were two other galleys, the Mira , out of Victoria, and the Talender , out of Fina.

“Too,” said Callimachus, “he is my friend.” It was cold.

“Does it seem likely to you that it was Tasdron or Glyco?” I asked.

“It could not have been Tasdron,” said Callimachus. “His interests would be too opposed to such an action. Indeed, he is the leader in Victoria of those who would oppose the power of the men of Policrates.”

“Perhaps it was Glyco, then,” I said, bitterly.

“He is not of my own caste,” admitted Callimachus.

“Nor is Tasdron,” I said.

“True,” said Callimachus.

“Glyco,” I pointed out, “has enlisted your aid against the pirates.”

“He is not with the fleet,” said Callimachus.

“He is now east on the river, trying to raise support for our cause,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Callimachus. “But no ships have been forthcoming.”

“I do not think Glyco will be successful,” I said. “There is too much distrust among the towns, and they fear the pirates too much. Too, the fleet of Policrates is now east of Victoria, to prevent such ships from reinforcing us. I have told you this. “

Callimachus was silent.

“Why is it not obvious to you that the traitor was the slave, Peggy?” I asked.

“She could not have heard,” said Callimachus, uncertainly, angrily.

“She was in the room,” I said. “She must have heard. She is not stupid, though she is a slave. She could have understood much of what we planned. Doubtless she revealed our plans to the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, or to a pirate in Tasdron’s tavern, perhaps while moaning with pleasure in his arms, hoping to win her freedom by her treachery.”

“She would not be freed,” said Callimachus. “She would only be plunged into a deeper and crueler slavery.”

“She would not know that,” I pointed out. “She is from Earth.” It can take years to learn Gorean ways, and how Goreans think. They tend not to be patient with slaves.

“Perhaps you were betrayed by one of the men of Callisthenes or of Aemilianus,” said Callimachus.

“By trusted warriors,” I asked, “who, too, would have had little opportunity to make contact with the enemy?” I looked at him, angrily. “Why can you not see that it was the slave, Peggy, who betrayed us?” I wondered if he cared for her.

“It could have been no other,” agreed Callimachus. His voice was grim, and terrible. I did not understand, fully, his tone of voice. It was almost as though he, personally, in some subtle way, had been betrayed.

I looked out, over the bow, into the fog. One could see almost nothing.

“If we should be so fortunate as to survive this engagement,” said Callimachus, “I will see that the treacherous slave is dealt with.”

“What will be done to her?” I asked.

“She will be dealt with as a female slave is dealt with, who has not been fully pleasing,” he said, quietly.