John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

“Doubtless it has been waiting,” I said, “hoping that other ships would join it.”

“Why should it be preparing to attack now?” asked a man. “It is not supported by other ships.”

“It knows the Tuka is free,” said Callimachus. “If it is going to attack, it must now do so.”

“But we are three ships,” said a man.

“Two, if we do not count the Tuka ,” said a fellow.

“The odds, even so, are decisively in our favor,” said a man. One ship, in oared battle, cannot well defend itself against two. One flank, at least, must be exposed.

“The captain is desperate,” I said.

“Do you know the ship?” asked Callimachus.

“It was the first ship which left the line, the first ship to strike at us,” I said. “In the movement and clashing of ships, in the confusion, in spite of the diversion, in spite of the Voskjard pennons which we have flown, she has not lost us. She has stayed with us. She has followed us, tenaciously.”

“Ah,” said Callimachus.

“Yes,” I said, “it is the Tamira .”

“She is moving!” said the officer.

“So, too, is the Tais ,” cried a man. I spun about. The Tais , dark, low in the water, beautiful, scarred and lean, fierce, one of the most dangerous fighting ships in the navy of Port Cos, under the command of Calliodorus, captain in Port Cos, swept about the stern of the Tuka and the bow of the Tina . She, too, had spotted the Tamira .

“She must not be sunk!” I cried. “Signal Calliodorus!”

“No,” said Callimachus, grimly. “The horns would give away our position.”

I watched the advance of the Tamira . She was an armed merchantman.

“Her captain must be mad,” said a man.

“He has doomed his own ship,” said another.

I did not even know if Reginald, on the Tamira , was aware of the Tais .

“She must not be sunk,” I cried. “If anything, she must be boarded.”

There was a rending of wood, a jarring and ripping of timber. I heard the screaming of men.

“It is too late,” said Callimachus.

“Blood for Port Cos,” said a man.

“To the Tamira ,” I begged Callimachus. “Please, Callimachus!”

“There is no time, Jason,” said Callimachus.

“Other ships will be searching for us,” said an officer.

“We must make away,” said Callimachus.

I discarded my belt and sword and dove from the rail of the Tina . I heard Callimachus cry out behind me, “Come back, Jason!”

In moments I was at the side of the Tamira . The dark hull rolled toward me, and pressed me beneath the water. I felt her keel with my two hands, and pushed away, and again came to the surface of the water. My arm struck against an oar, unmanned, projecting downward from her side. I was aware of other men in the water about me. Some yards away I saw the dark shadow in the darkness which was the Tais . I pushed away a man in the water near me. My hand struck on a piece of wreckage.

“She is coming again!” I heard a man cry out in misery.

I turned in the water. The dark shape that was the Tais seemed almost upon me. I twisted to the side. Under the water I felt myself being lifted and flung back and to the side by the bow wave of the Tais and, at the same time, I heard the second impact. For the moment I could not think. I was aware only of the sound, my motion, and the pain. My head then again broke the surface, and I could once more breathe. I was at the side of the Tais . Men in the water were crying out about me. I put out my hand. I could feel the port shearing blade of the Tais . Then the blade moved back and the Tais , oars cutting at the dark river, with a ripping of strakes, extricated her ram from the hull of the stricken Tamira . Through wood and men I swam to the side of the Tamira . A dozen feet of planking, lengthwise, and some three planks vertically, had been lost.

I put my hand onto the breakage. The hole in the hull was some two feet in height. Water, as the hull shifted, would rush past me, flooding into the hold. I climbed into the hold. It was dark. A crate, loose in the water, struck against my legs. The water was then to my knees. I felt the Tamira shudder, and water rushed past me, aft. The floor of the hold tilted beneath my feet. Outside I saw the dark shape of the Tais swinging to starboard. Then, not hurrying, she withdrew. She had done her work.

The ship suddenly tilted sternward and I slipped in the hold, and slid aft, then struggling in the water. The breakage in the hull, through which I could see stars, was several feet away, and up the steep slope of the tilted floor of the hold. More water poured in through the breakage. Holding to the side of the hold I pulled my way toward the breakage. I got my hands on its edges and pulled myself through. I dove swiftly into the water.

I turned in time to see the Tamira , stern first, slip under the water. I fought back against the undertow. Then, again, the water was calm.

“Help!” I heard. “Help!”

My heart leapt. I swam toward the sound. I came to the two men struggling in the water.

“I cannot support him!” cried a voice.

“I shall help you!” I said.

I reached out and clutched the iron collar locked on the man’s neck. “Do not struggle!” I told him. His hands, in manacles, on a single chain passing through a loop on the collar, thrashed at the water. Too, from the manacles other chains disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

“Do not struggle, Master!” begged the other man.

“Can you stay afloat? Can you swim?” I asked them.

“Our feet are chained!” said the man who had spoken.

“Hold to your fellow,” I said. “I can support you.”

I then drew them through the water to a piece of floating wreckage. I drew the first man upon it. The second climbed painfully, hampered by the chains, to its surface.

“I had not thought to meet you thus,” I told them. “Strange indeed can be the fortunes of war.”

“We are alone, in the river,” said the first man, he whom the second had addressed as ‘Master.’ “It is night. We are among enemies.”

“Not all are enemies,” I reassured him.

“What hope is there?” he asked.

“There is hope,” I assured him.

A vessel, a lantern at her bow, nosed towards us.

“We are lost,” said the first man.

“Jason, is it you?” inquired a voice from the bow of the vessel.

“It is,” I said.

“Come aboard,” said Callimachus. “There is little time. We must make away.”

I helped the two chained men to stand on the wreckage, that they might be lifted aboard the Tina .

“Who are your friends?” inquired Callimachus.

“Krondar, the fighting slave,” I said, “and Miles, of Vonda.”

I crossed the wrists of Lola and, with the dark strap, bound them tightly together, before her body. I then tied the line about her wrists, that strung through the prow ring. I signaled the sailor and he lifted her from her feet and threw her over the bow rail. In a moment, caught and held by the line, she dangled, an exhibited prize, at the prow. In a river galley of the construction of the Tina , her legs fell on either side of the heavy, wooden concave slope of the bow to the water and ram.

Shirley, whom I had taken from Reginald, captain of the Tamira , said once to have been of Tafa, hung at the bow of our lead ship, the Tuka , that vessel said to be a well known vessel of the Voskjard. Our Tina was second in our line. The Tais , which we feared might be recognized, brought up the rear. Both girls were naked. Both made lovely adornments to our ships.