John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

“Good,” said Callimachus.

There was a sound of chain near us and Kliomenes, his ankles shackled, was thrust to the parapet. He was clad in a scarlet robe. A yellow, tasseled beret was upon his head. “Smile, Kliomenes,” I encouraged him. He winced. The point of my dagger was in his back.

In moments had the first of the galleys reached the vicinity of the sea gate. Kliomenes, at our suggestion, climbed to a place behind the wall where he might be the more easily seen. Crossbows, the fingers of men on their triggers, were trained on his back. He smiled. He lifted his hand, and waved. I did not think it would be necessary to kill him, at least immediately. From the stem castles and decks of the galleys below the shackling on his ankles could not be seen.

Cautiously, from behind the parapet, I surveyed the stem castle of the lead galley. Three individuals stood upon it. Only one of them was I certain that I knew, and he, interestingly, was masked. That one, however, in spite of the mask, was, in his way, not unknown to me. I had met him on the wharves of Victoria, late at night. He had wanted the topaz. He had tried to kill me. It was he who was the true courier of Ragnar Voskjard.

The other two men wore the garb of captains. Neither, however, seemed to me to possess the suggestion of power, or the presence, that I would have expected of Ragnar Voskjard. The Voskjard, I suspected, was not with the fleet. I had, indeed, earlier speculated from pirate strategies, that the fleet had been under the command not of the Voskjard, but of a lesser man. The Voskjard, I suspected, during the battle, would have contented himself with reigning in his holding. He would not have seen fit, I conjectured, to concern himself with the travail of personally conducting the immediate and pedestrian affairs of an unimportant battle which, in his opinion, would have had a foregone conclusion. Such a task might be left to subordinates. He himself could join the fleet later.

“Who is on the deck of the stem castle?” I asked Kliomenes.

“Reginald,” said Kliomenes, “who was the captain of the Tamira .”

“Who else?” I pressed. I had never seen Reginald, though I had, to be sure, been on his ship. He seemed a tall, impressive man.

“The courier of Ragnar Voskjard,” said Kliomenes, “he in the mask.”

“Who is the other man?” I asked.

“I do not know,” said Kliomenes.

“Is it Ragnar Voskjard?” I asked.

“I do not think so,” said Kliomenes.

Reginald hailed Kliomenes. Signals could not properly be exchanged. It seems the sealed documents pertaining to these signs and countersigns had been lost with the Tamira , that they were now in the mud at the bottom of the Vosk. The Tamira , we were informed, had been sunk while valiantly defending herself against an attacking fleet of a dozen ships. Naturally Kliomenes, quarrels trained on his back, saw fit to accept these explanations. Besides, strictly, surely, such signs were not necessary in the present circumstances. Reginald himself was recognized. He had conducted business in the holding before, with Policrates and Kliomenes.

We gave orders and the great gate began to rise. This time, in the room of the windlass, however, it was pirates who labored to lift that mighty weight. I regretted only that Kliomenes was not sweating with them, in rags, under a whip, chained to a windlass bar. The identity of the third man on the deck of the stem castle of the lead galley, we learned, in the exchange of identifications, was Alcibron, who had been the commander of the Tuka .

I was much pleased that we had removed the Tuka , as well as the Tina and Tais from the sea yard. Alcibron, and, doubtless, many others, might have immediately recognized her. Alerted thusly to their danger they would have attempted to withdraw. Our trap, presumably, would then have been fruitlessly sprung. Something else which had been Alcibron’s, too, was not far away, a wench I had taken from him and made my own slave. She, Lola, with another of my slaves, Shirley, I was keeping, for my convenience, in the central room of the slave quarters, with the captured beauties of the pirates. These latter girls, such as the auburn-haired beauty in whom Miles of Vonda was interested, and the small brunet in whom I had some interest, were in ignorance as to what their disposition would be. This was appropriate. They were slaves.

I saw the lead galley drawing alongside the walk near the fortress wall, across the sea yard. Mooring lines were made fast. Pirates disembarked.

“You will never be successful,” snarled Kliomenes.

“Stand back on the ramparts,” I said, “that the stern impediments locked upon your ankles not be visible.”

He stepped back a foot.

“Smile, and wave,” I encouraged him, “unless you wish to die.”

He smiled and waved.

I saw Reginald and Alcibron wave to him, from the walk across the sea yard. He who had been the courier of Ragnar Voskjard looked about himself, suspiciously, and then, with the others, entered the holding. Inside, in a previously prepared room, on a great table, were aligned two hundred goblets of wine. Each contained Tassa powder.

When the pirates, unsuspecting, were within, and giving themselves to the wine, the door would be locked. Other vessels, too, were now being moored at the walk, and others, following them, were being tied up alongside the first. In a short time the sea yard, if all went well, would be almost filled with vessels. In such close harborage it would be possible to walk across the sea yard, moving from deck to deck.

More than two hundred pirates had now been welcomed and encouraged within the holding. Later crews, now, in smaller groups, in single file, would be conducted deeply within the holding. There, by larger numbers, the smaller groups would be disarmed, beaten and hurled into waiting, smooth-sided capture pits, prepared earlier by the captured pirates of Kliomenes. Narrow corridors, too, and blind passages, suddenly shut off by barred barricades, through which arrows might be fired by our men, served a similar purpose. Caught within, as helpless as penned vulos, subject vulnerably to the pleasure of our archers, pirates would surrender, stripping themselves and submitting themselves, one by one, to our chains.

“There must be twenty ships in the yard,” I said.

“It goes well,” said Callimachus.

Suddenly, reeling, his sword bloody, I saw he who had been the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, his clothing torn, emerge wildly from the interior of the holding.

“Go back! Go back!” he screamed. “It is a trap!”

Pirates looked at him, puzzled.

“Go back!” he screamed. “Go back!” There was then a confusion of oars. One galley tried to come about. Another, entering, grated against it. Men began to run about on the decks of the ships. There was consternation. The fellow who wore the mask, then, shouting, waving his sword, distraught, began to leap from ship to ship, trying to make his way toward the gate. Shouts of alarm now arose from the sea yard, though, I think, most were more perplexed than alarmed. Another vessel entered the sea yard.

“I do not wish to lose that man,” said Callimachus, grimly. He lifted and lowered his hand. This signal was rapidly relayed to the west gate tower and, as the fellow below leapt into the water, to swim for the gate, it, with a thunderous rattle of weight and chaining, shaking and sliding, crashed downward, smiting and dividing a galley just aft of amidships, and then anchored itself in place. The courier of Ragnar Voskjard would not escape.

“Fire bombs!” called Callimachus. “Signal our fellows in the marshes! Let the attack flags be raised!” There was a cheer upon the walls. Men rose up on the walls, lighting fuses of oil-soaked rags, thrust into oil-filled, clay vessels; a smoke bomb, trailing red smoke, was lofted from a wall catapult high over the marshes. Red attack flags, torn by the wind, snapped on their lines. Vessels of clay, spreading broad sheets of flaming oil, shattered on the decks of the vessels in the yard. Soldiers of Ar’s Station, emerging from the marshes on the left and right, screaming, hurled, too, such flaming missiles against the ships in the channel. Our men emerged through the iron door of the holding to command the walks lining the sea yard. They then began to board the moored vessels. A melee took place, even upon the flaming decks. Our men, too, from the wall, streamed down the steps to assist their fellows.