John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

“I do not know,” I said.

“Sharpen your sword,” said he, “and get what rest you can.”

“Yes, Captain,” I said, and then descended the steps of the stern castle. I made my way toward the bow. The rowers were working only at quarter stroke. I sat down near my gear and, for a time, with a stone, whetted the blade on the weapon I carried. When I was finished I set a light coat of oil on the steel, that it might be protected from rust. Then I lay down on the smoothed deck, near the starboard rail, and, near a coil of mooring rope, fell soon asleep.

“How many are there?” I heard an officer inquire of Callimachus, above and behind me, on the deck of the stem castle.

“Forty-two,” said he.

We lay to, twenty-two ships, in a double line. Our oars were inboard.

“The chain held,” said a man near me.

“Yes,” I said. It had been broken in the north, but here, closer to the southern shore of the Vosk, it had held. This had permitted us to group. Too, the left flank of our position was protected, still, by the mighty links of the Cosian chain, transported to the Vosk, slung between its pylons.

“Where are the ships of Callisthenes?” inquired an officer of Callimachus.

“They will join us shortly,” said Callimachus. “We must hold our lines until they arrive.”

Even this far south, and from the height of the stem castle, one could not see the southern shore of the Vosk.

“They are forming the wedge,” said an officer beside Callimachus.

Our right flank was protected by seven ships of Port Cos, seven of the ten which had been originally abroad on the river. The Midice and Tia had been lost. The Ira , her starboard oars sheared, had been boarded and taken as a prize. The Talia and Thenta , the first of Point Alfred and the second of Jort’s Ferry, had been lost in the same action. Both had been merchant ships, acting in support of the ships of Port Cos. Of the group the Sita , of Jort’s Ferry, and the Tais of Port Cos, had escaped. In this first engagement, in the north, we had lost five of seven ships. The Voskjard, as we had learned, had lost four.

“Yes,” said Callimachus, handing the glass of the Builders back to one of the officers, “it is the wedge.”

From my position at the starboard rail, near the bow, below the stem castle, I could not well see the arrangement of the Voskjard’s formation.

“There are other ships of the Voskjard west of the chain,” said a man, glumly.

These were the ships which, for better than a full day and night, beginning with yesterday’s dawn, had been essaying the chain in our sector.

“We can no longer keep them out,” said a man.

“True,” I admitted.

The chain could now be cut with impunity, behind the shield of the Voskjard’s northern fleet, that now some half pasang off our bows.

We had not been able to make a determination on the ships west of the chain in our sector. It was speculated, however, that the southern fleet was larger even than the northern, which had been successful in its strike against the chain.

Acting on the information supplied by Callisthenes we had conjectured that the Voskjard commanded in the neighborhood of fifty ships. This intelligence had now been revealed as substantially in error, perhaps by a factor of two.

“By now,” said a man, “the chain has probably been cut.”

I recalled the yellow paint, splashed on the pylon. Doubtless, too, other points of weakness had been similarly marked. Even now, behind the shield of the northern fleet, it was not improbable that the ships of the southern fleet were proceeding unimpeded between the pylons. The chain had held long enough, however, to permit us to draw southward along the chain and group. Too, of course, it held, still, protecting our left flank, in our immediate area.

“We have little hope,” said a man.

“They are forming the wedge,” said another.

“Where are the ships of Callisthenes?” asked someone.

“They will be here,” said another man.

“Captain,” said one of the officers to Callimachus.

“Yes,” said he.

“Shall I order that the ships be chained together?”

These signals could be conveyed by flags and horns.

“No,” said Callimachus.

“How else can we withstand the weight of such a wedge?” inquired the officer.

“We will not impair our mobility,” said Callimachus. “We will not render our rams and shearing blades useless.”

“We must be a floating fortress of wood,” said the officer. “At such a citadel the wedge must pound in vain.”

“The ships of our interior line would be prevented from engaging,” said Callimachus. “We would be then nothing but a tethered, placid target, one impossible to miss. If our flank were turned, too, we could no longer protect ourselves. Only our undefended strakes could be presented to the rams of the enemy. In an Ahn your floating fortress of wood could be a wreckage, awash, of timbers and chains.”

“Then let us withdraw,” said the officer.

“It is too late for that,” said Callimachus.

The officer, white-faced, looked over the rail of the stem castle. “The fleet is moving,” he said.

“Yes,” said Callimachus.

“What can we do!” cried the officer.

“We must hold the line until the arrival of Callisthenes,” said Callimachus.

“We can never withstand the strike of the wedge,” said the officer.

“Here are my orders,” said Callimachus.

It was a galley, heavy class, fit for the open sea. It was the point of the wedge. I had never seen a galley move with such speed. There were two men to each oar. Our bow was aligned, as though to take its ram on the ram shield. The strike, should it occur, I feared would snap our keel.

To our port side, gunnels almost touching, lay the Mira , our sister ship, from Victoria.

I saw, some hundred yards away, on the stem castle of the speeding galley, her captain move his arm. Almost instantaneously the galley, responsive at that speed to the slightest rudder pressure, veered a point to her starboard. It was her intention not to be stopped at the Tina but to shatter between us and the Mira , opening the line. At her stern quarters, like running, heeling sleen, were two other galleys, to exploit the opening the point must make. Fanning out, too, behind the supporting galleys, were others. And, in the wake of the first galley, plowed several others. Our line, it seemed, must be cut. Our communications, it seemed, must be disrupted. Enemies would be among us. Flanks to be defended would be multiplied. We would be divided, handicapped in our attempts to reinforce and support one another. Divided, hunted, we could be herded, and surrounded. We might then make good sport for the pirates. The Voskjard had been held at the chain in the south. I did not think that this would have pleased him. I did not expect that prisoners would be taken.

“Now!” cried Callimachus.

There are three poles which, customarily, with Gorean ships are used in casting off, in thrusting away from the wharves. There were, of course, three such poles on the Tina and on the Mira . Our oars were inboard.

Suddenly, as the enemy galley veered to knife between us, and the Mira men with poles, and, too, with oars, on our ship, and on the Mira , thrust the ships apart. There was a shattering and a scraping but the enemy galley, which had thought with force to press us apart, meeting little resistance was, by her momentum, almost immediately astern of us.

Almost simultaneously other men, on the Tina and Mira , with ropes and grappling irons, drew the ships more closely together. The two ships following the first galley had intended to follow her into our line, exploiting the breach. But now there was no breach. The point of the wedge, harmlessly, save for splinters and paint torn from our hull, was behind us. The two supporting ships ground their hulls together. Burning pitch and arrows rained upon their decks.