John Norman - Mariners of Gor

“And such a possibility,” said the captain, “would not be likely to be overlooked by Lord Yamada, or his advisors.”

“I would suppose not,” said the stranger.

“In one matter, a subtle one,” said the captain, “Tyrtaios may have erred. One suspects it is a matter connected with his vanity. Before his disappearance he left a note in his quarters, obviously intended to be discovered. It seems he had earlier anticipated that Lord Temmu would wish to have the great ship destroyed, to preclude its possible employment in an armsmen’s flight, and that some, sensing this, might attempt to save the ship, by removing it from danger. Accordingly, given this possibility, he planted one of his minions amongst the great ship’s most likely mariners, those most likely to be recruited in any attempt to save the ship.”

“This was the man, Cineas?” said the stranger.

“Yes,” said the captain. “He was to see to your death, for your role in foiling the desertion.”

“That,” smiled the stranger, “was to be my reward.”

“Your enemy,” said the captain, “the minion of Tyrtaios, was frequently at your side.”

“He seemed amiable enough,” said the stranger. “He went ashore with me at Daphna. We took ship together to Brundisium.”

“It was he, then,” I said, “who hired Assassins.”

“My men,” said the captain, “went to the Court of Assassins in Brundisium. Two had been hired, but they did not report back.”

“Nor will they,” said the stranger.

“That is known to me,” said the captain. “Their bodies were washed ashore.”

“You are in danger,” I said to the stranger. “The Assassins will come to avenge their own.”

“No,” said the captain, “at least not those of the Court of Brundisium, unless more coin is put forth. Vendetta is not their way. Their fellows took fee and failed to earn it. They are not to be avenged. They failed. They are disgraced. They are no longer of the Court.”

“Cineas,” said the stranger, “may not even know they failed.”

“He must know,” I said.

“In any event,” said the captain, “my men, amongst whom is Tatsu, perhaps known to Callias, for he was on the great ship, arranged certain matters with the Court of Assassins.”

“I know him,” said the stranger.

“What matters?” I asked the captain.

“Two of the black caste were hired to seek out Cineas, and slay him,” said the captain. “I do not think they have yet found him.”

“What was the fee?” asked the stranger.

“A silver tarsk, each,” said the captain.

“Why would Tyrtaios leave such a message in his quarters, pertaining to these things?” I asked.

“Gloating, one supposes,” said the captain.

“But he warned us,” I said.

“He did not think so,” said the captain. “He thought merely to inform us, too late, of his cruel scheme. The great ship was gone. How could word reach Callias in time to warn him? The engine was in place, and irremediably in motion. The missile was in flight, and beyond interception.”

“The cove was empty,” said the stranger. “He had no way to anticipate, nor would he later to forestall, the voyage of the River Dragon .”

“We feared we would be too late,” said the captain.

“Assassins now seek Cineas?” said the stranger.

“The dagger has been painted,” said the captain. “Inquiries are being made.”

“It seems then,” I said to the stranger, “that you have nothing to fear.”

“My men, as well,” said the captain, “still seek Cineas.”

“He is doubtless now well beyond the gates of Brundisium,” I said.

“He may not know he is pursued,” said the captain.

“When one learns that,” said the stranger, “that one is sought, by the black caste, it is often too late.”

I recalled the Assassins, at the tavern, some nights ago.

“In any event,” said the captain to the stranger, “I would not yet sell my sword.”

“I understand,” said the stranger.

“The profit involved in such a transaction,” said the captain, “may be considerably outweighed by a possible loss.”

“True,” said the stranger.

“The war goes not well abroad,” said the captain. “Each day may be important. I must thus soon finish my business here.”

He looked about, at the tables, at the goods, the swarming crowd, some idlers, some guardsmen, and listened, for a time, to the murmur of bargainings. Men came and went. There were occasional shouts. Things were placed in bags, and things were removed from bags. Cases were opened, and closed. Many were the bulging wallets, and sleeve purses. Porters, too, were there, some with boxes, full and half-full, attending Merchants. Much was done with ink and paper, deliveries arranged to the ship, the coin to be paid at her side. The warehouse was a large one. I thought there must be more than six or seven hundred fellows here, coming and going. The place bustled. I thought that Demetrion would be much pleased. Seldom did a trove of such magnitude, on a single ship, as opposed to a convoy, come to Brundisium. In a couple of places on a platform, there was a harbor praetor, now indoors, in the warehouse, on his curule chair, as opposed to on the docks themselves, their usual station, who might clarify the Merchant Law, interpret it, adjudicate disputes, and make rulings. There were many caste colors in the crowd, but clearly predominating were the yellow and white, or white and gold, familiar to the Merchants. I saw two in the yellow of the Builders, and several in the blue of the Scribes, some assisting Merchants; the guardsmen, as they were on duty, were in red. I saw two Initiates in their snowy white, with their golden pans held out, to receive offerings. Commonly they do nothing for coin received, but, occasionally, they agree to bless the giver, and commend him to Priest-Kings. Among their many services, for a sufficient fee, they assure success in business, politics, and love, which successes are unfailing, it is said, unless they not be in accord with the will of the Priest-Kings. On the docks, also for a sufficient fee, they sometimes sell fair winds and clear skies, which also never fail, it is said, save when not in accord with the will of the Priest-Kings. The Pani, discovering that the Initiates were not marketing their golden pans but expected to receive something for nothing, as it were, or nothing tangible, asked them to step aside, as they were impeding the way of honest tradesmen. Many fellows, of course, do not wear their caste robes about, except when on caste business, and some don them only on formal occasions or holidays. Many free women, for example, and some men, concerned with respect to their appearance, do not care to limit their wardrobes as narrowly as their castes might seem to recommend. Several in the warehouse were in nondescript garb. I did note, however, the brown and black of the Bakers, the black and gray of the Metal Worker, the brown of the Peasants, and several others. I saw nothing which suggested the Physicians, but that, of course, did not rule out the presence in the room of those of the green caste.

“I would like, if possible,” said the captain, “to sail with the morning tide.”

“So soon?” I said.

“It would be my preference,” said the captain.

“I am pleased,” said the stranger, “to have had conveyed to me the greetings of Lord Nishida and Tarl Cabot, commander of the tarn cavalry.”

“Both wish you well,” said the captain. “Lord Nishida expresses his appreciation for your work at the gate, at the time of the attempted desertion, and both he and Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, salute you, in the matter of the ship.”

“The matter of the ship?”

“Surely,” said the captain, “you understand that without your concern, and your initiative, without the actions which you set in motion, in particular having Lord Nishida contact Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, in the mountains, the ship would have perished. As it was, it barely escaped the torches of Lords Temmu and Okimoto. Both Lord Nishida and Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, were fond of the ship. It served them well. Neither wished to see it destroyed, wise though might have been its destruction to deter desertion, to convince armsmen that flight was impossible, and that they must now reconcile themselves and their fortunes to our cause.”