I regarded him. He smiled. "Fetch Ragnar Voskjard," he said. I grinned, and turned away from him. Behind me, in a moment, I heard the sound of swords.
I looked over the port rail. Some forty yards away, across the water, some hundred yards or so out in the river, off the wharves, half afire, I saw the ship of Ragnar Voskjard. Timbers and wreckage strewed the waters between the ships. I could almost cross to his ship on the debris between us. More battle horns sounded. Not far off I could hear the clash of weaponry betokening yet another fierce ingress of boarders upon the deck of some vessel of hapless buccaneers. A dozen ships off the wharves must have been in flames.
I bit at the leather binding on the handle of the sword I carried. I tore loose a strip of it and, with this cordage, improvised a wrist sling. If it were necessary to use my hands in the water I did not wish to risk losing the weapon. Then, clutching the weapon, the sling about my wrist, I vaulted the rail and, feet first, entered the water. I swam to a raft of planking. There is commonly little danger of eels near Victoria, save near the shadows and shallows of the wharves themselves.
Scarcely had I ascended the heavy planking then, approaching rapidly, bearing down on me, I saw a medium galley, thrusting itself between the flagship of Policrates and _Spined Tharlarion_, the flagship of Ragnar Voskjard. It flew the banners of Tafa. I dove to the port side of the vessel. In a moment I was caught in its bow wave and, lifted, hurled toward _Spined Tharlarion_. Sputtering, lifting my head, spitting water, trying to clear my eyes, I saw another shape approaching. I struck out for the hull of _Spined Tharlarion_.
The encroaching shape seemed to veer toward me, and then I realized, to my horror, that she intended to shear the starboard oars of _Spined Tharlarion_. I was now between the two vessels. There was a grating, shearing noise and snapping oars. I put out my hand and touched the strakes of the shuddering _Spined Tharlarion_. I saw the shearing blade sliding toward me. Scarring and ripping timber, snapping oars, it scraped and scored its way toward me. I dove under the ship. The greatest danger to a swimmer, incidentally, is not the blade itself, for its lower curve is usually at least a foot out of the water, and it is not difficult to avoid it. Indeed, one may even go between the blade and the ship on which it is mounted, if one wishes. The greatest danger to a swimmer, usually, is the grating together of hulls, behind the blades. Few captains are so skillful as to manage a clean, parallel shearing. Both ships are moving, and the angles vary instant by instant.
Looking above me, up through the water, I saw the long, lean hull of the attacking vessel pass overhead. Then there was a rending noise as it gouged the starboard strakes of _Spined Tharlarion_. It had come in at too sharp an angle. The hulls then, grinding, swung together. When I saw the light of open water between them I surfaced. I found myself in a welter of debris and splinters. Oars were thrusting out from the attacking vessel, to force the ships apart. I seized a broken oar from _Spined Tharlarion_, its blade gone, its shaft swinging loose in the thole port. I climbed on the oar, the sword dangling from its wrist sling. I got my hand to the wood beside the thole port. I could see the bench inside had been abandoned. I gathered many of the crew of _Spined Tharlarion_ had abandoned the vessel.
Using the oar and thole port I drew myself upward. In a moment I was over the rail and on the deck of _Spined Tharlarion_. The stem castle was empty. The few men on the decks did not attack me. I saw the attacking vessel moving backward, trying to maneuver. She would try to come in with her ram, and, doubtless, later board. The stem castle was empty. There was a figure on the stern castle. His back was to me. I saw him ripping away the insignia of the captain from his robes. Two pirates leapt overboard, on the port side. I hastened down the deck and raced up the stairs to the stern castle. He spun to face me, the golden cordage of the captain in his right hand. "Greetings, Ragnar Voskjard," I said to him, "I have come to fetch you."
He reached for his sword, but the point of my sword was in his belly. He removed his hand from the hilt of his blade.
"That is better," I said. "Now, on the deck, on your belly, to be stripped and bound."
He looked at me, in fury. I grinned, and, loosing the wrist sling of the sword, flung it into the deck beside me.
He looked at the sword, upright in the deck beside me.
"Now," I told him.
His eyes glinted.
Swiftly he attempted to draw his blade. Instantly I was before him and caught him with a balled fist, driven upward into his gut. He looked at me, sick, bent over. I then measured him, and, at my leisure, from the balls of my feet, with the full force of my shoulders and arm, struck him, spinning, from his feet. I walked over to where he had fallen. I dragged him back by his ankles to the center of the small, high deck of the stern castle, where I put him on his belly.
"You would be troublesome," I told him. I knelt across his body. "I was once a fighting slave," I told him. With strips of cloth cut from his garments I tied his hands behind his back. "Perhaps you even, at one time or another, have bet upon fellows such as I was." He moaned. "It is amusing, is it not," I asked, "that the great Ragnar Voskjard is now naught but the prisoner of an ex-fighting-slave?"
"Free me," he begged. I tightened the knots that confined him. "I will pay you much," he said. "What pay could compare with the pleasure of taking the Voskjard prisoner?" I asked. "Mercy," he said. "No," I said. "You need not have tied me so tightly," he said. "It amused me," I told him. I smiled to myself. It was a Gorean answer.
Suddenly the ship shook with a great impact. "We have been rammed!" cried the Voskjard. "It is the ship which sheared your starboard oars," I told him. "She flies, as I now see, the colors of Turmus."
"We shall sink!" cried the Voskjard. "Not immediately," I told him. I stood up, the bound Voskjard between my feet. "They are preparing to board, as I see," I said. "Surrender me to the men of Turmus," he begged. I, with the sword, then cut his garments from him. He was then naked between my feet. "You are my prisoner," I told him. From the straps of his sword belt I improvised a short leash for him. "Do not permit me to fall into the hands of those of Victoria!" he begged.
"You would have sacked their town. You have seen them fight," I said. "Keep me from the men of Victoria," he begged. "They are boarding now, many of them, the fellows of Turmus," I observed. "Give me to them," he begged.
"On your feet, Sleen," I told him. I dragged him to his feet by the leash. "Give me to the men of Turmus!" he begged. "And let them cheat me of my prisoner?" I asked. "Who are you?" he asked, frightened. "Jason," I told him, "Jason-of Victoria."
"No!" he cried. I then threw him from the lofty stern castle of _Spined Tharlarion_, bound, into the water. I then thrust my hand through the wrist sling of the sword and, seizing it, withdrew it from the wood. I waved to the fellows of Turmus, swarming onto the already listing deck of _Spined Tharlarion_. I then, feet first, leaped downward into the water, landing near the floundering Ragnar Voskjard. In a moment I had my hand on the short leash I had devised for his throat and, he on his back, helpless, my prisoner, was towing him toward the flagship of Policrates.
The battle, I gathered, was muchly over.
The Voskjard grunted, and half choked, as I hauled him, partly by the neck leash, partly by his arm, over the rail of the flagship of Policrates. I threw him on his belly, on the listing, awash deck, at my feet. The flagship of Policrates seemed deserted. She had been rammed. I did not think she would stay long afloat.
The waters off the Victoria wharves seemed crowded, but many of the ships were aflame.
The alarm bar was ringing in Victoria, but now in token of victory. There were crowds upon the concourse. Garlanded, white-clad maidens could be seen. At the front edge of the concourse, near the wharves, pirates, in rows, stripped and bound, lay on their bellies. Maidens cast flowers upon them, and some of these maidens, from their own heads, placed garlands upon the brows of the victors.