I awakened only once before nightfall, to change the position of Tina and Cara. I wished Tina to be fresh. She was asleep even before I had thonged her neck to the tree.
At nightfall I arose. I freed both Cara and Tina. I looked up at the moons. They rubbed their wrists, where my binding fiber had bitten into them.
I looked out to sea, across the vast, placid waters of Thassa, now bright with oblique moonlight. We three stood together on the beach, on the sands, among the stones, and observed Thassa, the murmuring, gleaming, elemental vastness, Thassa the Sea, said in the myths to be without a farther shore.
It seemed to me not unlikely that this would be the night.
“How beautiful it is,” said Cara.
I saw no sails on the horizon, against the fast-graying sky.
I took water from the canteen, and ate strips of tabuk meat from my wallet. The girls regarded me. They, too, were hungry and thirsty.
“Kneel,” I told them.
When I had satisfied my thirst, there was little left in the canteen. I threw it to Cara. She and Tina then finished the bit of water remaining. When I had satisfied my hunger on the tabuk strips, there was but one left. I tore it in two and threw half to each of the girls.
They were Gorean girls, and slaves. They did not complain. They knew that they had been fed earlier in the day. They knew that, if it were not my will, they would not be fed at all.
Access to food and water is a means of controlling and training slaves, as it is of any animal.
I looked upward. The moonlight would not last for more than an Ahn. I was pleased.
Clouds, like tarns from the north, swept in some stratospheric wind, were moving southward. Their flight was black and silent, concealing the stars, darkening the sky.
On the beach it was quiet, a calm night, in early summer.
What turbulence there was, was remote, seemingly far removed from us, a matter only of clouds, silently whipped in distant, unfelt winds, like rivers, invisible in the sky, breaking their banks, hurling and flooding in the night, carrying the intangible debris of darkness before them, soon to extinguish the fires of the stars, the swift lamps of the three Gorean moons.
The night was calm, a still evening in early summer, rather warm. Somewhere, abroad the Thassa, concealed by the bending of a world, moved the Rhoda and Tesephone.
But they must be near. They had a rendezvous to keep.
I looked out to sea.
Thassa seemed now an unbroken vastness, where a black sky met a blacker sea. We could hear her, restless.
“It is time,” I told the slaves.
Together we picked our way down the beach, across the stones, across the soft sands, until we came to the side of the great accumulation of branches and driftwood which we had earlier prepared.
From my wallet I took a small, smooth stone and a tiny, flat metal disk. I lighted a brand.
This brand I then thrust into the great pile of branches and driftwood. Gorean galleys do not commonly sail at night, and, often put into shore during darkness.
I expected, however, because of the dangers of the shores of Thassa, and the importance of their mission, the Rhoda and Tesephone, though they might like at anchor, would not make a beach camp. Had I been the commander of the two ships I would have laid to offshore, coming in only when necessary for water or game. I would also, however, following common Gorean naval custom, have remained within sight of, or in clear relation to, the shore. The Gorean galley, carvel built, long and of shallow draft, built for war and speed, is not built to withstand the frenzies of Thassa. The much smaller craft of the men of Torvaldsland, clinker built, with overlapping, bending planking, are more seaworthy. They must be, to survive in the bleak, fierce northern waters, wind-whipped and skerry-studded. They ship a great deal more water than the southern carvel-built ships, but they are stronger, in the sense that they are more elastic. They must be baled, frequently, and are, accordingly, not well suited for cargo. The men of Torsvaldland, however, do not find this limitation with respect to cargo a significant one, as they do not, generally, regard themselves as merchants or traders. They have other pursuits, in particular the seizure of riches and the enslavement of beautiful women.
Their sails, incidentally, are square, rather than triangular, like the lateen-rigged ships of the south. They cannot said as close to the wind as the southern ships with lateen rigging, but, on the other hand, the square sails makes it possible to do with a single sail, taking in and letting out canvas, as opposed to several sails, which are attached to and removed from the yard, which is raised and lowered, depending on weather conditions.
It might be mentioned too, that their ships hare, in effect a prow on each end. This makes it easier to beach them than would otherwise be the case. This is a valuable property in rough water close to shore, particularly where there is danger of rocks. Also, by changing their position on the thwarts, the rowers, facing the other direction, can, with full power, immediately reverse the direction of the ship. They need not wait for it to turn. There is a limitation her, of course, for the steering oar, on the starboard side of the ship, is most effective when the ship is moving in its standard “forward” direction. Nonetheless, this property to travel in either direction with some facility, is occasionally useful. It is, for example, extremely difficult to ram a ship of Torvaldsland. This is not simply because of their general size, with consequent maneuverability, and speed, a function of oarsmen, weight and lines, but also because of this aforementioned capacity to rapidly reverse direction. It is very difficult to take a ship in the side which, in effect, does not have to lose time in turning.
Their ships are seen as far to the south as Shendi and Bazi, as far to the north as the great frozen sea, and are known as far to the west as the cliffs of Tyros and the terraces of Cos. The men of Torvaldsland are rovers and fighters, and sometimes they turn their prows to the open sea with no thought in mind other than seeing what might lie beyond the gleaming horizon. In their own legends they think of themselves as poets, and lovers and warriors. They appear otherwise in the legends of others. In the legends of others they appear as blond giants, breathing fire, shattering doors, giants taller than trees, with pointed ears and eyes like fire and hands like great claws and hooks; they are seen as savages, as barbarians, as beasts blood-thirsty and mad with killing, with braided hair, clad in furs and leather, with bare chests, with great axes which, at a single stroke, can fell a tree or cut a man in two. It is said they appear as though from nowhere to pillage, and to burn and rape, and then, among the flames, as quickly, vanish to their swift ships, carrying their booty with them, whether it be bars of silver, or goblets of gold, or silken sheets, knotted and bulging with plate, and coins and gems, or merely women, bound, their clothing torn away, whose bodies they find pleasing.
In Gorean legends the Priest-Kings are said to have formed man from the mud of the earth and the blood of tarns. In the legends of Torvaldsland, man has a different origin. Gods, meeting in council, decided to form a slave for themselves, for they were all gods, and had no slaves. They took a hoe, an instrument for working the soil, and put it among them. They then sprinkled water upon this implement and rubbed upon it sweat from their bodies. From this hoe was formed most men. On the other hand, that night, one of the gods, curious, or perhaps careless, or perhaps driven from the hall and angry, threw down upon the ground his own great ax, and upon this ax he poured paga and his own blood, and the ax laughed and leaped up, and ran away. The god, and all the gods, could not catch it, and it became, it is said, the father of the men of Torvaldsland.
There was, of course, another reason why the commander of the Rhoda and Tesephone would keep within sight of the shore.