"What are you going to do with us?" asked Ho-Hak.
"Do you not fear that I will throw you bound to the tharlarion?" I asked. "No," said Ho-Hak.
"You are a brave man," I said. I admired him, so calm and strong, though before me naked and bound, at my mercy.
Ho-Hak looked up at me. "It is not," he said, "that I am a particularly brave man. It is rather that I know you will not throw me to tharlarion." "How can you know that?" I asked.
"No man who fights a hundred," said he, "with only a girl at his side, could act so."
"I shall sell you all in Port Kar!" I cried.
"Perhaps," said Ho-Hak, "but I do not think so."
"But I have won you and your people, and all these slaves," I told him, "that I might have my vengeance on you, for making me slave, and come rich with cargo to Port Kar!"
"I expect that is not true," said Ho-Hak.
"He did it for Eechius," said Telima.
"Eechius was killed on the island," said Ho-Hak.
"Eechius had given him rence cake when he was bound at the pole," said Telima. "Ti was for him that he did this."
Ho-Hak looked at me. There were tears in his eyes. "I am grateful, Warrior," said he.
I did not understand his emotion.
"Take him away!" I ordered Thurnock and Clitus, and they dragged Ho-Hak from my presence, taking him back somewhere on the second barge, among other bound slaves.
I was angry.
Ho-Hak had not begged for mercy. He had not demeaned himself. He had shown himself a dozen times more man than me.
I hated rencers, and all men, saving perhaps the two who served me. Ho-Hak had been bred a slave, a degraded and distorted exotic, and had served even in the darkness of the stinking rowing holds of cargo vessels of Port Kar, and yet, before me, he had shown himself a dozen times more man than me. I hated him, and rencers.
I looked at the slaves chained at the benches. Any of them, in rags sheared and shackled, beaten and half-starved, was greater than I.
I was no longer worthy of the love of two women I had know, Talena, who had once foolishly consented to be the Free Companion of one now proved to be ignoble and coward, and Vella, Elizabeth Cardwell, once of Earth, who had mistakenly granted her love to one worthy raother only of her contempt and scorn. And, too, I was no longer worthy of the respect of my father, Matthew Cabor, Administrator of Ko-ro-ba, and of my teacher at arms, the Older Tarl, nor of he who had been my small friend, Torm, the Scribe. I could never again face those I had known, Kron of Tharna, Andreas of Tor, Kamchak of the Tuchuks, Relius and Ho-Sorl of Ar, none of them. All would despise me now.
I looked down on Telima.
"What will you do with us, my Ubar?" she asked.
Did she mock me?
"You have taught me," I said, "that I am of Port Kar."
"You have perhaps, my Ubar," said she, "misunderstood the lesson."
"Be silent!" I cried.
She put down her head. "If any here," she said, "is of Port Kar, it is surely Telima."
Furious at her mockerly I leaped from the chair of the oar-master and struck her with the back of my hand, snapping her head to one side.
I felt shamed, agonized, but I would show nothing.
I returned to my seat.
There was a streak of blood across her face where her lip had been cut by her teeth.
She put down her head again. "If any," she whispered, "surely Telima." "Be silent!" I cried.
She looked up. "Telima," she whispered, "is at her Ubar's pleasure." I looked at Thurnock and Clitus.
"I am going to Port Kar," I said.
Thurnock crossed his great arms on his chest, and nodded his head. Clitus, too, gave assent to this.
"You are free men," I said. "You need not accompany me."
"I," said Thurnock, in a booming voice, "would follow you even to the Cities of Dust."
"And I," said Clitus, "I, too."
Thurnock was blue-eyed, Clitus gray-eyed. Thurnock was a huge man, with arms like the oars of the great galleys; Clitus was slighter, but he had been first oar; he would have great strength, beyond what it might seem.
"Build a raft," I said, "large enough for food and water, and more than two men, and what we might find here that we might wish to take with us."
They set about their work.
I sat, alone, on the great chair of the oar-master. I put my head in my hands. I was Ubar here, but I found the throne a bitter one. I would have exchanged it all for Tarl Cabot, the myth, and the dream, that had been taken from me. When I raised my head from my hands I felt hard and cruel.
I was alone, but I had my arm, and its strength, and the Gorean blade. Here, on this wooden land lost in the delta marshes, I was Ubar.
I knew now, as I had not before, what men were. I had in misery learned this in myself. And I now saw myself a fool for having espoused codes, for having set above myself ideals.
What could there be that could stand above the steel blade?
Was not honor a sham, loyalty and courage a deceit, an illusion of the ignorant, a dream of fools?
Was not the only wise man he who observed carefully and when he might took what he could?
The determinants of the wise man could not be such phantoms.
There was only gold, and power, and the bodies of women, and steel. I was a strong man.
I was such that might make a place for himself in a city such as Port Kar. "The raft is ready," said Thurnock, his body gleaming sweat, wiping a great forearm across his face.
"We found food and water," said Clitus, "and some weapons, and gold." "Good," I said.
"There is much rence paper," said Thurnock. "Did you want us to put some on board?"
"No," I said. "I do not want rence paper."
"What of slaves?" asked Thurnock.
I looked to the prow of the first barge, where was bound the lithe, dark-haired beauty, she who had been so marvelously legged in the brief rence tunic. Then I looked to the second prow, and the third, where were tied the large girl, blond and gray-eyed, who had held marsh vine against my arm, and the shorter girl, dark-haired, who had carried a net over her left shoulder. These had danced their insolence, their contempt of me. They had spat upon me, when I had been bound helpless, and then whirled away laughing into the circle of the dance. I laughed.
They had earned for themselves the chains and brands of slave girls. Thurnock and Clitus regarded me.
"Bring the girls at second and third prow," I told them.
A grin broke across the face of Thurnock. "They are beauties," he said, shaking that great shaggy head of yellow hair, sheared at the base of his neck. "Beauties!"
He and Clitus went to fetch the slaves.
I myself turned and walked slowly down the gangway between the rowers' benches, and then climbed the stairs to the foredec of the barge.
The girl, her back bound over the curved prow, facing forward, heard me, but could not see me. My head, as I stood on the foredeck, was about a foot below her fastened ankles. Her wrists, facing me, had been bound cruelly behind the prow.
"Who is it?" she asked.
I said nothing.
"Please," she begged. "Who is it?"
"Be silent," said I, "Slave."
A small cry of anguish escaped her.
With a movement of the Gorean blade I cut the fiber at her ankles.
Then, standing on the rail of the foredeck, my left had on the prow, I cut first the fiber binding her at the throat, and then that binding her at the waist. Then, resheathing my sword, I eased her, wrists bound, down the prow, until her feet at last stood on the rail, on which, beside her, I stood.
I turned her about.
She saw me, the black, swollen mouth, the eyes, and screamed helplessly. "Yes," I said, "it is I."