"Your ship, then," I said to the fellow on board, "is indeed the Tina." "There are doubtless many ships with that name," said the fellow, smiling. "And what is the port of registry of your ship?" I asked.
"It is registered west of here," he grinned.
"Victoria?" I asked.
"Or Fina, or somewhere," he said.
"Surely these ships with you, those surprisingly flying no colors, are not of the Vosk League."
"We are an innocent trading fleet," he said.
"One Cosian ship has been destroyed in the harbor," I said, "and another has been disabled."
"Yes," he said. "It seems two regrettable accidents occurred in the harbor." "You are embarking women and children," I said.
"Passengers," he said.
"Some may think these are ships of the Vosk League," I said.
"What do you think, Vitruvius?" asked the fellow, leaning on the rail. "It seems to me unlikely that these could be ships of the Vosk League," said the fellow beside me, "for the Vosk League, as is well known, is neutral. Does it not seem unlikely to you, as well?"
"Yes," said the man on the ship, "It seems quite unlikely to me, as well." "What is your name? I asked the fellow on the ship.
"What is yours?" he asked.
"Tarl," I said.
"That is a common name," he said.
"Yes," I said, "especially in the north."
"My name, too, is a common one," he said, "especially west, on the river." "What is it?" I asked.
"Jason," said he.
"Of what town?" I asked.
"The same which serves as the home port of my ship," he said.
"West of here?" I said.
"Yes," he said.
"Victoria?" I asked.
"Or Fina, or somewhere," he said.
"I wish you well," I said.
"I wish you well," he said. Women and children, and now men, were being taken aboard this vessel as well. Turning about, looking back to my left, toward the flagship, I saw Aemilianus being carried aboard. Some tarnsmen flew overhead, but none fired downward.
I watched the piers being emptied, women and children, and men, of Ar's Station, embarking.
I then saw, a rope on her neck, her hands thonged behind her back, still veiled, still clad in the provocative rages which had been those of the former Lady Publia, Lady Claudia. She had been caught among the crowds of women and children on the pier, perhaps noted by the wounded Marsias, or one of the others who had been with us in the cell, or perhaps by others still, alerted by one or the other of them, as to her probable disguise. The Cosians had not come to the piers. She had not received her opportunity to surrender herself to them, begging from them the desperate boon and privilege of reduction to absolute slavery. Among others boarding the flagship, too, in her improvised hood, naked, her hands, too, thonged behind her back, as I had fastened them earlier, being pulled on her leash by one free woman, being herded from behind, poked and jabbed, and struck, with a stick by another, stumbling, ascending the narrow plank to the flagship, was a slave, one who had once been Lady Publia of Ar's Station.
I saw her lose her footing once on the plank and fall, belly downward on it, her legs on either side of it. She must have been utterly terrified, in the darkness of the hood, helpless, unable even to cry out. The first woman tugged at the leash. The other beat her with the stick. She struggled to her feet, and then, obedient to the leash, and trying to hurry before the cruel incitements of the stick, she ascended the plank. Female slaves are seldom left in any doubt on Gor that they are slaves, and particularly when they are in the keeping of free women. I saw two of the oarsmen lift her from the height of the plank, down, between the thwarts, and then place her kneeling, behind them, amidships, on the deck. Other slaves already knelt there. Too, in that place, kneeling, too, a neck rope dangling before her, but in no one's keeping, knelt Lady Claudia. The two free women who had had the former lady Publia in their care were courteously directed forward, where, before and about the stern castle and even on the small bow deck, were gathered several woman and children. These, already, were being fed ships' rations. Four or five ships, crowded with passengers, had come and gone more than once at the piers. These were ferrying passengers to the ships lying at anchor in the harbor. Then they themselves retained their last loads of passengers and, too, drawn away from the piers, out in the harbor, rode at anchor. Many other passengers had boarded the ship which had remained wharfed, such as the Tina and Tais. The various ships were now crowded with the men, women and children of Ar's Station. I doubted that any one of them now held less than a hundred passengers.
It must be remembered, too, that these were river galleys and, on the whole, smaller than the galleys of Thassa. Too, the river galley, for those whom it might interest, is normally shorted masted than a Thassa galley, seldom has more than one mast, and seldom carried the varieties of sails, changed on the yard according to wind conditions, that are carried by a Thassa galley. River galleys, also, as would be expected, seldom carry more than twenty oars to a side, and are almost always single-banked.
Fifteen ships, mostly of Port Cos, were now at the piers, which, now, except for armed men, were mostly empty. I heard a battle horn sound, from the stern castle of the Tais. It was, I gathered, the recall. In orderly fashion, unchallenged, the numerous soldiers, guardsmen, armed oarsmen and such who had lined the inner side of the piers, facing the inner harbor, withdrew to the fifteen waiting ships. Many clambered over the sides. Others made use of various planks and gangplanks.
On some of the ships now there was scarcely room for the oarsmen to ply their levers. Water lapped high on the hulls; the rams were now at least a yard under the water; even the lower tips of their shearing blades were submerged. Mariners of some ships freed the mooring lines of others, and then their own, and then boarded, some of them using the lines themselves to regain the decks. Several of the ships then departed from the piers, pushing off with the three traditional poles. Among these was the ship called the Tina.
I looked out into the harbor. I saw some of the ships there drawing up their anchors, generally two, one at the bow, one at the stern, and putting about, those that had faced the piers. The huge, painted eyes of these ships were then turning north, toward the mighty Vosk. The eyes of the other ships out in the harbor, those which had had the task of ferrying out passengers, already faced north. Such eyes are common on Gorean ships. How else, some mariners inquire, could she see her way? To the Gorean mariner, as to many who have followed the ways of the sea, learning her, fearing her, loving her, the ship is more than an engineered structure of iron and wood. It is more than tackle and blocks, beams and planks, canvas and calking. There is an indefinability and preciousness about her, a mystique which informs her, an exceeding of what is seen, a nature and wondrous mystery, like that of a companion and lover, a creature and friend. Though I have seldom heard them speak explicitly of this, particularly when landsmen are present, many Gorean mariners seem to believe that the ship is in some way alive. This is supposed to occur when the eyes have been painted. It is then, some say, that she comes alive, when she can see. I suppose this may be regarded as superstition; on the other hand, it may also be regarded as love.
The ships in the outer harbor which had been facing north now, too, drew up their anchors.
I looked back toward the landing and the citadel in the distance, across the inner harbor. I could see the remains of walkway from where I was. The citadel was burning.
I looked back to the harbor.
The first of the ships was now moving toward the river. others were following her, in line.
Once again I looked back toward the citadel.
Smoke drifted out to the piers, too, from the city itself. Those fires, I supposed, might burn for two or three days yet.