Coming Aboard
"By Valeria's tits!" My large companion swore drunkenly. I had not heard the oath before, though I was new to Port Kogo. Doubtless some fondly remembered slave-girl, or dancer of legend. When the large giant had half-drunkenly asked me to aid him to the paiga tavern where his crew waited, it had been enough to get me a night of slave-girls and paiga on the house. Someone as spending gold freely, and fresh from the desert I took full advantage.
"No, to Valeria's tits!" a drunker man shouted, waving his cup. There were roars of approval as other flagons were lifted and paiga quaffed and splashed.
"I do not know this Valeria," I said to my companion in the cups. "Are her charms so legendary, they're worth the oath?"
"Oh yes," he slurred drunkenly, and smiled broadly with blackened teeth. "They're magnificent. I've seen 'em." That had me intrigued, for slave-girls are rarely memorable, and free women were concealed. I half-suspected some jest at my expense, or that it was a tavern or port they visited often.
"And are they truly outstanding?"
"Paid for all this, didn't they?" His bellow and gesture encompassed the whole tavern; the drunk sailors, the paiga girls, the dancers upon the tables and the paiga that flowed freely into flagons - and onto beards, down chests and onto the floor.
A slave-girl whose charms could pay for all this must be memorable indeed. I would have asked my companion where to experience them, but he finished his gesture by folding bonelessly and sliding from the bench to the floor, eyes shut. His flagon, still in his hand was miraculously upright. I'd hear no more from him this night but snores.
Around the tavern were many tables, all packed. I settled for one that had but two sitting by it, less drunk than the others and with their eyes upon a blonde who pranced and gyrated upon the stage. Her charms were as appealing as any slave-girls, her hips slender and shapely, but to my experienced eye no more so than many others. The pair were sober enough to be upright, one of them in warrior-red made in a way that spoke of Ar, and the other broad-chested and mighty. I greeted them with 'Tal' and asked if I might join them.
With a laconic nod, the warrior from Ar kicked a chair towards me. I sat and looked with them at the blonde. She saw our interest and her dance hastened, feet flickering as she sought to please.
"Is that Valeria?" I asked. There was a short and bitter bark of laughter from the larger man.
"No." He grimaced. "That it only was." The other man barely moved, his voice lower.
"Talk like that gets your tongue cut out." He never took his eyes from the girls as he spoke. His companion, still grimacing, quaffed his paiga, calling for another. As the paiga-girl filled his mug, he caught her head, bruising her mouth with the master's kiss.
(A) She panted eagerly as he finished, but he shoved her away and lifted his flagon.
"Sairso, of the Red Tarn," he introduced himself. "and that is Lancaa of Ar, and the Red Tarn. Tal."
"I am Tarl Cabot, once of Ko-Ro-Ba." I said, for my name was mine again, and Sairso sat straight.
"Son of Cabot, the Administrator?" he said. I nodded, my hand seeking my blade below the table. The black mood on him lessened. "I was from there once. Now Port Kar is my home." I understood his meaning. Port Kar has no homestone. Had he sworn to no other, Ko-Ro-Ba would still be the place that held his oath, for the homestone still survived. To find one of my countrymen here was a rare and fortunate thing.
"Then Tal indeed,"I replied, my heart gladdened. For a time we watched the gyrations of the dance, her sweet hips promising much to a man.
"What brings you here?" Sairso enquired, and I, softened by paiga and good company, shrugged.
"Travelling," I said, for it was true. My humiliations as the slave Bosk were behind me, and what lay ahead, who knew? "I seek new experiences. And to rebuild my chain." He laughed, and even the dour Lancaa nodded approval.
"A man's quest. How well do you fare?"
"Not well," I admitted, for the drink and the prospect of girls had loosened my tongue. "Not enough gold for the slaves I would buy, and the ones I'd not have to pay for are too well-protected." It was true. I grew desperate enough to steal away a free woman, for coin-girls and urt-girls go only so far. (B) "Would that I could console myself with the slave Valeria." I sought answers, but to my paiga-addled mind this seemed a good and subtle approach. I was sure this was some jest at my expense, for even if she be forever on her back, no one slave-girl could bring so much gold to a master in her lifetime. Sairso sneered, downing more paiga.
"Would we all could. Valeria is no slave." I raised my dizzy head on my hands and bleared, more confused. "Surely no free woman has so much wealth?" It must be left to her by her family, or passed back to men. A free woman with such legendary charms should have to stay behind high walls to not be taken, and pay well indeed to not be betrayed. None save her family may ever have seen such a woman. That would be a prize worth the claiming. "Is she well-guarded?" I asked, for to kidnap and break such a woman would be deed indeed. To claim her wealth as my own would set me for life. Lancaa laughed as Sairso's guffaw sprayed me with paiga.
"She guards herself," Lancaa said dourly.
"She must have a mighty fortress indeed." Maybe she was even of the slavers' guild. It would explain her wealth and the girls - and her infamy and lack of womanly fear. Sairso slammed his paiga flagon to the table.
"No, she has a ship," he raged. To my disbelieving ears, Sairso laid out a tale, of a woman who dressed in slave silk, but carried men's weapons, who had claimed and renamed the ship of Vakiros of Kor and slain in bloody combat all who would not serve her. Who, against all order and sense, had plundered the great merchant ships of the West once and again in feats only a man should perform, and was now in port for entertainment.
My brow furrowed, for the paiga and music addled my wits, though less than any who were not warrior-trained would have suffered.
"So the woman wears silk and is comely," I said slowly, for this made no sense to me, "and none have put a collar on her? Are you not men?"
"Very much." Sairso grumbled, grabbing a passing paiga-girl and pulling her onto his lap as she writhed and wriggled.
"We were ashore when she killed the Captain," Lancaa spoke for him, still watching the blonde, his lips slightly parted. "We came back to the crew hailing her Captain."
"More of them than us," Sairso grunted, "and they refused to lift blade against her." Thin silk tore in his grasp as he pushed the girl down among the cups. Lancaa stood.
"Those who tried, died," he said, bluntly, before striding towards the stage. I too stood, for the evening was growing old and for all the paiga, they reminded me that I had not seen to my own pleasures.
Later, when I was done with my tavern-girl, I thought instead of blonde hair and shapely limbs; of charms said to make a slave-girl's drab. I imagined a collar, my collar, around the slender neck, for such would not be beyond a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba. A sorry lot these pirates must be if one woman could take the ship. If I took her, then I'd have woman and ship both - a worthy goal for Tarl Cabot of Ko-Ro-Ba!
+
The Red Tarn was easy to spy. A great single-masted sloop, its triangular sails were furled. The figurehead at the prow had been re-carved into a tarn's head, beak agape, and the outline of its wings spread back along the ship's sides. The ship was of the pale woods of the south, yet the tarn shape was dyed the dark red of northern ironwoods by some artifice of the ship-maker's caste. A thrill ran over me at the thought that such a ship would soon be mine.
It was not in port, but lay at anchor some distance out within the bay, a common pirates' precaution against thieves and dock rats. I knew better; it was a woman's pathetic protection against those in blue-and-yellow, easily defeated if they knew she was there. Against one in warrior-red it was no defence.
It would be best for me if I could steal aboard and steal her away with as few of the crew slain as I could, for once she was broken to my collar, they would be my crew. They had set a watch, but warriors are trained in stealth.
I slipped from the dock into the water without a splash as I had been trained. My short-sword was across my back so it would not foul my legs as I swam. My knife was between my teeth for fast use. My head alone broke the surface, and that barely, for my hands and legs moved beneath it. I must keep watch below me for the nine-gill harbour sharks, though there was little risk. They fed at dawn and at dusk, and this was passed midnight, and while they hugged the shore the ship was in the deep water.
It should be simple enough to board; I would climb the anchor chain, dispatch those guards that were about her chamber, and enter the woman's room. Should I be skilled enough, she need not even wake before I scratched her with the frobocain needle I carried, then bind her and bare her face. Should I find her pleasing, I would carry her away, otherwise she could be dispatched and I would return where I came.
(C)
The ship was growing large in my view, for I was mid-way between port and ship now. The waves lifted me with each swell, and my warrior's instinct pricked. I took the knife from my teeth and looked around. No fins cut towards me. The light of the dock reflected on the black water, rippling across the waves. From the corner of my eye I saw it, lights that moved, doubled and were single again. Before me, between me and the ship, the reflections moved against the waves. The arrowhead they formed, a V-shape upon the water, was arrowing straight for me, and at the tip -
- a water tharlarion! Not the snake-necked sea tharlarion that hunted ships, but the armoured, short-legged, wide-mouthed monster of the rivers and coasts. A huge one, I saw, for its nose alone was above water, its tail undulating through the black water far behind. The thing was fully half the length of the ship, and I with but a knife to defend myself! Its mighty jaws, below the water, would open but to close on me as it I were a mere urt-girl.
With a deep breath I ducked below the water. Underwater its form was clearer, silhouetted against the mirror of the moonlit surface. There was a trick I had learned from the canals of Port Kar that a loud shout may deter an urt that would strike from below rather than upon the surface. I shouted my loudest, in the hope it would work here, but onwards it came. All I saw was teeth.
With a warrior's reflex I set my hands to its nose, pushed myself up. The force of its charge pushed me sideways, pulled with the water that flowed back over it. Rough scaled grazed y skin, but my limbs were not within its teeth. I drove my knife into its back, into its legs, as the stubby limb hit me but it bounced from scale.
It turned its huge head, snaking it back to seize upon me. Grabbing on to the ridges of its back, hand over hand I pulled myself over its back, evading those seeking jaws by a hands breadth. It rolled, and I was raised breathlessly into the air and plunged below again as I snatched a breath. It snapped, fell short, snapped again, and I saw my arm must fall between its jaws. I stabbed up, into the wet red flesh of the roof of its mouth again, and again. It released me, and pushed away in a swirl of blood and bubbles. I had no breath to scream, though my arm was mangled it worked. I sheathed my knife and drew my sword. What reach I could get here mattered. The huge beast had retreated and now it circled me, its broad back breaking the surface. I could see it clearly now; an evil-looking thing riddled with the scars of many fights. Its cruel jaws were lined with teeth like knife-blades. Agape, they would engulf me, swallow me whole. My sword arm was bleeding freely, and I knew I must end this fast. Blood would draw other teeth in these waters.
I drew breath, sank below to face it full-on. My sword was pitifully small, but it was all I had. I did not think to kill it, but to hurt it enough to make it seek easier prey. Its yellow eyes gleamed. I saw both full on as it rounded on me. A lash of its table sent it charging forwards, jaws agape. I was ready.
My arms drove into my sides, and my legs drove together. In a blink I shot to the surface like a cork from a bottle, jack-knifed, and brought my blade down with all my strength on its snout. Barely, I pulled my feet from its jaws, barely, as its teeth closed on water. Then we were caught into a rolling, snapping, frenzy, it's teeth against my blade. I clung; to loose my grip was to go between the jaws and die. For my part, I battered it about the eyes. The hard crests above them, the white shell-like lids across them, foiled me. In its fury it flung itself side-to-side, whipped its head to and fro. I could but gulp air when its rolls brought me above the waves. My vision grew dark, blacker spots against blackness, before once again I was thrown from it. A colossal heave of its back flung me away, to skip the surface like a stone before I sank like one.
It was not rushing now, closing with slow deliberation, with each languid stroke of its powerful tail. I should not dodge this strike, I knew, so I readied myself to sell my life dearly. I raised my sword, raised a cry of defiance against it. The tharlarion came on, malice in every line of it. Its jaws began to open. I stabbed forward with my sword, seeking a nostril, an eye, a weakness as the water rushing into its jaws drew me inexorably between them. I stabbed for the great yellow eye, missed.
The tharlarion threw itself aside, rolling as if I had hit it. Behind it, sinking in the water was a dark shape - a spear!
"Grab hold!" A voice called, high as a youth's. A rope landed across my shoulders. "Now, before it changes its mind! Are your wits gone?" Indeed the tharlarion was seeking its new enemy, its back to me. I sheathed my sword, gripping the rope with both hands. Hand-over hand I pulled myself towards the ship as the rope was drawn in. I did not look back for the tharlarion - if it wished to snatch me there was nothing I could do about it. Swiftly I was drawn from the water, up the side of the ship. The rope was pulled in fast, but not as fast as a warrior should pull it. A youth then, and one to whom I owed my life. I swore that when I saw him fully, I'd see him to one who could train him if he had no mentor already, for such actions were worthy of the warrior caste.
I caught the rail, and a slim hand gripped my tunic and hauled me aboard. I panted, coughing water. Behind me the waves parted as the frustrated tharlarion swam back and forth.
(D)
"Good fight!" my rescuer said, and I saw him for the first time. I froze. He was her. A woman lounged by the rail, watching the tharlarion and myself with equal attention. And what a woman!
Her golden hair, soft as spun silk, was hacked off at the shoulder as if with a knife. Her features were flawless, foreign in a way that made her the more attractive. The flush to her face did not mar the clarity of her creamy skin, but faded before that skin trailed down under the white silk blouse that hugged charms which, while concealed, were flawless. The skin was as white between the tops of her leather boots and red silk pantaloons that flowed round her shapely thighs and sweet hips. On those sweet hips a longsword and dirk hung incongruously, and pointlessly, for no woman could know the use of them.
(E)
"You are Valeria," I said, for there was no there she could be. My eyes dropped to her chest. Her charms, I judged, were worthy of the oaths they had inspired.
"I am," she said, with a free woman's assurance, though so alluring a creature was better clad in slave silks. "Are you thief or slaver?"
"Neither," I said, for I did not know where the man she Companioned was. "Men swore on you in the tavern. I wished to see the truth." She looked down at what I still regarded, and laughed. It was full-throated, the laugh I should expect from a man.
"Need I guess what they swore upon?" she said, not affronted but amused. She did not turn from me as she raised her voice so it carried. "Keron! Did you not see this one?"
"I've been watching him since he slipped off the docks, Cap'n!" The call came from above, though I could not see the man among the rigging and the darkness. This Keron must have sharp eyes indeed to spy me so far from shore, or lied to save his skin.
"And you raised no alarm?"
"Saw the tharlarion as well," Keron called back, cheerily. "We were taking bets on him or the beast!" It stung my pride to be the object of such bets. To treat a free man, a warrior no less, with such disregard was unwise and callous, but I was not of their homestone or their company, and such was the way of Gor.
"Did any of you have 'Valeria throws him a rope'?" she challenged, though she had an eye upon me at all times. Every woman has one man who will master her, and I swore on the home stone of Ko-Ro-Ba I would be hers.
"No Cap'n." He sounded resigned.
"Then I take the pot." A groan went up and a grumble. I frowned, for free woman or not, what man would not simply cuff her about the head for her insolence and take it back? She let them settle and smirked. "Put it behind the bar for your shore leave tomorrow. Just bring me back something stronger than bloody paiga!" There were scattered cheers from above, and she laughed with them. I saw then that this was a game they played: where they allowed her the pretence of power and she did not actually press it.
Valeria looked to me fully, and laid her hand on her sword hilt as if it were a natural gesture. We both knew it did no more than draw my eyes to her hips.
"So," she asked, "what is your name and why are you here?"
"Tarl,"I said, for the Cabot name was too well-known to be used among pirates, "from Ko-Ro-Ba. And I wished to see what men swear upon."
"Swear at, more like!" Came Keron's cheerful cry, and Valeria chuckled.
"And now you've seen it," she said, tolerantly.
"And it was worth fighting a tharlarion for," I said, for what woman does not like her charms praised? "More than I had imagined." I imagined her in slave-silks, that magnificent body writhing under me on a slave-ring. My blood rose. She was still smiling, yet oddly now it brought to my mind the tharlarion.
"So, do you have any other business here, or should I have you thrown back?" She could never order such a thing, I knew. Her weak woman's heart could never slay a man, yet whatever hidden master she served surely would. Her words gave me an opening to explore the mystery, and I took it.
"I want to join your crew." She leaned back, looking me over, quite unashamed.
"And you've no trouble with a woman captain? I've found it a common affliction."
"I have served an Ubara," I said truthfully. I had indeed, until she was cast down to her natural place after chained humiliation among her men. This Valeria would be as sweet once she was served the same. It seemed she suspected nothing, or knew my thoughts and approved, for she did not order me thrown to the tharlarion.
"What lay would you claim?" I wished to say her, but such boldness would go unrewarded by the men here. The lay was that part of the ship's plunder I could claim when our voyaging was done. "You're new and untried. I'll offer the two-hundredth." The two-hundredth part of the plunder for a voyage was a poor share. I would have expected the sixtieth, for there could not be more than fifty upon a ship this size.
"The hundredth," I retorted, proudly, for I did not wish to be put overboard.
"Hundred and fiftieth," she riposted, and she was enjoying herself.
"Hundred and twentieth?"
"Hundred and twenty-fifth," she said, as if it was the final offer. I looked up to the sails and raised my voice to the men above.
"She nearly sank the ship from weight of gold, and we'd two prize ships in tow the same." Keron's call from above amazed me. Such wealth was more than the entire lay for many voyages.
"Luck, surely," I said to myself, and she laughed freely.
"Think what you will. I've plans already made for the next voyage."
"Then I would join you," I said, impulsively. There were greater prizes to be seized than a two-hundredth lay. Such a voyage would give me time to find her mysterious master. As Tarna had served the Salt Ubar, so Valeria would serve a man. I need but must find him, and girl and ship both could be mine.
"Come," she said, going towards the door that led below decks. "You can make your mark upon the scroll. Have you your letters, or do you want witnesses?"
"I've my letters," I said. To admit such a low-caste skill would shame many warriors, but among pirates it would be of use. An idea came to me. I halted. "But I'll not serve a Captain unless I know they can use the sword they carry." It was a test I knew no woman could pass. Now she should deflect or demure, sending one of her men to fight for her. I thought she'd take umbrage or affront, but she nodded.
"I say the same." Amusement glittered in her eyes, the colour of stormy, blue, seas. "And I'd see you fight a warrior, not a beast." That was her way out, I saw. A woman's cunning to insist a man fight for her and a warrior. I strode to the clear part of the centre deck, and waited for her to call her warrior. She did not, following me, and threw me a frayed sailcloth.
"You're dripping on my deck. Dry yourself." I did, though her tone was not one a woman should use to a man. The night was warm, but I wanted a good grip on my sword and a solid stance. She meant to face me herself, with the confidence of a woman who has never felt a man's strength. I did not wish to damage such a creature, and she had not even the sense to draw her blades and ready herself.
Dry and ready, I drew my short-sword, taking a warrior's ready stance, the blade to my front. Now she drew her own sword, one that by my reckoning was too long for her. She would tire quickly. I saw the flaw in her stance immediately; her guard was too low. I lunged for the opening, thinking to beat her sword from her hand and end this quickly.
I shouted in shock for my fingers stung. A blade skittered away across the deck, but it was my own! Somehow her blade had raised, wrapped mine, and struck it from me.
(F)
A fancy trick, and likely her only one. Now she would claim she had defeated me, and take her win. Valeria stepped back, and smiled.
"Again?" she said, and her tone of eager interest fired me. I retrieved my blade. This time I'd not strike for hers. A true warrior could pull or turn aside his blow in a blink. I was unusually gifted with a blade, and it would be simple to teach her terror and not harm her. With a roar, I swung my sword overhand, overhead, to crash it down as if upon her head. Before I turned it, it crashed upon a dirk, drove the dirk down on the longsword below it and was stopped. I reached to grab her dirk arm. Her sword was already carving a crescent down to tap stingingly against my thigh. For all her weak woman's strength, that would leave a welt. She had used the flat, not the edge. Her mistake, for I pushed through, grasping her wrist below the dirk and twisting it with a shout of triumph as her weapon fell free.
My shout was cut short by a colossal blow to my face that sent me back a pace, and pain in my foot to send me hopping. She pulled free, snatching up her dirk as I recovered. I tasted copper and spat my blood upon the deck. Upon her forehead was the bloodily painted outline of my lips, the indents of the shape of my rattled teeth. She was grinning, flushed as a slave-girl gazing on her master.
"If you'd rather a dock-fight than a sword fight, I'll give you one!" she taunted, crouched in passable imitation of warrior's defence. I raised my sword in salute to her spirit, not her skill.
We circled, I testing her. A strike to her body she batted aside easily. Her casual riposte I deflected likewise, for there was but woman's strength behind it. She was smiling widely now, mistaking my caution that I not hurt her for own her skill keeping me at bay.
Tiring of this, I struck for her leg. She paced lightly back. I reversed my strike in an arc for her head, and must fling myself aside as her longsword left another stinging welt on my open thigh. She drew it back, following through with her dirk towards my arm as she half-turned.
Now we fought. Now blade rang on blade, as we turned and circled. She had but a woman's strength and I pulled my blows. She was fast, I saw, and had some little skill. She fought with the flat, too soft-hearted to draw blood with the edges. Her blows stung when she slid through my guard, yet I could not get through hers. Had I exerted myself, no doubt I should have crashed through her defence and struck her, but I landed not a blow. Had she fought with but one blade, I was sure I could have bested her, but she fought with both and dodged like a dancer.
Yet we were near equal, for she could not pin me. Always I found one opening to step, to retreat. The fight could have gone on until dawn, or until she was spent, but I mistepped. Seizing an opening I stepped back, putting my foot in a pail that tilted and flung me down. I was left most ungracefully sat in a coil of rope, my knees near my ears, the bucket upon my foot and her sword at the front of my face. A gale of laughter rose from the sails above, for in my predicament I made a truly comical picture.
"Yield?" she asked, flushed and greatly pleased. I did not spoil her pleasure, for it made her a pretty thing indeed. I had learned what I needed.
"I yield," I said, not entirely seriously. She sheathed her blade and extended a slender hand to pull me from the ropes. I did not let her go immediately but held her a moment longer. "A rematch though. When I am dry and have not just fought a tharlarion." She threw back her head and laughed.
"When we've a treasure ship or two in run to ground, I'll hold you to it!" She stretched when I released her hand. The view was magnificent indeed. "You're better than most I've fought."
That was doubtless because I could hold back less. A true warrior can judge his opponent's skill and match it. I had the measure of hers. She was fast but, should I exert myself, she would fall as any woman would.
(G)
I followed her below to make my mark upon the Red Tarn's scroll. In the voyage to follow I could take the measure of captain, and crew, and ship. When I was ready, I could take them all.
--
If you don't understand "unreliable narrator" just don't read this one. The problem with using this is the number of people who expect every line to be followed with *'what really happened' and **'not the author's opinion'. which ruins the fun of sitting in Cabot's head while his world-view gets kicked in the teeth.
--
A - Apologies, this is an actual John Norman thing, except he uses r*pe not bruise. Just don't ask.
B - Yes I have written Tarl true to canon - as a complete and total sh*t a.k.a. unrepentant sadistic r*pist slaver. That makes it more enjoyable to watch horrible things happen to him. If anything, I am toning him down to keep him alive long enough for there to be a story.
C – Yes. he's planning to kidnap a woman or murder her for not being pretty enough. No this is not acceptable. If you think it is, rethink your life.
D - Note that Valeria has saved his life here. Cabot never mentions it again: if a man had done it he'd acknowledge a debt, but because she's a woman he pretends the debt was not incurred. We have a word for people like this: assholes.
E – Blame Robert E. Howard, rewritten Gor-style.
F - This is called fool's guard. It's rather like fool's mate in chess for swordplay: anyone can fall for it once.
G - And Cabot is severely delusional. At the very least, he's severely underestimating Valeria. (Cabot: I held back to avoid injuring the pretty thing, who could never have harmed me. Valeria: he has some promise, and he's learned to pull blows, so I'll use the flat and not cut him to ribbons. What actually happened: She beat him backwards round the deck, controlled every space he moved into, then backed him into a bucket and pile of rope to see how he took it.)
