Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Nineteen



“I have not seen you so,” I said to Tyrtaios.

“I have been contacted,” said Tyrtaios.

“Friends?” I asked.

“One might say so,” he said.

“In the camp?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“Across the river?” I asked.

He looked at me, suddenly, narrowly. “What do you know of what lies across the river?” he asked.

“Very little,” I said. “I do know there is a palisaded compound there, which presumably houses special supplies, and perhaps prize slaves, too precious to be risked amongst the men of Shipcamp.”

“You have access to a glass of the Builders,” he said.

“No,” I said. “I have heard such.”

“I see,” he said. His hand fell then to his side. No longer did it rest, half opened, poised like a crouching sleen at the hilt of his belt knife.

“Whatever your business,” I said, “I think it must soon be brought to a conclusion, for the great ship is muchly fitted.” The single great rudder had been hung yesterday. “I suspect the eyes will be soon painted.”

“I think not,” he said. “Tersites has forbidden it.”

“Men may fear to sail,” I said, “if the ship cannot see.”

“Those who do not embark,” he said, “will be left behind, or slain.”

“Why would Tersites not permit the ship to see?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps he is afraid to let it see, for what it might see.”

“You intend to embark?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Much is at stake.”

“Perhaps a world,” I said, “or its division.”

“You need do only what you are told,” he said.

“And what am I to be told?” I asked.

“There is a cargo,” he said, “two large crates, heavy, with mysterious contents, now across the river, for safekeeping, which are to be secretly embarked.”

“Games are afoot,” I said, “in which the dice are to be judiciously weighted.”

“The cargo was conveyed across the river, weeks ago,” he said. “It must now be brought back, to the wharf, to be stowed aboard the great vessel.”

“There are guards,” I said.

“I have selected them,” he said.

I wondered how it was that Tyrtaios would have had the authority to make such selections.

“Tonight,” he said, “clouds are likely to conceal the moons. Boats come and go. I think there will be little difficulty in placing the cargo aboard.”

“And if there is?” I asked.

“Then men will die,” he said.

“What of the Pani?” I asked.

“They have their own concerns, their own projects, their own wars,” he said.

“Still,” I said.

“One high amongst them is involved in this,” he said.

“I see,” I said. I had supposed so.

“A place has been prepared for the cargo,” he said. “It will be stowed, netted, and lashed down amongst objects of a similar appearance. An innocent labeling will identify it on the manifests.”

“The manifests are already prepared?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“This business is to be transacted tonight,” I said.

“Conditions permitting,” he said. “Clouds, the moons obscured, darkness, an empty dock, the absence of random patrols.”

“Mariners speak of a storm tonight,” I said.

“So much the better,” he said.

“If all is so innocent, or seemingly so,” I said, “why not manage the business in the day?”

“Too many are about,” he said. “Smiths, carpenters, sail makers, sawyers, docksmen, mariners, wagoners, armsmen, even slaves. Even one who might be curious, or suspicious, or ask a question, is far too many.”

“Who are your friends?” I asked.

“Friends?” he asked.

“Those by whom you have been contacted,” I said.

“They are in the forest,” he said.

“Not across the river, with the boxes?”

“They fear to be near them,” he said.

“Surely they are innocent enough, mere crates, mere boxes,” I said.

“Doubtless,” he said.

“Nothing in there is alive,” I said.

“Not now,” he said.

“If they are in the forest, if beyond the wands,” I said, “they must fear the larls.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “it is the larls which might fear them.”

“They have access to a forbidden weapon,” I conjectured.

“I do not think so,” said Tyrtaios.

“Then?” I said.

But Tyrtaios did not respond.

Most Goreans, I was sure, certainly those of the First Knowledge, knew little of forbidden weapons. There were rumors, whispers, stories, of course, of lightning sticks, tubes of fire, bows which cast quarrels so swift and small one could not even see them in flight, of metal rocks which burst apart like ripe pods in the Schendi death plant, and such.

“I have not seen these boxes,” I said.

“They are large, and heavy, but manageable,” he said. “As before, we will fashion a platform athwart two linked longboats. I anticipate no difficulty. Meet us here at the eighteenth Ahn. This should give us the time to cross the river, fetch the cargo, fasten it on the platform, come back, free it, and get it aboard.”

“All by the twentieth Ahn,” I said.

“Earlier, if possible,” he said.

“The shore side of the dock will be clear,” I said.

“It will be seen to,” he said.

“What of passers-by?” I asked.

“It will be seen to,” he said, “by the knife.”

“The wind is rising,” I said. “I think the mariners are right. There is to be a storm.”

“Wear a cloak,” he said, “a dark cloak.”