Hunters of Gor

22 There is a Fair Wind for Port Kar

The wind was cold that swept along the stony beach. The men stood, their cloaks gathered about them. I sat, in blankets, in a captain’s chair, brought from the Tesephone. Thassa was green, and cold. The sky was gray. At their anchors, fore and aft, some quarter of a pasang from shore, swung the Rhoda, in her yellow, now dim in the grayness of the morning, and the Tesephone, on her flag line, snapping, an ensign bearing the following device, the head of a bosk, in black, over a field of white, marked with broad stripes of green, a flag not unknown on Thassa, that of Bosk from the Marches, a captain of Port Kar.

From the blankets I looked across the beach, to the stockade, which had been that of Sarus. The gate opened, and emerging, came Marlenus, followed by his men, eighty-five warriors of Ar. They were clad in skins, and in garments of Tyros. Several were armed well, with weapons taken from those of Tyros. Others carried merely knives, or light spears, taken from Hura’s panther girls. With them, coming slowly, too, across the sand, to where we waited for them, were Sarus and his men, chained, and bound and in throat coffle, stripped, shivering, Hura’s women. Near them, similarly bound and in throat coffle, though still in the skins of panther girls, were Verna’s women, who had been captured long ago by Sarus in Marlenus’ camp. Grenna, too, who had once been Hura’s lieutenant, whom I had captured in the forest, was bound in the same coffle. She wore the tatters of her white, woolen slave garment. Among the men, clad, too, like Verna’s women, in skins, were Marlenus’ own slave girls, those who had been brought to the forest by him, who, like the others, had been captured at his camp. Their limbs were not bound. About their throats, however, they wore the collar of their master.

Today the camp would be broken, the stockade destroyed.

I observed the retinue approaching me.

It would then be forgotten, what had taken place on this beach.

I could not move the left side of my body.

I watched Marlenus and his men, and the slaves, and captives, make their way toward me.

It was four days since the night of the stockade.

I had lain, in pain and fever, in my cabin, in the small stern castle of the Tesephone.

It had seemed that Sheera had cared for me, and that, in fitful wakings, I had seen her face, intent above mine, and felt her hand, and a warmth, and sponging at my side.

And I had cried out, and tried to rise, but strong hands, those of Rim and Arn, had pressed me back, holding me.

“Vella!” I had cried.

And they had pressed me back.

I should have a hiking trip, into the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I would wish to be alone.

Not in the arena of Tharna! I blocked the heavy yoke locked on Kron, the iron horns tearing at me. The shock coursed through my body, as might have the blow of a mountain on a mountain.

I heard the screams of the women.

They were Hura’s women.

I reach for my sword, but it was gone. My hand closed on nothing.

The grayish face of Pa-Kur, and the expressionless eyes, stared down into mine. I heard the locking in place of the cable of his crossbow.

“You are dead!” I cried to him. “You are dead!”

“Thurnock!” cried Sheera.

Then there was the roar of Thassa but not of Thassa but of the crowd in the Stadium of Tarns, in Ar.

“Gladius of Cos!” I heard cry. “Gladius of Cos!”

“On Ubar of the Skies,” I cried. “On! On!”

“Please, Captain,” said Thurnock. He was weeping.

I turned my head to one side. Lara was very beautiful. And Misk, the great disklike eyes luminous, peered down at me. His antennae, golden, with their fine sensory filaments, surveyed me. I reached up to touch them with the palms of my hands. “Let there be nest trust! Let there be friendship!” But I could not reach them, and Misk had turned, and delicately, on his posterior appendages, had vanished.

“Vella! “ I wept. “Vella!”

I would not open the blue envelope. I would not open it. I must not open it. The earth trembles with the coming of the herds of the Wagon Peoples. “Flee, Stranger, flee!” “They are coming!” “Give him paga,” said Thurnock.

And Sandra, in her vest of jewels, and bells, taunted me in the paga tavern in Port Kar.

I swilled paga.

“All hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!” I rose drunkenly to my feet. Paga spilled from the cup. “All hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!” Where was Midice, to share my triumph? “Vella!” I cried. “Love me!”

“Drink this,” said Arn. I swallowed the liquid, and lay back.

The wind had been cold, too, on the height of Ar’s cylinder of justice. And small Torm, in the blue robes of the scribe, lifted his cup, to salute the beauty of Talena.

“You are denied bread, and fire and salt,” said Marlenus. “By sundown you are not to be within the realm of Ar.” “Victory is ours!” “Let us hunt, tumits,” suggested Kamchak. “I am weary of affairs of state.” Harold was already in his saddle.

I drew on the one-strap of Ubar of the Skies, and the great bird, giant and predator, screamed and together, we thrust higher into the bright, sunlit skies of Gor.

I stood at the edge of the cylinder of justice of Ar and looked down. Pa-Kur had leaped from its height. The sheerness of the fall was broken only by a tarn perch, some feet below.

I could see crowds milling at the foot of the cylinder.

The body of the master of the assassins had never been recovered. Doubtless it had been torn to pieces by the crowd.

In Ar, years earlier, Mip behind me, late at night, I walked out upon a tarn perch, and surveyed the beauties of the lamps of Ar, glorious Ar. I had looked up and seen, several feet above me, the height of the cylinder. It would be possible, though dangerous to leap to the perch.

I had thought little of it.

Pa-Kur was dead.

“Was the body recovered?” asked Kamchak.

“No,” I had told him. “It does not matter.”

I threw back my head and laughed.

Sheera wept.

“Put more furs upon him,” said Arn. “Keep him warm.”

I recalled Elizabeth Caldwell.

He who had examined her on Earth, to determine her fitness for the message collar, had frightened her. His clothes did not seem right upon him. his accent was strange. He was large, strong-handed. She had said his face was grayish, and his eyes like glass.

Saphrar, a merchant of Tyros, resplendent in Turia, had similarly described the man who had enlisted his services in behalf of those who contested worlds with Priest-Kings. He had been a large man. His complexion had not seemed as one of Earth. It had seemed grayish. His eyes had been expressionless, like stones, or orbs of glass.

Pa_Kur stared down upon me. I heard the locking in place of the cable of his crossbow.

“Pa-Kur is alive!” I screamed, rising up, throwing aside the furs. “He is alive! Alive!” I was pressed back.

“Rest, Captain,” said Thurnock.

I opened my eyes and the cabin, blurred, took shape. What had seemed a dim sun, a flame of darkness, became a ship’s lantern, swinging on its iron ring. “Vella?” I asked.

“The fever is broken,” said Sheera, her hand on my forehead.

I felt the furs drawn about me. There were tears in Sheera’s eyes. I had thought she had escaped. My collar still encircled her throat. She wore a tunic of white wool, clean.

“Rest, sweet Bosk of Port Kar,” said she.

“Rest, Captain,” whispered Thurnock.

I closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

“Greetings, Bosk of Port Kar,” said Marlenus of Ar.

He stood before me, his men behind him. he wore the yellow of Tyros, and, about his shoulders, a cloak, formed of panther skins. About his throat was a tangle of leather and claws, taken from panther women, with which he had adorned himself. His head was bare.

“Greetings, Marlenus,” said I, “Ubar of Ar.”

Together we turned to face the forest, and waited. In a moment, from the trees, emerged Hura.

Her hands were tied, by her long black hair, behind the back of her neck. Her hair had been twisted about her throat, knotted, and then, with the two loose strands, thick, themselves twisted, looped about her wrists, her hands had been secured. She was stripped. She wore a branch shackle, a thick, rounded branch, some eighteen inches in length, notched toward each end, with supple tendrils, fitting into the notches and about her fair ankles, tied across the back of her legs.

She stumbled once on the stones, struggled to her feet and again approached us. Behind her, nude, proud, erect, golden rings in her ears, carrying a pointed stick, an improvised spear, came blond Verna, tall and beautiful.

Hura fell to her knees, between Marlenus and me, her head down. The proud leader of the panther girls had not escaped.

“I found this slave in the forest,” said Verna. About her own neck she still wore Marlenus’ collar.

He looked at her. She looked at him fearlessly. As an unveiled free woman, not as a slave.

Verna had caught Hura yesterday, but she had refused to bring her to the stockade. She had kept her prisoner in the forest.

Now, like a third, equal among us, though she wore a collar, she brought Hura forward to our meeting.

I looked at Hura. The once-proud panther woman, the now-trembling slave dared not raise her head.

“So,” inquired Marlenus, “this slave attempted to escape?”

“Please do not lash me, Masters,” whispered Hura. She had in the stockade, at the hands of Sarus’ men, once felt the whip. No woman ever forgets it. Marlenus pulled her to her feet, and bent her backwards. He examined her. He passed his right hand over her beauty from her knee to her throat. “The slave pleases me,” he said. Then he said to her, harshly, “Kneel.” Hura knelt, trembling.

“Where is the other escaped slave?” asked Marlenus.

Mira, stripped, her hands tied behind her back, was thrown between us. She was terrified.

Sheera, in her white woolen tunic, stood at my side. She put her cheek against my right shoulder.

She and Verna, like Hura and Mira, had disappeared from the stockade. Within the Ahn Sheera had taken Mira, and, in the darkness, bent over, hand in her hair, she had returned Mira to my men. Mira had then been chained in the hold of the Tesephone. This morning, hands tied behind her back, in a longboat, I had had her brought to the beach to be disposed of.

Marlenus looked down at Hura and Mira. Mira looked up at me. There were tears in her eyes. “Remember, Master,” she wept, “I am your slave. It was to you that I submitted in the forest!” I looked out across Thassa, to where the Rhoda and Tesephone rocked at anchor. It was cold in the blankets. I could not move my left hand or arm, or leg. I was bitter. It was all for nothing. I looked at Sarus, miserable in his chains, and his men. There were ten, but two were sorely wounded, and should not have been chained. They lay on their sides in the sand. Out on the Rhoda, chained in its hold, were the crews of Tyros who had manned the Rhoda and Tesephone. On the Tesephone, chained in its first hold, were, with one exception, those women whom I had placed in my slave chain. The exception was the woman of Hura, named Rissia, who had remained behind to defend her fallen sisters, whom I had captured at the trail camp of Sarus. She stood to one side, fastened in a sirik. I saw the graceful metal at her throat, and on her wrists and ankles, the long, light chain dangling from the collar, to which the slave bracelets and ankles rings were attached. She was in the care of Ilene, who now wore not slave silk, but a tunic of white wool, like that of Sheera. “Stand straight!” cried Ilene, and struck Rissia with a switch. Rissia lifted her head proudly, tears in her eyes.

I saw Cara, in Rim’s arms, to one side. She still wore a tunic of white wool, but no longer was there a collar at her throat. The lovely slave had been freed. There was no companionship in Port Kar, but she would accompany him to the city. He gently kissed her on the shoulder, and she turned, gently, to him. “I am not a slave,” said Verna to Marlenus of Ar, though she wore his collar. They looked at one another for a long time. she had saved his life in the stockade, interposing her body and weapon, the crossbow, between him and the maddened, desperate attack of Sarus. He had not struck her, a woman. I had taken his sword from him, and given it to one of my men. Then, she had turned, and leveled her crossbow at the heart of Marlenus. We could not have stopped her, did she then fire. The Ubar, in chains, stood at her mercy. “Fire,” he had challenged her, but she had not fired. She had given the crossbow to one of the men of Ar. “I have no wish to kill you,” she had said. Then she had turned away. Yesterday, she had returned of her own free will to the beach, and in her power, a captive panther woman, whose name was Hura.

“Take from the throat of this woman,” said Marlenus, “the collar of a slave.” He looked about. “This woman,” he said hoarsely, “is no slave.” From the belongings of the camp of Marlenus, which had been carried to the stockade, was taken the key to the collar. It was removed from the throat of Verna, panther girl of the northern forests.

She faced the Ubar, whose slave she had been.

“Free now, my women,” she said.

Marlenus turned about. “Free them,” he ordered.

Verna’s women, startled, were freed of their bonds. They stood on the beach, among the stones, rubbing their wrists. One by one, collars were taken from their throats. They looked at Verna.

“I am not pleased with you,” said Verna to them. “You much mocked me when I knelt slave, and wore garments imposed upon me by men.” She then pointed to her ears. “You mocked me, too,” said she, “when rings were fastened in my ears.” She regarded them.:are there any among you,” she said, “who wish to fight me to the death?” They shook their heads.

Verna turned to me. “Pierce their ears,” she said, “and put them all in slave silk.” “Verna,” protested one of the women.

“Do you wish to fight me to the death?” demanded Verna.

“No, Verna,” she said.

“Let it be done as Verna has said,” said I to Thurnock. Orders were given. In an Ahn, the girls of Verna knelt before her on the beach. Each wore only clinging, diaphanous slave silk. In their eyes were tears. In the ears of each, fastened through the lobes of each, were earrings, of a sort attractive in each woman.

The skins of the women who had protested “Verna!” were now worn by Verna herself.

She strode before them on the beach, looking at them. “You would make beautiful slave girls,” she told them.

I saw that the woman called Rena, whom I had used in Marlenus’ camp, before departing it, was especially beautiful.

I sat in the captain’s chair, in authority, but cripples, huddled in blankets, bitter. I knew that I was an important man, but I could not move the left side of my body.

It was all for nothing.

“You,” challenged Verna to the girl who had protested, “how do you like the feel of slave silk?” She looked down.

“Speak!” ordered Verna.

“It makes me feel naked before a man,” she said.

“Do you wish to feel his hands, and his mouth, on your body?” she asked. “Yes!” she cried, miserably, kneeling.

Verna turned and pointed out one of my men, an oarsmen. “Go to him and serve his pleasure,” ordered Verna.

“Verna!” cried the girl, miserably.

“Go!” ordered Verna.

The panther girl fled to the arms of the oarsmen. He threw her over his shoulder and walked to the sand at the foot of the beach.

“You will learn, all of you,” said Verna, “as I learned what it is to be a woman.” One by one, she ordered the girls to serve the pleasure of oarsmen. The girl, Rena, fled instead to me, and pressed her lips to my hand.

“Do as Verna tells you,” I told her.

She kissed my hand again, and fled to him whom Verna had indicated she must serve.

Their cries of pleasure carried to me.

Marlenus regarded Verna. “Will you, too,” he asked, “not serve?”

“I know already what it is to be a woman,” she said. “You have taught me.” He reached out his hand, to touch her. I had not seen so tender a gesture in the Ubar. I had not thought such a movement to be within him.

“No,” she said, stepping back. “No.”

He withdrew his hand.

“I fear your touch, Marlenus,” she said. “I now what you can do to me.” He regarded her.

“I am not your slave,” she said.

“The throne of the Ubara of Ar,” he said, “is empty.

They looked at one another.

“Thank you,” she said, “Ubar.”

“I will have all arrangements made,” he said, “for your investiture as Ubara of Ar.” “But,” she said, “Marlenus, I do not wish to be Ubara of Ar.” His men gasped. My men could not speak. I, too, was struck with silence. To be Ubara of Ar was the most glorious thing to which a woman might aspire. It meant that she would be the richest and most powerful woman on Gor, that armies and navies, and tarn cavalries, could move upon her very word, that the taxes of an empire the wealthiest on Gor could be laid at her feet, that the most precious of gems and jewelries might be hers, that she would be the most envied woman on the planet.

“I have the forests,” she said.

Marlenus could not speak.

“It seems,” he said,that I am not always victorious.”

“No,” she said, “Marlenus, you have been victorious.”

He looked at her, puzzled.

“I love you,” she said. “I loved you even before I knew you, but I will not wear your collar and I will not share your throne.” “I do not understand,” he said. I had not thought, ever, to see the Ubar as he stood there, looming over this woman, whom he might, did he choose, seize and own, but standing there numb, not understanding.” “You do not understand,” said she, “because I am a woman.” He shook his head.

“It is called freedom,” she said.

Then Verna turned away from him, in the skins of a panther woman. “I shall wait for my women in the forest,” she said. “Tell them to find me there.” “Wait!” said Marlenus of Ar. His voice was agonized. His hand lifted, as though to beg her to return with him.

I was startled. Never had I understood that the Ubar of Ar could be thus. He had cared, he then understood, and we, too, for this lonely, proud, beautiful woman. “Yes?” asked Verna, turning to regard him. in her eyes, too, I thought I saw moisture.

Whatever Marlenus might have said to her, he did not say. He stood still for a moment, and then straightened himself. With one hand he tore from his throat the leather and claws he wore there. I saw that among those barbaric ornaments was a ring. I gasped, for it was the seal of Ar, the signet of Glorious Ar. He threw it to Verna, as a bauble.

She caught it.

“With that,” he said, “you are safe in the realm of Ar. With that you can command the power of the city. This is as the word of the Ubar. With this you can buy supplies. With this you can command soldiers. Any who comes upon you and see this ring will know that behind you stands the power of Ar.” “I do not want it,” she said.

“Wear it,” said Marlenus, “for me.”

Verna smiled. “Then,” said she, “I want it.” She tied the ring on a bit of leather about her neck.

“The Ubara of Ar,” said he,” might wear such a ring.”

“I have the forests,” she said. “Are they not more beautiful even that the city of Ar?” They regarded one another.

“I will never see you again,” said Marlenus.

Verna shrugged. “Perhaps not,” she said. “But perhaps you will.”

He looked at her.

“Perhaps, sometime,” she said. “I will trek to Ar. I have heard that it is a fine city.” He grinned.

“And perhaps,” said she, “from time to time, you might come again to hunt in the northern forests.” “Yes,” he said. “Such is my intention.” “Good,” she said. “Perhaps, sometimes, we can hunt together.” Then she turned to depart.

“I wish you well. Woman,” said Marlenus of Ar.

She turned to face him, and smiled. “I, too,” said she, “wish you well.” Then she turned and vanished into the dark green shadows of the northern forests.

Marlenus stood for a long time, looking after her. Then he turned to face me. He wiped his forearm across his mouth. He threw back his head and laughed and wept. “The wind,” he said, “is cold, and stings my eyes.” He looked at his men. None dared to speak. He shrugged. “She is only a woman,” he said to me. “Let us conclude our business.” “Those who were crews from Tyros on the Rhoda and Tesephone,” I said, “will be taken to Port Kar and sold on the wharves as slaves. The proceeds from their sales will be divided, among my men, whose captives they were.” “This woman,” said Marlenus, thrusting Hura with his foot to the sand. “I claim.” He stood with his foot on the side of her neck. She lay twisted. “She was returned to me by the woman, Verna, while still she wore my collar.” “She is yours,” I said.

Hura moaned.

I surmised she would look well in slave silk, in the pleasure gardens of her master, Marlenus of Ar.

“one slave in my coffle is yours,” said Marlenus. He indicated Grenna. Grenna had originally been tied with Verna’s women. When they were freed, she, pending her disposition, and as slave security, had been fastened with Hura’s beauties.

“Cut her out of the coffle,” said Marlenus.

Grenna, in her tatters of white wool, her hands tied behind her back, knelt before me, head to the sand. The severed coffle leather was still knotted about her neck.

“Does she please you?” I asked Arn.

“She does,” said Arn.

“She is yours,” I told him, giving him Grenna. “Remove her collar,” I told Thurnock. The peasant giant did so.

Then Arn summoned his men, those who accompanied me. “I depart,” said he. “I wish you well, Arn,” I said, “and the others, too.” He began to leave the beach. Grenna looked wildly after him. Then, hands still tied behind her back, she ran to him.

“Master,” she said.

He looked at her. “I am an outlaw,” said he. “I have little use for a slave.” She stood there, bewildered. “I find you beautiful,” said Arn. “I desire you.” “I do not understand,” she stammered.

He turned her about. With his sleen knife he cut the knotted loop of coffle leather from her throat. With his knife he cut the binding fiber from her wrists. He then held her from behind, by the arms, and kissed her, gently, on the right side of her throat.

Still held, she whispered, not looking at him, “Am I not to submit to you?” He released her arms. “No,” he said. “I free you.” She turned to face him. she stood on the beach. She rubbed her wrists. She seemed startled.

“I have little time,” said Arn, “I am an outlaw. I must hunt.” He turned away. “I am Grenna,” she cried suddenly. “I was second to Hura. I, too, am an outlaw. I, too, know the forests. I, too, must hunt.” Arn turned and faced her. “Do you find me pleasing?” he asked.

“I do,” said she, “Arn.”

“On my head,” said Arn, “I wear the degradation strip.”

“Let me, too, so shave my head,” said she.

He smiled. “I must hunt,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I must hunt, too,” she said.

Arn extended her his hand. “Come,” he said, “let us hunt together.” Arn and Grenna, followed by his men, entered the forest, and disappeared. “Let the slave Tina stand before me,” said I.

Tina, in my collar, in white wool, stood before me.

“To a slave,” said I, “I owe much, and my men, too.”

“Nothing is owed to a slave,” said Tina, her head was down.

“You cannot return to Lydius,” I said. “There you would live only as a slave.” “Master?” she asked.

Turus stood behind her. About his left wrist was the amethyst-studded wristlet. “In Port Kar,” said I, “there is a caste of thieves. It is the only know caste of thieves on Gor.” She looked at me.

“You will have little difficulty,” I said, “in earning entrance into that caste.” “I have seen the thief’s brand!” she cried. “It is beautiful!” It was a tiny, three-pronged brand, burned into the face over the right cheekbone. I had seen it several times, once on one who worked for the mysterious Others, a member of a crew of a black ship, once encountered in the mountains of the Voltai, not far from great Ar itself. The caste of thieves was important to Port Kar, and eve honored. It represented a skill which in the city was held in high repute. Indeed, so jealous of their prerogatives were the caste of thieves that they often hunted thieves who did not belong to the caste, and slew them, throwing their bodies to the urts in the canals. Indeed, there was less thievery in Port Kar than there might have been were there no caste of thieves in the city. They protected, jealously, their own territories from amateur competition. Ear notching and mutilation, common punishment on Gor for thieves, were not found in Port Kar. The caste was too powerful. On the other hand, it was regarded as permissible to slay a male thief or take a female thief slave if the culprit could be apprehended and a caste member, was to be remanded to the police of the arsenal. If found guilty in the court of the arsenal, the male thief would be sentenced, for a week to a year, to hard labor in the arsenal or on the wharves; the female thief would be sentenced to service, for a week to a year, in a straw-strewn cell in one of Port Kar’s penal brothels. They are chained by the left ankle to a ring in the stone. Their food is that of a galley slave, peas, black bread and onions. If they serve well, however, their customers often bring them a bit of meat or fruit. Few thieves of Port Kar have not served time, depending on their sex, either in the arsenal or on the wharves, or in the brothels.

I doubted, however, that Tina would be often caught.

“Remove her collar,” I told Thurnock.

Tina’s collar was removed. She was radiant. “Will I see you, Turus, in Port Kar?” she asked.

“Yes, little wench,” said he, taking her in his arms.

“I would not have minded much,” said she, “if he had given me to you, as your slave!” “You have well earned your freedom, wench,” said Turus.

“Oh!’ she cried.

He had reached into her garment and removed his amethyst-studded bracelet, from where she had slipped it.

She looked at him, offended.

Then she laughed. “Your purse!” she cried. She flung it to him, and sped down the beach laughing, toward the longboat, that would take us back to the Tesephone.

He pursued her for a moment, bend down to pick up a rock and sailed it after her. It stung her, smartly, below the small of the back, on the left side. She turned about, tears in her eyes.

“I shall see you in Port Kar!’ he cried.

“Yes,” she said, “you beast! You will! You will!”

He took a step toward her, and she stumbled away, and fell against the longboat, and then, climbed into it, laughing, watching him. “I’m free!” she called. “Tina is free!” He ran suddenly toward her, and she tried to scramble away, climbing over the thwarts, but he caught her by the scruff of the tunic and pulled her under the water. He dragged her, holding her by the hair under water until he came to the beach. Then, she gasping, soaked, he wet from the chest down, he threw her to the sand. I saw them fall to kissing and touching. No longer did the little thief reach for his purse or his wristlet. Her garment beneath her in the wet sand, she reached now for his lips, his head and body, touching him and crying out.

There was laughter from my men, and those of Marlenus. I expected that Tina and handsome, young Turus would see much of one another in Port Kar, jewel of gleaming Thassa. I saw her small body leaping helplessly to his touch. “I love you,” she cried.

“I love you,” said he. “I love you, sweet wench!”

“This woman,” said Marlenus of Ar. “I want.” He indicated Mira, on her knees, wrists bound behind her body, kneeling in the sand.

“Please, Master,’ she said to me. “Do not give me to him!”

“She betrayed me,” said Marlenus of Ar, “I will have her, too.” Hura lay, unmoving, her eyes dry, her body still twisted in the sand.

“Very well,” I said to Marlenus. “I give her to you.”

Marlenus took her by the hair and threw her, too, to the sand beside Hura. Both of the women lay at his feet. Both would march nude, chained to the stirrup of his tharlarion, in his triumph in Ar. Both would later, in silks and bells, barefoot, in bangles and slave rouge, serve him in his pleasure gardens. Dancing for him, pouring him wine, serving his pleasure, perhaps together, both would much please him. Hura and Mira were lovely souvenirs of the northern forests, fitting mementos for the great Ubar; they were tokens of his victories, reminders of his success’ their captive bodies would be found by him doubtless, when he looked upon them, rich in meaning as well as in pleasure. I could imagine him, drinking, pointing to one, telling his companions the story of the northern forests. “Now dance, Beauties!” he would cry, and they would, slaves, leap to their feet to please his companions. I wondered if, in the telling of that story, there would be mention of one called Bosk of Port Kar.

I did not think so. My part did not sufficiently honor the great Ubar, Marlenus of Ar.

He was always victorious.

I could not move the fingers of my left hand. The wind, sweeping across the beach, was cold.

“These men,” said Marlenus, indicating Sarus, and his ten men, chained, “are to be returned to Ar, for public impalement.” “No,’ said i.

There was utter silence.

“They are my prisoners,” I said. “It was I who took them, I and my men.” “I want them,” said Marlenus of Ar.

“No,” I said.

“Let them be impaled on the walls of Ar,” said Marlenus. “Let that be the answer of Ar to Chenbar of Tyros!” “The answer,” said I, “is not Ar’s to give. It is mine.” He looked at me for a long time. “Very well,” he said. “The answer is yours.” I looked at Sarus. He looked at me, chained, haggard, puzzled.

“Free them,” I said.

“No!’ cried Marlenus.

Sarus and his men were stunned.

“Return to them their weapons,” I said. “And give them medicine and food. The journey they have before them is dangerous and long. Help them prepare stretchers for their wounded.” “No!” cried Marlenus.

I turned to Sarus. “Follow the coast south,” I said. “Be wary of exchange points.” “I shall,” he said.

“No!’ cried Marlenus.

There was silence.

We stood, the two groups of men on the beach. Sheera was beside me. Hura’s women, bound, shrank back. Hura and Mira, secured, lay frightened on the sand. My men, even those who had had Verna’s women in their arms, came forward. The women, hair loose, the slave silk wet and covered by sand, earrings in their ears, followed them, standing behind them.

Marlenus looked about, from face to face.

Our eyes met.

“Free them,” said Marlenus.

The chains were removed from Sarus and his men. Two stretchers were improvised. They were given supplies, and medicine.

“Give back to Sarus his own sword,” said I.

It was done.

Their weapons, too, were returned to the other men.

Sarus stood before me.

“You have lost, Sarus,” said I.

He looked at me. “We have both lost,” said he.

“Go,” I said.

He turned and left, followed by his men, two of them carried by others, lying on the stretchers. We observed them departing, southward, down the long, curved stony beach.

They did not look back.

“Take down the stockade,” said Marlenus to his men.

They did so, leaving logs strewn on the beach. They then returned to his side. “We will depart,” said Marlenus.

Then the Ubar turned and regarded me. He was not pleased.

Our eyes met.

“Do not seek to come to the city of Ar,” said he.

I was silent. I had no wish to speak to him.

“Do not come to Ar,” said he.

Then he, with his men, and slaves, Hura and Mira now added to his coffle, departed. They entered the forests. He would return to his camp north of Laura, where his tarns waited. He would thence return to Ar, Hura doubtless bound nude across his saddle.

I watched them leave.

His head, nor the heads of his men, did not wear the degradation stripe. He would bring with him as slave Hura and Mira, panther girl leaders, who had sought to accomplish dishonor upon him. several of their women, too, nude and chained, would grave his triumph as lovely slaves. The men of Tyros, who had sought his capture were mostly dead or to be sold as slaves. Even their ship was prize, the possession of which he had not disputed with one called Bosk of Port Kar, who had aided him. he had come to the forest to capture Verna and free the woman Talena. He had succeeded in the first objective but had magnanimously, after first forcing her to serve him as a helpless, obedient slave girl, after sexually conquering her, freed her. It was a gesture, was it not, worthy of a Ubar? As for the second objective, the freeing of the woman Talena, that was no longer important to him, no longer a worthy aim of a Ubar’s act. She had begged to be purchased, thus showing that the collar she wore truly belonged on her throat. To beg to be purchased acknowledges that one may be purchased, that one is property, that one is slave. He had repudiated her. He had disowned her, as his daughter. If it were convenient for him now to free her, merely as an ex-citizen of Ar, he might do so, but he was not concerned in the matter. He had not even asked Verna her location. And Verna, Gorean to the core, had not dishonored him by imparting such information. Had she done so her act would have constituted a demeaning insinuation that he, a free man, a Ubar even, might have an interest in the fate of a slave. Verna respected Marlenus, doubtless more than any other man on Gor. She would not do him insult. She would, however, I had little doubt, send the two women who guarded Talena, to his camp north of Laura, with their prisoner to see if he, as a free man merely, might be interested in the purchase of a slave. He might then, without show of concern, without solitude, do what he wished.

She would have, thus, protected the honor of the Ubar.

Marlenus and his men disappeared into the forest.

I looked at the uprooted, strewn logs of the palisade, scattered on the stones by Marlenus’ men. “Thurnock,” I said, “gather these logs, those from the stockade, and with them build a beacon.” He looked at me. His eyes were sad. “There will be none to see it,” he said, “but I will build it. I will build a beacon the light of which will be seen fifty pasangs at sea.” I did not know why I would build such a beacon. There would be few to see it on Gor. And none, ever, would see it on the planet Earth. And if some should see it, who should understand it? I myself did not know why I built it or what its flames might mean.

I turned to Sheera.

“You did well in the stockade,” I said. “You are free.”

I had already, the night preceding, on the Tesephone, freed Vinca, the red-haired girl, and the two paga slaves, the dark-haired one, and the blond one, who had assisted her.

They would be given gold, and conducted in honor and safety to their cities. “Very well,” she said. There were tears in her eyes. She had known I would free her.

“A cripple,” I said, “had no need of a beautiful slave.”

She kissed my arm. “I care for you,” she said, “sweet Bosk of Port Kar.” “Is it your wish to remain with me?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No,” she smiled.

I nodded.

“No, sweet Bosk,” she said. “It is not because you are crippled.”

I looked at her, puzzled.

“Men,” she laughed, “understand so little.” She put down her head. “Men are fools,” she said, “and women are greater fools for they love them.” “Remain with me then,” I said.

“It was not my name you cried out,” she said, tears in her eyes, “when you lay in fever in the cabin of the Tesephone.” I looked out to sea.

“I wish you well, sweet Bosk of Port Kar,’ said she.

“I wish you well, Sheera,” said I. I felt her kiss my hand, and then she went to Thurnock, that he might remove her collar, that she, like Verna, might disappear into the forest. Marlenus had said that the wind on the beach was cold, and had stung his eyes. Too, it stung my eyes.

“Rim,” said I.

“Captain,” said he.

“You are captain of the Rhoda,” I said. “Weigh anchor with the tide.” “I will, Captain,” said he.

“You know what you are to do?” I asked.

“Yes,” said he. “I will sell those in the hold, the men of Tyros who crewed the Rhoda and Tesephone, in Port Kar.” “Is there nothing else?” I asked.

He grinned. “Yes,” said he. “We shall, first, journey up the Laurius to Laura. We will have business with one named Hesius of Laura, who sent paga slaves and drugged wine to our camp. I shall burn the tavern. His women will find themselves in our chains. We shall bring them to Port Kar and dispose of them there in the slave markets.” “Good,” I said.

“And Hesius himself?” he asked.

“His strong box,” I said, “must be seized. Distribute its contents to the poor of Laura.” “And Hesius himself?” asked Rim.

“Strip him and leave him poor and penniless in Laura.” I said. “he will serve our purposed well in telling and retelling, for a coin, the story of the vengeance of those of Port Kar.” “Our ships should be safe thereafter in Laura,” said Rim.

“I expect so,” I said.

“I must attend to arrangements,” said Rim.

“Be about your duties” said I, “Captain.”

Rim, followed by Cara, turned about and went to a longboat.

Verna’s women, one by one, were now taking leave of those of my men, whom they had served.

They, some weeping, some turning about, tears in their eyes, lifting their hands, bade crewmen farewell.

The men stood on the sand and watched them depart. Some lifted their hands to them.

Then suddenly one girl turned from the forest and fled to a crewman, kneeling before him, back on her heels, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed as though for binding. He gestured that she should rise and get into a longboat. She did so, his slave.

To my amazement, one after another of the girls than ran down the beach. Each, before he who had touched her, knelt before him, making herself his and his alone.

She, too, was ordered to a longboat, abruptly, as one commands a slave. In the forest Verna would wait for her women, until she understood they were not coming.

I then understood her wisdom as I had not before. She had known the touch of a man, and such a man as Marlenus. She had feared his touch, and, even in parting, would not permit him to so much as place his hand on hers. In Verna, as in others, two natures warred, that to surrender and that to be free. These matters are complex, and much remains speculative. Goreans, in their simplistic fashion, often contend, categorically, that man is naturally free and woman s naturally slave. But even for them the issues are more complex than these simple formulations would suggest. For Example, there is no higher person, nor one more respected, than the Gorean free woman. Even a slaver who has captured a free woman often treats her with great solicitude until she is branded. Then his behavior toward her is immediately and utterly transformed. She is then merely an animal, and treated as such. Goreans do believe, however, that every woman has a natural master or set of masters, with respect to whom she could not help but be a complete and passionate slave girl. These men occur in her dreams and fantasies. She lives in terror that she might meet one in real life. Further, of course, if a girl should be enslaved, her slavery is supported by the entire Gorean culture. There are hundreds of thousands of women who are also slaves. In such a situation, with no escape, a girl has no choice but to make the best of her bondage. Further, in the Gorean view, female slavery is a societal institution which enables the females, as most Earth societies would not, to exhibit, in a reinforcing environment, her biological nature. It provides a rich soil in which the flower of her beauty and nature, and its submission to a man, may thrive.

The Goreans, do not believe, incidentally, that the human being is a simple function of the independent variables of his environment. They have never endorsed the “hollow body” theory of human beings, in which a human being is regarded as being essentially a product of externalities. They recognize the human being has a genetic endowment which may not be, scientifically, canceled out in favor of the predilection of theories developed by men incompetent in physiology. For example, it would not occur to a Gorean to speak of the “role” of a female sparrow feeding her young or the “role” of a lion in providing meat for its cubs. Goreans do not see the world in terms of metaphors taken from the artificialities of the theater. It is certain, of course, that certain genetic endowments have been selected by environmental considerations, and, in this sense, the environment is a significant factor. The teeth of the lion have had much to do with the fleetness of the antelopes.

In Gorean thinking man and woman are natural animals, with genetic endowments shaped by thousands of generations of natural and sexual selection. Their actions and behavior, thus, though not independent of certain long-range environmental and sexual relationships, cannot be understood in terms of mere responses to the immediate present environment. The immediate environment determines what behavior will be successful, not what behavior is performed. Woman, like man, is the product of evolution, and, like man, is a complex genetic product, a product not only of natural selections but sexual selections. Natural selections suggest that a woman who wished to belong to a man, who wished to remain with him, who wished to have children, who wished to care for them, who loved them, would have an advantage, in the long run, as far as her genetic type was concerned, of surviving, over a woman who did not care for men, who did not wish for children, and so on. Female freedom, of a full sort, would not have been biologically practical. The loving mother is a type favored by evolution. It is natural then that in modern women certain instincts should be felt. The sparrow does not feed her young because the society has fooled her into playing that exploitative role. Similarly, sexual selection, as well as natural selection, is a significant dynamic of evolution, without which it is less comprehensible. Men, being stronger, have had, generally, the option of deciding on women that pleases them. If women had been stronger, as in the spiders, for example, we might have a different race.

It is not unlikely that men, over the generations, have selected out for breeding, for marriage, women of certain sorts. Doubtless women are much more beautiful now than a hundred generations ago. Similarly, a woman who was particularly ugly, threatening, vicious, stupid, cruel, etc., would not be a desirable mate. No man can be blamed for not wishing to make his life miserable. Accordingly, statistically, he tends to select out women who are intelligent, loving and beautiful. Accordingly, men have, in effect, bred a certain kind of woman. similarly, of course, is so far as choice had been theirs, women have tended to select out men who are, among other things, intelligent, energetic and strong. Few women, in their hearts, despite propaganda, really desire weak, feminine men. Such men, at any rate, are not those who figure in their sexual fantasies.

Goreans believe it is the nature of a man to own, that of a woman to be owned. I observed Verna’s women, no longer hers, but now the slaves of their masters, in the longboats.

Verna had given them their choice, had indeed forced the choice upon them. I wondered if, in the forest, she had expected any of them to return to her. She had had them clad in slave silk. She had had earrings put in their ears. Perhaps she had already gone her own way. Her women, now slaves, waited in longboats to be carried to the Rhoda, the Tesephone.

They had made their choice, to surrender to a man. They had yielded to their womanhood.

Verna would hunt alone in the forests. She would have her freedom. About her neck she wore the signet ring of Ar. She would be swift and free in the dark green glades. She would be alone. I wondered if, at times, she would lie in the darkness, clutching the ring of Marlenus, and twist, and weep. Her pride stood between herself, and her womanhood. Yet in the darkness, as she lay on the leaves in her lair, in her ears would glint the gold of earrings. She had not removed them. They had been fastened in her ears upon the order of Marlenus, when he had been her master. She would never forget, in her freedom, nor did she wish to do so, that she had been once his utter slave. Perhaps from time to time she would long for his collar and touch. She had made her choice, for her independence. She had not been exchanged that even for the throne of Ar. Her women had, too, made their choice. Verna was free. They were shamed, as slaves. I did not know which was happiest. They sat silently in the longboats, obedient. The hands of each were now being fastened behind her back. I saw Rena’s wrist secured. They, new slaves, were shy. But they did not seem unhappy. I wondered if any, as her wrists were drawn together behind her back and fastened together, regretted her decision. If she did, it was too late. The binding fiber was upon her. But they did not seem unhappy. They had yielded to their womanhood. They had surrendered themselves to bondage, and love. This gift, this choice, which she had refused for herself, Verna had given them.

Doubtless now, alone, somewhere within the forest, in freedom and solitude there was a panther girl. She hunted. Her name was Verna. I wished her well. I wondered if she might, sometime, trek to Ar, to call upon its Ubar, or if he, attending to his hunting in the northern forests, might once more chance upon her. I did not suppose it likely. “She is only a woman,” he had said. But he had given her the signet of Ar. I wondered if Verna knew that she who wore that ring about her neck was the Ubara of Ar.

“We have set the logs of the palisade in the form of a great beacon,” aid Thurnock.

I looked to the stony beach. There, high on the stones, rose the beacon, tier upon tier of crossed logs.

“Pour oil upon it,” I said.

“Yes, Captain,” he said.

Oil was poured.

I sat high on the beach, wrapped in blankets, in the captain’s chair, cold. I looked at the beacon.

Its light would be seen more than fifty pasangs at sea.

I turned back to the beach. My men stood about.

“Put the slave Rissia, before me, she who was of Hura’s band,” I said. I heard Ilene’s switch strike Rissia, twice across the back. Rissia stripped, her ankles, wrists and throat locked in the graceful chain and rings of the sirik, stumbled forward. She knelt before my chair, on the sand. Twice more fell Ilene’s switch, and I saw bloody stripes leap on the girl’s exposed back. Her knees were in the sand, her head was down.

“Withdraw,” I said to Ilene, who stood over Rissia in her white woolen slave tunic, herself barefoot, my collar at her throat. Ilene backed away, the switch still in her hand, to stand to one side.

“This woman,” said I to Thurnock, indicating Rissia, “remained behind in the camp of Sarus and Hura, when many of her fellow panther women were drugged.” Thurnock nodded.

“She had a bow,” I said, “ with an arrow to the string. It was her intention to defend her drugged sisters, to protect them.” “I see, Captain,” said Thurnock.

“She might have slain me,” I said.

Thurnock smiled.

“What should be her fate?”

“That,” said he, “is for my captain to decide.”

“Her act,” I asked, “does it not seem brave?”

“It does indeed, my captain,” said Thurnock.

“Free her,” I told him.

Grinning, Thurnock bent to the shackles which graced Rissia’s fair limbs, removing them one by one.

Rissia lifted her head, looking at me, dumbfounded.

“You are free,” I told her. “Depart.”

“My gratitude, Captain,” she whispered.

“Depart!” I commanded.

Rissia turned about and regarded Ilene. He Earth girl took a step backward. “May I not remain a moment, Captain?” asked Rissia. She turned to face me. “Very well,” I said.

“I ask the rite of knives,” she said.

“Very well,” I said.

One of my men held Ilene by the arms. She was frightened.

Two daggers were brought. One was given to Rissia. The other was pressed into the unwilling hand of Ilene.

“I–I do not understand,” stammered Ilene, “You are to fight to the death,” I told her.

She looked at Rissia. “No!” she wept. “No!’ Ilene threw away the knife. “Kneel,” ordered Rissia.

Ilene did.

Rissia stood behind her.

“Do not hurt me,” begged Ilene.

“Address me as Mistress,” said Rissia.

“Please do not hurt me, Mistress,” begged Ilene.

“You do not seem so proud now, Slave, without your switch,” said Rissia. “No, Mistress,” whispered Rissia.

With her knife, from the back, Rissia cut away Ilene’s slave tunic, stripping her.

Rissia picked up the discarded sirik. She reached over Ilene’s head and fastened the collar about her throat, the chain dangling before her body. Then, reaching about her, she fastened Ilene’s hands in the bracelets attached to the chain, confining them before her body. She then drew the chain between her legs and under her body and fastened the two ankle rings, attached to the chain, on her ankles. Ilene knelt stripped in sirik.

“With your permission, Captain,” said Rissia.

I nodded.

Picking up the switch from the sand, with which Ilene had often beaten her, she struck her.

Ilene cried out. “Please do not beat me!” she wept. “Please do not beat me, Mistress!” “I do not choose,” said Rissia, “to comply with the request of a slave.” She beat Ilene until Ilene wept and screamed, and then could weep and scream no more.

Then she threw aside the switch and disappeared into the forest.

Ilene, tears in her eyes, her head turned to the side, lay on her stomach in the sand, confined in the sirik. The entire back of her body was hot and bright with the scarlet marks of the switch.

“To your knees,” I told her.

Ilene struggled to her knees, and looked up at me.

“Take her to the Tesephone,” I told two of my men, “and put her in the hold with the other female slaves.” “Please, Master,” wept the girl.

“And then,” said I, “see that she is sold in Port Kar.”

Weeping, Ilene, the Earth-girl slave, was dragged from my presence. She would be sold in Port Kar, a great slave-clearing port. Perhaps she would be sold south to Shendi or Bazi, or north to a jarl of Torvaldsland, Scagnar or Hunjer, or across Thassa to Tabor or Asperiche, or taken up the Vosk in a cage to an island city, perhaps eventually to find herself in Ko-ro-ba, Thentis or Tharna, or even Ar itself. Perhaps she would be carried south in tarn caravans, or by slave wagons of the Wagon Peoples, the Tuchuks, the Kassars, the Kataii, the Paravaci. Perhaps she would be, even, the slave of peasants. It was not known where the lovely Ilene would wear her collar; it was known, though, that she would wear it, and wear it well; a Gorean master would see to that.

I looked to the beacon. I looked, too, to the Tesephone. Rim’s men had the Rhoda ready for the tide.

“Carry my chair,’ I said, “to the longboat.”

Four crewmen reached to lift the chair.

“Wait,” I said.

“Captain!” called a voice. “I have caught two women!”

I saw one of my men, one of those set at guard about the beach.

He approached, pushing two captives before him. They wore the skins of panther girls. Their hands were tied behind their backs. They were fastened together by a single branch, tied behind their backs.

I did not recognize the,’ “They were spying,” said her.

“No,” said one. “We were looking for Verna.”

“Strip them,” I said. It is easier to get a woman to talk when she is nude. It was done.

I knew who these women must be.

“Speak,” I said to the comeliest of the two.

“We were in the hire of Verna,” she said, “but we are not of her band.” “You task,” I told them, “was to guard a female slave.” They looked at me, startled. “Yes,” she said.

“This slave,” I said, “was the daughter of Marlenus of Ar.”

“Yes,” whispered one.

“Where is she?’ I demanded.

“When Marlenus disowned her,” said one, frightened, “and she was no longer of value, Verna, through Mira, instructed us to dispose of her, taking a price on her.” “For what did she sell?” I asked.

“For ten gold pieces,” said the comeliest of the two captives.

“It is a high price for a wench without caste of family,” I said.

“She is very beautiful,” said one of the girls.

The other wench looked at me. “Did the captain wish her?” she asked. I smiled. “I might have bought her.” I said.

“We did not know!” cried the comely girl. “Do not punish us, Captain!” “Do you still have the money?” I asked.

“In my pouch,” cried the comelier of the two captives.

I gestured to Thurnock and he gave me the pouch. With my right hand I counted out the ten gold pieces. I held them in the palm of my right hand. It was the closest I had come to Talena in many years. I closed my hand on the coins. I was bitter. I threw them before the captive women.

“Free them,” I told Thurnock. “let them go.”

They looked at me, startled. Their bonds were removed. They drew on again the skins of panthers.

“Find Verna in the forest,” I told them. “Give her the coins.”

“Will you not keep us as slave girls?” asked one.

“No,” I told them. “Find Verna. Give her the coins. They are hers. Tell her that the woman brought a good price because, though she had neither caste nor family, she is very beautiful.” “We will do so, Captain,” said the comelier of the two.

They prepared to depart.

“To whom,” I asked, “did you sell the slave?”

“To the first ship which chanced by,” said the comelier of the girls. “Who was its captain?” I asked.

She looked at me. “Samos,” she said. “Samos, of Port Kar.”

I gestured that they might leave.

“Lift my chair,” said I to the crewmen. “I would return to the Tesephone.” That night, sitting on the stern castle of the Tesephone, I looked north and eastward.

The sky to the north and east was bright. On the western coast of Thassa, high above Lydius, on a remote, stony beach, a beacon burned, marking a place on the coast where there had once stood a stockade, where men had fought, where deeds had transpired.

We had poured oil, and wine and salt into the sea. We were enroute to Port Kar. Before we had left the shore we had set the beacon afire. I could still see its light.

I did not think I would ever forget it. I sat on the stern castle, wrapped in blankets, looking back.

I recalled Arn, and Rim and Thurnock, and Hura and Mira, and Verna and Grenna, and Sheera. I recalled Marlenus of Ar and Sarus of Tyros. I recalled Ilene. I recalled Rissia. I recalled them all. We had come to Lydius and Laura, and the northern forests.

Bosk of Port Kar, so wise, so bold and arrogant, had come mightily to the northern forests. Now, like a maimed larl, heavy, bitter, weighty with pain, he returned to his lair. He looked back, noting in the sky the light of a beacon, one which burned on a deserted shore.

Few would see the beacon. Few would know why it burned. I myself did not know. In time there would be only ashes, and they would be swept away in the rain and the wind. The tracks of sea birds might, like the thief’s brand, be found in the sand, but they too, in time, would be washed away.

I would not see Talena in Port Kar. I would have her returned to Marlenus of Ar. I was cold. I could not feel the left side of my body.

“A good wind, Captain,” said Thurnock.

“Yes, Thurnock,” I said. “It is a fair wind.”

I could hear the snapping of the tarn sail of the Tesephone.

I heard Thurnock’s steps going down to the deck from the stern castle. I wondered if Pa-Kur, Master of the Assassins, yet lived. I thought it not impossible.

I heard the creak of the rudder.

I had, in my fever and delirium, cried the name of Vella. I did not understand this, for I no longer cared for her. She had once resisted my will. She had fled from the Sardar, when I, in her own best interest, would have returned her safe to Earth.

It had been a brave act.

But she had fallen slave.

She had gambled. She had lost. I had left her slave. “You do not know what it is to be a paga slave!” she had cried. I had left her in the collar of Sarpedon, only another wench, slave in a paga tavern in Lydius.

She had begged for me to buy her. She had begged as a slave.

I laughed.

She was a slave. She would stay a slave.

I do not know why I had cried her name. As a free man I had no interest in slave girls, save for the brief use of their bodies.

On the arm of the captain’s chair, my fist clenched.

In the distance I could see light in the sky, the illumination from the beacon which I had ordered set on a remote, deserted beach, high above Lydius on the coast of Thassa.

I myself did not know why it burned. Perhaps it served simply to mark a place on the beach, which, for a time, the flames might remember.

I had, for an Ahn, at that place, recollected my honor. Let that be commemorated by the flames.

Let the fire, if not men, remember what had once there occurred.

“Thurnock!” I cried. “I am cold! Bring crewmen! Carry me to my cabin!” “Yes, Captain,” called Thurnock.

In the morning there would be only ashes, and they would be swept away in the rain, and the wind. The tracks of sea birds might, too, like the thief’s brand, be found in the sand. Too, in time, they would wash away.

“Thurnock!” I cried.

As the chair was lifted, I looked once more to the northeast. The sky still glowed. I was not dissatisfied that I had set the beacon. It did not matter to me that few would see it. It did not matter to me that none would understand it. I myself did not know, truly, why it burned but it had seemed important to me to set it.

“Carry me to my cabin,” I said.

“Yes, Captain,” said Thurnock.

“It is a fair wind,” said one of the crewmen, as the door to my cabin shut. “That it is,” said Thurnock. “That it is.”