Chenbar and I remained alone on the deck of the stern castle of the flagship. I climbed to the saddle.

A crossbow bolt dropped past me, striking into the burning deck.

Chenbar shook his head, and leaped to his feet, his wrists in manacles. «Fightl» he screamed to his distant ships. "Fight!"

I drew on the one-strap and the tam, against the wind, took flight and Chenbar of Kasra, LThar of Tyros, the Sea Sleen, in the manacles of a common slave, swung free below us, helpless and pendant in the furies of the wind and the sleeting rain, the captive of Bosk, a captain of Port Kar, admiral of her fleet.

18 How Bosk Returned to His Home

When we struck the icy, wind-driven decks of the Dorna MY men rose at their benches and, cheering, waved their caps.

"Take this prisoner," I told an officer, "and chain him below decks. The council will decide what is to be done with him."

There was another cheer.

Chenbar stood facing me for an instant, his fists clenched, fury in his eyes, and then he was rudely turned about and, by two seamen, forced below decks. "I expect," said the oar-master, "that in the rag of a slave he will eventually find his place at the bench of an arsenal round ship."

"Admiral!" cried the voice from the masthead. "The fleet of Cos and Tyros is putting aboutf They fly!"

I shook with emotion. I could not speak. The men were cheering about me. Then I said, "Recall our ships."

Men ran to signal ships among the reserves, that they might draw toward our engaged fleet, recalling it.

The Doma now heaved and pitched like a snared sleen. She, like most tarn ships, was a narrow vessel, long and of shallow draft. I looked to the round ships. Even they leaped in the water. I did not think the Dorna would long live in such a sea unless she might run before it.

"Lift the anchors," I said. "Set the storm sail!"

Men hastened to do what I had told them, and, as they did so, I sent signals to reserve ships, to be conveyed to the balance of the fleet, that they might save themselves while they could. There could be no question of following up what had appeared to be the victory over the fleets of Cos and Tyros.

I stood on the icy, wind-struck deck of the Doma, my back turned to the storm. My admirals cloak, brought with my returning men from the round ship, was given to me and I wrapped it about my shoulders. A vessel of hot Paga was brought, too.

"The victory draught," said the oar-master.

I grinned. I did not feel victorious. I was cold. I was alive. I swallowed the hot paga.

The yard had been lowered and the small, triangular storm sail was attached to it. The anchors were raised and the yard, on its ropes and pulleys, began to climb toward the masthead. Meanwhile, the starboard oars, under the call of the oar-master began swinging the vessel about, to bring her stern into the wind. The wind struck the side of the hull and the ship heeled to leeward. The deck was suddenly washed with cold waves, and then the waters had slipped back. The two helmsmen strained with their side rudders, bringing the ship about. Then the wind was at the stern and the oar-master began his count, easing the ship ahead until the storm sail was caught by the blasts. When it was it was like a fist striking the sail and the mast screamed, and the bow, for a terrible moment dipped in the water and then, dripping the cold waters, the bow leaped up and tilted to the sky.

"Stroke!" called the oar-master, his cry almost lost in the sleet and wind "Stroke! Stroke!"

The beating of the copper drum of the keleustes took UP maximum beat. The tiny storm sail, swollen with the black wind and sleet, tore at the yard and the brail ropes. The Dorna knifed ahead, leaping between the waves that rose towering on either side.

She would live.

I did not know if the victory we had won, for victory it surely seemed to be, was decisive or not, but I well knew that the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, for that was the day on which this battle had been fought, would not be soon forgotten in Port Kar, that city once called squalid and malignant, but which had now found a Home Stone, that city once called the scourge of gleaming Thassa, but which might now be better spoken of, as she had been by some of her citizens aforetimes, as her jewel, the jewel of gleaming Thassa. I wondered how many men would claim to have fought on the twenty-fiftb of Se'Kara, abroad on Thassa. I smiled. This day would doubtless be made holiday in Port Kar. And those who had fought here would be, in years to come, as comrades and brothers. I am English. And I recalled another vic- tory, in another time, on a distant world. I supposed that in time to come men might, on this holiday, show their wounds to slaves and wondering children, saying to them, "These I had in SeKara." Would this battle be sung as had that one? Not in England, I knew. But on Gor, it would. And yet songs 'I told myself, are lies. And those that had died this day did not sing. And yet, I asked myself, had they lived, would they not have sung? And I told myself, I thought yes. And so, then, I asked Myself, might we not then sing for them, and for ourselves as well, and could there not be, in some way that was hard to understand, but good, truth in songs?

I went to the tarn that I had ridden back to the Dorna. I took off my Admiral's cloak and threw it over the shivering bird.

Standing near it was the slave boy Fish.

I looked intc, his eyes, and I saw, to my surprise, that he understood what I must do.

"I am coming with you," he said.

I knew that the ships of Eteocles and Suilius Maximus had not been added to bur fleet. I also knew that the blockade about the last major holding of Sevarius had been lifted, that its ships, arsenal ships, might participate in the day's battle. There had been, I knew, exchanges of information between Claudius, regent for Renrius Sevarius, and Cos and Tyros. I was not disposed to think that there had not been similar communications between COS and Tyros and Eteocles and Sullius Maximus. Doubtless there would be coordinated actions. The hall of the council itself might now be in flames. The two Ubars, and Claudius, regent for Renrius Sevarius, I supposed, might already have claimed power, as a triumvirate, in Port Kar. Their power, of course, would not last long. Port Kar had not lost the battle. When the storm abated, whether in hours or in one or two days, the fleet would put about and return to Port Kar. But in the meantime I knew that the two Ubars and Claudius, confident but ignorant of the outcome of the battle, would be attempting to rid the city of those who stood against them.

I wondered if my holding still stood.

I had meat brought for the tarn, great chunks of tarsk, thighs and shoulders, which I had thrown before it, on the cold deck. It tore at them greedily. I had had the bones removed from the meat. If it had been bosk I would not, but the bones of the tarsk are thinner and splinter easily. Then I had water brought for the tarn, in a leather bucket, the ice broken through that coated the water like a lid. It drank.

"I am coming with you," said the boy.

In the belt of his tunic he had thrust the sword that I had had the officer give him before the battle.

I shook my head. "You are only a boy," I told him. "No," he said, "I am a man." I smiled at him.

"Why would you come to my holding?" I asked.

"It is to be done," he said.

"Does the girl Vina mean so much to you?" I asked.

He looked at me, and, flustered, looked down at the deck. He kicked at the deck. "She is a mere slave," he said.

"Of course," I said.

"And," said he, defiantly, "a man does not concern himself for a mere female slave."

"of course not," I admitted.

"Even if it were not for her," he said, looking up, angrily, "I would accompany you."