It is a common belief amongst Goreans, though seldom voiced in the presence of free women, that men are masters and women slaves. As it is said, all women are slaves, only some are in collars, and some are not. Thus, it is thought that women are the properties of men, that women are property, even free women. They have yet, of course, to be claimed, and meet their master. It is a rare Gorean who does not speculate what even a free woman, bundled in her stiff, ornate robes, concealed within her layers of veils, would look like, stripped, collared, and at his feet, perhaps on all fours, looking up at him, frightened, the whip or switch between her teeth, hoping it will not be used upon her. It is only in the mastery that the male achieves his full manhood, and it is only at his feet that the female finds the fulfillment of her womanhood, in surrender, in submission, in service, in love. The answer to an unhappy, dissatisfied woman is a master, whom she must hope to please, lest she be lashed.
Many were the murmurs against Tersites. Why had he not performed, or had performed, the simple ceremony of pacifying Thassa, of seeking to smooth her waves with a bit of oil, of mingling man’s salt with hers, to plead kinship, friendship, even alliance, of giving her some wine, that she might be warmed, and pleased? Would it not have been acceptable to mollify Thassa? Why not? Would it have cost so much? Might she not be insulted at such an omission, such an oversight, even such an insolence? Would she not remember such a slight, and bide her time, gathering her clouds and winds, waiting until one was far at sea, far from shore, alone? Had not hundreds of ships and thousands of men departed from one port or another, never to be seen again? It was not for no reason that most Gorean mariners seldom ventured from the sight of shore, even beaching their ships at night.
“Let Thassa rage,” had cried Tersites. “Let her do what she can, and be mocked by my work. Let lesser men grovel to her might, crave her indulgence, beg her favors! I fear her not! No oil, no salt, no wine for her! Let cowards proffer such gifts, such petitionary offerings! I do not! The stoutness of my timbers defies her. Let her seethe and hiss, unflattered, and uncourted, and whistle and roar, snarl and growl, and lift and fall, and pitch, and howl and tower, and squirm and buck as she will, she will not say no to my will, nor stay the passage of my ship. Fierce, green Thassa has met her match in my ship, met her master! Tersites teaches men how to sail in all seasons and weathers! Tersites goes where he wills; he asks no permissions, solicits no favors, dreads no threats, and fears no rebuke. Let Thassa shrink and tremble before Tersites and his mighty ship! He subdues her! He humbles her! He breaks her to the yoke of his will! Yea, I, Tersites, whom men scorned, whom men ridiculed and banished, whom men despised and mocked for years, now, first of all men, at last, mighty and glorious, conquer dreaded Thassa. I dare you, violent Thassa, to do your worst. Tersites and his ship invites your enmity, that men may marvel that so mighty a foe he has reduced to such futility. My ship cleaves your waves, braves your winds, and scorns your storms! We tread upon you, mighty Thassa, passing as we will and please! Do your worst, mighty Thassa! You are mocked! You are scorned!”
Dusk came early, and it seemed the cold never left.
Sometimes the waves struck the hull like hammers, and we feared, within those ribs of wood, that the sea might burst in upon us.
It was now the fifth week following the Eighth Passage Hand. Tomorrow would be the first day of the Ninth Passage Hand, at the end of which is the winter solstice, and the first day of Se’var-Lar-Torvis, the month of the Second Turning of Tor-tu-Gor, Light-upon-the-Home-Stone.
“Do not slacken!” called a fellow, Torgus, from the steps of the companionway, behind us, and to our right.
He was of the tarn cavalry.
He had his marked pole, testing the water. He seemed satisfied, the water had not inched higher in the last Ahn.
“Good fellows!” he called.
The ship was six-masted, square-rigged, seven decked, carvel-built, and single-ruddered, not guided by a steering board, or the double rudders of the typical Gorean ship. The nested galleys, on the other hand, were typical of most Gorean vessels, long or round ships, oar-banked, double ruddered, single-masted, and lateen-rigged. The long ships are commonly open to the weather, like the dragons of Torvaldsland, and the round ships, larger and slower, are commonly decked, this to shelter passengers, if there be passengers, and protect cargo.
The fellow, Torgus, turned about and, with his pole, ascended the steps.
We were not the only pumping crew at work, as there were several others, I knew not how many, these engaged elsewhere.
We had three pumps, in the forward port hold, and four men were at the handles of each, two men to a side.
One fellow, Tyrtaios, lean and hard, a snake I thought in a warrior’s body, left his pump and waded to where I worked. “Take my place,” said he to Durbar, who worked beside me. Durbar did as he was told. I had observed this fellow Tyrtaios in the hold, under the single swinging lamp, on its chains, which supplied the feeble light within which we worked, which cast wild shadows about, which seemed like the flutterings of frightened jards. Tyrtaios had worked at the other two pumps, as well. Several days ago, an altercation had taken place between this Tyrtaios and a man named Decius, with respect to a bench-place in the mess. A day later Decius was gone. We supposed he had been washed overboard whilst making his way to the helm deck. Durbar, not speaking, took the place at the second pump, that place vacated by Tyrtaios.
For several Ehn we continued to man the pump, in silence, and then Tyrtaios spoke to us, the other three at the pump.
“We are moving north,” he said.
“West,” said Andronicus, once of Tabor, once of the Scribes. Andronicus was no stranger to the Second Knowledge. He could read.
“No longer, for days, even before the storm,” said Tyrtaios.
“Our course is west,” said Andronicus.
“We are not on course,” said Tyrtaios. “I was to the helm deck. Half blinded by water I saw briefly, clouds apart in the wind, the star of Hesius. It was at the bow. Four times later, too, on different days, the star of Hesius lay before us. Two helmsmen confirmed this.”
“We have been blown off course,” I said, levering the pump.
“Tersites is taking us north,” he said. “The wind is his ally.”
“Why so?” I asked.
“If we are going north,” said Andronicus, “and by intent, Tersites plans to shorten the voyage, by the northern circle.”
“I do not understand,” said Thoas, across from Tyrtaios.
“Gor,” said Andronicus, “is like a ball, and one may shorten distances by curving to the north and then curving back to the south.
“He has gone too far north,” said Tyrtaios.
“Perhaps,” said Andronicus.
“The wind,” I said. “We fly before it.”
“Ice has been seen in the water,” said Tyrtaios, “ice the size of galleys.”
“Then we are too far north,” said Andronicus.
“The wind,” I said.
“Tersites,” said Tyrtaios, “is mad. That is well-known. He will kill us all.”
“What is to be done?” asked Thoas.
“We must turn back,” said Tyrtaios.
“It is true,” said Andronicus, “that the ship may break apart.”
“There may be little time,” said Tyrtaios.
“There is, too, the brink, the falling away place, where the world ends,” said Thoas.
“And before the next watch,” whispered Tyrtaios, “we may fall from the world, to fall forever.”
I did not think Tyrtaios believed what he said, but many amongst the crew might.
“No,” said Andronicus. “Gor is like a ball. There is no edge.”