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suns-light. All smothered in green tiling, ceramics of the same high quality that decorated the megaliths,
the temple of the sea-god, Shorush-Tish, sparkled and glistered in the light. Set at the apex of its
many-peaked roofs the marble representations of swifters, one third full size, leered down over the
mariners and marines and slaves who crowded the narrow streets, busy about the sea business of
Shorush-Tish.
It is a remarkable fact  at least, at that time it was remarkable to me  that the blue-maned sea-god,
Shorush-Tish, is shared by Grodnim and Zairian. In all else they clash in their beliefs, for all that they
sprang from the same original religious convictions. Temples to Shorush-Tish are obligatory on all the
seafronts of all the ports of the north and south, the Green and the Red. Even the Proconians erect altars
to Shorush-Tish. Even the many races of diffs who live up in the northeastern areas of the Eye of the
World  and particularly around the smaller sea known as the Sea of Onyx to the apims because of the
many chalcedony mines around its shores  build their temples to their halfling representations of
Shorush-Tish. Even the Sorzarts who live and reive from their islands up there respect the power of the
universal sea-god of the Eye of the World.
It would be a foolish and reckless captain who did not make an offering to Shorush-Tish before he
observed the fantamyrrh boarding his vessel.
For all my own dogged beliefs I complied with the custom, and many were the rings and cups I had
given to the blue-robed priests of Shorush-Tish in his great temple on the waterfront of the inner harbor
at Sanurkazz.
Over by the near wall as we glided on, busy gangs of workmen swarmed over an old swifter of that
class rowed in the fashion the savants calla terzaruolo. I have mentioned that the extra power gained by
using a number of men on one oar rowing over an apostis in thea scaloccio system had reached the inner
sea; but, like the swordships up along the coasts of the Hoboling Islands, the older system still clung on.
This swifter with her five men to a bench, angled to the stern, each man pulling on one oar, could not
hope to match the speed of a modern swifter of the type ofVolgodont s Fang. Yet she had been built
well and the teredo had not got her, and her timbers were still sound. She had been a fairly large
example, rowing five men to a bench each side and with thirty-two oars in each bank. This gave her a
total of three hundred and twenty oarsmen and three hundred and twenty oars.
When I say she would not reach the same speed as the more modern examples, I mean essentially the
same sustained speed and the same driving power. To improve her it would be necessary to place the
five men of each bench all pulling on the same oar, and to increase the length and strength of that oar out
of all recognition of the smaller loom and blade hauled by a single man.
This is exactly what the workmen were doing.
When completed, she would be classed as a five sixty-two swifter. I looked to see if they were building
a second bank, but saw no sign that this was proposed in her rebuilding.
We went through all the usual formalities of landing. The slaves were herded off to their bagnios. They
would very quickly be pressed into service again, for, as the conversion of the old swifter of thea
terzaruolo system showed, Magdag was scraping up all her resources to fling into what everyone here
must consider as the final stages of a victorious war.
The omens looked propitious for King Genod and the overlords of Magdag as for the whole of the
Grodnim alliance. I had more or less recovered from the smart of that series of disasters on the Red
southern shore. Now we had come back to Magdag, For all the others here this was a homecoming. For
me it was the chance to further my plans  those plans that envisaged the king, Gafard, and a voller.
King Genod had duly won his Battle of Pynzalo. There had been few prisoners, and while I was glad of
that, I knew the truth lay buried in the sands or running back to Pynzalo and beyond. That, I tell you, was
one battle I was glad with a heartfelt gratitude to have missed.
Gafard did not tell me of what passed between him and Genod.
After all, I was as far as he was concerned merely a fellow renegade he had befriended and given
employment and who had by chance come into contact with his beloved in ways that, hitherto, he had
rewarded with death. I did have a privileged position of a sort, that was clear, but it did not extend past
the concerns of his household and domestic matters.
He had thanked the group who had rescued the Lady of the Stars, thanked them profusely and with
gold. We were only too well aware of what we had done; but the squadron under Grogor was
composed of picked men, every man loyal to Gafard personally. No possible blame could attach to the
King s Striker for having his men cut down black-clad assassins and kidnappers.
All the same, at the first opportunity, Genod handed over command of the army to Genal Furneld, the
Rog of Giddur, and called Gafard back to Magdag. A gloss was put on this by the announcement to the
army that soon Prince Glycas would take over command of the combined armies and Gafard, the King s
Striker, was required for further duties.
This Genal Furneld was of the usual cut of unpleasant overlords of Magdag and I avoided him. Giddur
was sited on the River Dag in one of the great sweeping bends south of Hagon. He had arrived on the
southern shore breathing fire and slaughter and having fifty men of a pike regiment punished for dirty
equipment. I thought the army was welcome to him. Gafard had said, lightly, concealing his feelings, that
Genal Furneld could sit down in front of Pynzalo and freeze for all he cared. No one imagined that he
would carry the city with the same panache as the Sea-Zhantil. That had cheered me a little.
Little time was given me for moping.
My Lady of the Stars returned to her apartments in the Tower of True Contentment and Gafard called [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]