The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales Read Free

perfect as they pretend. They carry on a small secret trade with certain merchants in Kern é for things they can neither make, grow, nor steal . Though the Kernean s hang or head any man they catch in this traffic, such are the profits that there's always someone to take the chance. A Kernean would brave the seven hells for a profit."
     
                  Ryn the wizard blew his nose on his robe and spoke: "Was there any indication of the Gorgons' direction?"
     
                  The wind blew a gout of smoke into Söl's face as if trying to stop him from replying. When the spy got over coughing and wiping his eyes he answered:
     
                  "Nothing definite, but the shadow of the echo of a whisper that said 'Lorsk'."
     
                  "No more?"
     
                  "No more, sir. I had it from a harlot of the town who said she'd learned it from a sailor who worked for a trader who'd heard ... and so on."
     
                  Kuros swallowed the last of his cheese, dusted the crumbs off his fingers, and said: "That's all, Sol."
     
                  Vakar wished to hear more, but before he could protest, Söl had glided out and Kuros said:
     
                  "Very interesting, but let's not work ourselves into a sweat over the shadow of an echo of a whisper—"
     
                  "Is that so?" said Vakar sharply. "With due respect, my brother wishes us to take the attitude of the man in the story who went to sleep on the skerry thinking he had a spell that would hold back the tides. You remember:
     
                  "Shoreward they shouldered with crests ever-curling,
                  The waxing waves washed higher and higher—"
     
                  "For Lyr's sake don't start one of those!" said Kuros. Vakar shot a dagger-glance at his brother and continued: "Where there's shadow there's more often than not a substance to cast it. And the words of so reliable a spy as Master Söl should not lightly be thrown aside. The Gorgons—"
     
                  "You have Gorgons on the brain," said Kuros. "Suppose they did sail against us? They must pass Tartaros and Dzen, sail west through the Hesperides, land upon the coast of Zhysk, and march through that land to come to grips with us. We should have ample warning, and one Lorksan's worth three Gorgons—"
     
                  "As I was saying when the yapping of a mongrel interrupted me," said Vakar. "The Gorgons don't even fight fair. I've been reading—"
     
                  "As if any real man ever learned anything from marks on papyrus," put in Kuros.
     
                  "Those who can't read can't judge—" King Zhabutir said: "Boys! Boys! I forbid this dreadful quarreling. Go on, Vakar."
     
                  "You know how we fight: in loose groups, each led by a lord or champion followed by his kinsmen and liegemen and friends. We usually start out with challenges to single combat from our champions to the foe's , and sometimes the whole day is occupied with such duels. Moreover our men go equipped as they like: with swords, spears, axes, halberds, berdiches, war-clubs, and so on."
     
                  "What other way of fighting is there?" said Kuros.
     
                  "The Gorgons equip all their men alike, with helmets, shields, and weapons of the same pattern. They align their men in a solid mass, every man having a fixed place despite rank or kinship. They waste no time in challenges, but at a signal all move upon the foe, every man keeping his place in the whole. Such a mass goes through an army like ours like a plow through sand."
     
                  "Fairy-tales," said Kuros. "No true warriors would submit to be so forced into a single rigid mold ... "
     
                  As usual the argument went round and round,