Inwardly I howled with rage.

The men of Tyros!

I, like a fool, obsessed with the pursuit of Talena, blind to all, had forgotten them.

I approached the camp of the Tesephone with great caution. One shadow among others, silent, from between branches, observed the camp.

The wall which had been built about the camp had been broken and thrown down. Here and there there were the ashes of campfires. There was debris on the campsite. The sand, in many places, was torn, as though there might have been struggles. There was, deep in the sand, the impression of a keel, leading to the water.

My men, the slaves, the Tesephone, were gone. I clenched my fist, and put my forehead to the green branch behind which I stood.

I unclenched my fist. I lifted my head from the branch, against which I had placed it.

I, Bosk of Port Kar, was not pleased.

Doubtless there would be some men of Tyros about, waiting for anyone who might return to the camp.

I decided I would wish to meet these men. I did not care to leave them behind me.

I sat down on the leaves, and waited.

In the late afternoon I saw the, eleven of them, coming toward the camp on the shore side, from downriver, as thought from Laura.

They came rather boldly. They were fools.

I had approached the camp of the Tesephone with great caution. I had been one shadow among others, silent. They had had no guards posted.

One of them carried a bottle.

They knew little of the forests. It was their misfortune. With them, I noted, grimly, were four girls. They were in throat coffle, their wrists behind them, bound. The girls were laughing and joking with them. They wore yellow silk. They were doubtless the paga slaves from Laura.

They had been instrumental in the surprise and taking of my camp. Doubtless they had been told to see that all males in the camp partook of the wine which had been sent upriver with them. They would have understood the plot. They would have been partner to it. Now, charmingly, they, bound, teased and jested with the men of Tyros. They were lovely slaves.

I would meet those men of Tyros. I strode forth to the camp, and stood and faced them.

They were struck for a moment, seeing me, standing some hundred and fifty yards from them, regarding them.

The girls were thrust to one side.

The men drew their blades and rushed forward, charging me. They were fools. At point-blank range the temwood shaft can be fired completely through a four-inch beam at two hundred yards it can pin a man to a wall; at four hundred yards it can kill the huge shambling, bosk; it fires nineteen arrows in a Gorean Ehn, some eighty Earth seconds; a skilled bowman, and not an unusual one, is expected to be able to put these nineteen arrows in an Ehn into a man-sized target consecutively, each a mortal hit, at some two hundred and fifty yards. Shouting the war cry of Tyros, blades drawn, they ran toward me across the sand and pebbles of the northern shore of the Laurius.

These men knew only the crossbow.

They ran toward me as I had wanted them to, near the edge of the river, in the shortest line, away from the trees.

Their cries drifted toward me, their order to surrender. They did not understand who it was who hunted.

My feet were spread; my heels were aligned with the target; my feet and body were at right angles to the target line; my head was turned sharply to the left; the first sheaf arrow was drawn to its pile; the three half feathers of the vosk gull were at my jawbone.

“Surrender!’ cried the leader, stopping some twenty feet from me. He was under my arrow. He knew I might kill him. ”There are too many,” he said. “Put down your weapon.” Instead I drew a bead on his heart.

“No!” he cried. “Attack!” he cried to his men. “Kill him!”

He turned again to face me. His face was white. In a line behind him, on the beach, his men scattered. Only one moved.

In hunting one often fells the last of the attackers first, and then the second of the attackers, and so on. In this fashion, the easiest hits are saved for last, when there is less danger of losing a kill. Further, the lead animals are then unaware that others have fallen behind them. They are thus less aware of their danger. They regard as misses that way, in actuality, be hits on others, unknown to them.

The man from Tyros was alone.

White-faced, he threw down his sword.

“Charge,” I told him.

“No,” he said. “No!”

“The sword?” I asked.

“You are Bosk,” he whispered, “Bosk of Port Kar!” ‘”I am he,” I said.

“No, not the sword,” said he, “No,”

“The knife?” I asked.

“No!’ he cried.

“There is safety for you,” I said, gesturing across the Laurius with my head, “if you reach the other side.” “There are rive sharks,” he said. “Tharlarion!” I regarded him.

He turned and fled to the water. I watched. Luck was not with him. I saw the distant churning in the water, and saw, far off, the narrow head of a river shark, lifting itself, water falling from it, and the dorsal fins, black and triangular, of four others.

I turned and looked up the beach. The paga slaves were there. They stood in terror, barefoot in the sand, in the yellow silk, in throat coffle, their wrists bound behind their back, horrified with what they had seen.

I strode toward them and, with screams, they turned stumbling about, attempting to flee.

When I passed the one man of Tyros who had yet moved I noted that he now lay still.

The girls had tangled themselves in the brush not twenty yards into the trees. By the binding fiber on their throat I pulled them loose and led them back to the beach.

I took them to the point where the leader of the men of Tyros had entered the water.

Sharks were still moving in the center of the river, feeding.

“Kneel here,” I told them.

They did so.

I went and gathered my arrows from the fallen men of Tyros, and rolled their bodies into the Laurius. They were simple pile arrows and pulled cleanly from the body. I did not need, as with the broad arrow or the Tuchuk barbed arrow, to thrust the point through in order to free it.

I cleaned the arrows and returned to the girls, placing the arrows in my quiver. They looked up at me in terror, captured slaves. They had been instrumental in the taking of my camp. They had been party to the plot. Without them it could not have been successful. Doubtless they knew much.

They would tell me what they knew.

“Speak to me,” I said, “of what took place in this camp, and tell me what you know of the doings and intentions of the men of Tyros.” “We know nothing,” said one of the girls. ”We are only slaves.” In the pouring of paga, I knew, they would have heard much.

“It is my wish,” I said, “that you speak.” My eyes were not pleasant. “We may not speak,” said one of the girls. “We may not speak.” “Do you expect the men of Tyros to protect you?” I asked.

They looked at one another, apprehensively.

Then, as they knelt very straight, I removed the pleasure silks from them. Then, to their astonishment, I unbound their wrists. I did not free them of the tether on their throat.

“Stand,” I told them.

They did so.

I had unstrung the bow. I removed the sword from my sheath. I gestured toward the water with the blade.

They looked at me with horror.

“Into the water,” I told them. “Swim.”

“No! No!” they screamed. They fell before me in the sand, their hair to my sandal.

“We are women!” cried one. “We are women!”

“Be merciful to us,” cried one. “We are women!”

“Please, Master!” wept another. “We are only slaves!”

“Submit,” I told them.