"There is the power in Port Kar," he cried.

Slowly Samos drew his own weapon and placed it across his knees. "Here, too," he said, "is power."

And almost every one of the captains in that council drew their weapon, as had Samos, and placed it across their knees.

I, too, unsheathed my weapon, and rose to my feet, regarding Eteocles. He looked at me, and then, with a cry of anger, drew his blade from the papers and wood, slammed it back into its sheath, and turned and strode from the room. I returned to my seat.

I saw that now, quietly, and with little show of emotion, Sullius Maximus had risen to his feet. A man behind him helped him adjust his cloak, so that it fell from its golden clasp, as he wished. Another man behind him held his helmet. Sullius Maximus stopped before the table of the scribem and regarded the council.

"I shall write a poem," he said, "lamenting the downfall of Ubars." Then he smiled, and turned and left.

He, I told myself, would be the most dangerouls of the Ubars.

I resheathed my blade.

"Bejar," called the scribe.

"Bejar accepts the proposals of Samos," said a captain, a dark-skinned man with long, straight hair, who sat in the second row, some two chairs below me and to the right.

"Bosk," called the scribe.

"Bosk," I said, "abstains."

Samos, and many of the others, looked at me, quickly.

"Abstention," recorded the scribe.

I saw no reason, at the moment, to commit myself to the programs of Samos and the council. It seemed clear to me that his proposals would be accepted. Moreover, I regarded them as presumably in my best interest. But, by abstaining, my intentions and allegiances might perhaps remain usefully ambiguous. The abstention, it seemed to me, might well give me a wider eventual latitude of action. Besides, I told myself, it was still rather early to determine on which curule chairs the tarns of power might alight.

As I thought it would, the group of proposals set before the council by Samos passed overwhelmingly. There were some absentions, and some nays, perhaps from those who feared the power of one or another of the Ubars, but the decision on the whole was clear, a devastating of the claims of the Ubars and the, in effect, enthronement of the council of captains as the sovereign of the city. The council met late that night, and much business was conducted. Even before dawn walls were being reaised about the holdings of Henrius Sevarius, and his wharves were being blockaded with ships of the arsenal, while large watches were being maintained on the holdings of the other four Ubars. Several committees were formed, usually headed by scribes but reporting to the council, to undertake various studies pertaining to the city, particularly of a military and commercial nature. One of these studies was to be a census of ships and captains, the results of which were to be private to the council. Other studies, the results of which would be kept similarly private to the council, dealt with the city defenses, and her stores of wood, grain, salt, stone and tharlarion oil. Also considered, though nothing was determined that night, were matters of taxation, the unification and revision of the codes of the five Ubars, the establishment of council courts, replacing those of the Ubars, and the acquistion of a sizable number of men-at-arms, who would be directly responsible to the council itself, in effect, a small council police or army. Such a body of men, it might be noted, though restricted in numbers and limited in jurisdiction, already existed in the arsenal. The arsenal guard, presumably, would become a branch of the newly formed council guard, if such became a reality. It is true, of course, that the council already controlled a large number of ships and crews, but it must be remembered that these forces were naval in nature; the council already had its navy; the events of the afternoon had demonstrated that it would be well if it had also at its disposal a small, permanent, dependable, rapidly deployable infantry. One might not always be able to count on the rallying of the men of individual captains to protect the council, as had been the case this afternoon. Besides, if teh council were to become truly sovereign in Port Kar, as it had proclaimed itself, it seemed essential that it should soon have its own military forces within the city. One other incident of that council meeting I shall mention.

It was shortly past daybreak, and the gray light of Port Kar's dawn was filtering in through the high, narrow windows of the council of captains. I had taken the note which I had received the preceding afternoon from my wallet, that which had purported to be from Samos, which he had denied sending. Bemused, I had burned it in the tiny flame of the candle on the table near me, now little more than a twig of wick in a puddle of clear, melted wax, and then I had, with the plam of my hand, snuffed out the tiny flame. It was day.

"I suspect," Samos was saying, "that Cos and Tyros are implicated in the attempted coup of the House of Sevarius."

I myself would not have been surprised if this had been true.

His words received grunts of affirmation from the assembled captains. It seemed they, too, had their suspicions. Surely it did not seem likely that Sevarius would have moved if he had not been assured, at some point, of the support of the power of Cos and Tyros.

"Myself," Samos went on, "I am weary of war with Cos and Tyros." the captains looked at one another.

"Now that the council is sovereign in Port Kar," Samos said, his fist clenched on the arm of his curule chair, "might not peach be possible?"

This puzzled me.

I saw one or two of the captains reaise their heads from the arms of their curule chairs.

One captain, leaning back in his curule chair, said, "There has always been war between Port Kar, and Cos and Tyros."

I did not expect these remarks from Samos. I was curious to know his motivation, his plan.

"As you know," said Samos, speaking evenly, "Port Kar is not the most loved, nor the most greatly respected nor the highest honored among the cities of Gor." There was rough laughter at this.

"Have we not been misunderstood?" he asked.

There was an unpleasant undercurrent of amusement which greeted his question. I myself smiled. Port Kar, I told myself, was only too well understood bu the other cities of Gor.

"Consider our trade," said Samos. "Would it not be trebled if we were accounted, among Gorean cities, a city of love, of peace?"

There was a guffaw of laughter at this, and men pounded the arms of the curule chairs. There were none now in that room who were not awake. I saw even the pages and scribes laughed, poking one another.

When there was silence, it was suddenly, unexpectedly, broken by the voice of Bejar, the dark-skinned captain with the long, straight hair. He said simply, answering the question of Samos, "It would."

Then the room was very silent. And I think there were noe then in that room who did not hold his breath for that moment, to hear the words of Samos. "It is my proposal," said Samos, "that the council approach Cos and Tyros, offering terms of peace."

"No!" came the cry from the assembled captains. "No!"

When the tumult had subsided, Samos spoke, softly. "Of course," said Samos, "our terms will be rejected."

The captains looked at one another in puzzlement, and then they began to smile, and then several laughed.

I smiled to myself. Samos was indeed a shrewd man. The facade of magnanimity would indeed be a valuable posseession for a maritime Ubarate. Further, men might be willing to believe Port Kar now other than she had been, that the coming to power of the council would have reformed her. And what better gesture than this mission of peace to the hereditary enemies Cos and Tyros? If the burden of maintaining the conflict were clearly on them, it was possible that allies of theirs might be influenced to diminish or, perhaps, withdraw their support, or, perhaps pledge it even to Port Kar. And there were undeclared ports and cities to consider. Surely these might then be dissuaded from becoming allies of Cos and Tyros, and perhaps might be inclined to offer their services to Port Kar? At the very least, the ships of Port Kar might, in such a situation, become suddenly welcome in ports that had hitherto been closed to them. And who knew what trading ships might make their way to Port Kar, if they thought her a fair and honest city? The estimate of Samos, taht such a gesture on Port Kar's part might eventually result in a trebling of her trade, seemed to me possibly conservative.