"We were as fierce as they," I said, wonderingly, "as swift, as vicious."

"It would seem so," smiled Callimachus.

I was silent.

"Do you fear to look upon the hunter, and the killer, in yourself?" he asked.

I did not speak.

He clapped me on the shoulders. "We have now, I suspect," said he, "taught the men of Ragnar Voskjard some respect for honest men."

"Yes," I said, "let us think of it in such terms."

"Do you not wonder, sometimes," asked he, "why honest men, honest folk, such as ourselves, permit pirates, and such, to exist?"

"Why?" I asked.

"That we may have someone to kill," he said.

"Are we so different from them, then?" I asked.

"I do not think so," said Callimachus. "We have much in common with them."

"What?" I asked.

"That we are men," said Callimachus.

"It is not the killing," I said, "for executions would not suffice."

"No," said Callimachus, "it is the sport, and the risk, and the killing."

"One must fight for causes," I said.

"Causes exist," said Callimachus, "that men may fight."

"I am troubled," I said.

"Extinguish the lanterns," said Callimachus to a fellow. "The pirates may still be about."

"Let us put down the longboat," I said to Callimachus. "With muffled oars we may patrol our sector of the chain."

"Why would you do this?" he asked.

"Our vessel, even with the lanterns extinguished, cannot approach the chain as silently as a longboat. The pirate boats, at the chain, need only draw back."

"The longboat," said Callimachus, "should be west of the chain, that it may approach the pirate boats less suspiciously."

"Of course," I said.

"Why will you do this?" he asked.

"Why, to defend the chain," I said.

"True," smiled Callimachus.

"You have tasted blood," said Callimachus. "You want more."

"Such thoughts are too terrible to think," I said.

"The sword must drink until its thirst is satisfied," said Callimachus. It was a Gorean proverb.

"I will not think such thoughts," I said.

"Consult your feelings," said Callimachus. "Do you find yourself desperately committed to this bold venture, that you may imperil your life in order to protect the chain? Are your motivations those of discharging a dangerous and unwelcome duty, one which no man has placed upon you?"

"No," I said.

"What then?" he asked.

"I have met the enemy," I said "I am eager to meet him again."

"I thought so," said Callimachus. "I will put the longboat down. I shall call for volunteers."

"Who is there?" called a voice, in the darkness.

We rested the oars in the oarlocks.

"Ready," I said to the men with me, softly. We approached the chain from the west. The longboat had been put down across the chain, the _Tina_ abeam of it, a quarter of an Ahn ago. We had actually passed within a few yards of pirate vessels, anchored in the river.

"Who is there?" called the voice.

"Now!" I said. Five men, behind the gunnels, suddenly rose up, bows in hand. The arrows were discharged at almost point-blank range into the other boat, as we struck against it. I heard men scream, tools cast down. I, and five others, swords drawn, boarded the other craft, hacking and slashing about us. We did not speak. The cries, the screams, were those of the pirates. More than one saved himself by leaping into the water. I thrust the body of another over a thwart, and then rolled it, sprawling, over the gunnel into the water.

"What is going on out there?" called a voice, from one of the pirate vessels, back from the chain.

We struck down with an oar, driving back a man trying to reach into the boat.

"What is going on out there?" called the voice again, as we slipped away.

"Be off! Be off!" cried a voice, frightened, in the darkness.

"Back oars," I said. Then I said, "Steady."

The longboat rested on the waters, rocking in the darkness, silent.

"We know you are out there!" cried a fellow in the darkness, near the chain. "We are armed! Approach at your own risk! Identify yourselves!"

I smiled, discerning his fear. I gave no orders.

"Identify yourselves!" called the voice.

We were silent.

I saw no point in attacking. The element of surprise was no longer with us. We had taken three longboats in the night. That there was danger at the chain was now well understood by the pirates. They had thought to work with impunity, and had found that we had not chosen to permit it.

We were silent.

"Return to the ship," said the voice in the darkness. "Return to the ship!"

We let the longboat move past us, some yards to starboard, judging by the sound of the oars.

I then had the longboat move to the chain, where I felt the links. In one of the great links I could feel a concave roughness which then gave way, as the tool had bit in, to a sharp, geometrically precise crevice, too small to feel inside. I felt about the link, to the limits, on both sides of the link, of the crevice. It was diagonal, and, at its deepest point, toward the link's center, about an inch in depth.

"What is it?" asked one of the men with me, an oarsman, behind me and to the right.

"They must have been working here about a quarter of an Ahn," I said.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"The chain has been weakened," I said.

"What shall we do?" he asked.

"We shall continue to patrol the chain," I said.

"Did you hear it?" asked one of the men with me.

"Yes," I said.

"A fish?" asked one of the men.

"Divers, I think," I said.

"What are you doing?" asked one of the men.

"Return for me in five Ehn," I said.

I put aside my weapon, in its sheath, in the bottom of the longboat. I removed my sandals and tunic.

"Give me a knife," I said.

"Here," said one of my fellows. I put the blade between my teeth and, silently, lowered myself over the side of the longboat. I treaded water. The longboat, almost noiselessly, the oars muffled, the wood wrapped with thonged fur at the fulcrum points, the oarlocks similarly served, moved away.

It was cold and dark in the waters of the Vosk.

After a few Ehn the longboat returned, and I was hauled aboard.

"Here is your knife," I told the fellow who had loaned me the weapon.

"Was it a fish?" asked a man.

"No," I said.

"The knife is sticky," said the man to whom I had returned it.

I spit into the Vosk. "Rinse it," I said.

"How many were there?" asked a man.

"Two," I said. "They were not patient. They returned to work too soon."

"What shall we do?" asked one of the men.

"Return to the _Tina_," I said "We shall need our sleep. There will be war tomorrow."

"Was the chain damaged?" asked a man.

"Yes," I said.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"It could have been done in a hundred places," said a man.

"I think so," I said.

"Then, tomorrow," said a man, hesitantly, "the chain will not hold."

"I do not think so," I said.

"Perhaps we should flee while we can," he said.

I shrugged. "Let the crews and their commanders make decision on the matter," I said.

"The divers," said a man, "did you kill them both?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then the Voskjard will not know that the chain is weak at that point," said a man.

"No," I said, "he will not know that it was weakened at that point."

"But there will be other points," said a man.

"Of course," I said.

"It is impossible to protect the chain," said a man.

"Sooner or later, if not this night, it will be cut," said another man.

"The Voskjard has been delayed," said one of the men. "It is said he is not a patient man."