Read Online Troy 02 - Shield of Thunder by David Gemmell - Free Book Online
Authors: David Gemmell
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slaves. He is a king.”
“Was your mother born a slave?”
“No. She was taken from a village on the Lykian coast.”
“As I was—by pirates?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then Nestor is just like them. What he wants, he takes. But he is called a good man because he feeds and clothes the people he has torn from their loved ones and their families. The evil of it all sickens me.”
Kalliades fell silent. There had always been slaves, as there had always been kings. There always would be. How else would civilization flourish? He glanced toward the
Penelope.
Several crewmen had harnessed a canvas sling to two ropes. They had lowered the ropes from the deck of the beached ship, and men on the shore were trying to lift a pig into the sling. The beast began to squeal and thrash its legs. The sound panicked the other pigs. Four of them began to run along the beach, chased by sailors. The old crone with the staff shook her head and walked away from the mayhem. Kalliades saw Banokles hurl himself at a large pig, which swerved as Banokles was in the air. The warrior sprawled into the sand and slid headfirst into the water. Within moments the scene on the beach was chaotic. Odysseus began bellowing orders.
The pig in the sling had been hauled halfway to the deck but was thrashing so wildly that the ropes were swinging from side to side. Suddenly the beast began to urinate, showering the men below. The remaining pigs, some fifteen in all, bunched together and charged down the beach directly toward Odysseus. There was nothing for him to do but run. The sight of the stocky king in his wide golden belt being chased by a herd of squealing pigs was too much for the crew. Laughter broke out.
“It is going to be a long day,” Kalliades said. He glanced at Piria. She was laughing, too.
It was good to see.
At that moment Odysseus halted in his run, swinging around to face the herd. “Enough!” he bellowed, his voice booming like thunder. The animals, startled by the noise, swerved away from him. One huge black pig trotted up to the king and began to nuzzle his leg. Odysseus leaned down and patted its broad back. Then he strode back toward the
Penelope,
the black pig ambling along beside him. The other animals began to made soft squealing sounds and fell in behind the king.
“Laugh at me, would you, you misbegotten cowsons,” Odysseus stormed as he approached his crew. “By the balls of Ares, if I could teach these pigs to row, I’d get rid of you all.”
“An unusual man,” Kalliades observed. “Can he be trusted?”
“Why are you asking me?” Piria said.
“Because you know him. I saw it in his eyes when you spoke.”
Piria remained silent for a while. Then she nodded. “I knew him. He visited my father’s…home…many times. I cannot answer your question, Kalliades. Odysseus was once a slave trader. Years ago he was known as the Sacker of Cities. I would not willingly put my trust in any man who earned such a title. As it is, I have no choice.”
CHAPTER FOUR
VOYAGE OF THE PIGS
Bias the Black was sitting quietly among the rocks, an old cloak around his broad shoulders. The crew was still struggling to load the pigs. Bias was not tempted to help them. Close to fifty, he needed to protect his javelin arm if he was to have any chance in the games at Troy. So he sat quietly, honing his bone-handled fighting knives. Odysseus claimed his liking for knives was part of his heritage as a Nubian, but this seemed unlikely to Bias, who had been born on Ithaka and had known no other Nubians as a youngster. His mother certainly had never spoken about knife fighting.
“You could be the grandson of the king of Nubia,” Odysseus had said once. “You could be heir to a vast kingdom with golden palaces and a thousand concubines.”
“And if my prick had fingers, it could scratch my arse,” Bias had replied.
“That’s the problem with you, Bias. You have no imagination,” Odysseus had chided him.
Bias had laughed
“Was your mother born a slave?”
“No. She was taken from a village on the Lykian coast.”
“As I was—by pirates?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then Nestor is just like them. What he wants, he takes. But he is called a good man because he feeds and clothes the people he has torn from their loved ones and their families. The evil of it all sickens me.”
Kalliades fell silent. There had always been slaves, as there had always been kings. There always would be. How else would civilization flourish? He glanced toward the
Penelope.
Several crewmen had harnessed a canvas sling to two ropes. They had lowered the ropes from the deck of the beached ship, and men on the shore were trying to lift a pig into the sling. The beast began to squeal and thrash its legs. The sound panicked the other pigs. Four of them began to run along the beach, chased by sailors. The old crone with the staff shook her head and walked away from the mayhem. Kalliades saw Banokles hurl himself at a large pig, which swerved as Banokles was in the air. The warrior sprawled into the sand and slid headfirst into the water. Within moments the scene on the beach was chaotic. Odysseus began bellowing orders.
The pig in the sling had been hauled halfway to the deck but was thrashing so wildly that the ropes were swinging from side to side. Suddenly the beast began to urinate, showering the men below. The remaining pigs, some fifteen in all, bunched together and charged down the beach directly toward Odysseus. There was nothing for him to do but run. The sight of the stocky king in his wide golden belt being chased by a herd of squealing pigs was too much for the crew. Laughter broke out.
“It is going to be a long day,” Kalliades said. He glanced at Piria. She was laughing, too.
It was good to see.
At that moment Odysseus halted in his run, swinging around to face the herd. “Enough!” he bellowed, his voice booming like thunder. The animals, startled by the noise, swerved away from him. One huge black pig trotted up to the king and began to nuzzle his leg. Odysseus leaned down and patted its broad back. Then he strode back toward the
Penelope,
the black pig ambling along beside him. The other animals began to made soft squealing sounds and fell in behind the king.
“Laugh at me, would you, you misbegotten cowsons,” Odysseus stormed as he approached his crew. “By the balls of Ares, if I could teach these pigs to row, I’d get rid of you all.”
“An unusual man,” Kalliades observed. “Can he be trusted?”
“Why are you asking me?” Piria said.
“Because you know him. I saw it in his eyes when you spoke.”
Piria remained silent for a while. Then she nodded. “I knew him. He visited my father’s…home…many times. I cannot answer your question, Kalliades. Odysseus was once a slave trader. Years ago he was known as the Sacker of Cities. I would not willingly put my trust in any man who earned such a title. As it is, I have no choice.”
CHAPTER FOUR
VOYAGE OF THE PIGS
Bias the Black was sitting quietly among the rocks, an old cloak around his broad shoulders. The crew was still struggling to load the pigs. Bias was not tempted to help them. Close to fifty, he needed to protect his javelin arm if he was to have any chance in the games at Troy. So he sat quietly, honing his bone-handled fighting knives. Odysseus claimed his liking for knives was part of his heritage as a Nubian, but this seemed unlikely to Bias, who had been born on Ithaka and had known no other Nubians as a youngster. His mother certainly had never spoken about knife fighting.
“You could be the grandson of the king of Nubia,” Odysseus had said once. “You could be heir to a vast kingdom with golden palaces and a thousand concubines.”
“And if my prick had fingers, it could scratch my arse,” Bias had replied.
“That’s the problem with you, Bias. You have no imagination,” Odysseus had chided him.
Bias had laughed
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