thal for one
night's good debauch, and they would forget that such a thing as the
morning of a morrow could have existence.

Two fellows I caught and killed that, diving down beneath, tried to slit
the skin of the boat out of sight under the water; and Phorenice cared
for all those that tried to put a hand on the gunwales. Yes, and she did
more than that. A huge long-necked turtle that was stirred out of the
mud by the turmoil, came up to daylight, and swung its great horn-lipped
mouth to this side and that, seeking for a prey. The fishers near it
dodged and dived. I, thrusting at the stern of the boat, could only hope
it would pass me by and so offered an easy mark. It scurried towards
me, champing its noisy lips, and beating the water into spray with its
flippers.

But Phorenice was quick with a remedy and a rescue. She passed her sword
through one of the fishers that pressed her, and then thrust the body
towards the turtle. The great neck swooped towards it; the long slimy
feelers which protruded from its head quivered and snuffled; and then
the horny green jaws crunched on it, and drew it down out of sight.

The boat was in deep water now, and Phorenice called upon me to come in
over the side, she the while balancing nicely so that the flimsy thing
should not be overset. The fishers had given up their pursuit, finding
that they earned nothing but lopped-off arms and split faces by coming
within swing of this terrible sword of their Empress, and so contented
themselves with volleying jagged stones in the hopes of stunning us or
splitting the boat. However, Phorenice crouched in the stern, holding
the two shields--her own golden target, and the rough hide buckler I
had won--and so protected both of us whilst I paddled, and though many
stones clattered against the shields, and hit the hide covering of the
boat, so that it resounded like a drum, none of them did damage, and we
drew quickly out of their range.

12. THE DRUG OF OUR LADY THE MOON

Our Lord the Sun was riding towards the end of His day, and the smoke
from a burning mountain fanned black and forbidding before His face.
Phorenice wrung the water from her clothes and shivered. "Work hard with
those paddles, Deucalion, and take me in through the water-gate and let
me be restored to my comforts again. That merchant would rue if he saw
how his pretty garments were spoiled, and I rue, too, being a woman,
and remembering that he at least has no others