THE SHIP OF ISHTAR: Sci-Fi Classic. Abraham Merritt
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Around his waist was a thick bronze ring. From this ring a strong chain swung, its end fastened to a staple sunk deep in the back of the bench on which he sat. His wrists were manacled. The oar on which his head rested was manacled, too. Between manacled wrists and manacled oar two other strong chains stretched.
There was an empty chained circlet at the sleeper’s left side; on the oar at his left two empty manacles hung from chains.
Zachel pushed Kenton down on the bench beside the sleeping oarsman; girdled his waist with the empty bronze circlet; snapped it close; locked it.
He thrust Kenton’s unresisting hands through the manacles dangling from the oar; closed them on him; locked them.
And suddenly Kenton felt warmth of eyes upon him: looked behind him; saw leaning over the rail the face of Sharane. There was pity in her face; and dawning of something that set his heart to beating wildly.
“I’ll discipline you — never fear!” said Zachel.
Kenton looked behind him again.
Sharane was gone.
He bent over his oar beside the sleeping giant.
Bent over his oar —
Chained to it.
Slave of the ship!
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