The Pirate Captain

‘Cho the Giant’ – scene #11

Today we return to the ongoing serial adventure story ‘Cho the Giant’. As Cho’s trading empire expands, the pirate captain Romoyo is just one of the obstacles in his way. As always I’ll post a link to the very first scene in this story just below, for anyone wishing to go back to the beginning.

Love

Z

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The merchants of Arcador count their coins as meticulously as they count the breaths left in their bodies. Each piece of silver is an extension of their very essence, a tangible manifestation of worth in a world that respects little else. Cho understands this as he strides through the merchant quarter, his massive frame casting long shadows across sun-bleached stones. He carries no gold, no precious gems, nothing of material worth - only the promise in his eyes and the weapon of his smile. Today, he will persuade men to empty their coffers into his hands and thank him for the privilege.

His first visit takes him to the compound of Merchant Denario, a man whose wealth is matched only by his caution. The guards at the gate - massive men by common standards - look like children beside Cho's enormous frame. They announce him with voices unnaturally high, as though his presence has stolen the very bass from their throats.

"You bring no documents," Denario observes when Cho enters his counting room. The merchant's fingers dance across an abacus, sliding beads back and forth with practiced precision. "No contracts. No guarantees."

"I bring myself," Cho says, settling his bulk into a chair that protests beneath him. "Is that not guarantee enough?"

Denario laughs, a sound like coins falling on stone. "Many men have sat where you sit, promising fortunes."

"And yet I am not sitting where they sat," Cho says. "I am sitting where I sit. And I have never been like other men."

The merchant's eyes flicker over Cho's impossible proportions, the smooth expanse of his shaved head, the muscles that seem to shift like creatures beneath his skin. "No," he agrees. "You are not like other men."

Cho leans forward. "Fund the eastern route. Provide the ships. I will secure the route, negotiate the trades, and return with triple your investment."

"And your contribution?"

"My mind. My strength. My will." Cho smiles. "The very qualities that compelled you to grant me this audience."

Denario hesitates, then nods. "Very well. But I expect detailed accounts - "

Cho's hand engulfs the merchant's wrist, swallowing it like a serpent consumes a mouse. The touch is gentle but inescapable. "You will have wealth beyond accounting. Is that not preferable?"

By the time Cho leaves, Denario has agreed to fund three ships and has thanked him for the opportunity.

The second merchant, Veradas the Scholar, receives Cho in a library lined with scrolls from distant lands. Here, Cho adopts a different approach. He speaks of star charts and monsoon patterns, of trade routes forgotten by all but the most learned. His knowledge surprises Veradas, whose sight-lenses slip down his nose as he leans forward in fascination.

"You've studied the eastern texts," Veradas says with undisguised admiration.

"I have studied everything that serves my purpose," Cho replies. "Knowledge is a tool, like strength, like beauty."

"And do you consider yourself beautiful, Cho the Giant?" The question comes with a flush spreading across the merchant's cheeks.

Cho's laugh is soft. "I consider myself useful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." He steps closer to the merchant, close enough for Veradas to feel the heat radiating from his body. "Do you find me beautiful, Scholar?"

Three hours later, Veradas agrees to fund five ships and to provide his personal navigator. His hand trembles as he signs the document, but his eyes never leave Cho's face.

The third merchant, Bhalim of Chorrog, is known throughout Arcador for his appetites - for food, for wine, for flesh. He receives Cho in his bathhouse, where steam rises from scented waters and attendants move like ghosts through the mist.

"I have heard much of you," Bhalim says, his corpulent body floating in the bath like a pale island. "They say you rose from nothing."

"As did the world," Cho replies, removing his garments with unhurried confidence. "From nothing to everything."

Bhalim's eyes widen as Cho reveals himself. The Giant's body is a testament to perfection, each muscle defined as though sculptors had spent lifetimes carving them from marble.

"They call me the Giant," Cho says, stepping into the water, "not merely for my height."

When Cho leaves Bhalim's compound, the merchant has agreed to fund seven ships and has offered his private docks for loading. His farewell includes a bow so deep that his forehead nearly touches the ground.

By sunset, Cho returns to his quarters. On his table, he arranges fifteen contracts, each bearing a different seal, each promising ships, gold, or supplies. Not one requires him to provide anything beyond his presence. He has promised each merchant exclusive rights to the venture's profits, knowing that none will speak to the others for fear of revealing their involvement in such a risk.

Fifteen contracts, fifteen promises, fifteen variations on the truth. Yet not one merchant questioned him, not one saw through his scheme. The reality is simpler than they could imagine: Cho will keep every coin of profit for himself, while these men bear all risk. And should the venture fail, he will be no poorer than before.

He smiles as he rolls the contracts into a cylinder. Fools and their money, separated as easily as cutting cheese.

---

The sea has no master. Kings may claim dominion over waters on their maps, merchants may chart routes through the waves as though drawing lines in stone, but the sea obeys only its own ancient laws. Cho understands this as he steps aboard the lead dhow, his weight causing the small trading vessel to dip precariously before finding new equilibrium. The sailors exchange glances - a giant among them, a man who might capsize their delicate craft with a careless step. They wonder why a merchant lord would risk his precious flesh on such a journey. They do not understand that Cho trusts nothing he has not touched, believes nothing he has not seen, and values nothing he has not conquered.

"You could have remained in Arcador, my lord," the captain says, a weathered man with skin like cured leather. "The fleet would have returned with your profits intact."

"And if it didn't?" Cho asks, running a hand over the smooth wooden rail. "What then? Would your ghost swim back to explain the failure?"

The captain laughs nervously. "The sea takes what it will."

"As do I," Cho replies. "And I wish to take knowledge of these waters, these routes, these trades. Knowledge no man can steal from me."

The fleet consists of fifteen dhows, small trading vessels with triangular sails that can navigate the coastal shallows where larger ships founder. They are nimble but vulnerable, like fawns among predators. Each carries a modest crew and cargo worth more than all their lives combined - spices, silks, precious metals bound for the southern markets.

They sail with the dawn tide, skimming across waters that shimmer like beaten copper in the rising sun. Cho stands at the bow, motionless as a figurehead. The sailors work around him, their initial wariness giving way to a rhythm that accommodates his presence. Some even grow bold enough to explain their craft, pointing out the subtleties of sail and wind that determine their fate.

For three days, they make good progress, the coastline a constant presence to their right, a ribbon of gold and green against the endless blue. The sailors grow confident, singing as they work, telling stories of port women and sea monsters with equal conviction.

On the fourth day, the captain grows quiet. Cho notices the change immediately.

"What troubles you?" he asks.

The captain gestures toward the horizon. "The birds."

Cho follows his gaze. Seabirds wheel in tight circles over a distant point, like flies over carrion.

"They follow fishing boats," the captain explains. "Or..."

"Or predators," Cho finishes. "How many ships operate these waters?"

"Ours alone, by right of your agreements. Any others would be - "

"Pirates," Cho says, the word flat and hard.

The captain nods. "We should change course, move closer to shore."

"No," Cho decides. "Signal the fleet to continue as normal. But prepare the men."

The attack comes near dusk, when the fading light plays tricks on vigilant eyes. Three ships appear from behind a headland, larger than the dhows, their decks crowded with men. They move with practiced precision, cutting off escape routes, herding the trading fleet like wolves cornering sheep.

The first dhow is taken without resistance, its crew throwing down their weapons at the sight of the boarding party. The second attempts to flee toward shore but is overtaken quickly. The pirates move methodically, efficiently. This is not opportunity; this is hunting grounds.

Cho watches from the lead dhow as his fleet is dismantled piece by piece. Five ships captured in quick succession, their valuable cargos now tribute to these sea jackals. His own vessel races ahead, the captain pushing sail and crew to their limits.

"We cannot outrun them," Cho observes calmly.

"Then we die," the captain replies.

Cho smiles. "Death is rarely the only option." He turns to the crew. "Jettison half the cargo. Now."

The men hesitate until Cho himself hefts a crate of precious spices and hurls it overboard. The lightened ship leaps forward like a freed prisoner. Behind them, the pirates slow, some breaking off to retrieve the floating bounty.

"Now," Cho says, "change course. Northwest."

"That leads away from our destination," the captain protests.

"It leads away from death," Cho counters. "And toward opportunity."

They sail through the night, pushing the little ship beyond what its makers intended. By dawn, only seven of the original fifteen dhows remain, scattered across leagues of ocean. Cho orders them to regroup at a small, unmarked cove he had noted on the maps in Arcador.

When they finally reach their destination three days later, they arrive not as a proud trading fleet but as battered survivors. The southern port of Zalindros is a haven of stone and wood, a fortress against the very predators that had feasted on Cho's vessels.

"Seven ships," the harbourmaster notes, assessing the diminished fleet. "Your manifest listed fifteen."

"Pirates," Cho says simply.

The harbourmaster shrugs. "The sea gives and takes. Will you abandon your venture and return north?"

Cho stares at the man until he fidgets. "I abandon nothing. I need armed vessels to escort my fleet home. Who commands the strongest ships in these waters?"

"That would be Captain Muratos. His galleys patrol for the Zalindros merchant council. But his services are extremely costly."

"Arrange a meeting," Cho says. "Today."

Captain Muratos proves to be a shrewd negotiator, but no match for Cho's determination. By nightfall, they have struck a deal: three heavily armed galleys will escort the dhows back to Arcador, in exchange for twenty percent of the cargo's value.

"A steep price," the captain observes as they seal the agreement.

"A necessary one," Cho replies. "Knowledge has its cost, as does security. But future voyages will not be so vulnerable."

"Future voyages?" Muratos raises an eyebrow. "After such losses, you still plan to ply these waters?"

"These waters, and others beyond," Cho says. "The pirates have taught me a valuable lesson about preparation. Next time, I will not be the prey."

As they load the remaining ships with the traded goods - precious woods, exotic resins, and rare metals worth triple the original cargo's value - Cho studies the horizon. Somewhere out there, pirates count their spoils, believing they have scored a victory. They do not realize they have merely provided education to a dangerous student.

---

Armed ships change the mathematics of piracy. Predators become prey, hunters become quarry, and those who once calculated risk against profit find the equation inverted. As Cho's diminished fleet sails northward toward Arcador, the three escort galleys cut through the waves like knives, their oars moving with metronomic precision, their decks bristling with archers and spearmen. Cho stands on the lead galley, his massive frame silhouetted against the morning sky. He is not returning to report failure - he is sailing to exact retribution.

"We approach the headland where we were first attacked," Captain Muratos informs him, voice low enough that the crew cannot hear. "My scouts report no signs of enemy vessels."

"They will come," Cho replies, eyes fixed on the horizon. "A wolf returns to where it has fed before."

"You want them to attack?" Muratos sounds incredulous.

"I want them dead," Cho corrects him. "For that to happen, they must first appear."

The fleet maintains its formation - trading dhows at the center, armed galleys forming a protective triangle around them. They sail deliberately slower than necessary, a wounded animal presenting its vulnerability. The bait is set with care.

By midday, the tension has stretched thin. Men jump at shadows, at the cry of birds, at the splash of fish breaking the surface. Then, from the southeast, sails appear - five ships moving with predatory intent. Even at this distance, Cho recognizes the lead vessel from the previous attack, its blood-red sail distinct among the others.

"Pirate Captain Romoyo," Muratos spits the name like a curse. "The Red Demon of the Middle Seas."

"No demon," Cho says, "merely a man who has not yet met his match."

The pirates advance with confidence, having seen only the trading dhows from their vantage point. The galleys remain hidden behind the formation until the trap is sprung. When the pirates close to within arrow range, Muratos gives the signal - a single horn blast that echoes across the water.

The galleys surge forward, oars churning the sea to foam. Archers stand ready, bows drawn. The first volley darkens the sky, finding targets among the surprised pirate crews. Men fall, screaming, into the waves. The pirates scatter, seeking escape, but they have sailed too close, committed too deeply to their attack.

Four pirate ships wheel away, abandoning their leader to save themselves. But the red-sailed vessel - Romoyo's flagship - turns to fight, refusing retreat. It rams directly into the side of Muratos's galley, the impact sending men tumbling across both decks.

"Boarding party!" Romoyo's voice carries across the water, a roar that rallies his men. They leap across the narrowing gap between ships, cutlasses flashing in the sunlight.

Cho steps forward, a walking fortress among the chaos. The first pirate to reach him swings a blade at his midsection - a strike that would disembowel an ordinary man. Cho catches the man's wrist, crushes it in his grip, and lifts the screaming pirate over his head. With a casual motion, he hurls the man into the sea.

The deck becomes a battlefield. Blood makes the planking slick. Men die with oaths or prayers on their lips. Through it all, Cho moves with terrible purpose, seeking one man alone.

He finds Romoyo at the helm of the pirate ship, directing his crew with fierce commands. The pirate captain is a striking figure - flame-red hair and beard framing a face carved by weather and violence, sea-green eyes sharp with intelligence. He turns as Cho's shadow falls across him.

"So," Romoyo says, drawing twin curved daggers from his belt, "you're the merchant who doesn't know when to surrender."

"And you're the pirate who doesn't know whom to rob," Cho replies.

Their combat is brief but vicious. Romoyo is fast, his blades blurring with lethal intent. But Cho is implacable, absorbing a cut to his arm without flinching, then closing the distance between them. His fist connects with Romoyo's jaw, sending the pirate captain sprawling across the deck.

Before Romoyo can rise, Muratos's men have secured the pirate ship's magazine. A deliberate fire starts below decks, smoke billowing from the hatches.

"Your ship is lost," Cho tells the fallen pirate. "Your men scattered. Will you die here or face justice in Arcador?"

Romoyo spits blood onto the deck. "There is no justice for pirates. Only the noose."

"Perhaps," Cho says, hauling the man to his feet. "But death comes to all men eventually. The question is what you might do with the time before it finds you."

The pirate ship burns and sinks as they sail away, leaving nothing but floating debris and bodies. Romoyo is confined to Cho's cabin on the lead galley, hands bound, a guard posted outside the door.

That night, Cho dismisses the guard and enters alone. Romoyo sits on the narrow bunk, wrists raw from the ropes, eyes defiant.

"Have you come to execute me yourself?" the pirate asks.

"I've come to offer terms," Cho replies, securing the door behind him.

"What terms could possibly interest me?"

Cho steps closer, his massive frame blocking all light from the oil lamp. "Your life. Your freedom, after a fashion. And a share in profits greater than your pitiful piracy could ever yield."

Romoyo laughs bitterly. "And all I must do is bend the knee? Become your servant?"

"No," Cho says, his voice dropping lower. "All you must do is bend."

He moves with sudden speed, seizing the pirate and forcing him face-down across the bunk. Romoyo struggles, but against Cho's strength, he might as well be fighting the tide.

"What are you doing?" Panic edges into the pirate's voice.

"Establishing our relationship," Cho says, one hand pinning Romoyo's wrists, the other tearing at the man's robe. "You took what was mine. Now I take what is yours."

Romoyo's struggles intensify, then falter as Cho's massive erection presses against him. "Wait - "

"Men who take without permission," Cho says, his breath hot against Romoyo's ear, "must learn how it feels to be taken."

His entry is brutal, forcing a strangled cry from the pirate captain. Cho sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust a lesson in power. Romoyo's resistance transforms gradually, his body responding despite his will, his curses becoming moans. The bunk creaks dangerously beneath their violence.

"You are mine now," Cho growls, one hand wrapped in Romoyo's red hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. "Your men are scattered. Your ship is gone. But you - you have value if you recognize your place."

When Cho finally shoots across the tanned skin of the pirate’s ass, Romoyo lies trembling beneath him, face flushed, eyes glazed with unwilling pleasure.

"Kill me if you must," the pirate whispers hoarsely.

Cho turns him over, studying the man's face - the defiance now mixed with something new, something like recognition.

"Death is easy," he says, wiping sweat from Romoyo's brow with unexpected gentleness. "Life is harder. Life in my service will be profitable, but never mistake who holds the power between us."

By dawn, Romoyo the Pirate has become Romoyo the Navigator, his knowledge of coastal waters and shipping routes now Cho's to command. When the fleet finally sights the towers of Arcador, the former pirate stands at Cho's side, an anklet of iron around his leg marking his new status. To the observers on shore, he appears a prisoner. Only he and Cho know that the chains binding him now are forged of something stronger than metal.

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It’s great to be back with Cho and I hope you’ll enjoy reading two further scenes this week. As always thankyou to all of those Liking, Sharing and Commenting on my work as it really does encourage me and guide me towards providing what you’ll most enjoy.

With love

Zayq

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