Read Conspirators of Gor Online
Authors: John Norman
There would be, of course, hundreds of Metal Workers in Ar.
“Do you dally, Slave?” inquired a free woman, come to the fountain.
“No, Mistress!” I said. “No, Mistress!”
I then seized up the handles of the buckets and, step by step, slowly, carefully, for the weight, and that no water be spilled, frightened, miserable, made my way toward the shop of Epicrates.
I had fled through the streets, terrified.
“Come back, Allison!” had called the Lady Bina, but I had rushed, weeping, past her, down the stairs, and emerged on Emerald.
It was now late afternoon, and I was in the closest, sizable market to the domicile of Epicrates, the market of Cestias, in one corner of which was the Sul Market. It was there, in the market of Cestias, we commonly shopped. It was there I had been commanded by the Lady Bina, when she, for whatever reason, was intent to satisfy herself that I might be found acceptable to men. Well did I remember the ten Ehn she had given me, within which time, as she was not a patient woman, I was to satisfy her curiosity. It was there that I, hands bound behind me, in half a tunic, had been ordered to my knees by a surly, imperious stranger, he who had later protected me at Six Bridges, but had seen fit to take his reward from my lips, I helpless to prevent his arrogant presumption.
Surely I must despise him!
Yet he had protected me, from the girls from the house of Daphne.
From the fountain I had made my way, sick and fearful, to the domicile, and, step by slow step, had brought the buckets upstairs.
“Lord Grendel,” had said the Lady Bina, “wishes water. Carry one bucket to the roof.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.
“Too, he wants cloths,” she said. “Take these.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.
The trap opening to the roof was open, and I climbed the stairs, and, the cloths over my shoulder, and two hands on the bucket handle, emerged on the roof.
The beast was crouching in one corner of the area, concealed from the street by the wall surmounting the roof. Given my height, I could look over that wall. It came about to my shoulders.
It was there the beast slept.
It turned about, and lifted its head, and I saw those large, glinting eyes upon me.
I half dropped the bucket, and water splashed to the sun-hot roof. I threw down the cloths, and backed away.
“Do not speak of what you have seen,” said the beast.
“No, Master,” I said.
I then turned about, and fled, running down the stairs to the apartment, and then, past the Lady Bina, down stairs, to the street.
The paws of the beast had been covered with dried blood, stiffening and matting the fur.
Now I had been searching the market of Cestias, and nearby streets, how long I did not know. I did not see him! It was growing late. Where might he be? Was he no more? Had he met his end on Clive? Who had been in those bloodied shreds of black and gray, the colors of the Metal Workers? Could it have been he? To be sure, what could he, a stranger, be to me, and what could I, a slave, be to him, a free man? Were we not muchly disparate, he a free man, a citizen, doubtless the possessor of a Home Stone, and I, a lowly barbarian beast, brought from a far world to the markets of my superiors, my masters? I tried to remind myself that I should hate him, the callous brute, that I should loathe him, he so arrogant and supercilious, he who looked upon me so casually and saw me as nothing, only a meaningless Gorean kajira, fit only to be at a man’s feet. But I recalled he had ordered me to my knees before him, when I was helpless, wrists fastened behind me, and half-stripped, and I had knelt, as I had no choice but to do, as a slave, and had looked up at him, and suddenly, startled, wondered if it might be he, my master, before whom I knelt. And I remembered, too, the intimacy of the kisses forced upon me when I, as a slave, dared not, and desired not, to resist. I must have passed given stalls and vendors, given shops, an indefinite number of times. Surely I attracted curious glances, in the nearby streets, and, time and time again, in the market plaza. More than once I had been regarded by guardsmen. What business had I there?
I did not know where else to look for him. Indeed, I feared he had been cruelly slain, even dismembered. What had been folded in the mat by the guardsmen on Clive had not been a whole human being. Parts, I supposed, must have been eaten, or disposed of, elsewhere.
And I remembered the blood on the paws, and arms, of the beast, and how it had lifted its head, and regarded me, on the roof. “Do not speak of what you have seen,” it had said.
I had then, in horror, and hysteria, fled from the roof, and the domicile.
I hoped it would not be thought I had run away.
I knew I could not elude the consequences of the collar, the brand, the tunic. There was no escape for such as I, the Gorean slave girl. At most, one might fall into a heavier, more severe, more terrifying bondage.
But I had been unable to help myself, and had fled the house.
I had not truly intended to run away.
I knew the penalties which might be inflicted on a fugitive slave, the lashings, hamstringing, being cast amongst a foliage of leech plants, being butchered for sleen feed, even being cast alive to such beasts.
“Kajira,” said a guardsman.
“Master?” I said, kneeling.
“Are you lost?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I am looking for someone,” I said, “a Metal Worker.”
“Your master?” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“What is his name?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“You have been summoned to a tryst?” he said.
“No, Master,” I said. I realized that free persons do not always reveal their names to slaves. Many Goreans, too, I understood, particularly of the lower castes, had “use names,” to conceal their real names, lest their real names, it seemed, might supply ill-wishers with grist for spells and sorceries.
“Today,” said the guardsman, “a Metal Worker was killed, in the vicinity of Clive.”
“I fear it might be he,” I said.
“Your tunic,” he said, “suggests that you are a woman’s slave.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Many of the stalls and shops are closing,” he said. “You are to be off the streets by curfew.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do you know your way home?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Go home,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said, and rose to my feet.
“Groom me,” said the beast.
I brought the brushes and combs to his side, and began at the sides of the head, brushing downward, toward the shoulders.
“You tremble,” said the beast. “Your hand shakes.”
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Do not be afraid,” said the beast.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“You barely arrived home before curfew,” said the Lady Bina.
“Where were you?” asked the beast.
I drew the brush downward.
“The market, the market of Cestias,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “You are familiar, then, with the market.”
Why should he be pleased with that, I wondered. I had not been given permission to go there. Commonly, just as a slave may not clothe herself without her master’s permission, so, too, she may not leave his domicile without his permission, and it would then be expected, of course, that her destination would be specified and her anticipated time of return. She is not a free woman. She is his possession, his animal, his slave. I, on the other hand, in my misery and terror, hurrying past the startled Lady Bina, had precipitously fled the domicile. Such leave takings are not permitted slaves. When I had returned, by then much aware of the enormity of what I had done, I had been contrite and fearful. My lapse had been significant, and I was owned. I had crept up the stairs, and knelt, head down, before the Lady Bina and the beast. “Forgive me, Mistress. Forgive me, Master,” I had said, pressing my lips first to the Lady Bina’s slippers, and then to the clawed feet of the beast. Interestingly, I was not beaten. I was not even scolded. Had I a male master, I am sure I would have been tied and lashed. Male masters tend to be exacting of their girls. I wished I had such a master, who would be firm, and severe, and see to it that I would be an excellent, and pleasing, slave. That is what I wanted, and had always wanted, to be well owned, and wholly mastered. To be sure, I had arrived back before curfew.
“We shop there, frequently,” said the Lady Bina.
“Do you know the praetor’s platform, by the coin stalls?” asked the beast.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
There were two market praetors in the market of Cestias. One was near the coin stalls, and Sul Market, the other, rather across the plaza, not far from the Paga and Ka-la-na Markets.
The coin stalls were, in effect, exchanges, as, in a market of the size of that of Cestias, in a city such as Ar, buyers and sellers from diverse cities might mingle and carry diverse currencies. As would be expected, the most common denominations in the market were those of Ar, her tarn disks, and her tarsks, of copper, and silver and gold. But coins of many cities circulated. Occasionally one encountered a disk from far-off Turia. Some prized coins were the silver tarns of Jad and, on the continent, the golden staters of Brundisium. Many of the transactions were conducted by means of scales. One often encounters, for example, clipped or shaved coins. The professional in shaving keeps the roundness of the subject coin as perfect as possible. Sometimes it is hard to tell, by eye, that a coin has been shaved. Clipped coins are easy to identify but then, of course, one must bring forth the scales, and, not unoften, as well, rough silver or gold, unminted, is presented, perhaps melted droplets, or pieces cut from silver or golden vessels and goblets, which items will also require judicious determinations. Negotiations and bargainings, over the scales, often grow heated. The advantage, of course, lies with the stallsman. Complaints may be lodged with either of the two praetors, who, interestingly, though magistrates of Ar, apparently strive to adjudicate matters to the best of their lights. Their efforts not only redound to the honor of Ar, but, too, one supposes, tend to preserve the value and integrity of the market, which, in the long view, is doubtless in the best interest of the city’s commerce. To be sure, major transactions often take place near the walls, and outside them, in the wholesale markets.
“I have an errand for you to perform,” he said.
The beast’s wide nostrils flared slightly, as though scanning the room. I wondered what might be the consciousness of the beast.
“Master?” I said.
“I will explain it to you later,” he said.
I continued to brush his fur.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked.
How could he ask such a thing? Had he not recognized my horror at the sight of his body, earlier today, in the late morning, the matting, the caking, the stiffened fur?
“Tonight,” he said, “you will not be chained.”
I was then more afraid than before.
Is there not, on the chain, some security?
“Why is that?” asked the Lady Bina. I was sure it made little difference to her whether I was chained or not. Indeed, I was sure that my chaining had more to do with the recommendations of the Lady Delia than any interest which the Lady Bina might have in the matter. The Lady Delia, a Gorean free woman, had definite views as to the proper treatment of female slaves. To be sure, men often chain their female slaves, perhaps because it pleases them to have their animals on a chain. A discrepancy in a routine, on the other hand, would be of interest to the Lady Bina, for, as a highly intelligent woman, such things were likely to provoke curiosity, and require some explanation.
“Because it is my will,” said the beast.
“Very well,” she said.
The beast was commonly concerned, sometimes almost pathetically so, to please the Lady Bina. It would unprotestingly accept her pettinesses and abuses, which were not infrequent, would seek to attend to her wants, which were frequent, and, to the extent practical, would indulge her every whim. Sometimes it seemed as though it were no more than a large, agile, hideous, somewhat terrifying, but devoted and harmless pet. At other times, however, one sensed an adamancy in that imposing form, an alarming core of bestial will which would brook neither compromise nor deviation, no more than tides and seasons, a will behind which lay the instincts, the blood, the fangs, and claws, of Kurii. At such times, the Lady Bina would remain silent, and, resignedly, gracefully, withdraw. She was apparently familiar with such things from the metal worlds of which she had spoken. To what end might one remonstrate with a living anvil, or winter, or hunger, or a quiescent volcano which, jarred, might speak with fire?