Authors: John; Norman
“Lord Temmu holds the shore,” said Lord Okimoto, his glass of the Builders trained on the streaming smoke.
“His fortress stands,” said Lord Nishida, his own glass trained, as well, on the smoke.
“Put to,” said Lord Okimoto.
This was signaled to Aëtius.
We heard anchors rattling. Sails were slackened, and began to be furled.
“Look!” called a man.
“What is the meaning of that?” asked Tyrtaios.
A third spume of smoke rose now toward the sky. This column of smoke was clearly green.
Each of the streamers of smoke was now vanishing, drifting away.
On continental Gor, green is the caste color of the Physicians. I did not know its meaning here.
“Safety,” said Lord Okimoto to Tyrtaios.
A cry of pleasure went up from men gathered about, and the motivation of this cry was quickly broadcast about the ship.
“Let us put forth the galleys, the small boats,” said Tyrtaios.
Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, commander of the tarn cavalry, had now joined Lords Okimoto and Nishida at the rail. Aëtius, who handled the daily management of the ship, was on the stern-castle deck, looking forward.
“I have seen three columns of smoke,” said Tarl Cabot.
“We expected to see a single column,” said Lord Nishida, “that of yellow, which would signify that the castle of Lord Temmu still stands, that it is not yet taken. To be sure, we did not know that even that would be seen.”
“We feared,” said Lord Okimoto, “that we were too late, that all was lost.”
“The red column,” said Lord Nishida, “we did not expect to see. It signifies that we hold the shore, that Lord Temmu has retaken ground. We rejoice.”
“The third smoke,” said Lord Okimoto, “that of green, of safety, means that a landing may be effected.”
“That is what has so inspirited the men,” said Lord Nishida.
Dozens of men had climbed on the rail, ascended the ratlines, or clung to the masts, that they might see the better.
“What I do not understand,” said Lord Nishida, “is why there should be both a red and green column. If we hold the shore, it is safe, and the green column is unnecessary.”
“It confirms the red column,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Launch the galleys, the small boats,” men cried.
“The green column,” said Lord Nishida, “might indicate that an area is safe to approach, even though it might lie in the territory of Lord Yamada, no enemy being about, or that a passage has been cleared, or a castle may be approached, or such, and thus one might have green without red, but it would be unusual to have both green and red.”
“Yes,” said Lord Okimoto, “unusual, but scarcely a cause for concern.”
“Yellow,” said Lord Nishida to Cabot, “indicates that the holding of Lord Temmu stands.”
“It would be difficult to take his castle,” said Lord Okimoto. “It is a mighty holding.”
“If we hold the shore,” said Lord Nishida, thoughtfully, “it would seem quite likely that the castle of Lord Temmu would still stand.”
“Thus,” said Cabot, “it seems only one signal, the red, would suffice.”
“Precisely, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“All signs,” said Lord Okimoto, “are auspicious.”
“It seems so,” said Lord Nishida.
There was much clamoring amongst the men.
“I do not think they can be held longer,” said Tyrtaios.
Turgus, who was liaison to Lord Nishida, looked about, with apprehension.
“Landing parties may be formed,” said Lord Okimoto.
This decision was met with cries of approval.
“Order is to be maintained,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Certainly,” said Tyrtaios.
“Dispatch a scouting party,” said Cabot.
“The smoke was red,” said Lord Okimoto, patiently.
“Nonetheless,” said Cabot.
“The signals are secret,” said Lord Okimoto.
“We will not be able to restrain the men,” said Tyrtaios.
Already men had rushed below decks, to obtain access to the three remaining nested galleys, and the numerous tiny, tiered, ship’s boats.
Pani looked to Lords Nishida and Okimoto. Were they to use their swords?
To be sure, such an act would doubtless have cost dozens of men, and forever divided the Pani from the mariners and armsmen. As Tyrtaios had feared, war would betide the great ship. Too, the mission of the Pani, whatever it might be, would crumble.
“No,” said Lord Okimoto.
“The men must be armed,” said Lord Nishida.
“It is not necessary,” said Lord Okimoto.
But Tarl Cabot had ascended the ratlines some ten feet, to where he might be clearly seen. “Open the weapon rooms!” he called.
Many were the cheers.
Men hastened to do his bidding.
He would not send men ashore unarmed.
Lord Okimoto was not pleased. His eyes narrowed, unpleasantly. “The commander,” he said to Lord Nishida, “exceeds his authority.”
“I shall reprimand him,” said Lord Nishida.
“The commander,” said Lord Okimoto, “is circumspect.”
“He knows war,” said Lord Nishida.
“The smoke was red,” said Lord Okimoto.
“True,” said Lord Nishida.
“The signals are secret,” said Lord Okimoto.
“They were,” said Lord Nishida.
“I see,” said Lord Okimoto.
Men were hurrying below decks, to the weapon rooms.
“Who will disarm them?” asked Lord Okimoto.
“Many are secretly armed now,” said Lord Nishida. “If we deny them arms, will they not distrust us, that we would send them so ashore?”
“Perhaps,” said Lord Okimoto.
“A force of our men, fifty, divided between us, will go first,” said Lord Nishida.
“Very well,” said Lord Okimoto.
“We will keep a goodly force on board,” said Lord Nishida. “As some return, others may go.”
“No treasure is to go ashore,” said Lord Okimoto.
“No,” said Lord Nishida, “nor slaves.”
The slaves, save some, kept below, were on deck, and this intelligence was received with dismay. “Please, Masters!” wept many. They knelt piteously, and extended their hands to mariners. They, too, longed to go ashore, to feel water about their ankles, to feel sand beneath their bared feet, to touch a stone, grass, a living tree. There were moans amongst them, and sobbing. Many stood by the rail, looking toward the land, their cheeks stained with tears. Those who had been kept below, even during the days of maximum liberty, had been mostly those who, when permitted on deck, had always been hooded.
It seemed unlikely to me that the hooded slaves, however beautiful they might be, would be that much more beautiful than their chain sisters, in either the Venna or Kasra keeping areas. The concealment of beauty, of course, might be only one motivation for hooding a slave. The usual motivation for hooding a slave is to increase one’s control over the slave. A hooded slave, for example, is likely to be disoriented, confused, fearful, and helpless. Sometimes an unpopular, haughty free woman is surprised and hooded, and put by several young men to slave use, after which she is returned to her robes and freedom. Thereafter, she may speculate, encountering one young fellow or another, here or there, at one time or another, whether he is one, or not, who has enjoyed her. Can she live with this? Is that fellow smiling? What is the meaning of that look, by another, or does it have a meaning? When any fellow’s eyes are upon her she seizes her veils and holds them more closely about her face. Do other free women suspect how she is now different from them? Could they possibly know? That she, though a free woman, has been subjected to slave use? How they would shun and scorn her, if they knew. Whose pleasure has she served? That of several, as might have a slave, but she knows not one of them. Can she endure this shame, this humiliation, this uncertainty, being the one who does not know, while others look upon her, and perhaps remember, and know? Is not a paga girl, in an alcove, serving her master of the Ahn, more fortunate? She is likely to be well aware of who it is who is putting her to use. Too, the fellow is likely to want the slave to be well aware of who it is who is seeing to it that she endures the lengthy and unspeakable raptures of her bondage. It is he whom she, helpless, clutching him, must beg for more. And, too, the free woman, to her chagrin, can recall the incipient feelings in her body, and her gasping, and how her small arms touched, and then held, and then clutched, gratefully, the body in whose power she lay. How they had laughed, when a spasm, to her shame, had rocked her. Then, having been given a taste, however brief, of what it might be to be subject to the mastery, she was returned to freedom, to live as she could, the life of a free woman. Such a woman, commonly, in her misery and loneliness, in her shame and humiliation, in her uncertainty and confusion, begins to roam the high bridges, frequent lonely streets, and wander unescorted outside the city gates. She courts the collar. She seeks it. She beseeches it. She weeps with rapture as she is stripped and bound.
Hooding may also figure in certain games, as when a hooded slave, or one fully concealed in a slave sack, is gambled for. What is the value? Is the stone in the box a pebble or a diamond, is the slave in the hood or sack a beauty or a she-tarsk?
Hooded slaves may also compete in various games, as in locating objects scattered about a room, arranging objects by size or weight, threading beads, fitting puzzle pieces together, a candy for the winner, a switch stroke for the losers, placing and tying sandals, plaiting binding fiber, braiding a whip, and such. Free women occasionally use hooded serving slaves on all fours, in crawling races, in which, walking behind them, they incite them to greater speed by the frequent monitions of a switch. Free women often delight in this game, as it gives them an opportunity to show what they think of female slaves. Free women hate female slaves; men, on the other hand, prize them, and seek to own them.
What man does not desire a slave?
Hooding has many uses; one might be, I thought, to conceal an identity. For example, a woman is sometimes hooded, and gagged, to be more easily transported from a city. Sometimes a woman is sold, hooded and gagged, but this is rare, as a buyer usually wishes to see all of a slave, before risking coin.
I heard a galley being placed in the water. Pani would be the first to board. I saw men moving about, now armed. Soon, a flotilla of small boats would be launched.
“Please, Masters!” wept kneeling slaves. And then others, from the rail, knelt about us, as well. “Please, Masters!”
“You have been long at sea, beauties,” said Tyrtaios. “Perhaps you would like to go ashore.”
“Yes, oh, yes, Master!” they wept.
There must have been some twenty before us, and I could see other such groups about the deck, imploring others.
Regarding them, kneeling before us, pleading, in their tiny, form-clinging tunics, and close-fitting collars, I was again impressed with the quality of the ship’s
kajirae
. The Pani had made many excellent purchases. It occurred to me that perhaps they had not been bought to be sold, actually, but, rather, to be distributed, as gifts. Certainly there was not one but what would make a lovely gift.
I thought of Alcinoë, too, then, given as a gift.
She could be given to anyone, anytime, anywhere.
For a moment I was troubled.
Then I recalled she meant nothing to me.
Excellent, I thought.
She meant nothing to me.
Still, I thought, it might be pleasant to own her, such a slave, to own her completely, as one owns a slave.
“Perhaps you can beg prettily,” said Tyrtaios.
“Master?” said more than one.
“Interest us,” said Tyrtaios. “Show that you are worth owning.”
“Do not be cruel to us,” said a slave. “Have mercy on us. Do not make us show ourselves as what we are, slaves! Do not make us move so, as slaves! Do you not know what that does to us? To so perform before men! It arouses us, like slave dance, and teaches us we belong to men! It reminds us of what we are. Be merciful! Do not ask us to do that, unless you will subsequently fulfill us, according to us the caresses of the master. Please! Please! Else we will suffer the torments of the neglected slave! Please be merciful! We are already starved for the touch of masters!”
“You are slaves,” said a man. “Move as slaves!”
“Please, no!” wept a slave.
“Move,” said Tyrtaios.
The men began to laugh, and clap.
They moved well. How beautiful are women! I saw their eyes, their expressions, the needfulness in their movements, the subtleties. What fires men have set to burn in the bellies of slaves! Is it cruel, I wondered, to have done this to them, to make them the helpless victims of such powerful, frequently recurrent needs? I supposed not, as it makes them the richest and fullest of women, the most helpless and authentic of women, the most irreparably female of women, more a woman than a free woman, afflicted by her inhibitions, locked within her conventions, the prescriptions of her society, can dream. One cannot, of course, ignite needs which are not there, cannot set fires where there is nothing to burn, where there is nothing ready to burn, nothing eager to burn, nothing hoping to burn. One can free such needs, of course, order them forth, refuse to allow them to remain feared and denied, and their freeing is, essentially, what the woman, in her deepest heart, wants. On the other hand, as they are slaves, it does not matter. They are slaves. One does what one wishes with them.