Mariners of Gor (60 page)

There had been, of late, much traffic coming and going from that area, that mysterious room, high in the castle. This sort of thing had been given careful attention, obviously, by the men.

And this traffic had been much more frequent, of late.

I suspected we would march, upon the return of the exploratory force.

Interestingly, the number of Pani aboard the great ship, guarding it, had been recently increased.

This suggested apprehension on the part of the Pani, and suggested, as well, though not as clearly, that an order of march might be imminent.

A number of slaves, too, some twenty or thirty, fastened together by the neck, by a long rope, had been given bags of water, bundles of dried parsit, sacks of rice, and such, to convey to the ship.

They had made this laborious journey more than once, even today.

It seemed that the Pani aboard the ship were to be well-supplied.

As mentioned earlier, no easy access was to be had to the ship. The galley nests remained closed. Supplies were taken aboard by means of baskets on ropes, or by means of the nets, swung out on booms, and raised and lowered by pulleys. Even the slaves who brought the water and other supplies were not permitted near the baskets and nets, but must kneel on the boards of the wharf, until dismissed, to climb, roped together by the neck, the narrow walled-in path to the castle grounds. They were in the charge, of course, of youth, boys of the lesser Pani.

The gate to the wharf area, leading to the walled-in trail, was open, and the coffle, weary and footsore, neck-roped, their burdens delivered, were being herded within, by their young herdsmen.

Once within the gate the lads began to remove them, one by one, from the coffle. While the rope was being removed the slaves must kneel. Also, of course, they were in the presence of a free person, in this case, a boy, of the lesser Pani. Once free of the rope, the girls were permitted to rise to their feet, that they might seek their keepers, and be returned to their kennels.

The sun was high, and the day warm.

The burdens they had borne, while not heavy for a man, would have been heavy for a woman, and the climb back to the castle from the wharf, given its twistings and its tortuous steepness, would be time consuming and difficult for either a man or woman.

It was not an easy day for them.

I supposed they would be anxious to get to the shade of their housings, and a pan of water.

But one, I saw, seemed frightened; she was looking about, apprehensively. She was backed against the wall, the palms of her hands back, against the stone. She was breathing heavily, this stress marked by the lovely rise and fall of her bosom. I did not think this was entirely from the climb. She seemed apprehensive, even terrified. How appealing a beautiful woman is when helpless and frightened. One desires to reassure and comfort her, before taking her hands and braceleting them behind her back. She remained on her feet, I supposed, that she might the more seem ready, should she be questioned, to return to her kennel. I knew her, of course, even from across the courtyard, some forty yards, or so. One does not easily forget such a slave. One in every ten or so is such a slave. Alcinoë, for example, was such a slave. In any market, on any street, men would have looked after her. Her passage was such as might elicit soft whistles, the smacking of lips, explicit speculations as to her value off the block, or her worth in the furs. A slave is not a free woman. She must expect such things. Too, given the scantiness of her garmenture, such speculations can be more securely grounded than in the case of a free woman, wrapped away somewhere within the layers of her robes of concealment. The slave, of course, is intended to be a source of pleasure. Her collar proclaims her such. She was looking at me. Why, I wondered. Then she sank down, half crouching, half kneeling. Her lips seemed to form the word, “Please!” She stretched her hand out to me, piteously. I did not understand her agitation. I did know she should be soon back in her kennel. Obviously she wished to speak to me. I did not understand this. What had frightened her?

I approached her, and when I had reached her, she knelt, bent muchly over, her head down. Did she fear to be recognized?

“May I speak, Master,” she whispered.

As I did not respond to her, she looked up, frightened.

I pointed to my feet.

She bent down, and, the palms of her hands in the dirt, kissed my feet. “Thank you, Master,” she said. She, a mere slave, had been permitted to kiss the feet of a free man.

“You may speak,” I said.

Her concern, her agitation, her fear, was evident.

“I heard men speak,” she said, “on the wharf. Is it true that there is one named Tarl Cabot here, at the World’s End?”

“Yes,” I said, “though he is not much about, is seldom on the grounds. He is Tarl Cabot, commander of the tarn cavalry, in the forces of Lords Nishida and Okimoto, and, I suppose, now, of Lord Temmu.”

“A warrior?”

“Yes.”

“A tarnsman?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Of Port Kar?” she whispered, frightened.

“That is my understanding,” I said.

She moaned.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“I fear so,” she said.

“He was on the ship when I was brought aboard,” I said. “I take it he was on the ship from the beginning. He has, I take it, been with Lords Nishida and Okimoto even from the northern forests.”

“So long?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

She began to tremble.

“You fear he might recognize you?” I said. I supposed that must be the source of her apprehension.

“He could recognize me,” she said.

“I see,” I said.

Surely she had enough to concern her, enough to fear, without learning that there was yet another about, by whom she might be identified as the former Talena of Ar, once the Ubara of Ar, now a tunicked, collared slave.

“You did not realize he was about?” I said.

“No,” she said.

I supposed that this was quite possible. Slaves such as she, muchly controlled, largely sequestered in the keeping areas, not serving at the tables, not being privy to the casual discourse of masters, not being free in a city, to roam the streets, the shops and markets, and such, are likely to know very little of what is going on about them, even on board a ship. Certainly one would not be expected to furnish them with bulletins, crew lists, and such. Seldom would they be in a position to obtain such information. And who, possessing such information, would impart it to them? If they learn of such things, it would presumably be by inadvertence, or in passing, and she, given her keeping, would have had scant opportunity to obtain such intelligence.

“On the ship,” I said, “you were aware of Pani?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I knew nothing of their numbers.”

“On the ship,” I said, “who were the high officers of the Pani?”

“I know now,” she said, “they were Lords Nishida and Okimoto.”

“Did you know that on the ship?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

I recalled that she, as some others, had been hooded when brought to the open deck.

“You fear Tarl Cabot?” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“What have you to fear from him?” I asked.

“Everything,” she whispered.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“He would kill me,” she said.

“Surely not,” I said.

“Surely so,” she said.

“You fear,” I said, “that he would return you to Ar, to the justice of Ar, to the impaling spear?”

In the case of one of her importance, the impaling spear might be narrow, greased, and thirty feet in height, and, mounted on the wall, her slow descent, she writhing, trying her best to prevent it, unable to do so, might be visible for pasangs.

“No,” she said, “I fear he would not be so kind.”

“You fear more?” I said.

“Much more,” she said.

“Perhaps your casual skinning, and salting,” I asked, “prolonged for weeks, or months?”

“Perhaps more,” she said.

“You are a well-formed, passable slave,” I said. “Surely Tarl Cabot would have something better to do with such a slave than kill her.”

“I think not,” she said.

“Surely you are not unaware of the inordinate pleasure that a man may derive from a slave?” I said.

“You do not understand,” she said.

“What do I not understand?” I asked.

“There are terrible things between us,” she said.

“From when you were free?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” I said. I supposed there were many, a great many, who owed much to the former Mistress of Ar, who might adjudge the impaling spear an illicit, unwarranted mercy.

If she were one of the most desired, she was also one of the most detested, most hated, women on Gor.

“Do not make me speak further,” she whispered.

“I have served with Tarl Cabot,” I said, “on the ship, but I will not reveal your presence to him.”

She put her head down, gratefully, her dark hair over my boots.

“But, like Seremides,” I said, “he might happen upon you.”

“How helpless are slaves!” she wept.

“But Seremides,” I said, “can scarcely hobble about, and Cabot is much in the mountains, with the tarn cavalry.”

“Perhaps I can be sold away from the castle,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Ar is faraway,” I said.

“Tarl Cabot is not,” she said.

“I do not think he would hurt you,” I said.

“You do not know him,” she said.

“Perhaps you do not know him,” I said.

“You do not know what I did to him,” she said.

“No,” I said, “I do not know that.”

“He would kill me,” she said.

“It is time for you to return to your kennel,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

The slave had scarcely risen to her feet, backed away, head down, turned, and hurried toward the shed which housed her kennel, when I became aware of another figure near me.

“How homely she is,” said Alcinoë. “I have seen tarsks more attractive than she. Surely you have no interest in so poor a slave.”

“Have you been listening?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” she said. “But I have been watching, from across the courtyard, over there.”

She indicated a place, across the grounds, near some shrubbery, not far from the large, central portal of the castle, perhaps fifty yards away.

“She certainly kissed your feet well,” said Alcinoë.

“She is a slave,” I said.

“And she kneels well, too.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I wager,” said Alcinoë, “that you enjoyed having her, slave, before you.”

“Yes,” I said. Indeed, what man would not? Indeed, every beautiful woman, indeed, every woman, should kneel before a man, his.

“I am far more beautiful than she,” said Alcinoë.

“You looked well earlier, coffled, neck-roped, struggling under your bag of rice,” I said.

“We had to make three trips!” she said.

“Excellent,” I said, “that the former lady Flavia of Ar should be worked, as a common slave.”

“So, too, was she!” said Alcinoë.

“I am well aware of that,” I said. It had given me great pleasure to see the former two highest women in Ar, tunicked, collared, and neck-roped, portering for the Pani.

“Why do you share speech with so lowly, so worthless, a slave?”

“Do you object?” I asked.

“Master may do as he pleases, of course,” she said.

“Are you barefoot?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“What is the garment you wear?” I asked.

“A tunic,” she said.

“That is all?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You are then naked, save for your tunic,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“What is that on your neck?” I asked.

“A collar,” she said.

“What sort of collar?”

“A slave collar,” she said.

“Then you are a slave,” I said.

“Master?”

“Why are you standing?”

Swiftly she knelt before me.

“You must understand, Master,” she said, looking up, “that she is cunning, deceitful, and clever.”

“And you would warn me of her wiles?” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “lest she cast the spell of her smiles over you, the magic of sparkling eyes, the sorcery of a trembling lip.”

“The potency of such charms,” I said, “however mighty in a free woman, are surely much reduced in a kneeling, tunicked slave.”

“I, think, Master,” she said, “they may rather be much increased.”