I looked up, again, at the ship.
There was apparently still much to do, matters having to do with interior work, and decking, the hanging of the giant rudder, the fixture of masts.
“There is water to be fetched,” said Janina.
“Yes,” I said, and adjusted the strap of the flattened bota on my shoulder.
Shipcamp was a large enclave. It lay at the eastern end of what was usually called the “Eastern Road,” though, I think, it tends to veer southeast. I do not think it as large as Tarncamp. Certainly not as many men were housed here. Tarncamp housed a small army. Too, it had its nearby training field, where I and others had witnessed the exercise in which waves of tarn riders had flown against an array of targets. Shipcamp, though garrisoned with its mercenaries, was less a training and housing facility than a shipyard. It contained several workshops and open-sided sheds. Carpenters were here, and sawyers, rope weavers, sail makers, fitters, riggers, and smiths. Mariners, too, were about. The camp was mostly on the northern shore of the Alexandra. The larger, northern camp was narrow, some half of a pasang in length, along the river, and probably no more than two hundred yards in width, extending back toward the forest. There was very little on the southern bank of the Alexandra, some two or three buildings, and the mysterious palisaded area.
I had been here several days.
The journey from the cold, stony beach of Thassa, brushed by the wind, to Tarncamp had taken the better part of four days, and the similar journey from Tarncamp to Shipcamp had been much the same. One supposes unencumbered men might have made the journey in less time, but women, and wagons, would take longer.
I know little or nothing of what is being done here. I suppose that is appropriate, and to be expected, as I am kajira. Curiosity, we are informed, is not becoming to us. Yet, it is my distinct impression that many here, even the masters, do not understand what is being done here, its purpose, and its destiny. Doubtless some know; perhaps the ponderous Lord Okimoto, the camp commander, whom I had seen four times; perhaps the strange, lame, twisted little man they call Tersites, who was much about, whom I had often seen. He, I take it, is the master of these works and the yard. It seems little escapes him. He speaks with authority, impatiently, often shrilly, petulantly. Men strive to please him. They obey him without question. I suppose him to be a shipwright. One speculates, of course. The ship is very large. It is much larger than a river ship. I am sure there are many points on the Alexandra where it could not be brought about. Too, as nearly as I can determine, it is deeply keeled, and there might well be difficulties in even bringing it to the sea, depths varying, and given many bars, which may shift, and rocks. Too, I would suppose the channel is sometimes narrow, and twisting. Doubtless the masters are well aware of such things, and the route seaward has been sounded and scouted with care. It seems clear the ship is a deep-water ship. It is intended, then, to negotiate Thassa. Perhaps it is intended to trade with Cos and Tyros, or various island ports. But the harbors might be too shallow for it. Would not a variety of galleys be more practical? For what is so large a vessel required? It is much larger, many times larger, I am told, than even the largest of common round ships, or cargo vessels, which, too, are apparently very different from the long, low, knifelike vessels of war. Until Shipcamp, I had known only the two Gorean vessels which had been en route to the north, and the one other, seen during the voyage, when I, with the others, had been permitted on the deck. I had gathered, of course, earlier, that the harbor at Brundisium was large, crowded, and busy, but I, as the others, had been blindfolded when we were boarded.
I again considered the great ship.
It was too large to be propelled by oars. It would supposedly have six masts. They were not yet in place. Not even the great rudder was hung. What was the meaning of such a ship? For what work, what voyage, might it be intended? It was not a warship in any common sense; yet, interestingly, it nested six galleys, three to a side, which might be independently launched, and those galleys, I gathered, given their rams and large, crescent-like blades at their bows, suggested aggression and menace.
One thing seemed clear; when the ship was ready, which should be soon, we were to be joined by the armsmen and work crews from Tarncamp. Indeed, the tarn cavalry, trained toward the west, close to Tarncamp, was also to join us before we embarked. Why would tarns be needed? What purpose might they serve? Too, even though the vessel was large, it would carry hundreds of times the men required to manage it. Better to transport troops, I thought, would be smaller ships, a fleet of such. Who would care to risk an army, perhaps a war, by entrusting it to a single mount, to but one vehicle, to but one vessel? But Thassa, I supposed, vast Thassa, might lift her hand, and smash a fleet as well as a single vessel, and, I suspected, a mighty vessel might brave her wrath where a hundred common barks might perish in the sea. Too, what an enormous store of supplies might be housed in so mighty a vessel, supplies which might last years. Would it not be an island of wood, a world of sorts, sufficient onto itself, indefinitely scorning land, cresting indefinitely the dark turbulence of proud, dreadful, beautiful Thassa?
“Kneel,” said a stern voice, and I instantly knelt. I felt the boards of the dock on my knees. I kept my head down, and clutched the bota.
“Head up,” he said, and I was permitted to lift my head. When the head is lifted, one may commonly meet the eyes of the master.
“Tal, Laura,” he said.
“Tal, Master,” I said. All free males are Master; all free women are Mistress.
The men knew the names of several of us, who were commonly about the docks. We were often accosted in our work, called to, summoned, teased, commented upon, and such. Familiarities were often taken with us. I had often been sped on my way with a smack below the small of my back. It was common to be delayed in our duties, to be embraced, fondled, and kissed. We were, after all, slaves. It was more difficult for some former free women of Ar who were hooted at, cuffed, and jeered. The memories of men were long, particularly those who were veterans of the former occupational forces in Ar, and they wished to well impress upon the women that they were no longer proud, free, noble, and untouchable, but were now mere properties and animals, slaves.
“What have you in your bota?” he inquired.
“It is empty,” I said. Surely that was clear.
“You will replenish it,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“I saw you sold,” he said.
I had been purchased, as had many others, by agents of the Pani. There were private slaves in Tarncamp and Shipcamp, but I, like most, was one of the public slaves.
“I hope Master found me pleasing,” I said.
“I bid on you,” he said, “twenty tarsks. What did you go for?”
“Forty-eight,” I said.
“That would be about right, at the time,” he said.
“Master was seeking a bargain,” I suggested.
“Of course,” he said. “You would go for more now.”
“Master?” I asked.
“You are trimmer now,” he said, “sleeker, better toned, more alive, more beautiful, more slave.”
“I have been longer in the collar, Master,” I said.
“Doubtless you are more helpless now,” he said, “more responsive.”
I put my head down.
“One can tell such things,” he said.
I bent down and kissed his right foot, softly, and then his left. It pleased me to do this, for such a male, so strong, so powerful.
“Now,” he said, “you might go for close to a silver tarsk.”
I then knelt up. “A slave is grateful,” I said, “if Master is pleased.”
I did not dare meet his eyes. How attractive were so many Gorean men! I knew their eyes had often been upon me, and more so in the last weeks, but I, too, often cast my glances shyly, unnoticed I trust, upon them. I did not think this was different from other slaves. There are, after all, men, and there are women, and it is natural that each should feel desire, the man the desire of the master, and the woman the desire of the slave. How marvelous, I had thought, to be owned by one of them, to be the slave of just one man, to be his alone, to be his to be done with as he pleased. And often, at night, in the long, low kennel, chained with others, I would think of one particular man, one whom I recalled from long ago. Never had I forgotten him. His memory was ever with me. I did not even know his name. I had first seen him in an emporium on a far world. I had once lain at his feet, bound. I had seen him through the bars of an exhibition cage, prior to my sale. I had no doubt that he had been somehow instrumental in my transition to Gor, in my collaring. He had not recognized me in the cage. He had not even remembered me. I was nothing to him, only another beast to be acquired, to be herded about, to be bought and sold.
“And with what,” he asked, “will you replenish your bota?”
“With water, surely, Master,” I said.
He looked about, as though warily. “Mix in paga,” he said.
“It is early,” I said.
“Nonetheless,” he said.
“There is to be no paga on the dock,” I said.
“Just a little,” he said.
“There is to be no paga on the dock,” I said.
I dared to look up at him, and then quickly turned my eyes away, down. I feared he was not pleased. I was not a paga girl. This was not a tavern. I could be lashed for even approaching a paga vat. “We are not to be used on the dock,” I whispered.
“Fear not, pretty tasta,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I begged.
“Will you try?” he asked.
I was terribly afraid.
“Well?” he asked.
“I will try,” I whispered.
“It seems you should be lashed,” he said.
“Master?” I said.
“Do you not know that there is to be no paga on the dock?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said, confused.
“Then why would you fetch some?” he asked.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Do you want to be lashed?” he asked.
“No, Master!” I said.
He slapped his knee, and laughed, uproariously. I now saw two other men about, and they, too, were amused.
I reddened.
“On your way!” he laughed.
I sprang up, tears in my eyes, and fled down the dock, away from the men. I heard them laughing behind me.
I later, in anger, in acute frustration and chagrin, recounted this incident, in all its humiliation, to Relia and Janina. “Do not be concerned,” said Relia. “You are becoming more attractive. The men are noticing you. I have seen heads turn as you pass.” “It is a joke,” said Janina. “We are poor kajirae. The men make sport of us; they frighten us, they tease us.” “They mean no harm,” said Relia. “They cannot use you. It is a way of having to do with you. It is a way of flirting.”
I wondered if he whom I well remembered, he who had so obviously dismissed and forgotten me, that mighty figure, would have behaved so. I supposed so. Doubtless he, too, the handsome, virile, monster, would have laughed. Doubtless he, too, would think nothing of using me, a poor, kneeling, frightened, half-clad kajira, for his amusement. Perhaps he, too, might have designed so cruel a jest, or even one more amusing. We were so utterly helpless. We were slaves. Relia had suggested that they were flirting with me. I wondered if that were true. If they had owned me, they would not have bothered with such things. They would have merely put me to their purposes. I wondered if I were truly becoming more attractive. If it were so, I certainly did not object. Certainly the more appealing, the more beautiful, the more pleasing a slave is, the better is likely to be her life and lot. Certainly she hopes to be pleasing to her master, and strives to be so. She hopes to be a good slave. Too, she does not wish to be lashed.
Two days later, I was halted in my work, and knelt, on the dock, in the presence of a stately fellow with blue robes, who carried a clipboard. He was of the caste of Scribes. He was followed by two men at arms.
“Your lot number, in Brundisium,” he said, scanning the board, with its attached papers, “was 119.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You are Laura,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “if it pleases Master.”
“Barbarian,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Stand,” he said, “and cross your wrists behind you.”
One complies.
In a moment my wrists were tied together, behind my back. This accentuates the figure, more than a frontal tie. Too, it is stimulatory, as the captive is more helpless, and more vulnerably displayed. The free end of the rope was then brought about, and looped twice and knotted about my throat. Enough rope, some five or six feet was left, to serve as a leash.
I did not understand what was occurring. I was frightened.
“May I speak?” I asked.
“No,” I was told.
“Take her to the end of the dock and back,” the Scribe said.
In our journey we passed several workmen, and some slaves. Some of the workmen struck their left shoulder with their right hand. Others grinned. “Nice,” said one. “Excellent,” said another. Some of the slaves seemed amused, and then turned away, again, to their tasks.
At last, I was returned to where I had originally been knelt, near the eastern end of the long dock. The scribe and the other armsmen were there.
“Master,” I begged the Scribe, “may I speak?”
“No,” he said. Then he said to the armsman who had the care of my rude leash. “Take her to the slave house.”
“No!” I had begged. “No! Please, no!”
“She is a shapely slut,” he said. “Let it be done.”
I was then led on my leash from the dock.
How aware I then was of the collar on my neck!
***
“Gently,” he said, “gently.”
“Master!” I protested.
His hands were strong, and I knew myself slave, only slave. How faraway now was my former world, my former self!
I must reassert myself, I thought, wildly. I cannot be this! I cannot be here, in the darkness, on a chain! How strong his hands were! How helpless I was in his grasp!