“Wait,” said the first beast.
Tyrtaios turned back.
“Have you not forgotten something?” came from the device.
“Lord?” asked Tyrtaios.
“It is worth nothing to you,” said the beast.
“What?” asked Tyrtaios.
“Were you not entrusted with a vessel, a small vessel, constituting a celebratory draft, a gift, a reward and pledge, placing a seal on our business?”
“Ah!” said Tyrtaios.
“Did you forget?” came from the device.
“Yes,” said Tyrtaios.
“Of course,” said the beast.
“Forgive me,” said Tyrtaios.
“It is from a Home World,” said the beast. “It is rare here. Perhaps you hoped to sell it. But, greedy friend, it is worthless to you.”
“There is very little in the vessel,” said Tyrtaios.
“Did you sample it?”
“No,” said Tyrtaios.
“I doubt that it would be to your taste,” said the beast.
“The seal is unbroken,” said Tyrtaios.
“Give it to me,” said the first beast.
“To me!” said the second beast.
“My superior entrusted it to me, and, I gather, his superior to him,” said Tyrtaios.
“For us!” said the second beast.
“For the three of you, surely,” said Tyrtaios. But the third beast was not present. It had apparently gone to watch the trail.
“We two,” said the first beast. It then shut off the device, abruptly.
The two beasts then, crouched down, regarded one another, I thought balefully.
Tyrtaios reached into his wallet, and drew forth a small bottle. I feared the two beasts were to pounce upon him, given the regard in which they seemed to hold the small vessel, but they stopped suddenly, angrily, apprehensively, for, having broken the seal and removed the bottle’s stopper, Tyrtaios held it, as though to spill its contents on the ground. The two backed away, a pace, eyeing one another.
Tyrtaios pointed to the first beast, that which had managed the communication device, and held the bottle toward it. We took him, I gathered, to be first amongst the three beasts. The second growled, menacingly. Tyrtaios did not relinquish his grip on the bottle, even when the first beast seized his hand in its paws and forced the bottle to his own lips. It seemed it would drain its contents, what little there was. Tyrtaios yanked back the bottle, and a bit of the beverage splashed free. A howl of rage came from the second beast, but the first regarded Tyrtaios with fury. Tyrtaios then handed the bottle to the second beast, who with one motion threw the contents down that open, dark, fanged, spread maw. Both beasts then leapt into the air, and then crouched down, eyeing one another. The long tongues moved about their jaws. The bottle lay on its side, in the dirt, empty.
“They left none for their fellow,” observed Tyrtaios.
“Let us leave,” I said.
“Where is the third?” asked Tyrtaios.
“Out there in the darkness, guarding the trail,” I speculated.
“No matter,” said Tyrtaios. He loosened his dagger in its sheath.
“We need a lamp,” I said.
“There is light enough,” he said. “We need only reach the river.”
We then left the small clearing.
I looked behind us, and noted that the small fire had been extinguished. I gathered that it had served its purpose, marking their campsite, and that the beasts had little need of its illumination.
“When the fee was cast to the ground,” I said, “it was no test.”
“Certainly not,” said Tyrtaios. “It was a gesture of contempt, a transparent sleight, an obvious insult.”
“But the beast,” I said, “then need retrieve it himself, and did so, seething with fury.”
“We permitted it to save face,” said Tyrtaios, “pretending to accept the matter on the leader’s vaunted terms, as a test of our pride, and probity.”
“Do you think he was fooled?” I said.
“Of course not,” said Tyrtaios.
“He is dangerous,” I said.
“They are all dangerous,” said Tyrtaios.
“I do not understand the business of the certification,” I said.
“It certifies,” he said, “that the cargo was placed on the ship of Tersites, as was intended.”
“That much I gathered,” I said, “but what is involved here, what is the cargo, what is afoot?”
“I know very little about it,” said Tyrtaios, “and I gather that that is for the best.”
“Doubtless the messenger, he who delivered it to your superior, would know,” I said.
“I think not,” said Tyrtaios. “And the messenger is dead, as the others before him.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“The certification, which was to be delivered only when the cargo was placed on the ship of Tersites, has come from faraway, perhaps from as far away as the Voltai range, and has passed from one messenger to another, each one of whom was killed after delivering it to the next.”
“They expected nothing, and were unconnected, the one with the other?” I said.
“A useful procedure for ensuring security,” said Tyrtaios.
“You delivered it boldly,” I said.
“I am needed for the success of their venture, whatever may be its nature,” said Tyrtaios.
He then, with his dagger, parted the strings which held the wallet to his belt, and cast the wallet into the brush.
I did not understand why he did this. He did not resheathe his dagger.
“Let us continue on,” I said, uneasily.
“No,” he said, “we are waiting here.”
“I do not like this business,” I said.
“It pays well,” he said.
“Why are we waiting?” I asked.
“There is no point in going further, not now,” said Tyrtaios. “It would be foolish to do so.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“The fire at the campsite is out,” said Tyrtaios. “That will doubtless inform our third friend that we have left the site, and are on the trail.”
“So?” I said.
“So our friend will be expecting us, and, when we do not appear, he will investigate.”
“I would suppose so,” I said. “I am not eager to encounter him.”
“Unfortunately I must do so,” said Tyrtaios. “He was not with the others. I think that had not been anticipated. But no matter.”
“I understand nothing of this,” I said.
“You do recall,” said Tyrtaios, “that the beast with the speaking machine claimed to know the contents of the cargo.”
“Yes,” I said.
“The other two, as well, would be likely to know,” said Tyrtaios.
“I suppose so,” I said.
“Our friend is approaching,” said Tyrtaios.
And surely, a darkness amongst darknesses, but a moving darkness, was moving toward us, a large darkness. Then the thing was before us. It stopped. It seemed uncertain. Perhaps it was puzzled, that it had not been joined on the trail. In any event, it had now retraced its path, and it stood, looming, before us. How large the thing was, and, in its way, how terrible. It growled, softly. There was no device, no speaking machine.
“Tal,” said Tyrtaios, pleasantly, and plunged his dagger into the beast’s chest.
I leaped back, and the large body fell at our feet. The blow had been unhesitant, efficient, unwavering, swift, clean, firm, deep, to the hilt, exact, powerful, a blow worthy of the dark caste itself.
I did not speak my suspicions.
Tyrtaios wiped his blade clean on the beast’s fur.
“You killed it,” I said. “Why?”
“It was necessary,” said Tyrtaios.
“What of the others?” I said.
“They are dead,” said Tyrtaios.
“The beverage?” I said.
“Precisely,” said Tyrtaios.
“And this one did not drink,” I said.
“Precisely,” said Tyrtaios.
So, I thought, there are now three fewer who know the nature of the cargo I had helped to put aboard the great ship.
“Let us return to Shipcamp,” I said.
“No,” said Tyrtaios. “We return to the camp of our friends.”
“Why?” I asked.
“On Gor,” said he, “such things are not likely to travel with an empty purse.”
“I see,” I said.
I accompanied Tyrtaios back to the clearing. We rekindled the fire, and he, on his knees, rummaged the packs of the beasts.
“Good,” he said, from time to time.
I gathered his trip was not without profit.
I regarded the bottle, fallen to the ground, in the center of the clearing. Two large bodies, contorted, lay near it.
“Do not touch it,” he said.
“I will not do so,” I said.
I recalled that he had placed the tarn disks within his tunic, not within his wallet, and that later, on the trail, he had cast the wallet away. The bottle, I recalled, had been carried in the wallet. The substance must be very powerful, I thought, so little of it, yet enough to slay two such beasts, even three. Tyrtaios, who was not a timid man, had been unwilling to keep even the wallet in which the vessel, closed as it was, had been carried.
Tyrtaios cut the golden rings from the ears of the first beast. He did not concern himself with the rings on the left wrist of either beast. They were of base metal.
Tyrtaios then stood up, shouldering a large leather sack, in which he had placed a number of articles, coins, belts, buckles, accouterments, and such.
“No forbidden weapons?” I asked.
“No,” said Tyrtaios, “and I would not touch them did I find them.”
“Nor I,” I said, looking about myself, uneasily.
He then kicked dirt over the fire, and we stood in the darkness of the forest.
“What was done here?” I asked.
“What was commanded,” he said.
“Should the cargo reach the World’s End,” I said, “who will know to whom it is to be delivered?”
“My superior,” said Tyrtaios.
“It is hard for me to think of one such as you having a superior,” I said.
“For a time,” said Tyrtaios. “For a time.”
“Someone is waiting at the World’s End to receive the cargo?” I said.
“Someone, or something,” he said. “One gathers so.”
“This has to do with worlds?” I said.
“I think so,” he said. “Would you like a ubarate, or a country?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
He then went to the edge of the clearing. I sensed his position in the darkness from the sound.
“What of these bodies?” I asked.
“We will leave them,” he said, “for the forest, for the winter, for rain, for snow, for wind, for urts, for sleen, for panthers.”
“I see,” I said.
“Have no fear,” he said. “I have removed the harnessing, the accouterments. I have discarded the speaking device.”
“They will be taken as beasts,” I said.
“They are beasts,” he said.
“Much as men,” I said.
“In their way,” he said.
“What are they?” I asked.
“Surely you know,” he said.
“I think so,” I said.
“Kurii,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Master,” said Asperiche, “what is the punishment for an escaped slave?”
“Why do you ask?” I said.
“No reason,” she said.
“Are you thinking of escaping?” I asked.
“To where?” she said.
“Anywhere, I suppose,” I said.
“I am branded,” she said, “and collared.”
“So?” I said.
“No,” she said. “I am not a complete fool, like some.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Good,” I said.
“I suppose the chances of escape are slight,” she said.
“I gather so,” I said.
“I suppose one might escape to the teeth of beasts, or to a new master,” she said.
“It is dangerous to keep an escaped slave,” I said, “and, having fled, she would almost certainly be kept in a far harsher bondage.”
“I fear so,” she said.
“It is a matter of honor to return an escaped slave to her master,” I said.
“If a Home Stone is shared, or such,” she said.
“Of course,” I said. Slave raids, naturally, were a separate matter. But then the slave does not escape. She is simply stolen, as might be any other form of property.
“What would be her punishment?” she asked.
“For a first offense,” I said, “commonly a beating, one she will never forget.”
“And for a second attempt?” she asked.
“There is seldom a second attempt,” I said.
“There is scarcely ever a first attempt,” she said.
“True,” I said.
“For Gorean girls,” she said.
“True,” I said. Once the collar is on a Gorean girl she realizes she is a slave. Even should she manage to return to her own city, or family, she will be scorned, and kept as a slave, and subjected to the greatest cruelties and indignities, for her bondage has stained the honor of her city, or family. Such are soon sold away, or sometimes returned in chains to the very enemies who first captured and enslaved her. The Gorean slave girl is well aware that the collar is on her. She realizes the obduracy of her condition, and her utter inability to change it. She is helpless. She is slave. “And for any girls,” I added.
“Not always,” she said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Some slaves,” she said, “are stupid.”
“Few,” I said.
“What of barbarians?”
“Most barbarian slaves are quite intelligent,” I said. “They are selected, in part, for their intelligence. Who would want a stupid slave?”
“I would suppose some men,” she said.
“Surely not,” I said.
“What of those who might find a barbarian of interest?” she asked.
“Barbarians sell well,” I said. This was so, particularly after a third or fourth sale. Some merchants bought them on speculation. Too, barbarians were selected with great care. It was not as though one seized them as they fled from buildings in a burning city, and, even there, sometimes one simply stripped them and released them, assessing them as less than collar-worthy. To be assessed as less than collar-worthy is a great insult to a woman. This may have something to do with the animosity with which the Gorean free woman commonly regards the female slave, who, obviously, has been found collar-worthy.
“It is probably true,” she said, “that not all barbarians are stupid.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“Nor all who find them of interest either,” she said, begrudgingly.