“Certainly,” I said, heatedly.
“What is wrong?” she said.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Shall I fetch the whip?” she asked.
“No!” I said.
“Master has not answered my question,” she said.
“What question?” I said.
“What might be the punishment,” she said, “for a slave’s second attempt at escape?”
“There would be no second attempt,” I said.
“But, if so?” she said.
“Hamstringing, disfigurement, being run for sleen or larls, the cutting off of feet, sometimes being used as live feed,” I said. “Are you sure you are not thinking of escape?”
“No,” she said. “I am quite content in my collar, as I have learned what it is to be in the arms of a master.”
The strongest chains that bind a woman, that make her thrive and rejoice in her bondage, are not formed of metal.
“I do not understand the nature of this conversation,” I said.
“The great ship, as I understand it,” she said, “is due to cast off very soon, any day now.”
“That is true,” I said. We had delayed the loading of the two large boxes, with their mysterious contents, until the departure of the great ship was imminent.
“That may explain much,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“Do you know Axel of Argentum?” she inquired.
“No,” I said. “Who is he?”
“One whom I often find in my vicinity,” she said.
“You are well-shaped,” I said. “There are probably a number of fellows in your vicinity, several of whom are unknown to you.”
“I cannot abide him,” she said.
“You are not at his feet,” I said.
“He is too much about,” she said.
“He may be thinking of making an offer for you,” I said.
“Master would not sell me,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Do not sell me to him!” she said.
“What do you think you are worth?” I asked.
“I loathe him!” she said.
“Perhaps you wish to be sold to him,” I said.
“No!” she said.
“You say he is too much about?”
“Yes!” she said.
“What is this to me?” I asked.
“I heard him speaking to another,” she said.
“And you were simply in the vicinity,” I said.
“I was passing,” she said.
“Perhaps he might find you too much about,” I said.
“He is handsome in a vulgar sort of way,” she said.
“Perhaps he might turn the head of a simpler girl?” I suggested.
“Perhaps,” she said. “I, personally, cannot stand him.”
“What you heard,” I said, “was not from slaves.”
“No,” she said. “We would dare not speak of such things.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Perhaps Master would care to hear what I heard,” she said.
“It seems you wish to tell me.”
“I thought Master might be interested,” she said.
“Proceed,” I said.
I supposed that this Axel of Argentum, or whoever he was, had probably overheard the discourse of slaves. In fact, I would not have been surprised if he had overhead this matter from Asperiche herself, who had it from other slaves. Asperiche was a very intelligent woman, and in pretending shyness, a trepidation, an overt, too obvious unwillingness to speak, a fearing to speak, might have signaled her desire to speak, and, perhaps, thus call herself to the attention of a handsome fellow, if only for the nonce, as a vessel of information, a rather lovely vessel. Might he not be curious, and thus command her to speak, to which command she, as kajira, however unwillingly, however tearfully, must helplessly respond, however reluctant she might be to do so. And, in this way, once he was apprised of the matter, she might pretend to me she had the information from him. And certainly he would then know of it. Asperiche was clever. And why had she chosen him? Why not another? And why was she in the fellow’s vicinity in the first place? Yes, I recalled, she was passing by. Did she want a bid made on her? How furious she would be if I let her go for a tarsk-bit.
“I am prepared to inform Master,” she said.
“Do so,” I said.
“A slave,” she said, “has escaped.”
“Fled,” I said, “not escaped.”
“Fled, then,” she said.
“What is this to me?” I asked.
“She transgressed the wands this morning,” said Asperiche.
“So, what is this to me?” I asked.
“Very little, I suppose,” she said. “But it is, I think, a first offense. One thus hopes the masters will be lenient, particularly as she may have value, and the ship is soon to sail.”
“I see,” I said.
“I think I will be pleased, quite pleased, of course, to see her tied and beaten.”
“Why?” I asked.
“No reason,” she said.
“A first offense?” I asked.
“I think so,” she said.
“You think that is in her favor, here?”
“I trust so,” she said.
“Out here,” I said, “it does not matter. The larls will take her. There will not be enough left of her to beat. Even the Pani will not pursue her.”
Asperiche turned white.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“Master must interfere!” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“You must!” she wept.
“It is unfortunate,” I said, “particularly if she is a nice piece of slave meat.”
“Master!” said Asperiche.
“She knew the law,” I said. “She disobeyed. She transgressed the wands. She must pay the price.”
“Please, Master!” she said.
“Only a fool comes between a larl and its prey,” I said.
“But it is the barbarian, Laura,” she said.
“I know no barbarian named Laura,” I said.
“It is she whose lot number in Brundisium was 119,” she said.
“What?” I cried.
“Where have you been?” asked Relia.
“About, Mistress,” I said. Relia served as First Girl in our kennel. One addresses the First Girl as “Mistress.” She needed not know where I had been. I had conducted a similar inquiry each morning, following the great storm.
“There is a large stand of Tur trees, west of the dock, near the wands, well twined with Tur-Pah,” said Relia. “Men with climbing tools have freed much of it. It has been drying on racks since yesterday. Fill one basket, and no more. Deliver it to our kitchen.” Our kitchen was Kitchen Five. Shipcamp, as Tarncamp, was divided into various sections, each with its own administration area, officers’ quarters, barracks,
dojo
, eating halls, kitchen, slave kennels, and such. Our kennel was Kennel Five. Some facilities were shared, such as the Slave House.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. I fear I trembled.
“How are you this morning?” asked Relia, concerned.
“Fine, Mistress,” I said.
“I worried about you, the night of the great storm,” she said. “Are you all right now?”
The night of the great storm was four nights ago.
This was the first morning I would be in a less-frequented area of the camp. I had been assigned so. Relia did not have control of the schedule.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “I spoke foolishly. I am in a collar.”
“What sort of collar?” she asked.
“A slave collar,” I said.
“Do not forget it,” she said.
“No, Mistress,” I said. Did she not know that her pretty neck was locked in one as well?
“You will be in the vicinity of the wands,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Stay away from them,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
Shortly thereafter, I was making my way down the dock. I held the basket on my head as I had been taught. This is one of the first things a slave learns. It lifts the breasts nicely. The men like it.
I must not hurry. I must not stumble. I must give no indication of the fear, and tumult, within me.
The ground would be soft from the rains. The worst had been four nights ago, the night of the great storm. I would be near the wands, permissibly so.
The weather had turned warm the last two days. There was much humidity in the air. The planks of the dock felt warm to my bare feet. A light breeze blew my tunic back against me. One could feel the moist air through it. It was of rep-cloth, a not uncommon material for the garments of slaves. It is light, porous, loosely woven, and clinging. The garment was sleeveless, and came high on my thighs. Such tunics leave little to the imagination. The disrobing loop, for I now wore one, was at my left shoulder, where it would be convenient to the hand of a right-handed man. Such garments, too, of course, lack a nether closure. We are to be at the convenience of our masters. In such a tunic it is said that a woman is more naked than naked. This is untrue, of course, and we treasure whatever scraps of cloth we may be permitted, but the saying has a point, which is that the tunic proclaims the woman a slave. It says, in effect, “I am a slave; I am such that you may do with me as you will.” Is she not then, in her way, naked before the free, more naked than naked in her tiny tunic, naked psychologically, societally, socially? The morning was bright, and my heart was beating rapidly. I could see the end of the dock before me. On Gor, a slave, tunicked and collared, I was far more aware of my surroundings and their multiple ambiences than I had been on Earth, where noise and glitter, and clutter and filth, and garments which I was beginning to feel were outlandishly barbaric, seemed to shut away the natural world. Here, muchly bared, and owned, I was keenly aware of a gentle wind, the splash of rain, the feel of wet grass on one’s feet, the scent of a flower, the texture of a piece of cloth, than I had ever been on my former world. How fresh and clean was the world, this world, how rich and sensuous it was. And there were other textures, and feelings, too, the knowledge that one is owned, and must obey, and the realization that one will be punished if one is not satisfactory, and little things, like the feel of wood on one’s knees as one knelt before the free, the sense of a strap cinched tight on one’s body, the clasp of slave bracelets, the weight of a shackle, the fiber of cordage in which one lay, bound, and helpless.
“Tal, vulo,” said a man.
“Tal, Master,” I said.
“Tal, tasta,” said another.
“Tal, Master,” I said.
“Tal, collar-girl,” said another.
“Tal, Master,” I said. One of my first instructresses had told us the difference between a woman and a girl. The girl is in a collar.
I was careful not to meet the eyes of a free man. That can be presumptuous. A slave girl will usually not meet the eyes of a free man unless she is commanded to do so. And that can be frightening. We are slaves. And I am told that it can be even more frightening to meet the eyes of a free woman. I had never met a free woman, and I did not care to do so. Meeting the eyes of a free woman, uncommanded, I am told, is likely to result in the stroke of a switch, which many of them carry with them. They hate us. And we, of course, our bodies muchly bared, our necks in collars, owned, helpless animals, are much at their mercy. It is our hope that the masters will protect us.
I stopped to look up at the great ship, like a mountain of wood beside the dock. High above, I could see a man looking over the rail. He was watching a line of men, on my level, climbing a boarding plank, carrying sacks.
It was early in the morning.
The ship, in the current, tugged at its moorings. I understood that it would soon depart. If so, there was little time to lose. If I dallied until nightfall I would be chained in the kennel, and, in the morning, I might be coffled with others, and put aboard, in one of the slave holds. I must act! I had waited days for such an opportunity! The rack of Tur-Pah was near the wands, beyond the dock.
Past the ship I looked across the river. The light was bright on the water. I shaded my eyes. I could not well see the buildings there, for the glare, but I could see some of them, and there were others there, as well. I could see, a hundred man’s paces or so back from the river, the closely set, pointed timbers of a palisade. This was all a portion of Shipcamp, I supposed, though across the river, apart from the main buildings. The palisade, I understood, marked the outward perimeter of a maximum security area, a holding area, one housing high slaves. Supposedly these slaves were so extraordinary that one did not dare put them amongst the men, lest discipline be lost, and sedition and chaos ensue, men killing one another to possess them. I did not believe this, but I was willing to suppose that the slaves might be of high quality, such as might do for officers, and perhaps, in some cases, might be acceptable in the pleasure gardens of a Ubar. On the other hand, I did not think they would be so different from the rest of us. Certainly here in Shipcamp, or primary Shipcamp, there were many beautiful slaves, quite beautiful slaves, which might do quite well for officers, and who might not disgrace the shackles of a Ubar.
I was now at the end of the dock, and looked back at the great ship. How strange I thought that such a vessel would be built here, in this wilderness, in this remote place, so far from the sea. Could this be madness? Some said the ship was a creation of madness. I wondered if some terrible secret was housed here, in this strange place, seemingly lost in the northern forests. I might have wondered too if the Alexandra could even offer so mighty a keel a feasible passage to the sea had I not realized that her depth and course would have been well scouted in this regard. Too, I knew of the men in small boats, coming and going so frequently, with their charts, weights, and marked ropes, mapping, testing, and sounding that lengthy, broad, twisting, flowing road of water. But even so, all was not at ease, and peril was afoot. A river is not the open sea. A river is treacherous, with its shifting channels, its differential siltings, its vagaries of current, given changes in the configuration of the shore, its varying depths depending on the rainfall upstream, the occasional impediments of floating debris, the countless ridges and bars which might form overnight and be washed away, to form themselves anew, in a matter of Ahn.
I must be away I thought, and swiftly, though I must show no haste now, not now. There would be time for that later. I feared there might be guards near the wands. Yet I had been told this was not likely to be so. I wondered why that might be. Surely what lay beyond the wands, whatever it might be, could not in itself deter the flight of one who was sufficiently resolved, and one clever enough to count the larls.