“Fellow,” I called to the proprietor’s man.
He came to the table. He seemed uneasy. One notes such things. At his belt hung the coin sack.
“Who is Tyrtaios?” I asked.
“I have heard the name,” he said. “Beware.”
“I have refused him,” I said.
“That has been gathered,” he said.
“Do you let your girls touch coins?” I asked.
“No,” he said. He rustled the coin sack at his belt.
I looked beyond the fellow, to the back of the room, on the left, several yards away, where the slave from Asperiche was waiting, to dip the goblet in the vat. The proprietor, a coarse, swollen fellow in a soiled apron, was himself tending the vat. It was a low tavern. The coin box, with its slot, and lock, was behind him.
“Do you think I have had too much to drink?” I asked the proprietor’s man.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“I have the
ostrakon
here,” I said, “with its number. Bring me my weapons.”
“I fear they are missing,” he said, not looking at me.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Forgive us, Master,” he said. “We wish to live.”
“There is a back exit from the tavern,” I said.
“I fear it is watched,” he said.
The slave had now dipped the goblet in the vat, and had turned about.
“I see,” I said.
“It is your service they want,” he said, “not your life.”
I supposed that was true. A crossbow bolt loosed in the darkness would handle such a matter, conveniently, before a shadow could be noted, a blade drawn.
“What lies in the north?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he said.
“Remain at hand,” I said.
“Master,” said the girl, kneeling.
Under my scrutiny, she widened her knees. She placed the goblet on the low table, behind which I sat, cross-legged.
“You seem displeased to be in a collar,” I said.
“I am in a collar,” she said. “What more is there to say?”
“Perhaps you have not yet learned it,” I said.
She was silent.
“Perhaps you do not yet realize you belong in one,” I said.
“May I withdraw?” she asked.
“Position,” I said.
She went to position, kneeling back on her heels, her back straight, her belly in, her shoulders back, her head up, the palms of her hands down on her thighs. One does not break “position” without permission.
I reached into my wallet. There was little left. I removed a Brundisium tarsk-bit, which is a large coin, the size perhaps intended to compensate for the slightness of its value.
“Open your mouth,” I said.
“I am not permitted to touch money,” she said.
I placed the coin in her mouth. “Do not drop it,” I said. The coin was far too large to swallow, and, held in her mouth, she could not speak. She was effectively, and embarrassingly, silenced.
She cast a wild, piteous glance at the proprietor’s man.
“I think,” I said, “it is true, that I have had too much to drink.” I then dashed the contents of the goblet on the startled, recoiling slave. She shook her head, and, blinking and twisting, tried to free herself of the paga. It was in her hair, and had drenched her face, and upper body. It ran down her body to her belly and thighs. She stank then of the drink. She shivered. I looked to the proprietor’s man. “She has been found displeasing,” I said.
“She will be lashed,” he said.
“Later,” I said.
“Master?” he said.
I removed my cloak. “You will put this on,” I said, “and draw the hood, and precede me through the door.”
“Certainly not,” he said.
“I thought you wished to live,” I said.
He donned the cloak, and drew the hood about his features.
“What is going on?” asked the proprietor, come from the vat.
“Do not interfere,” I said. Men about regarded us. Some rose up, but none approached.
“Now,” I said to the proprietor’s man. “You will exit the tavern, and walk to the left, toward the wharves.”
He bent down, and, drawing the hood and cloak more closely about him, exited the tavern.
I would let him precede me by a few yards. He left the tavern, and I remained behind for a bit, back, within the threshold. Then I, too, exited. As I had expected, very shortly, figures emerged from the shadows, two, though I had expected three, following the proprietor’s man, which two figures I followed. The lights of the tavern were soon behind us, and the wharf streets, in this section of the city, are narrow, crooked, and dark. Normally men carry their own light in such streets, or have it carried for them, often with guards or retainers in attendance.
As I had expected the two figures soon rushed forward and seized the proprietor’s man. I heard scuffling, and heavy blows, presumably of clubs. Intent on their work, presumably to beat their victim senseless and convey him, bound, to some predesignated location, the fellows were oblivious of my approach.
It was short work.
“What did you do to them?” asked the proprietor’s man.
“They will be all right,” I said. “You will not lose two customers.” I had not broken the neck of the first, nor the back of the second. It did seem pertinent to render them unconscious, which I did by taking each by the hair, when they were down, stunned, and yanking their heads together. Two clubs were somewhere on the pavement, but I did not know where they were.
“What are you doing?” asked the proprietor’s man.
It was dark.
“Making this worth our while,” I said. “You played your part very well.”
“My part?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
I pressed one of the wallets into his hands, and retained the other.
“Is there a garbage trough nearby?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “several, the nearest down the street, toward the water.”
“My cloak,” I said. “It will be chilly by the water.”
After a bit, we had deposited the two ruffians in a trough.
“How will this be explained?” asked the proprietor’s man.
“They were set upon in the darkness, and robbed,” I said.
“I do not think their principal will be pleased,” said the proprietor’s man.
“I suspect he will be more pleased than you realize,” I said.
“You have exceeded his expectations?” asked the proprietor’s man.
“I expect so,” I said.
“You are then a two-stater hire?” he asked.
“I would think so,” I said.
“I must return to the tavern,” said the proprietor’s man.
“We will go together,” I said. “I trust my weapons will be available.”
“Certainly,” he said.
On what ship, I wondered, would I take passage? Certainly I had lingered about the docks frequently enough, in the early morning, watching, not really knowing why. Observing, waiting, for what?
I recalled her lot number had been 119, not that it mattered.
She was a slave.
I, and certain others, had been kept in that basement, or dungeon, at the foot of the stairs, with the damp, soiled straw, and the dim light, filtering in from above, in its narrow, dust-sprinkled shaft of illumination, for days. After four days I had been removed from the sirik. I could then freely move my hands and feet, and the linkage was not on my neck. How helpless we are in the sirik, and perhaps beautiful. But I was then, two days later, as some others had been, fastened to the wall. They do with us what they please. This was done by means of a collar and chain, which ran to a heavy ring, dangling from a plate, anchored in the wall. I felt even more helpless than when in the sirik, for in the sirik one may move about, with its small steps, and lift one hands to one’s mouth, to feed oneself, when permitted to use one’s hands. Now, with a rustle of chain, I could move no more than a two or three feet from the wall. And the collar was heavy on my neck. Doubtless the room, or dungeon, with its heavy, thick walls, was quite enough to keep us in place. Within it we were helpless enough, were we not, considering the walls, the barred gate at the top of the narrow stone stairs, our nudity, the men about, and such, but, one supposes, our chaining, of one sort or another, must have had its purpose, or purposes; perhaps it was intended to be mnemonic or advisory, or perhaps instructive, to leave us in no doubt that we were slaves, and only that, or, perhaps, it was merely because men enjoyed seeing us that way, so vulnerable and helpless in such impediments, impediments of their choice. I suppose I should have resented my nudity, and such constraints, and being exposed to frequent, open, public, appraisive scrutiny, as the men might wish, as the animals we now knew ourselves to be, and, sometimes, being forced to take food and water on all fours, from pans, not permitted to use one’s hands and such, but I found it, somehow, this helplessness, this subjection to complete, uncompromised masculine domination appropriate for me, fitting, reassuring, and thrilling. Here, as I had not on Earth, I felt myself a woman, and, for the first time, radically and basically female, far beyond anything I had experienced on Earth. Here, in a way, I had learned what I was, basically, and naturally. No longer needed I pretend to be something else, some sort of imitation man, a pseudoman, or a facsimile man, or something advised to be manlike, or a creature to which sex should be unimportant or irrelevant, or a neuter of some sort, or, worse, a nothing, something meaningless, no more than a societally contrived artifact. I was now what I was, myself, and wholly so, though I was ankle-deep in straw, nude, on another world. Doubtless this had something to do not simply with my needs, and the unhappiness I had known on Earth, but, too, with the men of this world, dominant, powerful, virile men, who would see me as a woman, and slave, and treat me as such, men so natural, so astonishing and mighty, that before them I knew myself a slave, and could be but a slave.
Women came and went in this place, some introduced, some removed. Sometimes men in rich robes, muchly different from the simple tunics of the guards, came to review us. Notes were taken, and lists made. I strove, desperately, as I had in the training house, to improve my Gorean. It would be the language of my masters. I had felt the monitory switch frequently enough in the house, from my branded, collared instructresses, when I erred in grammar, or ventured a poorly chosen or inept word. Here, in the basement, or dungeon, it was much easier; here my mistakes brought only amusement, ridicule, or contempt. I bartered portions of my rations for instructions. Several times, a few of us would be aligned, and examined, our feet widely spread, our hands clasped at the back of our neck, or at the back of our head. This was done with me, twice. Sometimes a slave was taken to the side, and made use of, in the straw. Some of us spoke Gorean natively, for we were not all outworlders, cattle brought from the slave world. These often wheedled the guards for information, calling up from the bottom of the stairs, for we were not permitted on the stairs, save to be entered into the place or removed from it. We learned little, I fear. We did know we were near the water. We could hear it, outside. After a time, I could follow much of the Gorean about me. It seemed that this building, which I took to be large, judging from the size of the basement, or dungeon, was some sort of depot, from which supplies, and such, at least currently, would be taken north. So much had been gathered from chance remarks overheard. It was apparently not clear even to the guards what lay to the north. I began to dream in Gorean.
I often thought of the man whom I had first seen in the store, before whom, for the first time, I had felt myself viewed as what I had secretly taken myself to be, a slave.
I could not forget him, of all the others.
I recalled him from the warehouse, when he had turned me to my back before him. Nude, and helpless, bound, lying at his feet, I had looked up at him. I had recognized him instantly. I suspect he did not remember me. I wondered if, when he had first seen me in the store, in my skirt, blouse, and sweater, he had considered what I might have looked like, as I then was, helpless, bound, slave naked, at his feet. I had had the strangest, shocking sense, when our eyes had first met, not only that I, a suitable slave, was before a master, perhaps for the first time, but that I might be before my master. My knees had been weak, my breath had become short. I feared I might fall. I had felt the strangest inclination to kneel before him, my head lowered, in suitable submission. Then I turned about, and fled away, amongst startled shoppers, and puzzled fellow clerks. After our encounter in the warehouse, in which he failed to recognize me, or it seems so, I did not see him again until the afternoon before my sale, in the exposition cage. During my training, how often I had sneaked little glances about me, at the guards, the visitors, prospective buyers, trainers, physicians, and attendants, hoping to see him! I knew myself too poor a slave to be of interest to such a man, perhaps one of skills, position, and wealth, but, still, I hoped to see him. I was sure it was he who had brought me to the iron, and the collar. At least that much I must have pleased him! But I did not see him again until the afternoon in the exposition cage. The cage serves an important purpose. It makes it possible for prospective buyers to inspect the merchandise before the sale, take notes, make comparisons, and such. The exposition cage is very different from the common slave cage. The common slave cage is designed for a single occupant. It is small. In it, commonly, the slave may not stand, or stretch her body to its full extent. Too, it is closely barred. The slave, for the closeness of the bars, cannot be well seen within it. The smallness of the cage makes it possible for several cages to be stored in a given area. Some are designed in such a way that they may be fastened together, even stacked. The exposition cage is quite different. It is quite large. In it a slave may stand, and move about with ease. The bars, too, are widely spaced, though not so widely spaced that a girl may slip between them, to enable customers, passers-by, and others, to enjoy a relatively unimpeded view of the goods to be offered later in the day. A girl may be called to the bars, for a closer inspection, and she must, if commanded, smile, pose, assume various positions, and such, that she may be the better assessed. A girl dares not demur. The lash is always at hand. Some of the girls try to attract the attention of various fellows, usually young, handsome fellows, or those in richer robes, with presumably heavier purses. Occasionally a fight breaks out in the cage, as one slave may have, perhaps inadvertently, obstructed a possible buyer’s view of another, or have thrust another aside, to present herself in her stead, or such. The slaves are to speak little in the cage, either to one another or to the men outside the bars. We may answer questions, as to our training, our origin, our fluency in Gorean, and such things. The standard phrase we are permitted is the ritual phrase, “Buy me, Master.” Each of us is marked, her lot number inscribed in grease pencil on her left breast. I was told that my number was 119. Barbarian slaves are commonly kept illiterate. There were several of us in the cage, perhaps more than was appropriate for suitable viewing, but the sale, I had gathered, was a large one, which would last several Ahn. Apparently many slaves were being purchased for transportation beyond Brundisium, by one or more mysterious buyers to whom, it seemed, price was not a matter of particular concern. Accordingly, the various houses represented in the sale were anxious to participate in so attractive a market. Many slaves, too, had been brought to Brundisium as a consequence of political events which, it seems, had taken place in the south. An unusual market situation had accordingly come about, one in which goods were relatively abundant while prices, interestingly, remained relatively stable, this apparently because of buyers rich in coin who wished to conduct their affairs with dispatch, and be on their way.