Prize of Gor (68 page)

The order to march was then received.

Standards were lifted, and flashed in the sun.

Drovers called out to their animals, whips cracked, wagons creaked. There was the tread of the soldiers, the grunting, and scampering about, coming and going, scattering dust, of saddle tharlarion.

The coffle, too, with its sound of chain, marched.

The march had been underway for something like two Ahn. Saddle tharlarion, as has been noted, were familiar components of the march and camp. These, not unoften, ran the length of the march, relaying orders, carrying messages and such. Too, of course, there were mounted officers, and others, civilians, and such, who rode with the march, rather than walked, or had places in the wagons. A pair of men approached, and halted their tharlarion some yards ahead of Ellen’s position, and, turning the beasts, which were restless, were engaged in conversation. As Ellen, on the chain, marching with the others, approached them, they relatively fixed at the side of the march, she was startled, terribly shaken. She was certain that she recognized the two riders, neither of whom were concerned with the progressing coffle. One was the subcaptain, the Cosian officer, who had been in the loft of Portus Canio, whose men had ransacked it, indeed, he who had wired the tag to her collar, and who had spoken to her earlier. The other man, in colorful riding robes, laughing, jesting with him, she also recognized. It was Tersius Major.

Quickly, as she approached them, miserable, on the chain, covered with dust, she put her head down and brought her hair before her face, to conceal her features. And thus she passed them, unnoticed, no more than another slave in the coffle.

As she passed them she heard laughter. Then the laughter was behind her. When she turned about she saw that the two tharlarion had continued on their way, toward the rear of the column.

Somewhere she heard the crack of a whip.

Quickly she turned her head forward again, and continued on her way.

Chapter 21

THE POOL

“You are an ignorant barbarian, are you not?” asked the man.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen, quickly.

She knelt before him, her head to the ground.

“Do you know how to bathe?” he asked. “You may look up.”

Ellen lifted her head, timidly. “Yes, Master,” she said. “I have been taught.”

“You will go to the designated pool with this group,” he said, gesturing. “Oils, sponges, rags, will be at the pool, and lotions. Pebbles will do for scrapers. Stand there.”

Ellen rose to her feet and went to stand behind another girl, one in a line now of seven, including herself. Three more would be added to the group. All were naked. This is not that unusual for slaves in transport. Whereas nudity is certainly not unknown amongst slave girls, and is relatively familiar, even publicly, and masters often keep their slaves naked in their own quarters, still a naked slave is likely to be noticed; she is unlikely to blend in with “clothed” sisters in bondage, permitted perhaps an open camisk or a scanty ta-teera. Seen in a field, for example, free men will commonly investigate the sight of such a slave, and, if she is not known to them, set upon her, apprehend her, and demand an accounting. An attendant knotted a rope about her left ankle. It went to the girl before her, about whose ankle it was already knotted, and would be extended behind her, to fasten the next three slaves in the ankle coffle, as she was, each such coffle consisting of ten slaves.

The usual coffling order, for those whom it might interest, is not from front to rear, as was being done here, girls being selected almost randomly to be added to the rope, but from rear to front, the slaves keeping their eyes forward. This is particularly the case when chains and collars, or wrist rings, or ankle rings, are used. In this way the slave does not see the device until it is upon her, and then, of course, it is too late; she is locked within it. She knows, of course, that this is going to be done. She hears the chains, the snapping shut of the locks, and so on. Indeed, she, standing, or kneeling, presumably knees spread, hands on thighs, or on all fours, waiting, forbidden to turn about, builds up a considerable amount of suspense in the matter, and it comes, usually, as a welcome climax, as a relief, when she finds herself at last added, as she knows she must be, explicitly, securely, helplessly, to the “slaver’s necklace.” One supposes it is done in this fashion largely for its psychological effect on the slave, it tending to make her feel apprehensive, docile, obedient and helpless. And it does have that effect. It is also supposed that it makes it less likely that the slave will bolt, or flee, but that seems to me dubious, except perhaps in the case of recently captured free women, terrified to find themselves in such a line, presumably naked, or new slaves. The rational slave knows she is to be chained, and that there is nothing she can do about it; she neither bolts nor flees. She does not wish to be dragged back to her place by the hair, and whipped there, in the very spot she so foolishly forsook. “Here!” it might be said. “Here is your place, foolish girl!” “Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” And the lash would fall. “And you are not to leave it without permission, stupid slave!” “No, Master! No, Master! Forgive me, Master! Please forgive me, Master!” And the lash would fall again and again. And then the chain is put on her. She sobs. She has learned. She has been taught her lesson.

It was not unpleasant standing in the soft grass. One must stand well, of course, for one is under the eyes of men. There was a gentle breeze moving inland from the sea. Ellen was no longer in the coffle, in which she and others, some hundreds it seemed, had been marched to this location. She was pleased to be out of the heavy, sturdy coffle collar, with its weighty chain dangling before and behind her. She wore no collar now, that of Portus Canio, with the tag attached by the subcaptain, having been removed some days earlier in the Cosian camp. She was, of course, well marked as bond, in virtue of the brand, in her case the common kef, the most common mark on Gor for a slave girl, that which Mirus, doubtless to his amusement, had had put on her.

The massive walls and towers of Brundisium could be seen in the distance, some two pasangs, or so, away. It was at Brundisium that, months ago, the invasion forces of Cos and Tyros had made an unopposed landfall, and proceeded thence toward Ar.

The sky was a bright blue. White clouds, unhurried, insouciant, pursued their leisurely way inland, floating, drifting, in the currents of the wind, like ships on an invisible ocean, like remarkable, protean creatures risen majestically from the cold waters of gleaming Thassa, the sea.

She felt the rope jerked tight on her ankle, both forward and back, and then drawn back, to be ready for the next bead, so to speak, on this improvised slaver’s necklace. The attendant stood up, slightly behind her, waiting for the next slave.

“Make yourself desirable,” he said. “
Slave desirable
.”

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen. There was no mistaking what he had said, or what it meant. How far she was from Earth, she thought, with its oddities, eccentricities, miseries, agonies and denials. How different is Gor from Earth, at least for women such as I, she thought. How simple, how natural, how primitively virtuous is Gor! Here, there is no war of the sexes, at least for women such as I. Here the war of the sexes is over, at least for women such as I, certainly for me. I have fought. I have lost. I have been taken. I am spoils of war, and am now slave. But Ellen did not mind this. She rejoiced in this, and wanted it. It suddenly occurred to her that this might well be the point of the war of the sexes, that it might well be entered into and encouraged by women merely that they might be reassured, much as a naughty child might test limits, that they might have manhood affirmed, and find themselves once more, in the light of fact and truth, seized and returned to their rightful place in the order of nature, dutifully subdued, conquered, treasured, prized, mastered, loved, owned. How she then pitied free women in their ignorance, both those of Gor and Earth, in their anxieties and depressions, in their little-understood forlornness, in their little-understood, unsatisfied hungers.

But then she was suddenly terrified. There was a rope on her ankle. She was mere property! She was slave!

How she was looking forward to the opportunity to clean her body, after the heat, the dust, the coffle!

There was to be a festival camp, celebrating yet another victory of invincible Cos. Merchants, dignitaries, soldiers, travelers, artisans, peddlers, tradesmen, citizens, peasants, villagers, townspeople and others were all making their way into the vicinity of the city, some setting up tents and camps, others renting space either within the city, or about the walls. Among these visitors, and citizens of Brundisium, too, she knew, would be slavers, professional slavers. These were men who dealt shrewdly in wares such as she. She trembled, thinking of the sales block, the eager, virile, possessive, bidding men, the whips, of being exhibited dramatically, specifically, callously, in intimate detail, rawly, as the lovely, helpless merchandise she was.

She trembled, yes. But, too, she was fascinated, almost giddy, at the thought of being sold. What would she bring?

She thought of her feminist sisters, of Earth, on such a block, in chains, being sold to men. In such a place they would be in little doubt of their sex, or of its meaning — just as she, here, on Gor, had learned her sex, and its meaning.

“Move!” she heard, and her group of ten, in its turn, in line, she the seventh in her group of ten, in ankle coffle, left foot first, was directed across the grass. The grass felt fresh and soft beneath her feet. She watched the rope move before her, that fastened to the left ankle of the girl before her, pulled forward, then dropping down, disappearing in the grass, then seeming to leap up, only to drop down again between the blades. The group was directed toward a narrow trail, one winding its way gently downward among deciduous trees. In a few Ehn, between trees, she saw a small stream. The pools, she had heard, would be in the vicinity of this stream, some nearer, some farther. Her group was conducted downward, slipping a bit on the dirt and grass, one girl fell, to the border of the stream, along which was a narrow trail, some five feet above the stream. The group was then directed along this trail, rather toward the city. Another such group was a hundred yards or so before them. Presumably they would be followed by other groups. Here and there there were tiny, wooden bridges over the stream. Wagon tracks in the mud, however, and the prints of bosk and tharlarion indicated that wagons commonly forded this narrow waterway. At the fording places she could see gravel and rocks under the water, and she thought that the depth there could not be much more than a foot or two, surely not higher than the hubs of wagon wheels. The rocks and gravel, or some of it, she supposed, might have been put there to help secure a reliable fording. Elsewhere she supposed that the stream was not more than three or four feet deep, or, as the Goreans would have it, who tended to think of water from the bottom up, three or four feet high.

“Look,” whispered the girl before her, indicating with a subtle motion of her head, a direction across the stream, to her right.

“Yes,” whispered Ellen.

It was there she saw the first of several small, sunken, shallow, walled pools, each a yard or so deep. Most of these were in the vicinity of the stream, some on one side and some on the other, and some were actually open to the stream, and fed by its water. Others were not now in obvious contact with the stream but were nearby, perhaps fed by waters which had occasionally exceeded the normal boundaries of the stream, or by waters which had drained downward naturally, overflowing the sunken walls, filling the area, cisternlike, the expected result of the declivity in terrain. To be sure, she supposed that they might, or some of them, have been filled by water carried to them, from the nearby stream. That was a possibility. And within the Ahn this possibility became even more obvious, and vivid.

What startled Ellen was the large number of these pools. Surely there were at least thirty or forty of them, some on one side of the stream, some on the other. In several of them, sporting delightedly, some in the water, some splashing about, some assiduously washing, some attending to their hair, were groups of slave girls, ten in each group. Ellen had little doubt that these girls, those in each group, were roped together, as were those in her group. Supervising each group was a man, not a soldier, or guardsman, merely an attendant, a drover, a hireling, usually loitering nearby.

In these days one did not steal from Cos.

“Male slaves, to the left,” whispered the girl before Ellen.

Some seven or so males were kneeling in a small space, stripped, covered with dirt, heads down, to the left. They were chained, hand and foot, and fastened together by the neck, by an additional chain. They appeared haggard, exhausted. They were perhaps half-starved, in order to induce distraction, confusion, failure of will, and weakness. Their bodies were bruised, as though by the blows of clubs or spear hafts, and bore in lines of caked blood the marks of the lash, where the whip, perhaps the snake, had been put to them.

The snake is never used on women, for they might soon die under its blows. Whereas Gorean masters are strict with their kajirae, some inordinately so, they never forget that they are females, only females.

“I do not think they are slaves yet,” whispered the girl behind Ellen. “I think they are prisoners, war captives.”

“They will soon be slaves,” said the first girl, haughtily.

“Yes,” said the second, “and doubtless on the galleys, or in the quarries of Tyros.”

Ellen gasped.

“Move more quickly.
Harta
!” said their attendant.

One of the men had raised his head. Ellen recognized Portus Canio! He did not see her. It seemed as though he could see little. Beside him, chained to him, was Fel Doron!

Ellen hurried on, miserable. How awry had turned out the brave adventure of Portus Canio!