Explorers of Gor (12 page)

I looked at the kneeling, blond-haired girl. How miserable, superficially, she seemed in her slavery. I supposed that if she were asked, outside the context of training, where certain answers are prescribed, if she liked being a slave girl, she would have denied it vehemently, perhaps with tears. Doubtless she would have begged piteously for her freedom. Yet I recalled that when her trainer, Shoka of Schendi, had flung her to his feet by the whip coils on her neck she had fallen in a certain way, and had lain at his feet in a certain fashion. I recalled the position of her wrists and palms, and the look in her eyes, as she had looked up at him. Her hip had been turned. Both legs had been drawn back, but one more than the other. Her toes had been pointed, accentuating the turn of her calf. She had not fallen clumsily. She had not lain clumsily at his feet. She had lain at his feet, and looked at him, as a slave. She had not been trained to do that. I did not even think she was aware of this sort of thing.

“Do you like me, Master?” asked Sasi.

“Yes,” I said, “particularly since you have had a bath.”

“Oh, Master,” she said.

I had scrubbed her the first day out from Port Kar, she kneeling in a tub, with sea water and a deck brush.

“What was the last time you had a bath?” I asked her.

“A girl pushed me in the South canal a year ago,” she said.

“I see,” I said.

“Is Master fastidious?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” I said, “but I will expect you to keep yourself reasonably clean from now on. You are no longer a free woman.”

“No, Master,” she said.

“You are now a slave girl,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She knew that slave girls must be attentive to matters of appearance, health, cleanliness and hygiene. They are no longer free women.

Yesterday the blond-haired girl had been permitted to walk about the deck. I had stopped near her and she had, immediately, knelt, for she was in the presence of a free man. I had walked slowly about her. She was very nice. I had then stood before her, and she had, suddenly, dropped her eyes. I saw a tiny movement in her hands, on her thighs, as though she would turn them, exposing the palms to me, but then she pressed them down her thighs, hard. I crouched beside her. Then I smiled. I smelled slave heat. Then I got up and went about my business. I saw her later leaning against the main mast. Later I looked at it, and saw that she had made marks in it with her nails.

“I myself prefer the training of the furs,” said Sasi, biting again into the larma fruit.

The blond-haired girl still knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. For the time her trainer had forgotten about her.

“You just do not like being struck with the whip,” I told her.

“Perhaps that is it,” she laughed. “Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“If I am good, you will not whip me, will you?” she asked.

“I might,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

Sometimes I had had Sasi train with the blond-haired girl, but generally I did not. Ulafi had no objection to her sharing the barbarian’s training. Indeed, he had even suggested the arrangement. Graciously he had made no charge for this. On the other hand I had not charged him for the instruction which Sasi was giving the blond barbarian in Gorean. Our arrangement, thus, though tacit, was a tidy one.

Sasi, Gorean, even in the collar a few days, was already far beyond the blond-haired barbarian. It was for this reason that I had had her seldom train with the barbarian. There had simply not been much point to it. The barbarian still needed the simplest and most elementary lessons of slave training.

Shoka, recollecting her, had now returned to the vicinity of the blond-haired barbarian. She did not know he was behind her. “Bara!” he called. “Sula! Nadu! Lesha! Sula! Bara! Nadu!” Instantaneously she performed. Then she was again kneeling, as before.

“Not bad,” said Sasi, chewing on the larma.

“Yes,” I said. Though Sasi was well advanced beyond the blond barbarian, I suspected that the blond barbarian, moving slowly at first, might in time catch up with her, and perhaps even surpass her. The blond barbarian, I suspected, had unusual slave potential.

Shoka then, without warning, struck her with his whip. She did not break position, but she gasped. Her face was startled, her eyes were wild. She did not know why she had been struck. In a sense there had been no reason. One does not need a reason to strike a slave. But in another sense, in the training situation, there had been a reason, that she was subject to discipline, and that it could be meted out by the master purely at his whim or caprice. She tensed. She did not know, Shoka behind her, if she would be struck again.

But Shoka took her by the hair and, she, pulled to her feet, bent over, was conducted to her cage. There he released her and she fell to her hands and knees, to crawl into the cage, to be locked within.

“May I speak, Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why was I struck?” she asked.

“Kiss my feet,” he said.

She did so.

Then she looked up at him.

“It pleased me,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Into the cage, Slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

In a moment she had been locked within. I saw her looking after him. Then she looked at me, too, and then she looked down. I saw her lie on her side in the cage, her legs drawn up. The cage is very tiny.

I looked out, over the rail. There were white clouds in the sky, and the sky was very blue. We would make Schendi, if the winds held, in four days.

“Master,” said Sasi.

“Yes,” I said. I turned to look at her.

She looked up at me. She smiled. “If I get to be good,” she said, “may I have a garment?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I think I would like a garment,” she said, chewing on the larma fruit.

“It would give me something to tear off you,” I admitted.

She looked up at me, smiling.

“The collar looks well on you, Sasi,” I said. “You could have been born in a collar.”

“For all practical purposes,” she said, “I was.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“I am a woman,” she said, chewing on the fruit.

“Why are you bound for Schendi?” asked Ulafi of me. It was late evening now. I stood again by the rail.

“I have never been there,” I said.

“You are not of the metal workers,” he said.

“Oh?” I asked.

“Perhaps you know Chungu,” said he.

“The hand on watch,” I said.

“He,” said Ulafi.

“By sight,” I said. I did remember him quite well. He was the fellow who had passed me on the northern walkway of the Rim canal, when I had been on my way to the pier of the Red Urt. I had seen him, too, later, in the vicinity of the desk of the wharf praetor.

“Before the general alarm was permitted to sound in Port Kar, in the matter of apprising the wharves of the news of an escaped slave,” said Ulafi, “we, naturally, conducted a search for her ourselves. We expected to pick her up without difficulty in a few minutes, you understand.”

“Of course,” I said.

“She was naked, and a barbarian,” said Ulafi. “Where could she go? What could she do?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Yet she was clever,” said Ulafi.

“Yes,” I said. She had stolen a garment and concealed herself, unmarked and uncollared, among she-urts. I had no doubt that she was a highly intelligent girl. That intelligence could now be applied, now that she was a slave, to the pleasing of masters.

“We did not wish to annoy the praetor,” said Ulafi.

“It would be embarrassing, too, I suspect,” I said, “for one of Schendi, and one who was a captain, too, to call public attention to the fact that he had lost a girl.”

“Would you like to be thrown overboard?” asked Ulafi.

“No,” I said, “I would not like that.”

“Would this not have been embarrassing for anyone?” asked Ulafi.

“Of course,” I said. “Forgive me, Captain.”

“When we decided to enlist the aid of guardsmen, and inquire into the reports of citizens,” said Ulafi, “we had the general alarm rung. One of my men, Chungu, was hunting for the girl in the vicinity of the Rim canal. In that area he saw two assailants, a man and his female accomplice, subdued by one who wore the garb of the metal workers. Further, this deed was apparently performed with dispatch, a dispatch scarcely to be expected of one who was of the metal workers. Soon the fellow who wore the garb of the metal workers had left. He had paused little longer than was necessary to awaken the girl to consciousness, rape her and tie her to the man whose accomplice she had been.”

“Oh,” I said.

“When the alarm rang,” said Ulafi, “Chungu returned to the ship.”

“You were the fellow in the garb of the metal workers,” said Ulafi.

“Yes,” I said.

“When the assailants were brought to the praetor’s desk, too,” said he, “it was seen that their wrists had been bound with capture knots.”

“I see,” I said.

“Such knots are tied by a warrior,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Why are you bound for Schendi?’ asked Ulafi.

“If you knew me not of the metal workers,” I asked, “why did you permit me to mark the blond-haired slave?”

“I wished to see what you would do,” he said.

“You risked a badly marked thigh on the girl,” I said.

“The mark was perfect,” said Ulafi.

“Thus you see,” said I, “that I am truly of the metal workers.”

“No,” said Ulafi. “I knew you were not of the metal workers. Thus I saw that you were truly of the warriors.”

“Should I have blurred the brand?” I asked.

“That would have been a shame,” said he, smiling.

“True,” I grinned. All men like a well-marked girl.

“Too,” said he, “that would have shown, had you done poorly, that you were not of the metal workers.”

“Might I not have been a slaver, or one who did work with them?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” said Ulafi, “but that would not have well fitted in with the dispatch with which the assailants were handled, or the knotting on their wrists, or, indeed, with your general mien, how you walk and sit, and look about yourself, your eyes, how you handle yourself.”

I looked out to sea. The three moons were high abeam. The sea was sparkling.

“Was it important to you to leave Port Kar when you did?” asked Ulafi.

“I think so,” I said.

“Why did you choose to voyage to Schendi?” he asked.

“Are there not fortunes to be made there?” I asked.

“In Schendi,” said Ulafi, “there are fortunes and there are dangers.”

“Dangers?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Ulafi, “even from the interior, from the ubarate of Bila Huruma.”

“Schendi is a free port, administered by merchants,” I said.

“We hope that it will continue to be so,” he said.

“As you have suspected,” I said, “I am of the warriors.”

Ulafi smiled.

“Perhaps there are some in Schendi,” I said, “with whom I might take service.”

“Steel can always command a price.” said Ulafi. He made as though to turn away.

“Captain,” I said.

“Yes,” said he.

I indicated the blond-haired barbarian in her cage, a few yards forward of the mainmast. It was chained, at four points, to cleats in the deck, that it not shift its position overmuch in rough weather. A folded tarpaulin lay near it, with which it could be covered. Sasi’s cage had similar appointments.

The girls relieved themselves during the day, when ordered to do so.

“I am curious about the blond-haired slave,” I said. “On the wharf, the slaver, Vart, said that he had gotten a silver tarsk for her.” I looked at Ulafi. “Surely such a girl, a wench of only average beauty, a tense, tight girl, awkward and clumsy, one untrained, new to the collar, one who can hardly speak Gorean, a barbarian, is worth, at best, only two or three copper tarsks.”

“I can get two silver tarsks for her,” said Ulafi.

“Her hair and coloring is rare in Schendi?” I asked.

“Such girls, and better, are cheap in Schendi,” he said. “Do not forget that Schendi is the home port of the black slavers.”

“How then will you get two silver tarsks for her?” I asked.

“She is on my conditional ‘want’ list,” said Ulafi.

“I see,” I said. That seemed to me intelligent on the part of Kur agents. They must have known that she would be sailing from Cos to Schendi. This trip, particularly because of the depredations of pirates from Port Kar, is a hazardous one. It then made sense that provisions would be made to retrieve her in a Port Kar market should she be taken and enslaved. Doubtless a similar arrangement had been made with some Schendi merchants in Tyros and perhaps in Lydius or Scagnar.

“Why are you giving her slave training?” I asked.

“She is a slave,” said Ulafi. “Why should she not receive slave training?”

“True,” I said. I smiled. “Who is your client?” I said.

“Is it worth a copper tarsk to you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Uchafu,” he said, “a slaver in Schendi.”

I handed him the copper tarsk.

“Is Uchafu an important slaver?” I asked.

“No,” said Ulafi. “He usually handles no more than two or three hundred slaves in an open market.”

“Does it not seem strange to you,” I asked, “that Uchafu should offer two tarsks for such a girl.”

“Yes,” he said. “Obviously he is conducting the transaction at the behest of another.”

“Who?” I asked.

“I do not know,” said Ulafi.

“I would pay a silver tarsk to know,” I said.

“Ah,” said Ulafi, “I see you have business in Schendi that you have hitherto concealed.”

“A silver tarsk,” I said.

“It pains me,” said Ulafi, “but I must confess I do not know. I am sorry.”

I looked at the girl. She was lying in the cage, on her side, turned away from us.

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” asked Ulafi.

“Yes,” I said.

We watched the girl. She lay there, quietly. She ran the index finger of her right hand idly, slowly, up and down, on one of the bars near her face. She seemed lost in thought.