Explorers of Gor (43 page)

I thought that, in a few days, it might well be she who would crawl kneeling to the end of her tether, her bound wrists extended behind her, the line taut to some slave post, and beg, perhaps weeping, the touch of a master.

It was late when Ayari returned to the hut.

The girls were asleep. Tende, when Kisu had finished with her, had been returned to her place. She now, too, like the other girls, lay sleeping in the dirt, her wrists tied behind her, tethered to the slave post.

“Did you learn more?” I asked.

“Others,” said he, “than your Shaba and his followers have passed here. I learned this, finally, from the chief, and two of his men, with whom I spoke.”

“They were reluctant to speak?” asked Kisu.

“Quite so,” said Ayari. “They were frightened, even to speak of what they saw.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“Things,” said he.

“What sort of things?” I asked.

“They would not say,” mid Ayari. “They were too frightened.” He looked at me. “But I fear that it is not we alone who seek your Shaba.”

“Others pursue as well?” asked Kisu.

“I think so,” said Ayari.

“Interesting,” I said. I lay down beside the fire. “Let us get rest now,” I said. “We must be on our way early in the morning.”

28

The Box In The River

“There!” said Ayari. “Bring the canoe to the right.”

We turned the light vessel a quarter to starboard. “I see it,” I said.

We were four days from the fishermen’s village where- we had been cordially received. In these four days we had passed two other villages, where farming was done in small clearings, but we had not stopped at either.

The river was generally two to four hundred yards wide at these points. At night we would pull the canoe ashore, camouflage it, and make our camp about a half pasang inland, to minimize any danger from possible tharlarion, which tend to remain near the water.

The box, about a foot wide and deep, and two feet long. floating, heavy, almost entirely submerged, with an ornate ring lock, rubbed against the side of the canoe. By its metal handles I drew it into the canoe. With the back of one of the heavy pangas I struck loose the ring lock. There were varieties of ring locks. This one was a combination padlock, in which numbers, inscribed on rotating metal disks, fitted together, are to be properly aligned, this permitting the free extraction of the bolt. This, as is the case with most single-alignment ring locks, was not a high-security lock. The materials in the box, I was confident, would not be of great value. The numbers on the lock were in Gorean. I thrust up the lid.

“Ah,” said Kisu.

In the box, jumbled, were rolls of wire, mirrors, pine and knives, beads, shells and bits of colored glass.

“Trade goods,” said Kisu.

“Doubtless from one of the vessels of Shaba,” said Ayari.

“Doubtless,” I agreed.

We put the goods in one of the sacks we had had and saved from the fishermen’s village, and threw the broken lock and opened box again into the river.

“Let us proceed with caution,” said Kisu.

“That seems to me wise,” I said.

29

Bark Cloth And Beads

We sat about the small fire, some half pasang inland from the river, in the rain forest.

A great spined anteater, more than twenty feet in length, shuffled about the edges of the camp. We saw its long, thin tongue dart in and out of its mouth.

The blond-haired barbarian crept closer to me.

“It is harmless,” I said, “unless you cross its path or disturb it.”

It lived on the white ants, or termites, of the vicinity, breaking apart their high, towering nests of toughened clay, some of them thirty-five feet in height, with its mighty claws, then darting its four-foot-long tongue, coated with adhesive saliva, among the nest’s startled occupants, drawing thousands in a matter of moments into its narrow, tubelike mouth.

She drew a bit further away, trembling. She was a naked woman, and a slave, on the barbaric planet of Gor. Perhaps she did not relish being dependent on men, and their protection, for her very life, but she was, and she knew it.

We had brought certain goods with us from the canoe to our camp.

“Oh!” cried the girl, startled. A grasshopper, red, the size of a horned gim, a small, owllike bird, some four ounces in weight, common in the northern latitudes, had leaped near the fire, and disappeared into the brush.

She restrained herself from approaching me more closely. She put her head down, embarrassed.

Kisu, with a knife, was cutting a length from the rough, red-dyed cloth, plaited and pounded, derived from the inner bark of the pod tree, which we had obtained in trade some days ago at the fishermen’s village. It has a cordage of bark strips resembling a closely woven burlap, but it is much softer, a result in part perhaps due to the fact that the dye in which it is prepared is mixed with palm oil. Tende was watching him closely.

I chuckled to myself.

“Do I amuse Master?” asked the blond-haired barbarian, irritably.

“I was thinking about this afternoon,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

This afternoon, late, when we had come inland, almost in the dusk, she had become entangled in the web of a rock spider, a large one. They are called rock spiders because of their habit of holding their legs folded beneath them. This habit, and their size and coloration, usually brown and black, suggests a rock, and hence the name. It is a very nice piece of natural camouflage. A thin line runs from the web to the spider. When something strikes the web the tremor is transmitted by means of this line to the spider. Interestingly the movement of the web in the air, as it is stirred by wind, does not activate the spider; similarly if the prey which strikes the web is too small, and thus not worth showing itself for, or too large, and thus beyond its prey range, and perhaps dangerous, it does not reveal itself. On the other hand, should a bird, such as a mindar or parrot, or a small animal, such as a leaf urt or tiny tarsk, become entangled in the net the spider swiftly emerges. It is fully capable of taking such prey. When the blond-haired barbarian stumbled into the web, screaming, trying to tear it away from her face and hair, the spider did not even reveal itself. I pulled her away from the net and slapped her to silence. Curious, as she, sobbing, cleaned herself with leaves and saliva, I located the gentle, swaying strand which marked the location of the spider. It, immobile on the ground, was about a foot in diameter. It did not move until I nudged it with a stick, and it then backed rapidly away.

“You need not have struck me,” she said reproachfully.

“Be silent, Slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. That a slave has irritated one in the least particular is, of course, more than enough reason for striking her. Indeed, one does not need a reason for striking, a slave. One may do so at one’s purest caprice. The girls know this. This helps in their discipline. In this particular instance, of course, aside from my irritation at her outburst, I did not want her cries to mark our position in the forest. We did not know who, or what, besides ourselves, might trek, perhaps at our side, in that lush habitat.

“Master,” said the girl

“Yes,” I said.

“You need not have struck me, earlier this afternoon,” she said. “But I suppose that you are the judge of that, for you are the Master,” she added, airily.

I looked at her.

“Surely one needs a reason for striking a slave,” she said.

“No,” I said.

“I see,” she said, putting her head down. She trembled.

“Come here,” I said. “Kneel before me, back on your heels.”

She did so, looking at me. “Master?” she asked.

Suddenly I struck her, a fierce blow which flung her, mouth bloodied, to her side in the dirt.

I stood up. “Do you see?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, looking up at me, horrified.

“Now kneel before me and kiss my feet,” I said, “and thank me for having struck you.”

Tremblingly, she crawled to me, and knelt before me. She put her head down. I felt her lips on my feet. “Thank you for having struck me, Master,” she whispered. She looked up at me.

“Do you now understand that you are a slave?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you still think that a master requires a reason to strike you?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“And why is that?” I asked.

“Because I am a slave,” she said.

“It is true,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I then sat down again, cross-legged, and turned my attention to Kisu. He was displaying the strip of cloth, about a foot wide and five feet in length, to Tende.

I hoped that the blond-haired barbarian had learned her lesson. It might help her to survive on Gor. A girl does not question what her master does to her. She is slave.

Tende knelt before Kisu and put her head to the dirt. “I beg clothing, Master,” she said.

“Earn it,” said he to her.

“Yes, Master,” she said, eagerly, and then well did she earn it. When she was finished Kisu threw her the strip of cloth which she then, delightedly, wrapped about her hips, tucking it closed. He then, from a sack brought from the canoe, threw her two strings of colored wooden beads, blue, and red and yellow, which we had obtained in trade from the fishing village earlier.

“Thank you, my master,” breathed Tende, and she then displayed herself before him, the brief bark cloth, scarlet, snug about her hips and the beads about her lovely throat.

“It is now time to tie you for the night,” said Kisu.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

The first blond, Alice, gazed enviously upon Tende. She then crept to me, head down. “I beg clothing, Master,” she whispered.

I looked upon her.

“I am a humbled, naked slave,” she said. “I beg clothing of my master.”

“Are you prepared to earn it?” I asked her.

“Yes, Master,” she said, smiling.

“Whore!” cried the blond-haired barbarian.

I took Alice in my arms, kissing her, and she put her head back, with her eyes closed.

“Whore! Whore!” cried the blond-haired barbarian.

“What do you think slave girls are for,” laughed Alice, her eyes still closed, delightedly, “you silly girl?”

“Whore! Whore!” cried the blond-haired barbarian.

I kissed Alice. “Gather some wood for the fire. Build it up a little,” I said to the blond-haired barbarian.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Alice looked up at me. “Your touch is masterful,” she said. She smiled up at me. “The Earth woman yields to her Gorean master,” she said.

The fire had now burned low.

It was some two Ahn before dawn.

Alice, her wrists bound now behind her, tethered by them to a tree, to which Tende lay similarly secured, lay asleep. About her hips was the wrap-around skirt, tucked shut, of scarlet bark cloth, which she had well earned. I had cut the skirt for her following her performance. I had also given her, as Kisu had Tende, two strings of wooden beads. They were attractive on her. She, too, now, like Tende, was a clothed, ornamented slave. Tende was asleep. So, too, were Ayari and Kisu.

I looked over to the blond-haired barbarian who sat by the fire. She poked at the fire with a green stick.

“Go sit by the slave post,” I said to her, referring to that slim tree to which the other girls were secured, which served us as slave post, “and cross your wrists behind you.”

She did so.

“Oh,” she said, as I, with the end of a long, narrow strip of leather, fastened her wrists, tightly, together. I then tied the free end of the tether about the slave post, or tree, fastening her to it.

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Am I not to be given clothing?” she asked.

“Are you ready to earn it?” I asked.

“If you command me,” she said, “I must obey. I am slave.”

“And if I do not command you?” I asked.

“Master?” she asked.

“Would you beg for the opportunity to earn clothing?’ I asked.

“Never!” she said. “Never!”

“It is time now to go to sleep,” I said.

“I want clothing,” she said. “Please, Master!”

“Lie down,” I said. “It is time to sleep.”

She lay down on her side. “I cannot beg clothing,” she sobbed. “I am an Earth woman.”

“So, too, is Alice,” I said.

“She is a slave,” said the blond-haired barbarian.

“And you?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the blond-haired barbarian, sobbing. “I, too, am a slave.”

“Beg, if you wish,” I said.

“I cannot,” she wept.

“Go to sleep now,” I said. ‘The day will be long and hard tomorrow.”

“Master,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said.

“You taught me a lesson this evening, did you not?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“That a master requires no reason, to put me under even the harshest of disciplines.”

“That is true,” I said.

“In your cruel way, are you not kind,” she asked, “to a girl who is a slave?”

“Do you wish to be whipped?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“Your slavery will be of little use to men,” I said, “if you, through your ignorance, must be soon thrown alive to sleen or tharlarion.”

“I see,” she said, bitterly. “You are not kind.”

“No,” I said.

“You are merely training an animal to know her station in life.”

“Yes,” I said. I smiled. I resisted an impulse to tenderness. I resisted, too, an Impulse to seize her fair ankles, turn her to her back by means of them, throw them apart, and then rape her in the dirt.

She struggled up to one elbow. She looked at me. “What do men want of a slave girl?” she asked.

“Everything,” I told her.

She lay back in the dirt, miserably.

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“A man may do to me whatever he wants, at any time, may he not?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“He needs no reason,” she said.

“No,” I said.