Rebels of Gor (92 page)

“This man has been recently sought,” said a Pani guardsmen, armed with a glaive, as were two others behind him.

“He has been found,” I said. “Inform Lord Temmu.”

“He was to have been cast from the outer parapet,” said one of the guardsmen.

“That will not now be necessary,” I said.

“No,” said the chief guardsman. “It will be done.”

“As you will,” I said.

The guardsman signified that two docksmen lift the body and remove it from the wharf.

“I do not understand,” said a man. “How could Daichi dare to attack this man, publicly, on a crowded wharf?”

“Perhaps,” said a fellow, “the bones and shells foretold success.”

“It seems they were mistaken,” said a man.

“It would not be the first time,” I said.

At that moment the third gong rang out.

Some mercenaries rushed past me, hurrying to the gangplank.

“We must board!” said Licinius Lysias, gripping the small box.

“I shall join you, momentarily,” I said.

The tiny sound I had heard, almost at the same moment as the shouted warning of Licinius Lysias, and the attack of Daichi, had been the movement of some of those tiny articles, bones and shells, loose in the box.

I looked about the wharf.

I must soon board.

The
River Dragon
loomed above me. Waters were now high on the wharf’s palings, only a few horts below the planks.

I looked about, once more.

“Lord Nishida!” I said.

He bowed, which bow I returned.

Behind him were two Ashigaru, and, between them, in their keeping, was a woman, shamefully unveiled, but otherwise decorously clad in the many folds and colors of the robes of concealment. Her hands were behind her back, where, I supposed, they were bound, or braceleted.

“You have come to see me off,” I said. “I had hoped you would.”

“You waited,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“We have been well met, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said. “We have shared much, in Tarncamp, in Shipcamp, aboard the great ship of Tersites, and here, in the islands, which you call the World’s End.”

“I am honored to have served with you,” I said.

“And with Lord Temmu, and Lord Okimoto?” he said.

“There,” I said, “perhaps somewhat less honored.”

“We owe you much for the cavalry,” he said, “and very little at present.”

“I am sorry,” I said. “But let the peace be kept.”

“It will be,” he said, “for a time.”

“I think,” I said, “that titanic forces have been balanced here, in the islands.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “on the far continent, in a clear sky, lightning broods.”

“Not only larls and sleen are territorial,” I said.

To be sure, here were territories beyond the ken of roaring larls and snarling sleen, territories which consisted of worlds.

“Here is the woman,” he said, gesturing to the slave, “in virtue of which we were to command your loyalty and service.”

“You had it without her,” I said.

“For which we are grateful,” he said.

“Lord Temmu,” I said, “would doubtless have preferred to possess a relocated cavalry, staffed according to his will.”

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida, “but he more prefers the security and integrity of his holding and lands. There is little to be gained if the unpleasant death of a slave is followed by a rain of fire from the sky.”

“I counted, in this matter,” I said, “on the rationality of Lord Temmu, if not on his character or honor.”

“In the circumstances,” said Lord Nishida, “you understand that the slave is no longer of interest, or importance.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Accordingly,” he said, “we abandon her here, on the wharf.”

“As you will,” I said.

The dark eyes of the slave, Adraste, flashed with fury. Her body seethed with rage.

“I wish you well, dear friend,” said Lord Nishida.

“I wish you well, dear friend,” I said.

We exchanged bows.

He then turned, and left, followed by the two Ashigaru.

“So I am abandoned,” she said, “cast aside, discarded!”

“You are no longer of importance,” I said.

“To no one?” she said.

“To no one,” I said.

She shook her hands behind her back, angrily, and I heard the tiny sound of metal. So she was back braceleted.

“Your wrists are fastened,” I said. “I would not struggle, if I were you. You are helpless, whether you realize it or not, whether you like it or not. If I were you, I would not risk marking your wrists. That might, to some degree, lower your price.”

“Price!” she cried.

“Yes,” I said, “price.”

“I am beyond price!” she said.

“Only free women are beyond price,” I said. “On the block, every woman has her price.”

“You despicable tarsk!” she said.

“In the siege,” I said, “most slaves, all but you, as I understand it, were bartered, most for a
fukuro
of rice, some for two.”

“So?” she said, angrily.

“Had you not been of interest, politically,” I said, “I wonder what you would have gone for.”

“For ten thousand
fukuros
of rice!” she said.

“I would think, a single
fukuro
,” I said.

“I am the daughter of a Ubar!” she cried.

“It is true,” I said, “that that might raise the price of even a homely girl.”

“Beast!” she said.

“But here,” I said, “at the World’s End, you are only another pretty slave, prettier than many, and not so pretty as others.”

She looked away, angrily.

“You are helpless,” I said. “Beware of marking your wrists.”

“Tarsk!”

“The key to your bracelets, I take it,” I said, “is on a string around your neck.” This was common in such situations, the delivery of a braceleted slave to a new house, or master.

“Yes!” she said.

“The third gong has sounded,” I said. “The ship will soon depart.” I turned away.

“Wait!” she cried. “Tarl! Tarl!”

“Did you dare,” I asked, not turning, “place the name of a free man, so, on your lips, those of a slave?”

“You cannot abandon me!” she said.

“Why not?” I asked, refusing to look upon her.

“You could leave me here, alone, braceleted, helpless, on a wharf, at the World’s End?”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I am Talena, the daughter of Marlenus of Ar!” she cried.

I turned about, to face her.

“Once,” I said, “then no longer.”

Surely she understood she had been disowned, and was then no longer the daughter of the great Marlenus; surely she understood that she was now an item of livestock, of slave stock, and had no name but what masters might put on her, should they choose to name her.

To be sure, she was a beautiful object, a lovely article of merchandise. Similarly, there are beautiful kaiila, some with sleeker lines than others.

“You will not leave me here!”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because I own you,” she said. “You are mine. You are caught in the toils of my net!”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Love!” she said. “You love me! You are mine! You are helplessly in love with me!”

“No,” I said.

“‘No’?” she said.

“No,” I said. “Once, perhaps, but no more. I know you now.”

“Beast!” she hissed.

“As you wish,” I said.

“Even so,” she said, “you will not leave me here!”

“Why not?” I said.

“I am beautiful!” she said.

I surveyed the greenish cast in those flashing eyes, the olive skin, the loose, black hair, rich and abundant about her shoulders, the delicacy of her features, so deliciously and exquisitely feminine, so exciting, the hint of a marketable figure beneath those clumsy robes of concealment. It was hard to believe that something so lovely, and slavelike, could be of the blood of Marlenus of Ar. She might, on the block, I thought, bring as much as two silver tarsks, sold, of course, as a girl, only as a girl, as nothing but a girl, not as an item of perhaps political interest.

“Comely, surely,” I said.

“Commander!” said a mariner, having descended the gangplank, which few now climbed, and pattered toward me, his sandals slapping on the warm, broad planks of the wharf. “We must cast off! Hurry! Hurry!”

“I am with you,” I said, turning, to follow him.

“Wait! Wait!” she cried.

I continued on, striding away.

I heard the rustle of the cumbersome garments, and the sound of her small, bared feet, as she hurried behind me. As before, she had not been allowed sandals, or slippers. Dramatic was the contrast between the rich, abundant, colorful robes of concealment, suitable for a free woman of a high city on the continent, and her feet, as bared as those of a low slave.

“Wait, wait!” she wept.

I turned about, abruptly, impatiently.

She stopped, instantly.

“Do not abandon me!” she said. “Do not leave me here!”

She read my angry gaze, and knelt.

Was she not a slave?

It was pleasant to have her on her knees before me. What man does not want a beautiful woman on her knees before him?

Too, she was a slave.

Slaves are selected for their beauty.

What man does not desire to own a beautiful slave?

I then turned away, again.

“Wait, Master!” cried the voice, behind me, wildly, pleadingly. “Do not abandon Adraste! Do not leave Adraste behind! Please, wait, Master! Adraste dares not rise from her knees without permission! Adraste begs Master to take her with him.”

I turned about, once more.

“Hurry!” urged the mariner.

She was on her knees, some feet behind, broken, shuddering, conquered, lips trembling. “Do not leave Adraste here!” she wept. “Take her with you! She begs your collar, your chains, whatever marking you would put on her! Do not refuse her, again. Once more she is prostrate before you, a piteous supplicant! Have her trained, have her taught the kisses and caresses of the slave, have her taught the lascivious dances of the slave, the movements of the slave! She is before you, begging to be yours, wholly and without compromise! Put her to your feet, despise her and abuse her, if you wish, as the worthless, meaningless slave she is!”

“Better to leave you here,” I said, “to be put to what purposes might please the Pani.”

“Love me!” she cried.

“Do not speak foolishly,” I said. “You are a slave. One does not love slaves; one owns them, one lusts for them, one masters them, and teaches them their sex.”

There is a Gorean saying that a woman learns her sex only in a collar.

“All women,” she said, “desire to be lusted for, and mastered!”

“The slave exists,” I said, “to please the master, wholly, and in every way.”

“I know,” she said.

“She is not her own,” I said. “She is the master’s.”

“I want to be my master’s,” she said. “I want to be the object of his lust, of his unbridled and unequivocal lust!”

“Then you are a slave,” I said.

“Yes!” she said. “I am a slave! Lust for me, own me, master me! Do you think I want the diffidence, the timidity, the respectful, shy, timorous handling endured by a free woman? I want a master! I have dreamed of a master! I long for a master!”

“Liar,” I said.

“Please,” she said. “It is true, Master! Do you not know this from as long ago as the tents of Mintar?”

“Clever she-sleen,” I said.

“No!” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said, “I will convey you to Ar, to the mercy of Marlenus, and that of the court torturers.”

She regarded me wildly, miserably.

“Death by public torture can take a month,” I said. “Doubtless thousands from Ar, and her environs, for a thousand pasangs about, will come to see you, to witness the fate of a traitor and false Ubara, to insult her, to jeer her, to mock and curse her, to spit upon her, to add their flaming twig or tiny splinter to her torments.”

“No, no!” she wept.

“It will be holiday,” I said.

“You would sell me for the ten thousand golden tarns of double weight!” she said.

“It would be more than I could get for you on the block,” I said.

“Beast!” she wept.

“My needs are simple, and my means sufficient,” I said. “I could scatter the wealth to multitudes in the street. It would be a splendid gesture, and would mean holiday, indeed.”

“But you will not do so,” she said.