Rogue of Gor (26 page)

"None," said he.,

"What can I do for you?" I asked, sadly.

"Give me a drink," he said.

I turned away from him and walked up the street, to the tavern of Tasdron, which was still open, though much subdued. I entered the tavern. I did not speak to anyone, nor did any meet my eyes. I purchased a bottle of paga which I then took from that tavern, retracing my steps to the slumped, dark figure sitting against the wall. I stopped before him, and he lifted his head from his knees, and looked at me, blearily. I handed the bottle to him, which, fumbling, quickly, he reached for. He bit and pulled the cork from the bottle. He clutched the bottle with both hands. He looked up at me, sitting by the wall.

"I am sorry," I said, "to have spoken cruelly to you. It was not my right. It was in anger, in rage, in frustration, that I spoke. I am truly sorry."

"Do you pity me?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I pity you."

Slowly, by an act of will, in cold fury, movement by movement, the man struggled unsteadily to his feet. There was a terrible fury in his eyes. "Pity?" he asked. "Me?"

"Yes," I said "You have fallen. You cannot rise. You cannot help yourself. It is not your fault. I do not blame you."

"Pity?" he asked. "Me?"

"I know that you have been disgraced," I said. "I know that the scarlet has been taken from you."

"No one," said he, "can take the scarlet from me, once it is granted, unless it be by the sword."

He tore open the tunic he wore, revealing beneath it, dark, blackish in appearance, in the moonlight, the scarlet.

"This," said he, "can be taken from me only by the sword. Let him dare to do so who will."

"You are finished," I said. "Drink."

He looked dismally, angrily, at the bottle clutched in his right hand.

"You have forgotten the name of the warrior," I said, "who was once of Port Cos. He is no more. Drink."

The man then held the bottle near the necks with both hands. For a long moment he looked at it. His shoulders then hunched forward, and he moaned in pain. Then, slowly, painfully, he straightened his body. He lifted his head to the Gorean moons and, in the dark street, in anguish uttered a wild cry. It began as a cry of anguish, and pain, and ended as a howl of rage. He turned about and, with two hands, broke the bottle suddenly into a thousand fragments against the stone. In the darkness he was cut with glass and soiled with scattered paga.

"I remember him," he said.

"What was his name?" I asked.

"Callimachus," he said. "His name is Callimachus, of Port Cos."

"Is he gone?" I asked.

Then the man, with two fists, struck against the wall. "No," he said, with a terrible ferocity. There was blood on his hands, dark, running between the fingers.

"Where is he?" I asked.

Slowly the man turned to face me. "He is here," he said. "I am he."

"I am pleased to hear it," I said. I reached down and picked up the fallen blade. I handed it to him. "This," I said, "is yours."

He sheathed the blade. He looked at me, for a long time. "You have done me service," he said. "How can I repay you?"

"I have a plan," I said. "Teach me the sword."

23

I AM MADE WELCOME IN THE HOLDING OF POLICRATES;

KLIOMENES MAKES TEST OF ME;

I SELECT A GIRL FOR MY NIGHT'S PLEASURE

The naked slave girl, in her bells and jewels, writhed on the scarlet tiles of the floor before us.

Policrates, sitting beside me, behind the broad, low table, musingly fitted together the two pieces of yellowish, brown stone, the two halves of the once-shattered topaz. Again I found it startling, and impressive, how the figure of a river galley emerged from the brownish discolorations in the two pieces of stone, once they were fitted together. There was no mistaking that they were the two halves of what was once an unusual, divided stone.

"Fascinating," said Policrates. "And how is my friend, Ragnar Voskjard?"

"Well," said I, "and he, of course, inquires after your health."

"I am well," said Policrates, "and you may, upon your return, assure him that I am eager to participate in our common venture."

"In twenty days," I said, "allowing for my return and the fitting of our ships, we shall be at your sea gate."

"Excellent," said Policrates.

"We shall then," I said, "proceed to Ar's Station, to sack the stores and burn her vessels. Following that we shall wreak similar havoc upon Port Cos. These two major ports crippled the river, then, for all practical purposes, will be ours."

"It is amusing," said Policrates, "that the tension between Cos and Ar prevents the linkage of their powers upon the river."

"Their foolishness in this respect," I said, "should redound considerably to our advantage."

"True," laughed Policrates. "And let us drink to that!"

He lifted his goblet and we clinked our goblets together, and I reached across, before Policrates, extending my goblet, too, to Kliomenes, who, surlily, sat on the right of Policrates. We three, then, touched goblets, and then we drank. Kliomenes eyed me narrowly.

I turned away and gave my attention to the slave writhing on the tiles before us.

She was performing a need dance, of a type not uncommon among Gorean female slaves. Such a, dance usually proceeds in clearly defined phrases, evident not merely in the expressions and movements of the girl but in the nature of the accompanying music. There are usually five phases to such a dance. In the first phase the girl, dancing, feigns indifference to the presence of men, before whom, as a slave, she must perform. In the second phase; for she has not yet been raped, her distress and uneasiness, her restlessness, her disturbance by her sexual urges, must become subtly more manifest. Here it must be evident that she is beginning to feel her sexuality, and drives, profoundly, and yet is struggling against them. Toward the end of this phase it must become clear not only that she has sexual needs, and deep I, ones, but that she is beginning to fear that she may not be, (simply as she is, of sufficient interest to men to obtain their satisfaction. Here, need, coupled with anxiety and self-doubt, for she has not yet been seized by strong men, must become clear. In the third phase of the dance she, in an almost ladylike, fashion, acknowledges herself defeated in her attempt to conceal her sexuality; she then, again in an almost ladylike fashion, delicately but clearly, with restraint but unmistakably, acknowledges, and publicly, before masters, that she has sexual needs. Then, with smiles, and gestures, displaying herself, she makes manifest her readiness for the service of men, her willingness, and her receptivity. She invites them, so to speak to have her. But she has not yet been seized by an arm or an ankle, or by her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or hair, and pulled from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing? What if she is not to be fulfilled? What if she must continue to dance, alone, unnoticed. At this point it becomes clear to her that it is by no means a foregone conclusion that men will find her of interest, or that they will see fit to satisfy her. She must strive to be pleasing. If she is not good enough she may be chained, unfulfilled, another night alone in the kennel. There are always other girls. She must earn her rape. Too, if she should be insufficiently pleasing consistently it is likely that she will be slain. Goreans place few impediments in the way of the liberation of a slave female's sexuality. In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances her need and, shamelessly, begs for her sexual satisfaction. This phase of the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. The fifth, and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic and exciting. In this phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire and terrified that she may not be found sufficiently pleasing, clearly manifests, and utterly, that she is a slave female. In this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her feet. Rather, sitting, rolling, and changing position, on her side, her back, her belly, half kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching out, bending backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing to her body, presenting it to masters for their inspection and interest, whimpering, moaning, crying out, brazenly presenting herself as a slave, pleading for her rape, she writhes, a piteous, begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman fit for and begging for the touch of a master, a woman begging to become, at the least touch of her master, a totally submitted slave. The fourth phase of the dance, as I have mentioned, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. This portion of the dance, the fifth portion, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Slave Girl.

"I had expected the topaz to be delivered earlier," said Policrates. "I had sent word to Ragnar Voskjard more than fifty days ago."

"There were many deliberations in the holding of Ragnar," I said. "Junctions of this kind are not to be entered upon lightly. Too, I was detained in Victoria. There are many guardsmen in Victoria, both of Port Cos and Ar's Station, who search for the bearer of the topaz."

"I would feel better," said Kliomenes, "if I could see your face."

"The mask I wear," I said, "must be to conceal my identity."

"It is common, Kliomenes," said Policrates, "for the courier, he carrying the topaz, to cover his features in foreign holdings. The concealment of his identity is essential to his work."

"For all you know," I said to Kliomenes, "I might be Ragnar Voskjard himself."

Kliomenes shrank back.

"But you are not," said Policrates, "for Ragnar, a shrewd fellow, would not venture upon such dangerous work as the personal transport of the topaz."

"I think that is true," I grinned. "At any rate it is certainly true, at least, that I am not Ragnar Voskjard."

"There is something about you which seems familiar," said Kliomenes. "Have I ever seen you before?"

"Perhaps," I said.

"You see, Kliomenes," said Policrates, "our friend may be well known upon the river. If so, it is scarcely in Ragnar Voskjard's interest, or in ours, or in the interest of our friend here, to be recognized as the courier of the topaz. If he is highly placed in some town on the river then his utility to Voskjard and to us would be considerably diminished if it were understood such a highly placed person was secretly in league with men such as ourselves and Voskjard."

"True," said Kliomenes.

"And I think we may be certain," said Policrates, “that our friend is indeed well known in at least one town on the river."

"That is true," I admitted. Indeed, I was reasonably well known in Victoria.

The music ended with a swirl of sound and the girl, with a jangle of bells, lay before the table of Policrates, whimpering, her hand extended. She lifted her head. I read the unmistakable need in her eyes. She was indeed a slave female.

"Master!" she whimpered. "Please, Master."

Policrates glanced at her. He had scarcely paid her attention in the dance.

"Throw me to your men, please, Master," she begged.

Policrates gestured to a brawny fellow who, coming up behind the girl, bent down and, by her upper arms, lifted her from the floor. She was helpless in his arms. Only her toes, with painted, scarlet nails, touched the floor. Policrates gestured again, to a table to the side, and the fellow, carrying the girl, went to the table. He then threw her, with a jangle of bells, and a clatter of plates and goblets, to the surface of the table. Instantly the girl was held down on the table, on her back, her arms and legs held apart, and several men crowded about her. I heard her cry out with pleasure.

"I know who you remind me of," said Kliomenes.

"Who?" I asked.

"A brawler and dock worker of Victoria," he said, "one called Jason."

I smiled.

"There is a resemblance," said Policrates.

"Jason, of Victoria," said Kliomenes, "did not know the sword"

"Then how could I be he?" I asked.

"Draw!" cried Kliomenes, leaping across the table, and whipping out his blade.

I looked, unconcernedly, at Policrates. "My identity is surely established sufficiently by my former possession of the topaz," I said. "Surely, too, none who were not of the party of Ragnar Voskjard, should they come into the possession of the topaz, would dare to bring it here. What could be the point?"

"These things seem to me true," said Policrates, "but, as Kliomenes has said, there seems a resemblance."

"Surely I am not to be blamed for that," I smiled.

"Will it hurt to make test of the matter?" inquired Policrates.

I grinned. "No," I said. "But, on the other hand, it is well known upon the river that Kliomenes is an excellent swordsman. Surely I should be forgiven if I do not find myself eager to be spitted upon his blade."

"Draw," smiled Policrates.

I threw the cloak behind me and drew forth the blade which was slung at my hip. With one foot I moved aside the low table, watching Kliomenes, that he not attack me as I step upon the table, maintaining an uneven balance.