Smugglers of Gor (19 page)

“Elsewhere,” he said.

“Stand clear,” I said.

He moved to the side.

“Beware,” I called, to any about.

Four more strokes, and there was a gross splintering, a breakage of wood, and the tree fell crashing to the earth, half obscured by a rising cloud of dust and leaping, shimmering leaves.

“You recruited me,” I said to Tyrtaios.

“I think you may prove useful,” he said.

“How so, more than another?” I asked.

“You have skills,” he said.

“Many could best me in the songs of steel,” I said.

“I do not think so many,” he said. “I could, Tarl Cabot, the commander of the tarn cavalry could, and doubtless several others, but not so many.”

I knew little of the tarn cavalry, though it had been formed, and was still being trained, in the vicinity. It did not seem to me that a large number of tarns would be necessary in patrolling a river, certainly not a cavalry of such.

“Two staters of gold,” I said, “is a high price for one sword.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Therefore,” I said, “more is involved.”

“Of course,” he said.

“This is the first time here,” I said, “that you have seen fit to seek me out.”

“I had not forgotten you,” he said.

“What is my fee intended to purchase?” I asked.

“A quick eye, a swift hand, of course,” he said.

“But more,” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“My caste has something to do with these matters,” I said.

“Yours, and perhaps some others,” he said.

“I am a mere Merchant,” I said.

“A Slaver,” he said.

“A Merchant,” I said.

“I suppose,” said he, “it is merely a matter of the goods, of one sort or another, with which one deals.”

“Surely,” I said.

“But,” said he, “I would suppose the acquisition of some goods is more perilous than the acquisition of others, and that some goods are more pleasant, once acquired, to handle, enjoy, manage, process, and sell, than others.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“One supposes,” he said, “one might expect courage from one of such a caste, perhaps a willingness, under certain conditions, to accept risks, perhaps serious risks, if the end in view might justify such an acceptance. One supposes one of such a caste must be able to plan, to follow through with plans, or, if it seemed wise, to depart from a plan, even suddenly, to change or alter plans, even to withdraw, and plan anew, that one such must be not only bold, but subtle and shrewd, that one such must understand the value of deception, of surprise, of patience, of discretion, of secrecy.”

“Perhaps you would care to speak to me,” I said.

“I may be here for such a purpose,” he said.

“So, speak,” I said.

“We expect loyalty,” he said.

“‘We’?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“I have taken fee,” I said.

“And is not gold the best guarantor of fidelity?”

“Commonly,” I said.

“And of much else,” he said.

“Often,” I said.

“It is our expectation,” he said, “that you can guard a confidence, and might well discharge tasks to which you might be assigned.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“And without demur,” said he, “without requesting, or demanding, reasons.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“A Merchant,” said he, “is one concerned with profit.”

“Commonly,” I said.

“And there may be much profit,” he said.

“Excellent,” I said.

“I trust, of course,” he said, “that you are not a fool, one who harkens to myths and lies.”

“Myths and lies?” I said.

“For example,” he said, “those of honor.”

“It is my hope,” I said, “that I am not a fool.”

“You are familiar with the wands,” he said, “those about the perimeter of the camp.”

“Of course,” I said. “Their purpose was made clear to us, on the beach, and, later, in the camp.”

These were slender wands, a yard or so in height, planted in the soil, with a bit of cloth tied upon them. They occurred every several yards, or so. One was not permitted, without authorization, and accompaniment, to venture beyond the wands. The perimeter was patrolled by larls, usually released at night, which were trained to track, seek out, and fall upon any who might be so foolish or unwary as to have left the camp without authorization or accompaniment. The beasts responded to certain signals associated with food, which signals were changed from time to time. One was reasonably safe if one knew the signals. The beasts were occasionally brought in, even at night, their normal release time, if lanes were to be opened, for one reason or another. To be sure, few knew when the larls were to be released, whether during the day or at night, though, as suggested, the night release was more common, probably because desertions took place most frequently under the cover of darkness. Whereas I had heard them in the forest, on our column’s march to Tarncamp, I had not seen them. In any event, as far as I knew, our column had not been threatened. To be sure, we had kept to a particular trail, one, I had gathered, of several, and had been approaching, not attempting to exit, Tarncamp.

“My superior,” he said, “is troubled by one matter.”

“Who is your superior?” I asked.

“It is not necessary that you know,” he said.

“Lord Okimoto?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he said, “perhaps not.”

“You came to speak,” I said.

“My superior,” he said, “has had you watched.”

“And perhaps others are watched, as well?” I said.

“Doubtless,” he said.

“And you amongst them?” I ventured.

“I would suppose so,” he said.

Many are the strands of intrigue, and a tremor in one strand, as in the web of the urt spider, is often registered in several others. Not unoften he who presumes himself a spy, secure in station and privileged in access, reporting upon others, is himself under suspicion. Is it not often the case that the first is concerned with the second, and the second with the third, and the third with the first, and in the center of all this, attending to the strands, rather like the urt spider itself, there is something which observes and waits. But here the web is invisible, and what observes and waits is unseen.

“Should I be flattered,” I asked, “that I might be watched?”

“That you are watched more than others?” he said.

“Yes,” I said. I knew the camp was tense. The men brought here were mostly mercenaries, strong, rough men, many of whom were fugitives from the forces which had garrisoned and exploited Ar. They expected, and were hungry for, the prizes of war. Among them, too, were thieves, brigands, and cutthroats, some of whose names and descriptions adorned the public boards in more than one city. Some of the higher sort had been collaborators in Ar, who had fled the city to avoid impalement. Several had mocked and forsworn Home Stones. Such men were dangerous. They had not come to the wilderness to weary themselves with prolonged, arduous tasks. In almost every case, it had been supposed that the silver stater which had brought them north was the harbinger of others to follow. But none had followed. There was much discontent in the camp. A weapon unsheathed by silver, when the silver is gone, remains unsheathed, and dangerous. Squabbles were frequent, over gambling, and slaves. Some had attacked Pani warriors, and had fared badly. I had heard of several desertions. Perhaps some were successful, but the remains of bodies had been frequently dragged to the camp. The jaws of more than one larl, returning to its housing in the morning, had been stained, dark with matted, dried blood. Some days ago there had been a failed attempt on the life of Lord Nishida, which attempt had been shortly followed by a presumably coordinated, large-scale attack on the camp, one beaten away, on the ground, by Pani and mercenaries, and in the air, by Lord Nishida’s tarn cavalry, commanded by the tarnsman, Tarl Cabot. I knew him only by reputation. His relationship to the Pani seemed obscure. It was said his sword was quick and his temper short. I supposed him an able officer. It was said some men would risk their life to serve under him. This made little sense to me. He was, of course, a tarnsman. Few men are such. Few dare the tarn, and, of those, many but once. It had become clear, after the attack, that this wilderness was not only a remote, miserable, dangerous venue in which we, far from civilization, were for most practical purposes incarcerated, and, under discipline, were put to manual tasks befitting the lower castes, but was, in addition, somehow involved in a project of such a nature that serious, determined forces were aligned against us, forces willing to destroy us and our work altogether. We not only did not like where we were and what we were doing, but we were at risk, as well, for no reason we understood, from the hostility of apparently numerous, formidable, skilled foes. We were in jeopardy, and knew not why. We knew not even what we were about. Two fellows had attempted to incite mutiny. They had been crucified. I had not fought in the attack on the camp, as I, with several others, in a work party, had been better than four pasangs from the camp, improving the east road, that allegedly leading to “Shipcamp,” presumably named for the barges being constructed there to descend the Alexandra to the coast.

“You have scouted the wands too frequently,” he said. “Perhaps you contemplate desertion.”

“No,” I said.

“Why do you remain?” he asked.

“Where there are two golden staters,” I said, “perhaps there are more.”

“Not for having taken fee, then, not for honor?” he asked.

“I fear there is little honor in this camp,” I said, “little here but the hope of gain, and the fear of the forest, and of death.”

“Things will change,” he said, “before ice closes the Alexandra.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Much begins here,” he said.

“But is not to end here,” I said.

“Why do you frequent the wands?” he asked.

“Perhaps to prevent the escape of others,” I said.

“The Pani will attend to that,” he said, “and the beasts.”

“Might I not be rewarded,” I asked, “if I brought back, say, a fugitive slave?”

“The slaves are not stupid,” he said. “If they were, they would not have been collared.”

“Perhaps one,” I said, “even one of intelligence, might not realize the impossibility of escape.”

“Only a barbarian might be so naive,” he said.

“A barbarian, then,” I said.

“Female, marked, collared, half-naked, clad kajir?” he said.

“A possibility,” I said.

“More likely she would be stolen,” he said.

I supposed that so. There was, in effect, no escape for a female slave. Female slaves, recaptured, are commonly, as a matter of civility, returned to their masters for discipline. Some are doubtless picked up by others, to be sold or subjected to an even harsher slavery, as they were apprehended fugitives. There is, in effect, given the culture, nowhere to escape. It would be much the same with a strayed
kaiila
. The alternatives are not bondage or freedom, but what collar will be worn. Some slaves are tracked by sleen. This can be very unpleasant, particularly if she cannot reach the waiting cage in time.

“To be sure,” said Tyrtaios, “such a one might manage to pass the wands.”

“True,” I said. And then, one supposes, they would fall to the larls, or forest panthers, or forest sleen. They might even intrude inadvertently into the territory of a shaggy forest bosk, and be trampled or gored. Perhaps some might be apprehended by Panther Girls, and exposed on the coast, bound provocatively to stakes, to be sold to the crews of passing ships. But many, too, I supposed, might perish in the forest, due to the severity of elements, the scarcity of food.

“My superior,” he said, “would not consider seriously that your frequenting of the perimeters might be so generously and eccentrically motivated.”

“I like to be alone,” I said, “away from the camp.”

“Who would you expect to meet at the wands?” he asked.

“No one,” I said.

“If you were another,” he said, “you would have been killed by now.”

“But I have been spared,” I said.

I myself was not fully clear why I spent the time I did, not that it was that much, in the vicinity of the wands. It was good to know the land, and good to be alone, sometimes, and good, sometimes, to have time to think. And surely no one, even a barbarian, would be foolish enough to approach, let alone linger by, the wands. Certainly, in such a place, she would be in great jeopardy. Too, the camp was large, and the perimeter considerable in extent. The chances of encountering a single slave at a given time at a given point would be minimal, at best. But I had searched the camp, insofar as it was practical, and found no trace of a particular, attractive beast, even chained on her mat in one of the slave houses, not that I was interested in her, for she was no more than another course, or serving, of collar meat, though perhaps a rather nice morsel of such. I did frequent the slave houses, from time to time, however, as the mat slaves were often changed, not, of course, to look for her, which would have been absurd, but as a matter of idle curiosity. Who knew what might be found there? Might the offerings not be refreshed occasionally? Too, a slave was not infrequently bought off her chain. And then she would be replaced with another. Who knew what new morsel might be found chained there, illuminated in the light of the candle, lifted in its holder? Perhaps something interesting. Who knew? When I would venture to the slave house I would leave Asperiche behind in the hut, bound hand and foot. Such things are good for a woman, as it reminds them that they are women, that they are the properties of men, and that it will be done with them precisely as men please. In passing, one might mention that the offerings in the slave house were often flavored with former free women of Ar, often once of high caste, importance, power, and wealth. These were frequently fugitives from Ar, traitors, profiteers, collaborators, and such, many escaped from the proscription lists. Many had fallen slave following their flight from the city, females alone and defenseless in the fields, and many had purchased their conduct from the city from escaping mercenaries, at the cost of the collar itself, mercenaries unwilling to be burdened by free women. Accordingly, now, in Tarncamp, many a lowly fellow, who might have never laid eyes on one of these jewels of glorious Ar, who knew her only by reputation, who might have been beaten for lingering in the vicinity of a particular tower in which she resided, who might have been blinded for daring to part the curtains of her closed palanquin, could now find several such women on the end of a chain in the slave house, as naked and accessible as a common paga slut. Too, they learned their collars quickly, not that they were given much choice in the matter. There was soon no difference between them, and other women, at least those in collars. I supposed it was pleasant for some fellows to put such women to use, hitherto so far above them, to have her gasping, moaning, thrashing, and begging, and, as he saw fit to leave, to have her plead with him to linger, if but for a moment. Such women had now learned there was more to life than raiment and jewels; there was also the collar and the touch of a master. Some men, and I muchly disapprove of this, would occasionally bring such a helpless slave to the brink of ecstasy, and then leave, denying her the pathetically beseeched release for which every nerve in her body begged. This, I think, is cruel. Could they not forget the past, and realize that the lovely, aroused, tethered beast at their disposal is now only another slave? And one supposes, as well, that many of these women, escaped from proscription lists, and perhaps wanted in Ar, were grateful for the opportunity to slip unnoticed into the obscurity of bondage, of becoming only another negligible, vendible object. And, of course, as their masters would see to it, they would eventually become, as other slaves, the helpless prisoners of slave fires.