Smugglers of Gor (27 page)

“Why would Tersites not permit the ship to see?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps he is afraid to let it see, for what it might see.”

“You intend to embark?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Much is at stake.”

“Perhaps a world,” I said, “or its division.”

“You need do only what you are told,” he said.

“And what am I to be told?” I asked.

“There is a cargo,” he said, “two large crates, heavy, with mysterious contents, now across the river, for safekeeping, which are to be secretly embarked.”

“Games are afoot,” I said, “in which the dice are to be judiciously weighted.”

“The cargo was conveyed across the river, weeks ago,” he said. “It must now be brought back, to the wharf, to be stowed aboard the great vessel.”

“There are guards,” I said.

“I have selected them,” he said.

I wondered how it was that Tyrtaios would have had the authority to make such selections.

“Tonight,” he said, “clouds are likely to conceal the moons. Boats come and go. I think there will be little difficulty in placing the cargo aboard.”

“And if there is?” I asked.

“Then men will die,” he said.

“What of the Pani?” I asked.

“They have their own concerns, their own projects, their own wars,” he said.

“Still,” I said.

“One high amongst them is involved in this,” he said.

“I see,” I said. I had supposed so.

“A place has been prepared for the cargo,” he said. “It will be stowed, netted, and lashed down amongst objects of a similar appearance. An innocent labeling will identify it on the manifests.”

“The manifests are already prepared?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“This business is to be transacted tonight,” I said.

“Conditions permitting,” he said. “Clouds, the moons obscured, darkness, an empty dock, the absence of random patrols.”

“Mariners speak of a storm tonight,” I said.

“So much the better,” he said.

“If all is so innocent, or seemingly so,” I said, “why not manage the business in the day?”

“Too many are about,” he said. “Smiths, carpenters, sail makers, sawyers, docksmen, mariners, wagoners, armsmen, even slaves. Even one who might be curious, or suspicious, or ask a question, is far too many.”

“Who are your friends?” I asked.

“Friends?” he asked.

“Those by whom you have been contacted,” I said.

“They are in the forest,” he said.

“Not across the river, with the boxes?”

“They fear to be near them,” he said.

“Surely they are innocent enough, mere crates, mere boxes,” I said.

“Doubtless,” he said.

“Nothing in there is alive,” I said.

“Not now,” he said.

“If they are in the forest, if beyond the wands,” I said, “they must fear the larls.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “it is the larls which might fear them.”

“They have access to a forbidden weapon,” I conjectured.

“I do not think so,” said Tyrtaios.

“Then?” I said.

But Tyrtaios did not respond.

Most Goreans, I was sure, certainly those of the First Knowledge, knew little of forbidden weapons. There were rumors, whispers, stories, of course, of lightning sticks, tubes of fire, bows which cast quarrels so swift and small one could not even see them in flight, of metal rocks which burst apart like ripe pods in the Schendi death plant, and such.

“I have not seen these boxes,” I said.

“They are large, and heavy, but manageable,” he said. “As before, we will fashion a platform athwart two linked longboats. I anticipate no difficulty. Meet us here at the eighteenth Ahn. This should give us the time to cross the river, fetch the cargo, fasten it on the platform, come back, free it, and get it aboard.”

“All by the twentieth Ahn,” I said.

“Earlier, if possible,” he said.

“The shore side of the dock will be clear,” I said.

“It will be seen to,” he said.

“What of passers-by?” I asked.

“It will be seen to,” he said, “by the knife.”

“The wind is rising,” I said. “I think the mariners are right. There is to be a storm.”

“Wear a cloak,” he said, “a dark cloak.”

I tried to slip the shackle from my ankle. It was held with perfection, of course, as was doubtless the intention of the masters, the brutes and beasts who owned us.

“What are you doing?” inquired Janina, turning toward me, with a rustle of her own chain. It was muchly dark in the log kennel. The kennel was low-ceilinged, windowless, and some twenty paces, master’s paces, in length. There was a small hanging lamp at each end. We are stripped in the kennel, but we have our blankets. My shackle, with its short chain, was attached to the long chain, which was fastened at each end of the kennel. “Nothing,” I said, angrily.

“You will scrape your ankle doing that,” she said.

“The masters will not be pleased if you mark yourself,” said Relia, across the kennel, on the other long chain. “They like us smooth, to their touch.”

“Do they!” I said, angrily.

But I could remember, only recently, how concerned I had been, that I would be smooth to the touch of masters. Slaves are concerned with such things. They hope to be desirable, and pleasing. After all, they are slaves.

“In the last few days,” said Relia, “you have been so different, so surly, petulant, and unhappy. What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“It was after she returned from the dock,” said Relia, to Janina.

“What happened?” asked Janina.

“Go to sleep,” said another slave, turning in her blanket.

I wept. “You cannot slip your shackle,” said Relia.

“She knows that,” said Janina. “It is symbolic, if anything, something to do, frustration.”

“She could still mark herself,” said Relia.

“She is a barbarian,” said another.

“Sleep,” said the slave, who had turned away from us.

“Day after day,” I said, “carrying water, back and forth, doing errands, running, fetching, cooking, serving, the kitchens, the shops, the ironing, the laundering, the sewing of rent tunics!”

“What do you expect?” asked a slave.

“She is a barbarian,” said another.

“But a pretty barbarian,” said another.

“They are all pretty,” said another, “else they would not be brought here.”

“Some are beautiful,” said another.

“Not as beautiful as we,” said another.

“No,” said another.

“You are not in a rich man’s house, a pleasure garden, the palace of a Ubar,” said Relia, “with little to do but sing and play the kalika.”

“More likely,” said another, “with little to do until it was time to adorn your master’s slave ring.”

“I do not know how to sing and play the kalika,” I said.

“She cannot even dance,” said another slave.

“All slaves can dance,” said another.

“How is that?” asked another.

“They are women,” said another.

“Some are better than others,” said a slave.

“Of course,” said another.

“If she were more intelligent,” said another, “she might be educated, to be a more interesting chattel.”

“I am educated,” I said.

“How many breeds of kaiila are there?” asked a slave.

“I do not know,” I said.

“When do talenders bloom?” asked another.

“I do not know,” I said.

“How many eggs does the Vosk gull lay?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Children know such things,” said a slave.

“Surely she has more serious opinions,” said another, “as to the ranking of the nine classic poets, the values of the Turian hexameter, should prose be allowed in song drama, the historicity of Hesius, the reform of the calendar, the dark geometries, the story of the czehar, the policies of the Salarian confederation, the nature of the moons, the sumptuary laws of Ti, the history of Ar.”

“Some men enjoy a conversation with a slave,” said another, “until they remind her that she is in a collar, and put her to the furs where she belongs.”

“I am educated on my world,” I said, “not yours!”

“This is now your world,” said a slave.

“And on it you are uneducated,” said another.

“She is illiterate and stupid,” said a slave.

“I am not stupid!” I said.

“Ignorant then,” said another.

“Yes, ignorant and illiterate,” said another.

“But she is pretty,” said Janina.

“She might look well, roped at a man’s feet,” said another.

“As Earth sluts go,” said another.

“So, too, might a she-tarsk,” said another.

I shook my ankle, angrily, with a rattle of chain.

Two of the girls laughed.

“It is on you, little vulo,” said a girl.

“Do not demean me!” I said.

“How can one demean a slave?” asked a girl.

“I am not a slave!” I cried.

“We are all slaves,” said a girl.

“Not I!” I cried.

“Do you think we do not know a slave when we see one?” asked a girl. “Consider your figure, your desires, your needs, what you most want.”

“A collar,” said another.

“No!” I cried.

“It is obvious,” said another, “even to look upon you. You are a natural slave, a slave in your very nature, a needful chattel, one miserable and unfulfilled otherwise, a needful chattel requiring a master.”

“No!” I said. “No!” I pulled at the chain. How I feared what they said was true! How I feared I might be a slave! And surely I had understood myself as, and accepted myself as, a slave, a rightful slave, even on Earth. But that was before, before!

“For days you have been different,” said Relia.

“What happened?” asked Janina.

“Nothing,” I said, angrily.

“You will soon feel better,” said Janina.

“It is not like you had been sold from a beloved household,” said another.

“Do not fret, Laura,” said Relia. “You need only the proper master, and a touch of his whip.”

“I am going to escape,” I said.

There was at that point a great crash of thunder, and several of us cried out. I had cried out for I was startled. I suppose we all were. I, however, unlike, I am sure, several of the others, took the mighty crash, which seemed to shake the very logs of the long kennel, as no more than a natural thing, a simple, if impressive, disturbing, harsh, violent manifestation of suddenly fierce, unusual weather. Some of the girls, however, particularly those of the First Knowledge, deemed lightning, at least upon occasion, the cast, fiery missile of angered Priest-Kings, and its successor, thunder, as proclaiming, for all to understand, the fact of its terrible passage. A moment later we heard a torrent of rain beat against the low roof of the kennel.

“To where?” asked a girl.

“I do not know,” I said, “to anywhere.”

“When will you escape?” asked a girl.

“Sooner or later,” I said, “I will be assigned away from the dock area, to root out vegetables, to pick berries, to gather firewood, something.”

“Do not run,” said a girl.

“There is nowhere to run,” said another girl.

“You are collared,” said another.

“You will be hamstrung, fed to sleen,” said a girl.

“Fear the forest,” said another.

“You will not be able to find your way, and what way might you try to find?”

“You are kajira. You will have no way to find.”

“The only way for you is to the feet of a master.”

“You will wander in circles,” said another.

“You will be lost,” said another.

“You will starve,” said another.

“Winter is coming,” said another.

“There are animals,” said another. “Sleen, panthers.”

“I am not afraid,” I said, though I was afraid, very afraid.

“You do not want freedom,” said a girl. “You want a master. You want to kneel naked before a man, and bend down and kiss his feet. You want to lift your head, and lick and kiss his whip. You want to be owned, to belong wholly, to submit, to obey, to be dominated, to be mastered, to be possessed as only a slave can be possessed, to grovel, to selflessly love and serve.”

“No, no, no!” I said.

“Whatever man sees you will bring you back, or keep you,” said another.

“Perhaps they will free me!” I said.

“You are too pretty to free,” said another.

“You will be taken in hand, and thrown to a man’s feet,” said another, “where you belong.”

“And where you want to be,” said another.

“No, no!” I said.

“Avoid the wands,” said Janina.

“There are larls,” said another.

“I am not afraid of larls,” I said. I would count them, in the cages, and make away, and would have so great a start that they could not catch me.

“Then you are a fool,” said Relia.

“Larls are not men,” said Janina. “They will not care that you are clever, or pretty. They will not ravish you or shackle you, or beat you, or sell you to another. They will eat you.”

There was another crash of thunder, and the rain continued to fall heavily.

“It is a terrible night,” said a girl.

“None will be about this night,” said another.

“May the roof hold,” said another.

A drainage ditch had been dug about the kennel, and I did not fear that water would be likely to seep into the kennel. The roof was sturdy, and caulked with ship’s tar.

“It may rain for days,” said a girl.

“It is the season,” said another.

“Then snow,” said yet another.

“Ice was in the river yesterday,” said another. “I saw it.”

“The great ship must soon leave,” said another. “Otherwise it will be frozen fast.”

“What is to be done with us?” asked a slave.

“We have served our purpose,” said another, “in Tarncamp, and now in Shipcamp. They do not need us any longer.”

“Perhaps they will kill us,” said a slave, apprehensively.

“Do not be foolish,” said another. “We will be sold south.”

“We may know of secret things,” said a girl. “They may kill us.”

“We might talk,” said another, frightened.

“Not I,” said another.

“You will speak quickly enough on the rack,” said another.