Smugglers of Gor (50 page)

“Tal, noble Genserich,” said Axel.

“I trust you enjoy the hospitality of the camp,” said Genserich.

“We have just been drinking with two of your fellows,” said Axel.

“I know,” said the leader.

“We must be leaving presently,” said Axel.

“You realize,” said the leader, “that you will spend the night on a chain.”

“Why?” asked Axel.

“To protect you,” said the leader. “There are dangers in the forest.” He then turned away.

I, too, expected to spend the night on a chain, or roped helplessly, as I had been on the trek to Tarncamp from the coast. But I was a slave. Such things are not unusual where a slave is concerned. Some believe that a slave is chained at night, or caged, or kenneled, that she not escape, but others believe it is largely to prevent her theft. I think the explanation is even simpler; it is to remind her that she is a slave.

I stood a few feet away.

“I must see to Tiomines,” said Axel. He then rose up, and went to the sleen.

I looked to his fellow, who was sitting, cross-legged, regarding me. I boldly returned his regard.

What had I to fear? He did not own me.

He indicated, with a slight movement of his right hand, that I should approach. I did so. But I remained standing. Let him consider that.

“Why did you stand so close to me?” he asked.

“Surely Master does not mind the proximity of a slave,” I said.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“Do you?” I asked.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Surely you know,” I said.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Margaret Alyssa Cameron,” I said. “Perhaps you recognize the name?”

“No,” he said.

“Perhaps you remember me from a large store, in a great city, on a far world, when you first laid eyes upon me?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“Or from an exposition cage in Brundisium?”

“No,” he said.

“Or, say, from a wharf, a dock?” I said.

“That is it!” he said.

Could he really not remember that it was he who had brought me to the collar?

Had it not been for him I would not now be on this world, half naked, with a marked thigh and an encircled neck, at the mercy of masters.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked.

“Margaret Alyssa Cameron,” I said.

“That was your free name,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then it is no longer your name,” he said.

I was silent.

“Is it?” he said.

“No, Master,” I said.

“Surely you are aware,” he said, “that as a slave you have no name, any more than any other beast, save as masters might choose to name you.”

I remained silent.

“That is true, is it not?” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“What are you called?” he asked.

“Here I am called ‘Vulo’,” I said.

“Amusing,” he said.

“I have been named ‘Laura’,” I said.

“I know,” he said. Of course he would know. That was the name under which I would have been hunted.

“Master has captured me,” I said.

“You have an accent,” he said.

“I am a barbarian,” I said.

“Your accent may improve later, and, in time, might even be lost,” he said, “unless a master would prefer for you to retain at least a trace of it, as a charming feature.”

I was very angry, standing before him.

“Those of your sex,” he said, “commonly have an excellent aptitude for the acquisition of languages.”

“May I withdraw?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “That is because, over countless generations, you have been traded about, exchanged, captured, carried off, and so on, with the result that you must learn, and quickly, the language of your possessors, your captors, masters, and such. Those with the highest skills in such matters would be the most likely to survive, to please, to be used for the purposes of reproduction, and such.”

“How is it,” I asked, “that Master accompanied Master Axel of Argentum in his hunt?”

“I was bored,” he said. “I thought the pursuit of a foolish slave might provide something in the nature of a diversion.”

“Only that?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “What else?”

“It made no difference that it was I?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “Why should it?”

“You would have followed any,” I asked, “as easily, as willingly, as diligently?”

“Of course,” he said.

I turned out my hip, and straightened my shoulders, as I had been taught in my training. A girl has powers.

“I think, rather,” I said, “Master finds this slave of interest.”

“Does your body mark well under the attentions of a slave whip?” he asked.

“Master does not own me,” I said.

“What a vain little piece of collar meat you are,” he said. “How are you different from hundreds of others, similar, and better? You are scouted, observed, researched, inquired about, filmed and photographed in various lights, at various times of day, in various locations, against various backgrounds, engaged in various activities, in various garmentures. These pictures and reports are assessed. Points are assigned. You are even examined while asleep in your own bed. You are stripped and photographed, variously. Your measurements are taken, in detail, your bosom, waist, thighs, wrists, ankles. In this way, in your sleep, as you are gently sedated, you are measured variously, for example, your neck for the collar, your wrists and ankles for wrist and ankle rings, and so on. Then you are reclothed, and in the morning, you awaken, refreshed, and know nothing of all this. If you are found satisfactory, your name is entered on an acquisition list. You are then, unbeknownst to yourself, a Gorean slave girl. It only remains then that you be harvested, perhaps months later. Thus, small, vain kajira, you see there is nothing of particular interest or nothing special about you.”

“I see,” I said. I wondered if he were trying to convince me, or himself.

“You pose prettily,” he said.

“Am I to understand that Master finds me of no interest?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “of no interest.”

“Master does not want this slave?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “The slave is common meat, even inferior stock.”

“Yet I was selected,” I said.

“It seems so,” he said.

“I have been found of interest by others,” I said.

“Oh?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “Master.”

“Why are you standing,” he suddenly said, angrily. “Kneel, put your head to the dirt!”

Instantly, I knelt, my head to the dirt. How pleased I was!

“You should be lashed!” he said.

“You do not own me,” I said. “You do not own me!”

He rose up, angrily, and kicked dirt upon me, and turned away. I remained as I was. I recalled that it had been my knees and not those of Tula or Mila which had been forced apart by the boot-like sandal of Genserich, leader of the captors, or his seeming lieutenant, Aeson. I knew I was slave enough to be of interest to a man. I have made him squirm, I thought. I have made him cry out. I have made him sweat. Let him be restless. Let him turn and roll angrily in his sleep. Let him see if he can cast from his thoughts the image of a certain dark-haired, collared barbarian. It was for her, was it not, that he essayed the dangers of the forest. Surely there was no simple diversion in this. He may not even have been authorized to leave Shipcamp. Were there not Pani guards set at the perimeters to prevent such departures? He may have followed me even from Brundisium. He may have sought me in Tarncamp, and then, later, encountered me in Shipcamp. How arrogant the masters are, I thought. So we are nothing to them, are we! Are we truly to suppose that one slave is no different to them from another? Do they think slaves are unable to recognize interest, heat, passion, desire, possessiveness, need, drive, the lust to own, to collar, and master? Emotions, I was sure, despite any denials which might be proffered, had seethed within him. Had I not glimpsed, be it only for a moment, the eruption of his interest, scarcely controlled, hinting at the volcano of his wanting? Now, scornful Master, I thought, I have power. I am near, and you want me, but you cannot have me! At night you will even be on a chain! Now you are mine! I can tease and taunt you as I want, and I need fear nothing from you. Not only was I not his, but he and Axel of Argentum, his fellow, were prisoners here, it seemed, as much as I. He had scorned me. Now it was my opportunity to scorn, and torture, him.

I then became aware, lifting my head a little, that Donna, two guards, and the four prisoners, the Panther Women, Darla, Tuza, Emerald, and Hiza, had returned to the camp. The prisoners were struggling, bent over. Each, on her back, bore a large bundle of firewood. It pleased me to see the proud Panther Women laboring, as might common slaves.

I heard a panther roar, from somewhere in the forest.

“Get up,” said Tula to me.

“I have not been given permission to rise,” I said.

“It is all right,” said Tula. “We are in the keeping of Donna. She is first girl. We may bathe.”

I rose to my feet and looked about, and saw him whom I hated across the camp. I smiled, and tossed my head, and turned away. I am sure he saw me, but he had given no indication of that. I wondered if he were truly indifferent to me. Could that be? Might I be wrong? I did not think so. I thought he wanted me, and could not have me. I was pleased.

I then accompanied Tula to the shore of the Alexandra, where Mila was waiting for us.

It was the morning of the day following the capture of the Panther Women, the appearance of the sleen in their camp, my experience with the beast, and its recovery by the sleen master. Too, of course, I had discovered that the sleen master had not been alone, but, to my astonishment and consternation, to my outrage, humiliation, fear, and fury, I now helplessly caught, to my hatred and relief, to my fear, misery, and joy, was accompanied by another, one whom I well knew, even if it were not one by whom I was well known.

How angry I was that he had found me, and how I had longed to see him again, and how I had feared I might never see him again!

How pleased I was to have been caught.

But of course I had not wanted to see him again, for I despised, and hated him, such a ruthless, uncaring, thoughtless, uncompromising brute, and master!

How terrifying it would be to be owned by such a man, to be his, to be done with as he pleased!

Why had he not bought me?

Surely I was not expensive, might I not be within his means?

Did he not want me?

I hated him.

I wanted to be at his feet, head down, naked and collared, my lips pressed to his sandals, hoping to be found acceptable, even pleasing.

Was I truly nothing but another slave to him, merely another piece of meaningless collar-meat, to be indifferently fetched from a pen, or block, by a coin?

How I hated him!

How I wanted his collar!

Then I was afraid. What if he were companioned? Might he buy me for his companion? Would she sense that I was his slave? How cruel she would be to me! Might he keep me to the side, in rented space, in a girl stable, to be used when convenient?

Or would he want me, at all?

Was I truly so inferior, such common stock?

I loathed the thought of his touch.

How I would struggle to resist him!

How I would cry out, and whimper, begging for his least touch!

I wanted to be at his feet, alone there, where I belonged, in the place of a slave.

He and Axel of Argentum seemed to be free enough in the camp. Certainly they moved about as they wished. I did note they carried no weapons. Too, I had gathered they might have spent the night on a chain. All that was done with Tula, Mila, and myself was a simple rope ankle-coffle. A long rope had been looped and knotted about our left ankles, and then the rope was tied at each end to a tree. As it was fastened, Tula, had she desired to do so, could not reach the tree to her left to undo the knot, as the rope, knotted about the tree to her right, would not permit her to do so; similarly, I could not, had I desired to do so, reach the knot to my right to undo it, as the far knot on the left would not permit me to do so. Thus neither Tula nor I could free the rope of the two trees to which it was tied. Mila, of course, was between us. I supposed we might have tried to chew through the rope, which was not, as far as I knew, cored with wire, but this did not seem practical. Two guards were posted, and moved, from time to time, about the camp. What if, in the morning, the rope had been found damp, or partially bitten? Too, the forest is likely to be particularly dangerous at night. Twice I had heard the territorial roar of a forest panther, happily far off. But I had also heard, at about the second Ahn, the movement of some beast near the camp’s periphery. It may have been only a tarsk. I did not know. Fires were tended through the night. The prisoners’ night, I might mention, was less pleasant than ours. In addition to their ankles remaining shackled, and their neck-coffle being fastened to a tree, their wrists were bound behind their backs. Tula had prepared the supper yesterday evening. I had gathered that free women, at least of the upper castes, were commonly useless in the domiciles. It is not a matter of accident, I gathered, that slaves, in their training, are often taught something of cooking, marketing, sewing, the care of leather and silver, dusting, scrubbing, laundering, and such things. Interestingly, slaves often take a homely pleasure in such things. They realize such tasks are not demeaning to them, but appropriate to them, as they are slaves. Also, as slaves, they take pleasure in serving, and wish to please their masters. Too, most like a well-kept domicile. Beyond this, hanging on its peg, is always the whip.

Tula, Mila, and I had served the men. Tula seemed particularly attentive to Aeson, and Mila to Genak. Tula had approached Genserich, but she had been warned away by Donna. I made it a point not to serve, or approach, either the sleen master or his fellow. I hoped that would be obvious to one of them in particular. In serving, I think I walked well, knelt well, and served well, with suitable slave deference. When addressed I spoke as was appropriate, softly, respectfully, submissively, and clearly, for good diction is expected of a slave. Indeed, as slaves, we would not have dared to be otherwise. “You are a barbarian,” observed a fellow. “Yes, Master,” I had said. “Forgive me, Master.” He had then turned to the fellow beside him. “What do you think?” he asked. I felt myself studied. “A silver tarsk,” said the other. I did not look about, but I hoped that another present had heard that. It was more than twice what I had sold for in Brundisium. “You may withdraw,” said the fellow. “Thank you, Master,” I said, and rose to my feet, backed away, and then turned, and went again with the bowl ladle, its handle wrapped in cloth, to the cauldron over the fire. As I mentioned, I avoided the sleen master and his fellow, in the serving. I am not sure they noticed this. They seemed pleasantly enough engaged, in bantering with the men of the attackers. In any event, neither summoned me to him. That was all right. There was no reason to do so, of course. I did not mind. I was pleased. Tula and Mila would do quite as well. When the men were finished, Donna, Tula, Mila, and I, so instructed, surprised, knelt to one side. We discovered that we, though slaves, were to be served by the prisoners. This well outraged the shackled mistresses, for they were free women. Too, though they were free, they had not yet been fed. For this service, they, though remaining shackled, were removed from the neck rope, that their serving might be the more easily accomplished. Darla and Tuza would serve Donna, who was first girl, and Emerald and Hiza would serve Tula, Mila, and myself. Tuza, smugly, a small smile about her lips, approached Donna. In a moment Donna cried out in pain, and leaped to her feet. “It is an accident!” said Tuza, now alarmed. “I will show you another accident, dear Mistress!” cried Donna. Her switch was like a nest of striking snakes, so swiftly did it strike, again and again. I could scarcely follow the flash of the leather. Tuza, shackled, helpless, was on the ground, rolling, and weeping. “Mercy,” she begged. “Mercy!” “Stay as you are!” snapped Donna, “as you are, on your back, hands at your side!” Donna then threw down her switch and seized up the fallen bowl-ladle and made her way to the cauldron. “Please, no!” wept Tuza. “Stay as you are,” said Donna. “Do not move.” “No, please, no!” begged Tuza. Then the scalding contents of the brimming bowl-ladle were dashed onto her body, and she shrieked in misery. “It is an accident,” said Donna. Tuza, weeping in misery, with a rattle of chain, crawled away. Donna then resumed her place. “Serve me,” she said to Darla. “Of course,” said Darla. It might be noted that the men did not much notice, and they certainly did not interfere in the altercation which took place between Donna and Tuza. Doubtless that was to be expected. Masters seldom interfere in such matters, for example, in the squabbles of slaves. If there is more than one female slave in a camp, in a household, or such, one is almost always appointed “first girl.” Otherwise one might have chaos. The first girl stands in the place of the master. It is her task to keep order amongst the other slaves, and she answers only to the master. I would suppose that most “first girls” are judicious and fair but some, doubtless, abuse their authority, have their favorites, distribute ornaments, cosmetics, silks, candies, pastries, delicacies, and such selectively, and make life miserable in a variety of ways for others, less favored, with respect to work assignments, discipline, and such, which matters are largely in her hands. It is not well for a first girl to take a dislike to one. Such dislikes may be diversely motivated, but a common one is jealousy. A particularly attractive slave is perhaps most in jeopardy. She may be frequently caged. If the household is large she may be kept hidden from the master. She is not likely to be a stranger to the first girl’s switch. Most first girls are responsive to flattery. The favorites are often sycophants. Some first girls seem to think they are free women, until they kneel before the master. And it is well-known how free women feel about slaves, view them, and treat them. One constraint on the first girl is that she may be changed, and then find herself, so reduced, only one slave amongst others, now defenseless, without protection amongst those over whom she may have been accustomed to tyrannize. Most slaves, as I may have noted, desire to be the one slave of one master, a private master. Emerald and Hiza served Tula, Mila, and myself without incident. Both seemed to be seriously shaken. Doubtless they had profited vicariously from the lesson which Donna had administered to the unwise and errant Tuza. Too, I supposed that it must be difficult for them, free women, to be stripped and shackled before us, tunicked slaves, serving us as though we might be free and they the slaves. Emerald leaned forward, and whispered, “What is it like to be a slave?” “Perhaps you will learn,” I said to her. Hiza looked angrily at me. “And perhaps you, as well,” I said. “Never!” she hissed. And then she turned back to me, and said, “I am afraid.” I touched my collar, without really thinking about it. “That is appropriate,” I said, adding, “Mistress.”