"Not all places in Corcyrus," he said, "are safe, particularly at night, and not all are suitable for the sensibilities of a free woman."
There was a breeze blowing toward us, over the wall. It was welcome. I felt it move my veils back against my features. I reveled in its lightness and freshness.
"You should adjust your hood," said Drusus Rencius.
I had thrust it back, a few moments ago, to better revel in the breeze. To be sure, it was now possible to detect the color of my hair.
Angrily I readjusted the hood. Drusus Rencius was so protective!
He looked about, nervously. Why, I wondered, should he seem so tense or uneasy here.
I could smell the tarns, gigantic, crested saddlebirds, on their perches some hundred feet away, to our right. There were five of them.
"Do not approach them too closely," I had been warned by him.
"Do not fear," I had laughed. I had a terror of such things.
But why, then, if he were so wary of them, or fearful for my safety, had he wanted to come to this portion of the wall? It was he who had suggested that we come this close to those fearful monsters.
"I can still see your hair," said Drusus Rencius.
I drew the hood angrily even more closely about my features. Little more now could be seen of me, as is common with the robes of concealment, but a bit of the bridge of my nose and my eyes. It was five days ago that I had suggested we come to the height of the wall, that I might look out. He had originally been reluctant to bring me here, but then, almost too suddenly, it had seemed to me, had finally agreed. Now, here on the walls, he seemed nervous.
"You are still angry with me," I said, "about the Kaissa matches."
"No," he said.
"They were boring," I said.
"Centius of Cos was playing," he said. "He is one of the finest of the players on Gor." The appearance of a player of the stature of Centius of Cos at the matches in a city such as Corcyrus, I gathered, had to do with the alliances between Cos and Corcyrus. Otherwise it did not seem likely to me that he would have graced so small a tournament with his presence. He had won his games easily with the exception of one, with a quite minor player, which he had seemed to prolong indefinitely, as though attempting to bring about some obscure and particular configuration on the board. Then, apparently failing to achieve this, almost as though wearily, he had brought the game to a conclusion in five moves.
"You are still angry with me," I said.
"No," he said.
"Yes, you are," I said.
He did not respond.
"They were boring," I said. I had asked to be brought home early.
He did not respond.
The most exciting thing about the matches from my point of view was going in and out of the grounds. There were several slave girls there, just outside the grounds, fastened to various rings and stanchions. They had been chained there, to wait like dogs for the return of their masters.
"After you returned me to my quarters, I wager," I said, "you returned to the matches."
"Yes," he said. "I did."
"And did you get to see your precious Centius of Cos finish his final games?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Please do not be angry with me, Drusus," I said.
"I am not angry with you," he said.
I wondered why I had spoken as I had. I was a Tatrix. Authority was mine, not his. He was only a guard, a mere guard. Yet I did not want him to be angry with me. There was something in me, something deep, I did not know what, that wanted to be pleasing to him.
I continued to look out over the fields. They were lovely. In a Gorean city it was not difficult for a woman to travel incognito. By the robes of concealment this is made easy. I wore the robes of a woman of high caste, today the yellow of the Builders. Drusus Rencius wore a nondescript tunic and a swirling maroon cape. The only weaponry he carried, that I could detect, was his sword. He might have been any mercenary, or armed servant, in attendance on a lady. I was pleased to travel incognito in the city, in this fashion. Otherwise, had I gone abroad in the robes of the Tatrix, we would have been encumbered by guards and crowds; we would have had to travel in a palanquin; we would have been forced to tolerate the annunciatory drums and trumpets, and put up with all the noisy, ostentatious, dreary panoply of office. To be sure I sometimes found such accouterments stimulating and gratifying but I certainly did not want them every time I wished to put my foot outside the palace gate.
I thought I heard a small noise, as of metal, from within the cloak of Drusus Rencius.
He had glanced to our right, to the tarns on their perches. They were saddled, and their reins were upon them. They were ready for investigatory excursions or, if the randomly selected schedules were appropriate, for routine patrols. The left foot of each tarn, by a spring clasp, which could be opened by hand, and a chain, was fastened to the perch. The birds, thus, for most practical purposes, could be brought to flight almost immediately. Their riders, or tarnsmen, were not in the immediate vicinity, but were, as is common, quite close, in this case in a guard station at the foot of the wall. In a matter of Ihn, given a command or the sounding of an alarm bar, they could be in the saddle.
Drusus Rencius looked back from the tarns. I heard again the small sound of metal from within the cloak.
He looked about, uneasily. This nervousness did not seem typical of him.
"Have you heard aught of the sleen of Argentum?" I asked. It had been several days now since the return of Miles of Argentum to his city.
"No," said he.
"It is nice of you to bring me here," I said. "It is a lovely view."
He said nothing.
"I enjoyed the song drama last night," I said.
"Good," said he.
To be sure it had been difficult for me, at my present level in Gorean, to understand all the singing. Too, the amplificatory masks, sometimes used in the larger of the tiered theaters, somewhat distorted the sound. Some of the characters had seemed unnaturally huge. These, I had been informed, wore special costumes; these costumes had expanded shoulders and had exaggerated hemlines, long enough to cover huge platformlike shoes. These characters, thus, were made to appear larger than life. They represented, generally, important personages, such as Ubars and Ubaras. There had not been a great deal of action in the drama but movement on the stage was supplied in abundance by a chorus whose complex activities and dances served to point up and emotionally respond to, and interpret, exchanges among the principals. The chorus, too, sometimes singing and sometimes speaking in unison, took roles in the drama, such as first the citizens of one city and then of another, and then of another, and so on. It also was not above commenting on the activities and speeches of the principals, chiding them, calling certain omissions to their minds, offering them constructive criticism, commending them, encouraging them, and so on. Indeed, it was not unusual for the chorus and a principal to engage with one another in discourse. What I saw was clearly drama but it was not a form of drama with which I was familiar. The chorus, according to Drusus Rencius, in its various sections and roles, was the original cast of the drama. The emergence of principals from the chorus, of particular actors playing isolated, specific roles, was a later development. Some purists, according to Drusus Rencius, still criticize this innovation. It is likely to remain, however, in his opinion, as it increases the potentialities of the form, its flexibility and power. Such dramas, incidentally, are normally performed not by professional companies but by groups of citizens from the communities themselves, or nearby communities. Sometimes they are supported by rich citizens; sometimes they are supported by caste organizations; sometimes, even, they are sponsored by merchants or businesses, as a matter of goodwill and promotion; sometimes, too, they are subsidized by grants from a public treasury. Art in a Gorean city is taken seriously; it is regarded as an enhancement of the civic life. It is not regarded as the prerogative of an elite, nor is its fate left exclusively to the mercies of pr
ivate patrons. The story in the song drama, in itself, apart from its complex embellishments, was a simple one. It dealt with a psychological crisis in the life of a Ubar. He is tempted, in the pursuit of his own schemes, motivated by greed, to betray his people. In the end he is convinced by his own reflections, and those of others, of the propriety of keeping the honor of his own Home Stone.
"What did you think of the drama?" Drusus Rencius had asked me last night. "The story of it," I had told him, seeking to impress him with my intelligence, "aside from the impressiveness of it, and the loveliness of its setting and presentation, is surely an unrealistic, silly one." "Oh?" he had asked. "Yes," I had said, "no true ruler would act like that. Only a fool would be motivated by considerations of honor." "Perhaps," had said Drusus Rencius, dryly. I had looked at him, and then I had looked away, quickly. I had felt like I might be nothing. He was regarding me with total contempt.
"I did enjoy the drama," I insisted to Drusus Rencius, standing on the riser, looking over the parapet, "really."
"Splendid," he said.
"I still think my comments were true, of course," I said, lightly. Surely it would not do to retreat on such a matter. Besides, for most practical purposes, I did regard them as true. Who, in these days, in a real world, could take anything like honor seriously?
"Perhaps," granted Drusus Rencius.
"You are a hopeless romantic, Drusus," I said to him, turning about, laughing.
"Perhaps," he said. He turned away from me. Again I heard the small sound in the cloak.
He looked at the tarns.
I turned away from him, hurt. I did not want him to be disappointed with me.
"The view here," I said, lightly, "is lovely. We should have come here before."
"Perhaps," he said.
I had seen much of Corcyrus in the past few days. Drusus Rencius, for the most part, had been an attentive and accommodating escort. I loved the markets and bazaars, the smells, the colors, the crowds, the quantities and varieties of goods, the tiny shops, the stalls, the places of business which sometimes were so small as a tiny rug on the stones, on which a peddler displayed his wares. Drusus Rencius had even permitted me, with coins, helping me, to bargain. I had been very excited to come back to the palace with my small triumphs. I loved shopping, and looking, even when I was buying nothing. Trailing me about, while I satisfied my curiosity as to curious nooks and crannies, must have been tiresome for Drusus, but he had not complained. I had begun to fall in love with the Gorean city. It was so vital and alive. In particular I was excited by the female slaves I saw, barefoot, in their tunics and collars, not exciting much attention, simply being taken for granted, in the crowds. Such women were an accepted part of Gorean life. Sometimes, too, I would see a naked slave in the crowd, one sent forth from her house only in her collar. These women, too, did not attract that much attention. Their sight was not that uncommon in Gorean streets. One such woman, in particular, startled and excited me. She wore not only her collar. She also wore an iron belt. This belt consisted of two major pieces; one was a rounded, fitted, curved barlike waistband, flattened at the ends; one end of this band, that on the right, standing behind the woman and looking forward, had a heavy semicircular ring, or staple, welded onto it; the other flattened end of the waistband, looking forward, had a slot in it which fitted over the staple; the other major portion of this belt consisted of a curved band of flat, shaped iron; one end of this flat band was curved about, and closed about, the barlike waistband in the front; this produces a hinge; the flat, U-shaped strap of iron swings on this hinge; on the other end of this flat band of iron is a slot; it fits over the same staple as the slot in the flattened end of the left side of the barlike waistband. The belt is then put on the woman in this fashion. The waistband is closed about her, the left side, its slot penetrated by the staple, over the right side; the flat U-shaped band of iron, contoured to female intimacies, is then swung up on its hinge, between her thighs, where the slot on its end is penetrated by the staple, this keeping the parts of the belt in place. The whole apparatus is then locked on her, the tongue of a padlock thrust through the staple, the lock then snapped shut. I almost fainted when I first saw this thing. She actually wore it. It was on her! It was locked on her! The insolent mastery it bespoke made me almost giddy, the very thought that a woman might be subjected to such domination. She did not even control her own intimacies. They were controlled by he who owned her, and them.
"You seem interested in the iron belt," had said Drusus Rencius. "No," I had said. "No!" "There are many varieties of such belts," said Drusus. "You see a rather plain one. Note the placement of the padlock, at the small of her back. Some regard that arrangement as more aesthetic; others prefer for the lock to be in front, where it may dangle before her, constantly reminding her of its presence. I personally prefer the lock in the back. Its placement there, on the whole, makes a woman feel more helpless. Too, of course, its placement there makes it almost impossible for her to pick." "I see," I had said. How irritated I had been then with Drusus. He had discussed the thing as though it might have been a mere, inconsequential piece of functional hardware. Could he not see what it really was, what it meant, what it must teach the girl, how it must make her feel?
"There are wagons," I said, pointing over the parapet. There were some five wagons approaching the city, in a line. Each was being drawn by two strings of harnessed male slaves, about twenty slaves in each string.
"Those are Sa-Tarna wagons," said Drusus, "bringing grain to the city."
"What is that other wagon," I asked, "the smaller one, there near the side of the road, which has pulled aside to let the grain wagons pass?" I had been watching it approach. I thought I knew well what sort of wagon it was. It was the sort of wagon whose contents are of so little value that it must yield the road in either direction to any vehicle that might care to pass it. It was a squarish wagon. It was drawn by a single tharlarion, a broad tharlarion, one of Gor's quadrupedal draft lizards. It was covered by a canopy, mounted on a high, squarish frame, of blue-and-yellow silk.
"Lady Sheila is much too innocent, and her sensibilities are far too delicate," said he, "to inquire as to what sort of wagon that is."
"No," I said, "what?" I would pretend to an innocent ignorance.
"It is a slaver's wagon," he said, "a girl wagon."
"Oh," I said, as though surprised. After a time, I said, "I wonder if there are any girls in it."
"Probably," said Drusus. "Its canopy is up, and it is approaching the city."
"Are girls fastened in such wagons?" I asked.
"Usually," he said.
"How?" I asked.
"The most usual arrangement," he said, "involves a metal bar and girls who are independently shackled. The bar runs parallel to the length of the wagon bed. It is a liftable bar. It has a hinge at the end of the wagon bed near the wagon box. The bar is lifted, by means of the hinge, and the girls, by means of their ankle chains, are threaded upon it. It is then lowered and locked into a socket at the end of the wagon bed, near the gate."
"They are then well held in place," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"Are they clothed in such a wagon?" I asked.
"Sometimes they are, sometimes they are not," he said.
"I see," I said. I wondered what it might feel like to wear shackles, to have my ankles chained in proximity to one another, to have the chain looped about such a bar, so that I might not, even if I wished, be able to pull my ankles more than a few inches from it. I wondered what it might feel like, to know myself so helplessly and perfectly confined. My breath began to come more quickly.
"Lady Sheila seems much interested in the small details in the lives of female slaves," he said. Perhaps he had noticed the quickening of my breath, in the inward movements of the veil.
"Do not become presumptuous," I said.
"Forgive me," he said.
"I was merely curious," I said, irritably.
"Of course, Lady S
heila," he said. He need not know that I often, for no reason I clearly understood, in the loneliness of my quarters, slept at the lower end of the great couch, near the slave ring, and sometimes, seemingly almost unable to help myself, had slipped from the couch and knelt beside it in the darkness, and lifted it, and kissed it.
"The wagon is moving now," I said. The grain wagons had passed it. It was now, again, pulling toward the center of the road, the high iron-rimmed wheels trundling on the stone, seeking the long, shallow, shiny, saucerlike ruts, polished in the stone by the earlier passage of countless vehicles. I had been sure it was a slave wagon, of course, from the blue-and-yellow silk. Outside the establishments of slavers there often hung streamers and banners in these colors, and sometimes, on the walls, or doors, or posts near the doors, these colors, in diagonal stripes or slashes, were painted. When I had seen signs or emblems of this sort I had often, as though interested in something else, requested that we take our way down that street. Generally I had been able to see little or nothing, usually only the narrow, gloomy doors, often of iron, of grim, almost fortresslike buildings, but, sometimes, there would be an open-air market or some girls, as displays, would be chained outside. Inside some of these buildings I had learned there were display courtyards where girls, for example, might be examined in natural light. In the open-air markets, or in the outside displays, the girls, seeing me viewing them, had usually knelt, immediately, putting their heads down, exhibiting total deference and respect before a free woman. Some, seeing me looking at them, had actually thrown themselves, trembling, to their bellies. "They are afraid of you," Drusus Rencius had explained. "Why?" I had asked. "Because you are a free woman," he had said. "Oh," I had said. They must have had, I gathered, some of them at least, unfortunate experiences with free women. I watched the wagon trundling slowly down the road. I wondered what it felt like to ride in such a wagon, not as its driver, of course, but as its cargo. I considered the lack of springs in such a vehicle, the high, iron-rimmed wheels, with their lack of cushioning, the primitiveness of the roads it must traverse. I did not think the ride would be a smooth one. How much protection might be afforded a girl chained on the boards in the wagon bed of such a vehicle by the single layer of the fabric of a slave tunic, if, indeed, she were permitted one?
Kajira of Gor Page 12
