by John Norman
“Yes,” I said.
“How helpless we are,” she said, looking up, “we, so exposed, our lips, our features, our smallest expressions, naked, bared to the view of anyone!”
I was muchly pleased that slaves were denied veiling.
How beautiful and distraught she looked!
How this puts them so much the more where they belong, in our power!
“You may not hide yourselves,” I said.
Her eyes were bright with tears, some coursed down her cheeks, running under the fur.
“You are a slave,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I am a slave!”
Denial of the veil is one of the things, as noted, insisted upon by free women for the slave, this marking another dramatic difference between them, at least between those of high caste and the slave. Low-caste women, in their work, not unoften do without veiling. Good-looking girls of low-caste sometimes go about unveiled deliberately, hoping that they may catch the eye of a slaver, and perhaps be sold into a high household, or come into the chains of a handsome, well-to-do master. One of the most delightful vengeances of a free woman upon a rival is to have her rival reduced to slavery, and then have her at her feet, tunicked, and face-stripped, as a serving slave, perhaps to be later sold, out of the city. One of the most interesting things about barbarian slaves, which may surprise many, is that few seem to understand, at least at first, the shame that is done to them by denying them the veil. They seem more concerned with the baring of their bodies, which is suitable for slaves. But such are shameless and suitably enslaved. Are they not already half-slave, even before being fitted with the collar? They only become sensitive to such matters when, later, they become aware of the meaning of their bared faces. But, after a time, even Gorean women, as well as barbarians, in bondage, think little of their lack of veiling, at least when not in the presence of a free woman, particularly of high caste. Then they are often forced to feel their shame keenly. Commonly though, they, and barbarians, as well, come to revel in the lack of veiling, and, indeed, in the shame of their commonly brief and revealing garmenture, if allowed garmenture, become insolent in their shameful pride, so deplored by free women, of revealing their beauty, of both face and body, to the eyes of men.
One might note in passing how the slave tunic, or the scandalous camisk or ta-teera, are viewed by free women, slaves, and masters. The free woman regards such garments as a degradation, an unspeakable humiliation, a badge of shame, fit for natural slaves, say, women of alien or enemy cities. But, too, they often seethe with envy that it is not they who are exposed so blatantly, and desirably, to the eyes of males. Might they not, too, be so attractive, were they so excitingly clad, so invitingly bared? And how angry they are that men, who should be above such things, look with such obvious favor on mere slaves! The slave, of course, may at first be miserably shamed to be so garmented, to be put in such a garment, but, soon, she comes to exult in its attractiveness, its brevity and lightness, and the freedom it affords, not only of movement, but more significantly, its gift of psychological, emotional, and intellectual freedom. Too, of course, such a garmenture is sexually arousing, and frees the slave to be the warm, arousable, appetitious, excitable, needful, sexual animal, the slave, she has always longed to be. And as for the views of men with respect to such garmentures, one supposes they need no elaboration. By means of such garments, women, the most desirable properties a man may own, are dressed for his taste, delectation, and pleasure. Were it not for the security of their Home Stones, one supposes there would be few free women in a Gorean city. One wonders sometimes if they understand that the freedom which, in their arrogance, they take so much for granted is tenuous and fragile, a revocable gift of men. Let them think of Tharna, and tremble, or, if they wish, present themselves naked before her gates, petitioning entrance.
“Why is Seremides on board?” she asked.
“There is a price on his head,” I said. “Perhaps, then, to flee.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but one could flee anywhere, to Torvaldsland, to the deeper recesses of the formidable Voltai, to the vast Barrens, to the long Valley of the Ua, anywhere. Here, he is trapped, on a ship.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “he hopes to recoup his fortunes, at the World’s End.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said, “he knew you to be on board, and has in mind your apprehension, and eventual remanding to Ar.”
“Surely that venture,” she said, “would be fraught with peril. The price on his head, I suspect, is greater than that on mine.”
“I agree that is likely,” I said. He had been, of course, the captain of the Taurentians, and had been close to Myron, the polemarkos of Temos, commander of the occupation forces in Ar.
“Still,” I said, “do not underestimate your value in Ar.”
“To another,” she said, “but I think not to Seremides.”
“He might negotiate, anonymously, through others,” I said. I did not doubt that he had cohorts on board, if not brought with him, then later recruited.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“You do not think he seeks you?”
“I think,” she said, “he is after greater game.”
“What, then?” I asked.
“I am not sure,” she said. “I do not know.”
“In any event,” I said, “a slave is far from Ar.”
“Yes,” she said, “a slave is far from Ar.”
“Return to first obeisance position,” I said.
“Surely not!” she said.
“Now,” I said. “Good.”
“Now,” I said, “to second obeisance position.”
“Please,” she protested, her head to the deck.
“Must a command be repeated?” I inquired.
“No!” she said.
The repetition of a command is often a cause for discipline, and she was well aware of what that might involve.
She was now on her belly before me, her hands at the sides of her head.
“Lips to boots,” I said.
She pressed her lips to my boots, left and right, kissing them, and licking at them.
I let her continue to do this for a time.
It is pleasant for a man to have a beautiful woman, for she was beautiful, so at his feet, so at his mercy.
I noted a particular movement in her body, one I had seen before in a slave. I smiled. She was beginning to understand what it might be, to be a slave. Already, I suspected, she had begun to hope, forlornly, that I might be pleased to attend to her, as one who, in his lenience or indulgence, might attend to a slave.
“Enough,” I said. “Position.”
She knelt then before me, as before, back on her heels, head up, back straight, the palms of her hands down on her thighs.
“You wear your furs well,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“To be sure,” I said, “I would prefer you in a tunic, or less.”
“May a slave not open her knees before Master?” she said.
“Do you wish to do so?” I asked.
“I think so,” she whispered.
“No,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“Is a slave white silk or red silk?” I asked.
“Must a slave respond?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“A slave is white silk,” she said.
“That is unusual,” I said.
“For a slave,” she said.
“You are a slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, “I am a slave.”
“It seems, slave,” I said, “you have let the black wine grow cold.”
“Master?” she said.
“Thus, you are remiss,” I said.
“I have been detained!” she said, frightened.
“You are remiss,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I am remiss.”
“Then, rise,” I said, “hurry to the kitchens, to hea
t the wine, or replenish your vessel.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
She retrieved the vessel, wrapped in its cloths.
“And hurry,” I said, “run, run!”
“I was the Lady Flavia of Ar!” she said.
“Hurry,” I said, “run, run!”
She turned about, in misery, and, holding the vessel in its cloths, hurried away. She stopped once, to look over her shoulder, and then, frightened, disappeared through the second hatchway amidships, that between the second and third masts.
I feared for her safety, and that of all of us.
Night was falling. On the ice below the work lamps, on their tripods, had been lit. Pani, with bows and glaves, patrolled the perimeter below.
They had earlier stopped two men, set to trek the ice. One had been killed, the other flogged.
Rations were growing short.
I thought of the slave, Alcinoe. Off the block, sold for her simple quality as a female, she might bring one or two silver tarsks. In the south, delivered to the justice of Ar, she might bring a double handful of golden tarn disks. What a fool one would be, not to advantage oneself of such an opportunity. On the other hand, she was pretty, and might make a good slave.
It was hard to tell about such things.
Reasonably clearly, she was already beginning to sense what it might be to be a slave.
That was promising.
I wondered if, in the darkness of the Kasra keeping area, she might have pressed her fingers to her lips, and then softly to her collar.
I recalled she had been switched awake four times.
Presumably she had been thrashing in her chains.
She is coming along nicely, I thought, even predictably.
What woman can be truly fulfilled, who is not a slave, who does not know herself owned, who does not know herself the absolute property of a master, a master whom she knows she must serve with perfection, a master whom she knows, to her joy, will have the wholeness of her womanhood from her?
The watch was called, and I would go below.
I wondered why Seremides was on board. It might have been simply his intention to flee. Who, after all, would think to seek him beyond the farther islands? Or perhaps he wished to seek a fortune in a new, untried venue, a fortune, like many, obtainable by sword skill? Perhaps, on the other hand, he sought the former Lady Flavia of Ar. The reward for her return to Ar was far from negligible. Might it not purchase a galley, and several slaves, of high quality? But she had thought he was after greater game, of some sort. But what might that be? Also, as she could recognize him, her death might be worth far more to him than the gold her delivery to Ar might bring. To be sure, I, too, might recognize him. I had taken care to avoid being alone with him. Clearly I constituted a danger to him, and, as a free man, one far more dangerous than that posed by a slave. I had little doubt he would eventually seek his opportunity, perhaps a thrust in the darkness, a feigned misstep at the ice, the provoking of a quarrel, or such.
I saw two or three men emerge onto the darkening deck. I thought little of it at the time.
Chapter Nine
The Mutiny
I awakened to the screaming of tarns and the beating of the ship’s great alarm bar, over and over, incessantly, deafeningly.
“Deck, deck, deck!” I heard.
Outside our crew area, one of several, I could hear feet running in the corridor, others climbing the stairs in the nearest companionway.
“Beware,” called Philoctetes. “There is swordplay.”
We could hear the ringing of steel.
It was past the twentieth Ahn.
“Lamps have been shattered!” I heard. “Put out the fires.”
We tumbled from our quarters, casting our furs about us. Most of us had been disarmed, a concomitance of the weeks of short days and cold, the length of our seizure by the ice, the reduction in rations, the deterioration of morale, the growing fear, the gradually increasing sense of desperation and hopelessness, the surliness of many, but there are always hidden weapons.
“We are under attack!” I heard.
“No, no!” I heard.
“What is going on?” called a fellow.
“Lamps have been shattered!” I heard.
In our quarters we looked wildly to one another. Muchly did we fear fire.
“No!” I heard. “No! To the weapon room!”
The Pani were still armed, and officers, and various guardsmen.
Philoctetes opened the door to the corridor, cautiously, and peered out. It was apparently then empty. We followed him into the corridor. Some tharlarion oil from a lamp, like spread grease, was burning on the flooring. The lamp itself was still on its chains. It was not difficult to smother the flames, with furs, or stamp them out. The most serious fires on a ship are likely to originate in the kitchens. It did not seem likely anyone was trying to fire the ship. Most likely the lamp, in the low-ceilinged passageway, had been jostled in the passage of armed, rushing men. We encountered no shattered lamps, nor any indications of arson.
We could hear, above us, however, the sound of steel, the cries of men.
There must be fighting in corridors, or elsewhere.
We also heard the grating of the large tarn hatch, amidships, being rolled back. This is done with a double windlass. It takes several men to move the hatch.
When the ship had debouched from the Alexandra, and entered Thassa, I had been told there were something like two hundred tarns aboard. They were housed in three large areas, each occupying a substantial portion of its own deck. The highest area was on the first deck below the open deck. The other two areas, by ramps, led to the highest area, it alone having the sky accessible, once the great hatch was rolled back. As the tarn is a large, dangerous, aggressive bird, and territorial in the wild, many of the ship tarns had separate stalls, or cages; others were chained apart, by the left foot; some others, crowded together, literally had their wings bound, their beaks strapped shut, save for feeding.
Restless, and many long unflighted, it was unusually dangerous to be amongst them. Few but tarnsmen or tarnkeepers would approach them, and then with great caution.
“Let us to the weapon room,” said a fellow.
There, one supposed, arms might be issued to us, were they deemed in order. As it turned out, however, the weapon room had been stormed earlier by a number of disaffected crew members, in effect, mutineers, who were intent on freeing tarns, and risking a flight which might lead to land, a flight presumably to the east, where lay Torvaldsland.
I knew little of tarns, the control of such monsters, their dispositions and habits, their ranges of flight, and such, but it seemed improbable, given our conjectured position, so far west of even the farther islands, that one might reach land, say, Torvaldsland, before the tarn might, even with the might of its legendary stamina, fall to the ice, in the dimness or darkness, unable to continue on, to die of cold and exhaustion, or, starving, turn on its rider. If landfall were practical from our current position surely our outriders and scouts would have discovered this, returned, reported it, brought back much needed supplies, and such. But it was true some deserters had, in the past weeks, now and then, flighted a tarn away, over the ice, into the gray sky, and had not returned. Who knew that some of them might not have reached land. Twice, riderless tarns had returned to the ship, their harnessing torn apart or missing, their beaks red with frozen blood. They flew at those who would have led them below. They were killed.
In our small quarters there were some forty fellows, mostly of Cos, Tyros, or the smaller islands. We did not mix well with the fellows from the continent.
I would conjecture there were some five hundred of the unusual men, the Pani, on board, divided amongst the commands of Lords Nishida and Okimoto, some two hundred and fifty each. And of others, mariners, soldiers, artisans, and such, perhaps two thousand, these recruited variously, many, particularly the mercenaries, in Brundisium, often fugitives from the restoration in Ar.
I was not clear on the purpose of the voyage, but it doubtless had to do with war, for our ship, despite what might be the views of its shipwright, Tersites, was serving essentially as a transport, one undertaking an unprecedented voyage, whose intended destination seemed likely to be known only to the Pani. The male Pani, for example, were uniformly warriors. This I found significant. There were a handful of Pani females aboard, but I saw little of them. They were spoken of as contract women. I did not understand their status. It did not seem they were slaves. The other men aboard, other than the Pani, or at least the overwhelming majority of us, as were the Pani, were men accustomed to weaponry and the arbitrations of force. The ship, then, as noted, was essentially a transport, conveying a small army to foreign fields. The slaves on board, perhaps some two hundred in number, would have their various purposes, serving in various ways. Too, of course, such women are a form of wealth, as they may be sold, traded, bartered, given as gifts, and such. I did not doubt but what such goods would figure in the plans of the Pani. Of tarns, I had been told, as mentioned, that there had been something in the neighborhood of two hundred on board when the ship of Tersites had entered Thassa from the Alexandra. A tarn cavalry was clearly intended, which was, I suspected, intended to be a decisive arm in some projected campaign. I gathered that tarns might be unknown at the World’s End; else why would they be aboard? The Pani seemed to have no shortage of resources, given their financing of the ship of Tersites, the hiring of hundreds of mercenaries, the purchasing of slaves, and such. Thus, if tarns were common at the World’s End it would be more expeditious to obtain them there. If they were not known at the World’s End, then their judicious application in battle, reconnaissance, raids, and such, might indeed prove formidable. Even their appearance might inspire awe, even terror. To be sure, there were no longer some two hundred tarns on board. Some had been flighted, and had not returned; some had died; two had been killed. There was secrecy with respect to the figures involved, as would be expected, as with the number of catapults, and such, but rumors suggested a current count of something like one hundred and seventy healthy tarns on board. We knew of three weapon rooms, but suspected there were others. One aspect, at least, of the naval power of the ship of Tersites was clear. She nested six galleys. The tarnsman, Tarl Cabot, was apparently the commander of the tarn cavalry. Several times, in better weather, he had had it aloft, in training exercises. It is impressive to see such mighty beasts in flight, the stroke of the wings to the beating of the tarn drum, the wheelings and maneuvers, in unison, to the signals of banners and trumpets.
