Mariners of Gor cog[oc-30

by John Norman

  “You recognized my voice,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, bitterly.

  I approached her, with master closeness.

  This did not please her.

  “Lift your chin,” I said.

  I then adjusted her collar. I lifted it up, against the bottom of her chin, and then put it back, and pulled it a bit, straightening it, against the back of her neck. She was thus reminded that she wore it.

  “You may lower your chin,” I said.

  She regarded me, her eyes flashing with fury.

  I smiled, amused, and this further enflamed the small, lovely property.

  A slave is permitted the pride of a slave, of course, but not that of a free woman. She is not a free woman. In her, such pride is a travesty, a joke. Its may also be a cause for discipline.

  I wondered if she still thought of herself as a free woman, or was trying to think of herself as a free woman.

  I did not think she would be successful.

  I stepped back, regarding her.

  The tunic she wore was fetching, if only because there was so little to it. It was high on her thighs, especially the left thigh, for her brand was evident. The hems were ragged. In places it was rent. It was muchly stained and soiled. In front it was torn to her belly.

  It was then she had said, “Doubtless you are pleased to see me so,” and I had pointed to the deck, and knelt her, head down.

  “Yes,” I had said, “I like to see you as you are.”

  She trembled in rage before me, but dared not raise her head.

  “When,” I said, “you were the Lady Flavia of Ar, high in the city, confidante of the Ubara herself, I would suppose you did not anticipate that you would one day kneel collared before one who was once a mere guard.”

  “No,” she said.

  “‘No’?” I said.

  “No,” she said, “-Master.”

  “I note,” I said, “that you bear wastes.”

  She was silent.

  These are borne to the rail, where they are emptied, following which the pails, seriatim, on a long rope, are rinsed in the sea, thereafter to be returned to the chain hooks on the yoke.

  “Only the lowest of slaves are put to such labors,” I said.

  “Some are so punished,” she said.

  “Are you being punished?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Then you are amongst the lowest of slaves,” I said.

  “Or deemed so,” she said, keeping her head down.

  “You are of the Kasra keeping area,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “From what area are the wastes?” I inquired.

  “From the Venna area,” she said.

  “Then,” I said, “the girls of the Kasra area dispose not only of their own wastes, but those from the Venna area, as well.”

  “Yes,” she said. “There the wastes are placed outside the heavy door. We do not enter that area.”

  “Did you know,” I asked, “that the higher slaves are housed in the Venna area, and the lower in the Kasra area?”

  “May I look up?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “No,” she said, “I did not know that.”

  “Doubtless there are exceptions,” I said.

  “I trust so,” she said.

  “One would certainly not wish for a higher slave to dispose of her own wastes,” I said.

  “One supposes not,” she said.

  “That would be deplorable,” I said.

  “Doubtless,” she said.

  “Would you like to be moved to the Venna area?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” she said.

  “Its deck is higher, its air is better,” I said.

  “How might this be arranged?” she asked.

  “I need only broadcast the matter of your former identity, your fugitive status, the bounty involved, and such.”

  She looked up in terror. Then she looked about, frightened. We were much alone. From some yards away she would appear to be no more than an accosted work slave. “Please do not, Master!” she begged.

  “The Kasra area now seems more attractive,” I speculated.

  “I do not want to be impaled,” she whispered.

  “You are in little danger of that,” I said. “You are far at sea, in waters scarcely suspected, even by those of the far islands. Who here could bring you to Ar? How could it be done? Her walls are thousands of pasangs away.”

  “Eventually,” she said, “-if we were to return.”

  I was not at all sure we would return. Who knew the mysteries at the World’s End?

  “Then, certainly,” I said.

  “Master is free,” she said. “He is a man, he is strong, he is a warrior. I am small, weak, helpless, a woman, and a slave. He could easily bring me to Ar.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Would Master bring me to Ar?” she asked.

  “You are no Talena, no false Ubara, no unmatched prize,” I said, “but the bounty on you, even so, is not negligible. It might purchase a galley, several slaves.”

  “Some slaves,” she said, “have been exchanged for a city. Might one not be worth a galley, and might not one slave be worth several slaves?”

  “It would depend on the slave,” I said.

  “Buy Alcinoe!” she said.

  “Only a slave begs to be purchased,” I said.

  “I am a slave!” she said.

  “You were always a slave,” I said, “even in Ar.”

  “Yes,” she said, defiantly, “I was always a slave, even in Ar!”

  “And now,” I said, “you are where you belong, in a collar!”

  “Yes, Master!” she said.

  “You are not for sale,” I said.

  “If I were for sale,” she said, “would you bid for me?”

  “I would think about it,” I said.

  She pressed her lips to my boots. “I would be a slave of slaves to you!” she said. “Even in Ar I dreamed of myself, collared, in your arms!”

  “It is interesting,” I said, “to have the former Lady Flavia of Ar so before me.”

  “She is at your feet,” she said, “now no more than a pathetic, petitioning slave.”

  “Perhaps she wishes her former identity kept secret,” I said.

  “Tell no one,” she begged.

  “I do not need to,” I said.

  “Master?” she said, looking up.

  “You are clever,” I said.

  “I would give myself to you!” she said.

  “You need not,” I said. “If I buy you, you are mine.”

  “Master?”

  “Does the tarsk give herself to the tarsk buyer?”

  “Even from Ar I have loved you!” she said.

  “As a free woman?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, angrily, bitterly, tears in her eyes, “as a conquered, abject slave her master!”

  “I have little to fear from you,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Were I to spare you from the impaling spear,” I said, “and it were we alone, only we, who knew your identity, might I not expect a knife in the night, poison in the proffered goblet of paga?”

  “No!” she said. “From the moment I first saw you I sensed you were my master. I fought this, I amused myself with you, I tormented you, but I wanted you to tear my veils and robes from me, to cast me to your feet, to lock me in your collar!”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “I wanted to be owned,” she said, “to be a possession, and yours!”

  “It is hard to know if you are more clever or more beautiful,” I said, “but I think you are not as clever as you think.”

  “Master?”

  “Your secret is not ours alone,” I said.

  “Seremides knows,” she said, “but is helpless, not to be feared, ruined!”

  “Even before the Vine Sea,” I said, “he knew he could not bring you alone to Ar, for t
he price on his own head. He could accomplish such a thing only in the case of Talena, whose capture and delivery would guarantee his own amnesty. Accordingly he would require confederates.”

  “He may not, as yet, have enlisted them!” she said.

  “It is my speculation that Tyrtaios knows,” I said, “and perhaps certain others of their circle.”

  “Surely not!” she said, alarmed.

  “There are possibly others, from Ar, or elsewhere, who may know, or suspect, as well,” I said. “Seremides’ interest in you has been long noted, even from early in the voyage, by several, for example by Lords Nishida and Okimoto, and the tarnsman, Cabot. They may not know your identity, but they surely suspect something of the sort, a fugitive status, a possible bounty, and such, and after suitable inquiries might well discover your former identity. Indeed, they need only see that you are delivered to Ar, where your identity, as that of various other fugitives, would be soon determined.”

  “I am lost!” she moaned. “Protect me!”

  “Perhaps it will be I,” I said, “rather, who would bring you to Ar.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “perhaps it will be you.”

  “You have little to fear at present,” I said. “Indeed, I suspect that none of us will live to see Ar.”

  “Would you truly bring me to Ar?” she asked.

  “I do not think so,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I do not like gold which is washed in blood,” I said.

  “Is there no other reason?” she asked.

  “Your figure,” I said, “is not without interest.”

  “My figure?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Ela!” she wept. “I am unworthy to be a free woman. I desire to be naked, and lusted for. I desire to be collared, and lavish kisses upon the feet of a master! I desire to love and serve, wholly, unstintingly, selflessly, as a slave!”

  “You have work to do,” I said.

  “If others know my identity,” she said, “why have I not been moved to the Venna keeping area?”

  “If it were up to me,” I said, “I would keep you where you are, in the Kasra area, with low slaves, that you might the sooner learn your collar.”

  “I assure Master,” she said, “I am well learning it.”

  “And,” I said, “those who know your identity, or suspect an identity of some interest, would not be eager to share that information. Let her stay then in the Kasra keeping area. There is less risk then of another suspecting something, and bringing her stripped and shackled before the throne of Marlenus.”

  “I love you, Master,” she whispered. “Do you not love me, a little?”

  I laughed at the absurdity of the question. “Love,” I asked, “love-for a slave?”

  “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

  “Be about your work,” I said.

  She struggled to her feet, in the yoke, with its suspended buckets, and turned about, toward the rail.

  I could not resist administering a sharp, stinging slap, below the small of the back.

  She cried out and stumbled forward, almost spilling some of her noisome burden. Fortunately none was lost. She turned about, to look at me, more startled than reproachful, and I pointed to the rail, and she turned about again, and went to it, to empty the pails. I thought she walked nicely. As she had suggested, she was well learning her collar. Fortunately there was no free woman present, or her beating might have been ordered.

  “That slave,” said a fellow, passing by, “is well formed.”

  “Many are,” I said.

  I wondered if I might possibly care for a slave, one such as Alcinoe. I dismissed the thought as absurd. How soon they might attempt to exploit such a weakness. Let them remember what they are, slaves, and no more. Let them kneel, the whip held before them. Let them lick and kiss it, in all trepidation and deference, and hope that it will not be used upon them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Great Ship is Tested; I Have Beheld the Formation of Islands

  “Ho, watch,” called Tarl Cabot, from far below, on the deck.

  I spun the Builder’s glass in a circle, examining the same horizon, as ever.

  “Nothing, commander,” I called down, to the deck.

  He then was making his way aft, perhaps to his quarters.

  I was at my regular watch, at the platform and ring, on the foremast. The weather was warm, and the sea tranquil. I could not remember several successive days in which our progress had been as uneventful. I had seen little to justify the ominous nomenclature confided to me by Tarl Cabot, that this was the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire, or such. We continued to encounter, ever more frequently, the porous, floating rocks. Too, there was often one or more of the mysterious clouds, or volumes of ash, or whatever they might be, on the horizon. The storm ropes remained in place, the hatches were kept closed, save for ingress and egress, and few were allowed on deck, other than officers, who were not about the business of the ship. There had been fights below decks, particularly amongst the armsmen, who chafed at their confinement. It was hot below decks, and the air grew foul. Men grew ugly. It must be miserable, I supposed, in the Kasra and Venna keeping areas, as well, the penned beasts sweating on their mats, in their chains. Girls now, I understood, vied to carry wastes, that they might, even in so humble and homely an activity, feel the fresh wind of Thassa tug at their tunics and sweep through their hair. The hatches and portals to the open deck were now guarded, from within, by Pani swordsmen. More than one man had died under their swords.

  My conversation with Tarl Cabot, alluded to earlier, having to do with the fleet of Lord Yamada, and such, had occurred on the third day of the fifth week past the fourth passage hand. It was now four days later, the second day of the fifth passage hand.

  I saw four slaves, below, with their yokes, emerging from a hatch, closed behind them, bringing wastes to the rail. One was the slave, Alcinoe. As far as I knew, she was still white silk. If there were others, I supposed them to be mostly in the Venna keeping area. Some men will pay more for a white-silk girl. Needless to say, white-silkers are rare in the markets. Many are red-silked within an Ahn of their purchase. An interesting form of white-silker is the bred slave, raised in the sheltered gardens and housings of a gynaeceum, who is raised with no knowledge of men, until, say, unhooded, say, on an auction block, chained to a man’s slave ring, cast amidst the tables of feasting warriors, or such. Such girls, of course, are quite expensive. Most men prefer red-silkers, as their slave fires have commonly been ignited. At frequent intervals they become painfully needful. One speaks of chains, ropes, thongs, and such, and they are lovely and instructive accessories, not to be overlooked or ignored, and are surely useful, as well, for inescapable custodial purposes, but it seems clear that the mightiest bonds, within which the slave is helpless, and forever ruined for freedom, are her needs, her slave needs, both physical and psychological, cruelly aroused by masters. Women, their master’s properties, find their meaning, and their true self, in bondage. They are content, and whole, only at his feet. Sometimes slaves, before their vending, are starved of a master’s touch for days. They then are desperately needful on the block, piteously supplicatory of purchase. I looked down from the platform and ring, at a particular slave, one I feared I was finding of interest, far below, Alcinoe. Already in her, I thought, even though she might as yet be white silk, there lurked a remarkable sexual latency, doubtless far greater than the naive slave now suspected. Doubtless she would be astonished at the transformation which would, as she was collared, eventually be wrought in her. Perhaps at first she might be terrified, or dismayed, to discover herself become so helpless, the victim and prisoner of needs so fierce and commanding, so uncompromising and uncontrollable, but later, though helpless in their throes, she, as her sisters, would rejoice in the thrashing ecstasies of the choiceless vessel of a master’s pleasure. In her conquest and ravishing she is raised to the stars, if only to be scornfully cast a
gain to earth, he finished with her, to sob her gratitude, and her hope that she might be again, at her master’s pleasure, subjected to the enforced raptures of the conquered slave. Speak to such a woman of freedom? She has known bondage. She would rather die than leave her master.

  From the platform and ring I looked down at the slave, in her work. She was not unattractive. How luscious are such nicely curved, worthless, meaningless, degraded objects! How men desire them! How different they are from free women, a thousand times inferior, a thousand times superior.

  It is easy to understand how it is that men will kill for them.

  Yes, I thought, she would doubtless be astonished at the transformation which she, the former Lady Flavia of Ar, would undergo. She would then find herself other than she had been, now irrecoverably different.

  It is often amusing to see a woman who denies that she is sexual, and that she can be made so, and prides herself on her inertness, frigidity, and superiority to desire, put in chains, and, within Ehn, transformed into a begging slave. And that is the merest beginning.

  Later, in her cage, she feels the collar on her throat, with both hands. She moves it about. It is well on her. It cannot be slipped. She then grasps the bars, kneeling. She squirms in the small cage, in which she cannot stand, naked, uneasy. She has begun to suspect what it might be, to be a slave. She wonders who will be her master.

  I looked down again from the platform and ring on the slave, now, on its dangling, swaying rope, rinsing a wastes pail. I remembered her, at the foot of the second mast. Indeed, I recalled the view of the physicians, from long ago, early in the voyage. I had little doubt that slave fires might soon, when men chose, rage mightily and irresistibly in that lovely little belly. After a few days as a red-silker, I could imagine her crying out publicly, even before free women she had known, on an auction block, even in Ar, in misery and gratitude, at the deft, gentle, demonstrative touch of the auctioneer’s whip. Her slave needs give a master much power over a woman. And it is pleasant, of course, to exercise such power. It is one of the pleasures of the mastery.

  The girl, hand by hand, foot by foot, drew up the pail, swirled water within it, and cast the water back to the sea. She then undid its rope, and bent to fasten the second pail, emptied, to the rope, to rinse it, as well.