by John Norman
The other three girls had returned below decks.
The stem castle deck was empty. There was the helmsman, of course, on the helm deck. Two officers were on the stern-castle deck, but, at the distance, I could not identify them. Interestingly fewer officers were now in evidence than some days before, even after the stringing of the storm ropes. This was supposedly by order of the ship’s governing lords, Nishida and Okimoto.
I had fastened the safety rope about my waist, as usual, but this precaution, day after day, seemed ever more unnecessary, if not foolish.
How could the sea be more calm?
Perhaps Thassa slept.
I saw no sign of her awakening.
There was no sign of the fleet of Lord Yamada. It had not followed us.
The sea was calm.
I did see, rather forward, on the starboard side, a dark cloud, far off. I had not noticed it before.
Two or three Ehn passed.
I sensed, suddenly that something was different, though I saw nothing. The girl, too, stopped in her work. I wondered if this strangeness was only felt forward. I saw no change aft, on the helm deck, or the stern-castle deck.
I suddenly cried out, in horror, “Seize the ropes! Seize the ropes!”
Before us, the sea had opened, and, before the ship, with steep sides, there appeared a valley, water pouring down its sides, as into a vast hole. “Seize the ropes!” I cried.
The bow of the ship paused, teetering, as though at the edge of a cliff, and then, suddenly, it plunged downward, and slid to the side of that steep, pouring, liquid valley, and went over to her side, and continents of water poured over her, and then engulfed her, and she spun about, for all her size, like a child’s toy, and we were under water, turning, and I was swept from the platform and ring, and flung to the end of the safety rope. Then the great ship rotated, buffeted, in the sea, and was washed upward, and she righted herself, and her bow, like a breaching leviathan, the northern whale, broke the surface and I fell back against the mast, gasping for air. The great ship pitched and turned as might a straw in a maelstrom. The waters churned about her, and she was smote as with discordant, hurtling rivers in the sea, and I feared her timbers, though of mighty Tur wood, might be stove in. The ship leapt forward, as waves rose behind her, and then her bow again went under the water, and I clung to the mast, and saw the sea not feet below me. The ship rose from the water, water pouring from her, as from the back of an emerging sea tharlarion. I saw, far below, the small figure of the slave, on a storm rope, both arms fastened about it. Behind us I saw steam rising from the sea, and the water began to boil. The helm deck and stern-castle deck were empty. I feared the calking might be melted from the timbers. The bit of canvas we had flown was soaked, and heavy, and could barely move in the breeze which, but moments ago, had gentled us our course. The ship rocked, and, I feared, was turning back, toward the steaming sea. I saw a figure clamber to the helm deck, a hatch quickly sealed behind it. It was Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, who threw his weight, as that of two men, against the helm pole. The ship, the breeze shaking in the soaked canvas, turned west. I saw another mighty trough before us, and tried to cry out, but no sound came from my throat, and I clung again to the mast. Twice more was the great ship submerged, and twice more, turned and buffeted, she rose to the surface. Steam rose from about us. Water churned, and the sea was as a cauldron, hissing and bubbling. And Cabot, struggling at the helm pole, held the course west, steadily. The sea, three times, had fallen away beneath us. It was as though the floor of the sea itself had shuddered and cracked, opening a world into which water had poured. But this was not what was most frightening, and I saw what many men know of, but few men have seen. Mighty Thassa would give berth. I saw rising, on either side, and before, mountains rising from the sea, mountains of fire, bursting alive, mountains moving, rising, run with molten streams of rock, some loose like flaming water, some patient and thick, dully red, and from these strange mountains, cast into the air were clouds of flaming rock, cinders, and ash. The air fumed and stung with particles, and I fought to breathe, and yet feared to do so. Ash clung about my face and mouth. My eyes stung. How could one live in such air? Surely one would suffocate, or strangle, and collapse, dying in such a fog of cinders and gas. The cracking noises of the angry, burning mountains, too, like thunder at one’s ear, almost deafened one. A gigantic rock fell into the sea, hissing, to port. The sails, I feared, in the falling, flaming debris, would have been ignited, had they been dry. Cinders and ash rained on the deck. Cabot was screaming on the helm deck, for men to emerge, to see to the ship. There was fire on the stern-castle deck, and the bulwarks to starboard were aflame.
Coughing, eyes stinging, burned by cinders, I regained the platform and ring. I looked down to the deck.
Cabot had now been joined by Pertinax and Tajima, and a number of Pani and armsmen were emerging from the lower decks, forward. I saw Lord Nishida among them, gesturing, crying out. Men ran to smother flames. Buckets were cast, and heated water drawn aboard, to be splashed on the flames. Many men had put cloths about their faces.
I muchly desired to free myself of the safety rope, descend the ratlines, and aid in the protection of the ship, but I knew I would not do so. It was not that I feared to leave my post, or feared to be flogged, or killed, for doing so. Rather, it was my watch, and I was of the ship.
The deck was black, and pitted.
The heated air had dried the sails, and they now billowed, as the wind had risen. The course, now held by mariners, continued west, then west by southwest, taking its way amidst new-risen, flaming, towering mountains.
It became possible to breathe without pain.
Later, a light rain had begun to fall, for the first time in several days. This, I take it, may have been a result of the stifling, burning air ascending to the high, cold sky, familiar to jacketed tarnsmen, where, condensing, it fell as a soft, washing rain. Had we not been on the ship, I feared we might not have escaped death. Fixed in place, there would have been little to do but die.
I no longer saw the slave, but I knew that she had survived. Originally, I feared she might have drowned, her arms locked, desperately, frozen, about the storm rope, but, later, the ship righted and emergent, though cruelly pitching, I had seen her move, trembling, struggling to clutch the rope even more tightly. And later, as the ship had sought to effect its escape, I had seen her react, stung by the falling, fiery cinders. As she was no longer in view, she would have been conducted, or sent, below. Her body had been blackened in the soot and ash. I had seen her scratch cinders from her hair, slap frenziedly at the left side of her tiny tunic, where the material had caught fire. Then she had clung ever more tightly to the soaked, heavy rope. There would doubtless be marks on her body from it. I suspected that her hands and arms would have to have been pried from it.
So the slave had survived.
Excellent.
You must understand, of course, that there was nothing personal in this, nothing on the score of which I need castigate myself.
Surely one might be similarly pleased, and even legitimately so, at the survival of any other animal, as well, say, a verr or kaiila. The slave, as the verr or kaiila, and other such animals, has value. For example, she may, at one’s pleasure, be sold.
Understand, clearly, that she meant nothing to me.
There was nothing personal in my feelings.
My concern was purely on behalf of the ship.
One does not care for a slave.
That is absurd.
She is not a free woman.
She is a slave.
Her purpose is to be mastered, totally, to be worked, commonly in the performance of repetitious, servile tasks, and to satisfy, obediently and unquestioningly, and helplessly, the lowest, most bestial, and carnal of her master’s appetites. The free woman may be conducted to public readings and song dramas; the slave is to be at the foot of her master’s couch, chained to his slave ring.
Of what value is a woma
n to a man if she lacks slave skills?
Even a brilliant woman, witty and articulate, learned, of the high Scribes, collared, her blue robes exchanged for a rag, must apply herself to new studies, the use of her lips and tongue, of her small fingers and glossy hair. Aside from homely tasks, she will be taught cosmetics and ornamentation. To the snap of a whip she will learn slave dance. If the master is cruel, earrings may be fastened in her ears. On the high bridges she will feel wind on her legs and arms, and in her hair, and on her unveiled features, on which men may look with impunity.
She is now a slave.
She belongs to her master.
Collared, she is freer now than she would have ever dreamed possible.
She hopes to prove a suitable slave to him, attentive, humble, grateful, zealous, and skilled.
Her errands done, she hurries to his quarters, to kneel before him.
Many men had now come to the deck, which swarmed with mariners and armsmen. I saw even Lord Okimoto.
About us were several of the fire mountains, less fearful now. We threaded our way amongst them with care.
The storm ropes were loosened and coiled, to be stowed below decks. The hatches, as the sky was clear, remained open. I did not understand it at the time, but the “ridge” had been passed. We were leaving the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire.
I wondered why the slave, earlier, had not accompanied her collar sisters below, but had lingered on deck. Surely she knew she was risking a switching.
I trusted that she had been sent to the washing tubs, that her hair and body, and tunic, might be cleaned, and that physicians had tended to her burns.
Perhaps, by now, she was back in the Kasra keeping area, on her chain, run to its ring by her mat.
Though the hatches and portals had been sealed, I supposed that the great ship would have shipped some water. As I had heard no call for the pumps, I supposed it was negligible, and confined to the holds, where men might wade, and soon hand buckets from one to the other.
I saw Tersites on the stem-castle deck.
I thought him likely to be satisfied with the great ship.
She had come through the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire.
I wondered if the slave, below, once cleaned, and salved, had been beaten. She had not accompanied her collar sisters back below decks. Her hair and body had been covered with soot and ash, her skin had been pelted with dust and scalding cinders, her tunic had been partly burned. Yes, I thought, she would doubtless have been switched. A slave is expected to care for herself, to keep herself clean, well groomed, and attractive, as she is her master’s property.
The great hatch was rolled back. I gathered that tarns would be exercised. I also saw, for the first time, at the side of Tarl Cabot, as men drew back in fear, a large sleen, which dragged its left, hind foot. I had heard the animal a number of times before, but I had never seen it until now. Heeling Cabot, behind the lame sleen, was his barbarian slave, Cecily. She was attractive. I did not doubt but what she would bring good coin off the block. I wondered if the barbarian lands might not be rich with such women, ripe for bringing to the markets of Gor. By the morrow, I hoped that the kajirae, so long confined below decks, might be brought to the open deck, as before, for air and exercise. Alcinoe, I supposed, who would have incurred the displeasure of her keepers, would remain below, on her chain.
I scanned the horizon, that line below the sky, with the glass. Thousands of times I, and others, had done so.
How eager we were to see tiny irregularities in the distance, initially almost undiscernible, perhaps tiny, beckoning flecks of green or brown.
Sometimes, interestingly, particularly after long at sea, one sees such things when they are not there. It is well then to hold back, until one is sure, until matters are clear, at least to the glass. More than one watch had been flogged for crying out the sight of land, stirring crews, rousing jubilation, where there was no land.
It suddenly occurred to me that we must be at least two or three days from land, else the tarns, the concealment of whose existence seemed a matter of such moment to Lords Nishida and Okimoto, would remain concealed. To be sure, perhaps we were months from land. I doubted that, however, if only because of the fire mountains. Might not such cataclysmic births herald a world or worlds similarly formed? Perhaps, I suspected, we were not far from the World’s End, the Homeland of the Pani.
I sensed pressure on the ratlines to my right.
It was Leros.
“Tal,” he said, looking about, clinging to the ratlines. The sight was indeed impressive.
“Tal,” I said. “The jard flies swiftly.”
“To where feasting may be found,” he said.
He joined me at the platform and ring. “I will linger a moment,” I said. I looked about. I had never before seen the formation of islands.
Chapter Twenty
It is Suspected that Land is Nigh; Many Slaves are Allowed the Liberty of the Deck; I Take the Opportunity to Interrogate a Particular Slave; No Cry of Interest Had Yet Emanated from the High Watch
Having passed the “ridge,” and leaving the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire, in our wake, we had turned north, and then north by northwest.
Though no word was spoken to the crew we suspected we were near land, that the long voyage of the great ship was almost done. Many were the looks cast forward. Some men, off duty, climbed the ratlines, and masts. The cry, “What, ho?” was now often addressed to the high watches, which were now maintained on every mast. On some decks there was singing. The wealth in the lockers, gleaned from the derelicts in the Vine Sea, was counted, and recounted. Many men, were they now in Brundisium, in Venna, in Ar, would have been rich in coin, in silks, in perfumes, and jewels. There was little fear now, even amongst the simplest of our armsmen and mariners, that the great ship might plunge from the planet’s edge. The Pani were imperturbable. Lords Nishida and Okimoto seemed cheerful. We had the sense that some, if not us, found these familiar waters. They had known, for example, of the dangers of the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire. The tarns were again housed below decks, which suggested the secrecy of their existence was again a matter of concern.
“You are often about,” I said to her.
“I hope Master is not displeased,” she said.
“You have many duties, it seems,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“But not at the moment,” I said.
“No, Master,” she said.
It was not unusual now to see slaves on deck. I took it this was an additional indication that some change was nigh. It was only later that I began to suspect the rationale for this surprising liberty.
I had her on her knees before me. A slave commonly speaks to a free man only from her knees.
“Are you in need of discipline?” I asked.
“I trust not,” she said.
The slave had often been in my vicinity, even when it seemed there was no cause for this proximity.
I wondered at this.
When I might glance in her direction, she would put her head down, shyly. Seeing my eyes clearly upon her, she would immediately kneel, her head to the deck. This behavior, of course, is not inappropriate in a slave. Whereas this sort of thing, frequenting the vicinity of a free man, is not unusual in an enamored slave, desperate to fall within the purview of a master’s glance, hoping to be noticed, though she be only slave, it seemed unaccountable in the case of one who had once been the Lady Flavia of Ar. Did she not know that such behavior might be misunderstood, that it might be construed as a plea to be enfolded in a man’s arms, to be purchased, to be put on his chain? The slave cannot choose her master, but she has many ways in which to plead that it will be she who is chosen.
The slave is not as helpless as she may seem. She has the weapon of her beauty, the tool of her desirability.
Could she be such a slave?
“It is fortunate,” I said to her, “that in the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire, you were not washed from the deck.”
“Warned,” she said, “I had time to seize the storm rope.”
Seeing the suddenly opening valley in the sea before us, I had cried out a warning.
“Master saved my life,” she said.
“The warning,” I said, “was of general import.”
“Even so,” she said.
“But I am pleased,” I said, “that you survived.”
“The heart of a slave is gladdened,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” she said, “a slave is of concern to Master.”
“How could that be,” I asked, “as she is a slave?”
“Were you not pleased?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You are an item of ship’s property,” I said. “In saving you, I saved an item of ship’s property.”
“Is that all?” she asked.
“What more could there be?” I asked.
“I see,” she said.
“You should not have been on deck in the first place,” I said. “You dallied. You lingered. You did not accompany your chain sisters below. I trust that after you were cleaned and tended, the backs of your pretty thighs were kissed with the switch for that.”
“They were!” she said.
“Why did you linger?” I asked.
“Can Master not guess?” she said.
This answer annoyed me. There is a fine line between deference and boldness, as between boldness and sauciness, and between sauciness and insolence. I considered cuffing her.
“Master?” she said.
How innocent she looked.
Yes, I thought, a cuffing might do her some good.
I recalled that she had proclaimed her love for me, the helpless love of a worthless slave.
What a liar was the collared slut!
Could she have truly risked the switch, that she might be longer in my view? That she might be longer in my presence, that she might be nearer to me, that she might, for a time, in effect, despite the breadth of the deck and the height of the high watch, be alone with me?
