by John Norman
“I did not know you were there,” I said, annoyed.
“I understand,” she said. “I only want to say to you that I, too, in the tavern, on different nights, looking upon you, felt such things.”
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Has Master?”
“Yes,” I said.
She looked at me. “It is strange,” she said. “I have come from far away, to find my master.”
“Strange, too,” I said, “that I should so find my slave, in one come from so far a world.”
“Do you think you might care for me, eventually, a little, Master?” she asked.
“I will buy a whip in the morning,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
It was hard to take my eyes from her. How beautiful she was, kneeling before me, in the light of the lamp.
“I am marked,” she said, “as Master determined, the common kef. I am thus well identified as a slave.”
“So?” I said.
“And,” she said, “I think that Master may like me, forgive me, Master, as I could not help overhearing words which gave me such hopes, and surely he knows my antecedents and origins, my affinities, as he will have it, if he is correct, with the Caste of Scribes, so lofty a caste, and my former station and position, as a student in a university, and thus, in a sense, my prestige, dignity, and such.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“So,” she said, “it will not be necessary to put me in a collar. I am above a collar.”
“You were collared in The Sea Sleen,” I said.
“I was a paga girl,” she said. “They did not know my specialness. I am now the slave of a Scribe, and the Scribes is a high caste.”
“Look to the side,” I said. “Do you see that slave, she, Alcinoe?” I asked.
“Certainly,” she said.
“Well,” I said, “she was once a free woman in imperial Ar, a high lady, a woman of importance and power, of wealth and station. What is on her neck?”
“A collar,” said the slave.
“What sort of collar?” I asked.
“A slave collar,” she said.
“Precisely,” I said.
“But she is Gorean,” said the slave.
“And you are a barbarian,” I said, “a thousand times less.”
The slave touched her throat, lightly, tentatively, apprehensively.
“Master will collar me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow you will wear a collar, a slave collar, and it will be locked on your neck.”
“I will not be able to remove it?”
“No,” I said.
Relief, to my surprise, flooded her features.
“Thank you, Master,” she said. “That is what I want. I want your collar on my neck, and I want it there, locked, as on the neck of any other slave, for I am only another slave. No more! That is what I am, and want to be. How happy you make me! I am grateful! I will try to be worthy of wearing your collar. Thank you, Master. I will love my collar.”
I then lay back on the comforters, which I had spread on the floor.
“Master?” she said.
“Please me,” I said.
She crawled to my side. “I will try, Master,” she whispered.
“Wine, Master?” had said my slave.
“Wine, Master?” had said the slave of my friend, Callias.
“Yes,” I had said.
“Yes,” had said Callias.
As noted, the slaves had served the wine well.
I thought the supper was nicely prepared.
Too, as noted, the ka-la-na was excellent.
This morning we had all ventured to the high piers, bid farewell to Captain Nakamura, and watched that unusual ship, the River Dragon, unusual, at least for Brundisium, take its leave.
We watched it, until it could no longer be seen from the high pier.
“I wish them a good journey,” said Callias.
“I, too,” I said.
“Tersites,” he said, looking out to sea, “had eyes painted on the great ship.”
“I recall that, from your story,” I said. “It pleased me. Now she can see her way.”
“A day out from the cove of the castle,” said he, “we heaved to, and Tersites himself, with his own hands, poured wine, oil, and salt into the sea.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” I said. It seemed then, at last, that Tersites had made his peace with vast, mighty Thassa.
“Where is the great ship now?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he said.
“One wonders what transpires at the World’s End,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “one wonders.”
“You need not have shared so much with me,” I said, “the coins, the jewels, the pearls.”
“Have no fear,” he smiled. “What you received is small, compared to what I retain.”
“I suspect,” I said, “that you would have been more than content with no more than a mere slave.”
“Yes,” he said, “that would have been more than enough.”
“But, surely,” I said, “the gold, the jewels, the pearls, and such, were welcome.”
“Do you not think it would have been boorish, not to have accepted them?”
“Quite,” I said.
We turned about, to join the slaves, one in a scarlet tunic, one in a blue tunic, waiting at the land end of the pier.
The slaves now, at our supper, brought forth the Turian liqueurs.
“These are expensive,” I said.
“One wishes to make his contribution,” said Callias.
“You have done far more than that,” I said.
“Alcinoe,” he said, “knows of such things. She used to approve the menus for banquets, for state dinners, for private suppers, and such.”
“A valuable slave,” I said.
“In many ways,” he said.
Alcinoe smiled. “After supper,” she said, “with master’s permission, I will show him how valuable a slave can be.”
“And I trust,” said my slave, “that I may convince my master that a mere barbarian is not to be despised in the furs.”
As the reader, if such there be, may apprehend, I could now afford furs. To be sure, expressions such as ‘serving in the furs’ are rather general.
Whereas the girls prepared and served the meal, we had them share it with us, as well, they kneeling at the small tables, at which we sat cross-legged. This is not that unusual in small households, where informality is common. We did, of course, take the first bite of the various dishes, the first sip of the various beverages, and such.
“Your vocabulary and grammar,” I told my slave, “is much improved.”
“Alcinoe has been very helpful,” she said.
“Beware her accent,” said Callias. “It is of Ar.”
“It is a beautiful accent,” said my slave.
“Doubtless,” said Callias, “but there are places where that accent might earn you a blow.”
“I listen carefully in the market, on the streets, and about the piers,” she said, “and do my best to speak as those about me.”
“I have a western, coastal accent,” I said. “Callias, not surprisingly, has a Cosian accent.”
“East Cos, Jad, I am told,” said Callias.
“It seems then,” said Alcinoe, “that I am the only one without an accent.”
“That is the vanity of Ar,” said Callias.
“Someone must speak correct Gorean,” she said.
“I trust,” I said to Alcinoe, “that your kind efforts to assist my slave with her Gorean are not completely unrequited.”
“No,” she said.
“Perhaps she does some of your chores for you?”
“No,” she said.
“What then?” I asked.
“She has informed me of certain tricks of the alcove,” said Alcinoe, “unlikely to lie within the repertoire of the average free woman, which
I once was.”
“Good,” I said.
“Interesting,” said Callias. “That explains much.”
Shortly thereafter the slaves rose to their feet and, a bit later, I could smell the fumes of freshly brewed black wine. It shortly made its appearance. Alcinoe, as she was Gorean, had the honor of bringing forth the vessel and cups, and my slave, as she was a barbarian, and thus subordinate, unless it was otherwise specified, brought forth the small pitcher of cream, the tiny spoons, and the small, flat bowls of sugars and spices. Later, each slave brought forth, as well, a tray of assorted cakes and pastries.
I thought the slaves served well.
Both wore only their collars.
This is not that unusual, at small suppers, and such, in the absence of free women.
It is pleasant for a fellow, of course, to be so served, by naked, beautiful slaves.
The mastery is characterized by many such delights.
After supper, and the slaves had cleared, and then washed, dried, and stored the dinnerware, and such, we addressed ourselves, each with his own slave, to the pleasures of the furs.
Later the slaves slept, lying beside us.
“Callias,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. He was not asleep either.
“There is interest in many of these things,” I said, “in Tersites, the great ship, in Talena, of Ar, in Tarl Cabot, the Pani, the World’s End, and such. Would you mind, if I might, as I could, tell your story?”
“No,” he said. “But no one will believe it.”
“There was Captain Nakamura,” I said, “and the River dragon.”
“A strange ship,” he said, “from faraway. What might that have to do with the things you mention?”
“It came from the World’s End,” I said.
“All people will know,” he said, “is that it is an unusual ship, and it is not clear from whence it came.”
“Is it important,” I asked, “whether people believe it or not?”
“Not at all,” he said.
“You do not mind,” I said, “if the story is told?”
“No,” he said. “I would like for it to be told.”
“You will be leaving in a few days,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I shall not ask where,” I said.
“I am not as yet sure myself,” he said.
“I conjecture that names, and such, will be changed.”
“Quite possibly,” he said. “That would seem judicious.”
“I will wish you well,” I said.
“And I, too,” he said, “will wish you well.”
I now conclude this tale.
It may be recalled that my slave had long been nameless. For example, she had had no name given her in The Sea Sleen, and had been purchased by Callias as a nameless slave, much as one might purchase any nameless animal. Still slaves like to have names, and it is convenient that they should be named, obviously, for a variety of reasons, for ease of referring to them, instructing them, and such. Her collar, in The Sea Sleen, had simply identified her as a paga girl of that tavern, to be returned there if found strayed, or fled. Her name now, with mine, identifying me as her master, appeared on her collar. It seemed she had hoped to be given a beautiful name, and had long hoped that a particular name, one which much appealed to her, would be given to her. It was with fervency that she had knelt before me, her head to my feet, and timidly asked that she might be given a name, and informed me of the one she hoped might be hers. I thought her choice lovely. It is a name not unknown in Brundisium, and one often encountered amongst the islands. It is ‘Helen’.
So let this tale be concluded.
I wish you well.
Calisthenes,
Office of the Registry,
Harbor Administration,
Port of Brundisium,
Scribe.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-1bf28f-7583-f04c-7ba7-a096-7499-a3b5c8
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 14.10.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.2, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Norman, John
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