Renegades of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Smoke drifted out to the piers, too, from the city itself. Those fires, I supposed, might burn for two or three days yet.

  I looked at the walkway. It had been a good fight, the fight that had been fought there. I did not think that those of either Cos or Ar’s Station had cause to regret what had been done there. Glory is its own victory.

  The last ships at the piers, one by one, began to depart their wharfage. I could see the water fall from the lifted oar blades into the harbor. Only the Tais, then, remained at the wharf.

  “Captain?” said a voice. It was that of the young crossbowman.

  His friend was with him.

  They cast off the mooring lines and then followed me aboard. After our boarding the plank was drawn back, over the rail. Three mariners, managing the long poles, thrust the Tais from the pier.

  “Out oars!” I heard the oar master call.

  21

  The River

  “Let the first of the two females be fetched,” said Aemilianus.

  It was now the middle of the morning, following yesterday’s late-afternoon action at the piers.

  The Tais moved with the current west on the Vosk. She led the main body of the flotilla westward. Ahead of us, in oblique formation, barely discernible, were four smaller galleys. These formed, as it were, an advance guard. Similarly, behind the main body of the flotilla, bringing up the rear, back a pasang or so, flying no colors, their markings concealed, were two galleys. One of these was the ship to whose captain I had spoken earlier, the Tina.

  “Yes, Commander,” said a man.

  Aemilianus sat on the deck, rather before the steps leading up to the helm deck and, above that, to the height of the stern castle, leaning against a backrest of canvas and rope. Calliodorus of Port Cos, his friend, stood near him. Beside him, too, stood his aide, Surilius. Marsias, too, and the fellows whom I had encountered in the cell earlier, and who had fought with us on the walkway, were there, too. The grizzled fellow, too, had asked to be present. These were wounded. Marsias and one other fellow were lying on pallets. The others of the wounded sat on the deck. The young man, Marcus, was there, too. It was he who had made it through to Port Cos and returned with the ships which had made possible the evacuation from the piers. Now, in spite of his youth, he stood high in these councils, those of the survivors of Ar’s Station. Many others were there, too, several of whom had fought with me on the wall and elsewhere. Among them were the two young fellows who had served me so well on the wall, as my messengers, and had served well later, too, on the landing. Those who stood with us here, I gathered, stood high among the survivors of Ar’s Station.

  I looked about myself.

  It was remarkable to see the difference in the fellows from Ar’s Station, now that they had had some food and a decent night’s sleep, though only stretched out on the crowded deck of a galley. It had been perhaps the first night’s sleep many of them had had in weeks, not disrupted by watches or alarms.

  The “first of the two females” had not yet been fetched. They were arranging a special chaining for her. This would be the one in the improvised hood. I had had her hood pushed up yesterday evening and early this morning, though at neither time in such a way as to uncover her eyes, and, after having had her warned to silence, had had her gag removed, and had had her fed and watered. Though she would know that she was on a galley and moving with the current on the Vosk, thus west, she had no real idea as to where she was or what was to be done with her. She was being kept with other women, also ordered to silence, who, with one exception, were slaves. The voices she had heard about her, for the most part, naturally enough, given the crew of the Tais, would have had Cosian accents, or accents akin to them.

  Yesterday afternoon, shortly after we had cleared the harbor at Ar’s Station, I had drawn the mask of Marsias from my features, and had shaken my head, glad to feel the air of the Vosk about me, so fresh and clear.

  “I thought it was you,” had said Aemilianus, weakly. “It had to be you. Your escape and that of the heinous traitress, Lady Claudia, became generally known after the recall of the troops from the citadel, in the retreat to the landing. We were informed of it by the good Marsias, and his fellow guardsmen. Too, there was no sword like yours in Ar’s Station.”

  “You might perhaps have joined with those of Cos,” had said a fellow, “in the fighting. Why did you not do so?”

  “The wall needed defending,” I had said. “One thing led to another.”

  “Had you not held the wall as long as you did,” had said Aemilianus. “And had you not further delayed Cos at the gate, and on the walkway, the day would have been finished long before the arrival of Calliodorus.”

  Several men had assented to this.

  “It was nothing,” I had said.

  Back by the port side of the stairs leading to the helm deck, a few feet from where Aemilianus sat, knelt Shirley, his beautiful blond slave. No longer was she so pale and drawn as before. Now she was considerably freshened by rest and food. Her blond hair which had been closely cropped, if not shaved, early in the siege of Ar’s Station was now growing out. And, already, with the rest and food, her beauty gave hints of returning to a voluptuousness that brings high prices on a slave block, and can drive a master half mad with passion. Too, looking at her, I realized that Aemilianus, too, must be feeling much better, and much stronger. She was in chains. Though the girl loves the master with all her heart and would never dream of fleeing from him, absurd though such a dream might be on Gor, given the branding, the collaring, the closeness of the society, and such, she knows that she is upon occasion to be put in chains. In this act is symbolized his desire of her, that she is worth chaining and keeping. And in this act is symbolized his power over her. Despite their love, she is still his, and a slave.

  She is owned, you see.

  Can you understand that, what it is for a woman to be owned?

  She belongs to him.

  She is his slave.

  Do the chains not make this clear?

  How can a woman be more a man’s, than to be his slave?

  In the chains there is much symbolism, and often does the woman rejoice in them, and kiss them, and beg them.

  But aside from the symbolism, and such, she is truly chained. Her lovely limbs are closely encircled and securely fastened in the links of the master’s iron. She cannot remove these stern impediments. In them she is helpless.

  So obviously, so clearly, she belongs to him!

  In them she is truly chained.

  And chains are fitting for her, as she is a slave.

  And how well the chains confirm her bondage upon her, as she wishes it confirmed. In their weights and encirclements she rejoices. As a slave she lives to obey, to please, to love and serve. Her choice is to be choiceless. She wishes to surrender herself, and be subject to his will. It is her wish that she please the master, and make him happy. And it thrills her to know that he will have it this way, as well, by every element in his upbringing and culture, for she is a slave, and that laxities or failures on her part will not be tolerated.

  Even the gentlest and kindest of masters has absolute power over the slave. She is no less owned by him that she would be by the cruelest brute on Gor. Elated and reassured then is the woman that she is chained, in this finding continuing evidence of her master’s desire for her, his passion for her, his prizing of her, his determination to keep her for himself. And for her part, she rejoices that she is helpless to escape him, that she truly belongs to him, that she is truly his, legally and otherwise, and that she must, as she intensely desires to do, continue to live for service and love. It is not merely pleasant to own a slave, to dress her as you please, if you wish to permit her clothing, to have her at your bidding, to do with her as you please; it is exalting. The man who has not owned a slave has no conception of the maximums of sexuality, nor has the woman who has not been owned.

  “How is my old friend Callimachus, commander of the forces of the Vosk League?”
asked Aemilianus of Calliodorus. The body sovereign in the Vosk League, incidentally, at least as I understand it, is its High Council, which is composed of representatives from the member towns. This Callimachus, I gathered, then, whoever he was, would be the appointee of that council.

  “Hard at work at his desk, attending to numerous administrative duties,” said Calliodorus.

  “Doubtless he will also be certain to be publicly visible in Victoria,” smiled Aemilianus.

  “As would you in his situation,” smiled Calliodorus.

  “Doubtless he will be astonished to learn of yesterday’s action at Ar’s Station.”

  “Doubtless,” agreed Calliodorus. “We may rest assured, of course, that he will conduct a careful investigation.”

  Aemilianus laughed.

  The results of this investigation, I gathered, might prove to be inconclusive.

  We heard the sound of chain and saw the “first of the two females to be fetched forth.”

  It was she in the improvised hood.

  She was led forth, before us, in her small steps, by a hand on her left arm. Then she was sat on the deck, before Aemilianus.

  She sat there, hooded. I do not think she was sure, actually, where she was, except that she had presumably been conducted further aft, or if anyone were about.

  She sat there for a moment, listening. We were silent.

  No longer wore she the leather collar, with its leash. No longer were her hands thonged behind her.

  But she was in sirik.

  The metal collar was fastened on her throat. From it a long chain, dangled downward. To this chain, near her waist, was attached another chain, terminating at each end with a wrist ring, into which rings her wrists had been placed and locked. At the end of the chain dangling from the collar, to which the wrist-ring chain was attached, was an ankle-ring chain, terminating at each end with an ankle ring, into which her ankles had been placed and locked. The neck chain was rather long and if she were to stand some of it would have lain upon the deck. The device permits of numerous adjustments. As it was now adjusted, her wrists had some twelve inches of play, her ankles some fourteen inches of play. The smallness of her steps had been a function of the current adjustment of her ankle chaining.

  She sat on the deck. She felt the ankle rings and the chain between them, and the neck chain, and then, with each hand, she tried to slip the wrist ring from the opposite wrist. She could not, of course, begin to do so. She was exploring the device. Then she put her hands on the neck chain and moved up it, with her fingers, and pulled it against its staple on the collar. Then she felt the staple, jerked the chain again against it, and convinced herself that it was well secured there. Then she felt, wonderingly, the collar itself. It was well on her, and locked. She seemed puzzled, and frightened. The device had been only put on her a few moments ago. This was the first time, I gathered, that she had worn slave chains.

  She probably had no idea how beautiful she looked in them.

  Although she could now reach her hood and gag, given the length of the neck chain, which permitted her to lift her chained wrists to her head, she did not, of course, do so. She would not dare to so much as touch them, let alone remove them. She was not unfamiliar with Gorean disciplines.

  “Kneel,” said Aemilianus, gently.

  Swiftly she knelt.

  She began to tremble. The chains made small sounds.

  I gathered that she did not know before whom she knelt. Also, interestingly, absurdly, it seemed that she was not altogether sure of her condition and status, obvious though it must be to anyone who looked upon her.

  Was she unaware of her slave curves?

  Could she not sense how she would look, vended naked from a block?

  Aemilianus made a small sign to Calliodorus.

  “You may put your head to the deck,” said Calliodorus.

  The girl did so, putting her palms on the deck.

  “You may raise it,” he said.

  She raised her head. She was then kneeling as before, amongst us.

  “Free her mouth,” said Calliodorus.

  I crouched beside the girl and undid the hood and pushed it up, and fastened it then as a half hood on her. In this way the effectiveness of the hood as a blindfold had not been compromised, for even an instant. I then untied the gag strips from the back of her neck, and pulled away the gag. I then, carefully, delicately, removed the mass of sopped wadding from her mouth. I put it on the deck beside her, heavy and sodden, with the rest of the gag. In this way these things were at hand, and her mouth might then, at our convenience, if we wished, be restored swiftly to its former condition of helpless closure.

  “You are not branded,” observed Calliodorus.

  “No! No!” she cried eagerly.

  “Do you wish to live?” he inquired.

  “Yes!” she said, fervently.

  “Are you, or have you ever been, a woman of Ar’s Station?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “How came it then,” he asked, “that you were in bonds on the piers, leashed and thonged, hooded and gagged?”

  “An escaping prisoner did such things to me,” she said. “Hooded, I was not recognized. Gagged, I could not make my plight known.”

  “Do you know what happened yesterday on the piers?” he asked.

  “I have only a very imperfect understanding of what occurred,” she said. “Twice on the piers I fainted, and was unconscious. I was awakened by the kicks of free women and conducted helplessly aboard this vessel.”

  “What do you think occurred on the piers?” he asked.

  “Ships came to the piers,” she said, “and I think that many on the piers, including myself, were embarked aboard them.”

  “Cosian ships?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” she said, miserably. “There were Cosian ships about.”

  “But surely you have learned much since you were brought on board,” he said.

  “I was kept with women,” she said, “who were ordered to silence.”

  “What do you think was the fate of the women who brought you on board?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “Do you think they were with you last night, similarly ordered to silence?”

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “What have you heard on the ship?” he asked.

  “Little,” she said. “I have heard men conducting the business of the ship.”

  “Have you perhaps formed some conjectures as to the origins of these men?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “On what basis?” he asked.

  “On that of their speech,” she said.

  “Their speech?” he asked.

  “Their accents,” she said.

  “Does my speech have an accent?” asked Calliodorus, interested.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Ah,” he said. He, like most people, was not accustomed to thinking of his own speech as having an accent.

  “And what is my accent?” he asked.

  “I make it out to be Cosian,” she whispered.

  “And what of the accents of the men?” he asked.

  “The same,” she said.

  “In whose power are you then?” he asked.

  “In the power of Cosians!” she said, suddenly, now sure of it.

  “You may speak,” he said.

  “Spare me!” she suddenly begged. “Spare me, noble Cosians!” She clasped her hands together piteously, holding them forth toward Calliodorus and Aemilianus. “Spare me!” she wept. “Take pity on a female!”

  The men were silent, observant.

  Their silence must have been disconcerting to the girl. She indicated her beauty, as she could, with her chained hands. “I think that I am not unattractive,” she said, piteously, desperately. “See? See? And it is my hope that my face, too, should you be pleased to look upon it, may be found not unattractive!”

  “Do you seek to interest your captors?” he a
sked.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “As a female?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “Say it,” said he.

  “I seek to interest my captors,” she said, “as a female!”

  “What would you have of us?” he inquired.

  “My life!” she wept.

  “On what condition?” he asked.

  “Any of your election,” she said.

  “Absolute bondage?” he asked.

  “Of course!” she said unhesitantly.

  “Even to Cosians?” he asked.

  “Certainly!” she said.

  “Why should Cosians accept you as a slave?” he asked.

  “I—I do not understand,” she faltered.

  “Do you think it would be in their interest to accept you as a slave?” he asked.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Do you think you would prove to be of any value to them as a slave?”

  “I would strive desperately to be of value,” she said.

  “Perhaps you should be bloodied and thrown overboard to river sharks.”

  “No!” she wept.

  “Do you think that just any woman can make a satisfactory slave?”

  “I do not know,” she said, “but I beg the opportunity to try!”

  “You would serve Cosians then?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she wept.

  “Belly,” he said.

  She slipped to her belly on the deck, her hands forward, beneath her shoulders. She lifted herself a little from the deck, lifting her head, still half concealed in hood, to Calliodorus and Aemilianus. Her lips were lovely, and trembling.

  “Go to your back,” said Calliodorus.

  She lay on her back.

  Suddenly she lifted one knee, and pointed her toes. She had realized then, suddenly, that something was being done to her analogous, in its small way, to putting a girl through slave paces. She tried her best to be appealing.

  “To your belly, again,” said Calliodorus.

  He had hardly spoken before she was on her belly, as before. Quick was she, she would show him, to obey.

  “Kneel,” he said.

  She returned to her kneeling position.