The Chieftan th-1

by John Norman

  The ship slave who had emptied out the satin sheet spoke to the kneeling prisoner and the prisoner went immediately forward, unquestioningly, to her hands and knees, and then, within the constraints permitted her by her shackles, made her way, head down, on all fours, about the pile of loot to a place, rather back, toward the double doors leading into the lounge from the kitchen, where knelt, in a group, several of the shackled prisoners. She joined them, kneeling with them.

  In her circuit of the store of loot, she passed between it and other objects, tables and chairs, at which sat some resting, feeding ship slaves. She also passed one table on which, above her head, as she crawled, on the sparkling linen table cloth, there lay, on her back, spread-eagled, a secured prisoner, not shackled, but bound, hands and feet, separated, tied to the table legs. Some ship slaves fed on the same table, using the hair of the secured prisoner as a towel, wiping the grease from their hands on her body. “Please feed me,” begged the prisoner. “You have learned to be good, haven’t you?” inquired one of the ship slaves, holding a bit of roast fowl toward the lips of the prisoner. “Yes, Mistress! Yes, Mistress!” said the prisoner, straining to reach the tiny piece of meat. The ship slave put the meat close and then pulled it back, once, twice, and the prisoner tried futilely each time to reach it. Then the ship slave put the tidbit into her own mouth and chewed it, ostentatiously savoring it. “It is good,” she said, and then swallowed it. The prisoner put her head back, turned it to the side, and moaned. The crawling prisoner passed, too, another prisoner, similarly secured, but one she might have looked down upon had she dared to turn her head and do so, for this one was fastened, on her back, spread-eagled, to an inverted table. But the crawling prisoner did not cast her eyes upon this other prisoner. She kept her head and eyes down, and her head straight. The ship slaves had apparently made it quite clear to their high-class charges that they were expected to attend to their duties, and that careless, roving glances were not encouraged, such rendering them liable to discipline.

  “We are hungry, please feed us!” called one of the prisoners kneeling by the double doors. “Yes! Yes!” begged others.

  “Silence, slaves,” said one of the ship slaves, and cracked her whip.

  These upper-class prisoners, or perhaps more fittingly now, these slaves, shrank back.

  “Perhaps there is more work for you to do first,” said the ship slave.

  The women groaned.

  “Do not fear,” said the ship slave. “Your slops will be ready soon.”

  The women regarded one another, apprehensively.

  On what was it that they would be fed?

  But the officer of the court, from the anguished looks of them, did not think they would be particular.

  “Lie down!” said the ship slave.

  Immediately, obediently, in their shackles, crowded together, they lay on the carpeting.

  “Man!” suddenly cried one of the ship slaves, and, to the astonishment of the officer of the court, all the ship slaves, losing no time in the matter, fell to their knees.

  Gone then was the illusion of their superiority, which obtained only with the prisoners.

  Into the lounge there strode, armored and helmeted, a barbaric figure, a Telnarian rifle strapped to his back, a fire pistol in his holster.

  The ship slaves had assumed a common position of obeisance, their heads down, touching the carpeting, the palms of their hands, too, on the carpeting, as well.

  The officer of the court saw women before men.

  The barbaric figure, who seemed garbed as some sort of high officer, looked about the lounge.

  He paused to regard the prisoners, who lay cowering on the carpet, hardly daring to look up. He seemed to regard them with contempt. But what did he expect of them? Did he think they should behave in some different fashion? Surely he was not kind. Surely he did not understand them. Could he not be compassionate? Could he not understand what was now so different about them, that which made all the difference in the world with them, that they were now owned by men?

  But, too, now, it seemed, he looked upon them with care. The women, terrified, lowered themselves still more, pressing downward, their softness against the carpeting. Surely he could see that they were lying down, as they had been told! Surely he would not have them beaten! He made his way into the group. The women shuddered, and shrank away from him, drawing back their bodies, pulling their legs up, tightly, terrified that such a figure, even his boot, might brush against them. Many covered their heads with their hands. He went to one figure, and seized her by the hair, pulling her head up and turning it to face him. Then, after scrutinizing her features, he flung her back down, with her sister slaves. Her hair coloring, the officer of the court noted, was not unlike her own.

  Then, in a moment, the helmeted, armored figure withdrew from the group. He went to the double doors leading to the kitchen, swung them apart, and peered in. When he had opened the doors she had heard the cry of “Man!” from within. And when the doors were open, he holding them widely apart, she had seen, on the tiles of the kitchen, within, one of the ship slaves, in a position of obeisance, doubtless hastily assumed. He looked about, standing in the doorway, mighty there, between those widely separated doors. Then, with a mere gesture of his head he indicated that those in the kitchen should rise and be about their duties. There were only ship slaves, she gathered, in the kitchen. Presumably the shackled prisoners would not now be allowed in such a place, lest they be tempted to steal food, and must then be beaten or slain. They could always be taught cooking and domestic duties later. Then he turned about and left the lounge, exiting through the main doors, those through which he had entered. When he had departed the ship slaves in the main lounge resumed their feet.

  Shortly thereafter two ship slaves, carrying buckets, emerged from the kitchen.

  They stood before the enforcedly recumbent slaves. “Kneel,” said a ship slave. The prisoners rose up, to kneel. “Your dinner, miladies, has been prepared,” said the ship slave.

  Eager looks coursed among the prisoners. “But first, you must learn to perform obeisance,” said the ship slave. “None of you properly assumed the position, though in the presence of a master.”

  Then the prisoners were instructed in the proper way in which to perform various obeisances in the presence of men, or, indeed, free persons. Such obeisances, they also learned, might be required of them even in the presence of slaves, if the slaves stood to them in some position of authority.

  The officer of the court watched, horrified, fascinated, as various positions were adjusted, as various instructions were issued. Upper-class women, down in the main lounge, before her very eyes, to her horror, were being instructed in matters of courtesy and etiquette, of respect and deference.

  “Excellent, miladies,” said the ship slave who was managing these matters. “You learn quickly.” The officer of the court thought that she, herself, might do as well, that she, too, might learn as quickly, but then she dismissed such a thought, frightened.

  “You have been complimented, miladies,” said the ship slave reproachfully.

  The prisoners looked at her.

  The officer of the court wondered what it might be, to render obeisance to a man. She shuddered, thrilled.

  “Have you no manners?” inquired the ship slave.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” they said.

  “Now,” said the ship slave to the two ship slaves who held the buckets, “throw the slaves their slops.”

  Then, in handfuls, the two slaves with the buckets cast bits of food, some of which was doubtless garbage, discarded residues from their own meals, or those of others, among the slaves, who scrambled, and even fought, most eagerly for them.

  How mixed were the feelings of the officer of the court seeing this spectacle.

  She was horrified, of course, to see how the women fought for the food.

  “Please, more!” cried a woman. “Me! Me!” begged another, putting out her hands. But, too, sh
e was acutely aware of her own hunger and thirst. She feared she might die. Could she have secured some of those scraps if she were below? Would she be quick enough, agile enough? Would the slaves with the buckets take pity on her and throw her something? Could she keep it? Would larger, stronger women take it away from her? Could she pull away, and thrust it in her mouth and swallow it before another could deprive her of it? She did not know.

  She looked down at the women, scrambling for what scraps might be cast to them.

  At least they were being fed, as she was not. They had, at least, the chance, down there, on the carpeting, to snatch up some bit of food.

  The ship slaves, she was sure, did not fight in such a way for their food.

  Presumably this form of feeding was a lesson, that the prisoners must now depend on the will of others, for even their food. How cruel seemed the ship slaves to the prisoners. She did not think that masters would be so cruel. Indeed, might not masters even grow fond of their slaves, being careful, of course, not to relax the discipline in which they were held. Let the prisoners then hope that they might soon escape the supervision of the ship slaves, that they might soon, by gift or sale, come into the ownership of men, whose interest and affection they might strive to win by their heat and beauty, and devotion and selfless service.

  “You feed eagerly,” said one of the ship slaves. “Obviously you know it is better than you would receive in the steel bins.” The officer of the court shuddered.

  But this suggested there must be other prisoners, or slaves, doubtless kept on the barbarian ships. There had been a passenger list of over two thousand. The officer of the court did not think the ship could be recovered. Moreover, she had heard, in the theatre, that engineering was soon expected to fall into the hands of the barbarians. That would surely mean the end of resistance. Too, in the early moments of the fighting, if not earlier, distress signals had doubtless been sent out. The barbarians would not risk their vessels, presumably, against imperial cruisers. Ortog had been studying a chart. Perhaps on it, hour by hour, were being marked the advances of an imperial force. She remembered the men monitoring various devices. But this was a remote sector of space, at the fringe of the empire. The arrival of an imperial force was surely not imminent. It was not likely that one could arrive for several days, if one were on its way at all. Certainly the barbarians seemed in no hurry to abandon the vessel. It seemed they wished to obtain all the loot possible, human and otherwise, from the Alaria. The thought struck her, frightening her, that she herself was, from the point of view of the barbarians, booty, as much as a golden coin or those black high-heeled pumps, tied together, which the ship slave had cast onto the pile of loot. What hope was there for her? Was she not, already, in effect, a woman owned by men, like the women below, only that she was not now naked, and her ankles were not shackled, assuming that they might find her of sufficient interest to keep her? Too, she had little doubt that when it came time for the barbarians to leave the Alaria, perhaps to slip away from an imperial force, they would not be likely to simply leave her behind, even as a silent, lifeless wreck, dead in space. She would be destroyed, to eliminate any witnesses who might somehow have survived, eluding discovery and capture, and to eliminate any evidence that might prove relevant to the identity of her attackers. The officer did not know it, of course, but her conjectures were quite sound. Tending to confirm them would have been the information that the small base on Tinos had been destroyed. What hope was there for her? To hide, and then to be blown to pieces in space, with the shattered Alaria, or to hide and then, in some tiny obscure confine, die of thirst or hunger? “No,” she thought to herself, “I must surrender.” “Am I not already, in effect,” she thought to herself, the thought strangely unnerving her, and thrilling her, “a woman like those below, one owned by men?” She then stood up, behind the railing on the upper level of the lounge, between the white tables, her mind made up. She placed her hands, clasped, on the top of her head, as she understood the barbarians wished men to surrender, for she was, of course, of Terennia. Too, they could not have seen her otherwise, where she was, for the railing. She stepped toward the railing. For a moment she was in full view, up, behind the railing on the higher level of the lounge. Any who had glanced up at that moment would have immediately seen her. But none at that moment happened to have had their attention directed in that unlikely direction. Had they done so they would have noted not only the officer of the court, but also the large, armored figure who had come up behind her.

  Suddenly a large, gloved hand had closed, from behind, over the mouth of the officer of the court, holding her head back. She was helpless. Her right upper arm, too, was clasped in a mighty grip. She was drawn back.

  A voice whispered in her ear. “Do not straggle, stupid little slave.”

  Both were now no longer visible from the main floor of the lounge.

  The officer of the court felt giddy, being held with such strength.

  As if her straggles might have been availing against it!

  But she obediently ceased even to squirm.

  Too, she was frightened that she might, somehow, for who knew what strange sorts of things men were, excite it, with who knew what fearful consequences, if she straggled.

  She was then drawn backwards through a side door from the lounge, and down a long, dim corridor. She did not understand this. She had not expected to be taken into custody in this fashion. He had not even given her a chance, yet, she, a citizen of the empire, of the honestori, even of the blood, to formally surrender to him.

  Then she was drawn into a small, dark, steel room, something like a utility room, it seemed.

  The door shut with a heavy sound.

  She could feel air in the room.

  He removed his gloved hand from her mouth and she sank down, weakly, to the steel floor, she sensed at his feet.

  She put out her hands and touched the heavy boots. She knelt before him and put her head down to those boots. “I am a slave,” she said. “I confess myself such, honestly and openly. Please do not kill me.”

  Then she pressed her head down upon the boots, and then, drawing back a little, she kissed them, clearly, firmly, that he might well understand, even in the dark, that it was done. She then licked them, on the tops and the sides, making certain, too, that her cheeks rubbed down, now and again, firmly, against them, that there be no mistaking the matter, even in the darkness.

  “Yes, you are a slave,” said a voice, which she feared she might recognize, and then the light in the room snapped on.

  She looked up from the boots and saw herself surely before the large, armored figure who had, but moments before, been on the main floor of the lounge. The armor, the weapons, the accouterments, the insignia, were the same. The helmet, muchly concealing his features, and its markings, too, were the same.