boards, and a wide, sloping area of land, of several acres, green, though strewn
with boulders, with short grass. There was a log palisade some hundred yards
from the dock. High on the cliff , I saw a lookout, a man with a horn. Doubtless
it had been he whom we had heard. From his vantage, high on the cliff, on his
belly, unseen, he would have been able to see far down the inlet. He stood now
and waved the bronze horn in his hand. Forkbeard waved back to him. I saw four
small milk bosk grazing on the short grass. In the distance, above the acres, I
could see mountains, snow capped. A flock of verr, herded by a maid with a
stick, turned, bleating on the sloping hillside. She shaded her eyes. She was
blond; she was barefoot; she wore an ankle-length white kirtle, of white wool,
sleeveless, split to her belly. About her neck I could see a dark ring. Men were
now running from the palisade and the fields down to the dock. They were
bare-headed, and wore shaggy jackets. Some wore trousers of skin, others tunics
of dyed wool. I saw too, fields, fenced with rocks, in the sloping area. In them
were growing, small at this season, shafts ol Sa-Tarna; too, there would be
peas, and beans, cabbages and onions, and patches of the golden sul, capable of
surviving at this latitude. I saw small fruit trees, and hives, where honey bees
were raised; and there were small sheds, here and there, with sloping roofs of
boards; in some such sheds might craftsmen work; in others fish might be dried
or butter made. Against one wall of the cliff was a long, low shed; in that the
small bosk, and the verr, might be housed in the winter, and there, too, would
be stored their feed; another shed, thick, with heavy logs, in the shadow of the
cliff, would be the ice house, where ice from the mountains, brought down on
sledges to the valley, would be kept, covered with chips of wood. There were
only a few bosk visible, and they were milk bosk. The sheds I saw would
accomodate many more animals. I surmised, as is common in Torvaldsland, most of
the cattle had been driven higher into the mountains, to graze wild during the
summer, to be fetched back to the shed only in the fall, with the coming of
winter. Men in the fields wore short tunics of white wool; some carried hoes;
their hair was close cropped; about their throats had been hammered bands of
black iron, with a welded ring attached. They did not leave the fields; such a
departure, without permission, might mean their death; they were thralls. I saw
people running down the sloping green land, toward the water. Several came from
within the palisade. Among them, white kirtled collared, excited, ran
bond-maids. These, upon the arrival of their master, are perrnitted to greet
him. The men of the north enjoy the bright eyes, the leaping bodies, the
squealing, the greetings of their bond-maids. In the fields I saw an overseer,
clad in scarlet, with a gesture of his hand, releasing the thralls. Then, they,
too, ran down toward the water. It would be holiday, I gathered, at the hall of
Ivar Forkbeard. The Forkbeard himself now, from a wooden keg, poured a great
tankard of ale, which must have been of the measure of five gallons. Over this
he then closed his fist. It was the sign of the hammer, the sign of Thor. The
tankard then, with two great bronze handles, was passed from hands to hands
among the rowers. The men threw back their heads and, the liquid spilling down
their bodies, drank ale. It was the victory ale. Then the Forkbeard himself
drained the remains of the tankard, threw it to the foot of the mast, and then,
to my astonishment, leapt from the ship, onto the moving oars. The men sang. The
Forkbeard then, to the delight of those on the bank, who cheered him, as the
serpent edged into the dock, addressed himself delightedly to the oar-dance of
the rover of Torvaldsland. It is not actually a dance, of course, but it is an
athletic feat of no little stature requiring a superb eye, fantastic balance and
incredible coordination. Ivar Forkbeard, crying out, leaped from moving oar to
moving oar, proceeding from the oars nearest the stem on the port side to the
stern, then leaping back onto the deck at the stern quarter and leaping again on
the oars this time on the starboard side, and proceeding from the oar nearest
the stern to that nearest the stem, and then, lifting his arms, he leaped again
into the ship, almost thrown into it as the oar lifted. He then stood on the
prow, near me, sweating and grinning. I saw cups of ale, on the bank, being
lifted to him. Men cheered. I heard the cries of bond-maids. The serpent of Ivar
Forkbeard, gently, slid against the rolls of leather hung at the side of the
dock. Eager hands vied on the dock to grasp the mooring ropes. The oars slid
inboard; the men hung their shields at the serpent's flanks. Men on the dock
cried out with pleasure, looking on the harshly roped beauty of the slender,
blondish girl, so cruelly fastened, back bent, at the prow of the Forkbeard's
serpent. "I have eighteen others!" called Ivar Forkbeard. His men, laughing,
thrust the other girls forward, to the rail, forcing them to stand on the rowing
benches. "Heat the irons!" called the Forkbeard. "They are hot!" laughed a
brawny man, in leather apron, standing on the dock. The girls shuddered. They
would be branded. "Bring the anvil to the branding log!" said the Forkbeard.
They knew then they would wear collars. "It is there!" laughed the brawny
fellow, doubtless a smith. Gorm had now unbound the slender, blond girl from the
prow. He put her at the head of the coffle. Aelgifu, in her black velvet, it
creased and stained, discolored, the fabric stiff and separated here and there,
brought up the rear. Gorm did not refetter the slender, blond girl, though he
tie her by the neck in the coffle. Further, he removed the fetterl from the
other girls, too, including Aelgifu. All remained however, coffled. The
gangplank was then thrust over the rail of the ser pent and struck on the heavy,
adzed boards of the dock The slender, blond girl, the hand of Ivar Forkbeard or
her arm, was thrust to the head of the gangplank. She looked down at the
cheering men. Gorm then stood beside Ivar Forkbeard. He carried, on a strap over
his shoulder, a tall, dark vessel, filled with liquid. The men on the shore
laughed. Attached to the vessel, by a light chain, was a golden cup. It had two
handles. From a spout on the vessel, grinning, Gorm filled the golden cup. The
liquid swirling in the cup was black. Drink," said Ivar Forkbeard, thrusting the
cup into the hands of the slender, blond girl, she who had, so long ago, in the
temple of Kassau, worn the snood of scarlet yarn, with twisted golden wire, the
red vest and skirt, the white blouse. She held the cup. It was decorated; about
its sides, cunningly wrought, was a design, bond-maids, chained. A chain design
also decorated the rim, and, at five places on the cup, was the image of a slave
whip, five-strapped. She looked at the black liquid. "Drink," said the
Forkbeard. She lifted it to her lips, and tasted it. She closed her eyes, and
twisted her face. "It is too bitter," she wept. She felt the knife of the
Forkbeard at her belly. "Drink," said he. She threw back her h
ead and drank down
the foul brew. She began to cough and weep. The coffle rope was untied from her
throat. "Send her to the branding log," said the Forkbeard. He thrust the girl
down the gangplank, into the arms of the waiting men, who hurried her from the
dock. One by one, the prizes of Ivar Forkbeard, even the rich, proud Aelgifu,
were forced to down the slave wine. Then they were, one by one, freed from the
coffle, and hurried to the branding log. Ivar Forkbeard then, followed by Gorm,
and myself, and his men, descended the gangplank. He was much greeted. Many
clasped him, and struck him on the back. And he, too, clasped many of them to
himself, and shook the heads of many in his great hands. "Was the luck good?"
asked one man, with a spiral silver ring on his arm. "Fair," admitted the
Forkbeard. "Who is this?" asked another man, indicating me. "I see his hair has
not been cropped, and he does not wear the chains of a thrall." "This is Tarl
Red Hair," said the Forkbeard. "Whose man is he?" asked the man. "My own," I
said. "Have you no Jarl?" asked the man. "I am my own Jarl," I said. "Can you
play with the ax?" he asked. "Teach me the ax," I said to him. "Your sword is
too tiny," said he. "Is it used for peeling suls?" "It moves swiftly," I said.
"It bites like the serpent." He reached out his hand to me and then, suddenly,
gripped me about the waist. Clearly it was his intention, as a joke, to hurl me
into the water. He did not move me. He grunted in surprise. I took him, too,
about the waist. We swayed on the adzed boards. The men moved back, to give us
room. "Ottar enjoys sport," said Ivar Forkbeard. With a sudden wrench I threw
him from his feet and hurled him from the dock into the water He crawled,
drenched and sputtering; back to the dock. Tomorrow," he laughed, "I will teach
you the ax." We clasped hands. Ottar, in the absence of Ivar Forkbeard, kept hls
cattle, his properties, his farm and accounts. "He plays excellent Kaissa," said
the Forkbeard. "I shall beat him," said Ottar. "We shall see," I said. A
bond-maid thrust through the crowd. "Does my Jarl not remember Gunnhild?" she
asked. She whimpered, and slipped to his side, holding him, lifting her lips to
kiss him on the throat, beneath the beard. About her neck, riveted, was a collar
of black iron, with a welded ring, to which a chain might be attached. "What of
Pouting Lips?" said another girl, kneeling before him, lifting her eyes to his.
Sometimes bond-maids are given descriptive names. The girl had full, sensuous
lips, she was blond; she also smelled of verr; it had doubtless been she whom I
had seen on the slope herding verr. "Pouting Lips has been in agony awaiting the
return of her Jarl," she whimpered. The Forkbeard shook her head with his great
hand. "What of Olga?" whined another wench, sweet and strapping, black-haired;
"Do not forget Pretty Ankles, myJarl," said another wench, a delicious little
thing, perhaps not more than sixteen. She thrust her lips greedily to the back
of his left hand, biting at the hair there. "Away you wenches!" laughed Ottar.
"The Forkbeard has new prizes, fresher meat to chew!" Gunnhild, angrily, with
two hands, jerked her kirtle to her waist, and stood straight, proudly before
the Forkbeard, her breasts, which were marvelous, thrust forward. How
magnificent she seemed, the heavy black iron at her throat riveted. "None of
them can please you," she said, "as well as Gunnhild!" He seized her in his arms
and raped her lips with a kiss, his hand at her body, then threw her from him to
the boards of the dock. "Prepare a feastl" he said. "Let a feast be prepared!"
"Yes, my Jarl!" she cried , and leaped to her feet, running toward the palisade.
"Yes, my Jarl!" cried the other girls, hurrying behind her, to begin the
preparations for the feast. Then the Forkbeard turned his attention to the
serpent, and the disembarkment of its riches, which, on the shoulders of his
men, and others, were carried, amid shouts of joy and wonder from those gathered
about, to the palisade. When this was done, I accompanied the Forkbeard to a
place behind, and to one side, of a forge shed. There was a great log there,
from a fallen tree. The bark had been removed from the log. It was something in
the neighborhood of a yard in thickness. Against the log, kneeling, one behind
the other, their right shoulders in contact with it, knelt the new bond-maids,
and Aelgifu. Some men stood about, as well, and the brawny fellow, the smith.
Nearby, on a large, flat stone, to keep it from sinking into the ground, was the
anvil. A few feet away, glowing with heat, stood two canister braziers. In
these, among the white coats, were irons. Air, by means of a small bellows,
pumped by a thrall boy, in white wool, collared, hair cropped, was forced
through a tube in the bottom of each. The air above the canisters shook with
heat. To one side, tall, broad-shouldered, stood a young male thrall, in the
thrall tunic of white wool, his hair cropped short, an iron collar on his
throat. "She first," said the Forkbeard, indicating the slender, blond girl.
She, moaning, was seized by a fellow and thrown on her belly over the peeled
log. Two men held her upper arms; two others her upper legs. A fifth man, with a
heavy, leather glove, drew forth one of the irons from the fire; the air ab~ut
its tip shuddered with heat. "Please, my Jarl," she cried, "do not mark your
girI!" At a sign from the Forkbeard, the iron was pressed deeply into her flesh,
and held there, smoking for five Ihn. It was only when it was pulled away that
she screamed. Her eyes had been shut, her teeth gritted. She had tried not to
scream. She had dared to pit her will against the iron. But, when the iron had
been pulled back, from deep within her flesh, smoking, she, her pride gone, her
will shattered, had screamed with pain, long and miserably, revealing herself as
only another branded girl. She, by the arm, was dragged from the log. She threw
back her head, tears streaming down her face, and again screamed in pain. She
looked down at her body. She was marked for identification. A hand on her arm,
she was thrust, sobbing, to the anvil, beside which she was thrust to her knees.
The brand used by Forkbeard is not uncommon in the north, though there is less
uniformity in Torvaldsland on these matters than in the southi , where the
mercnant caste, with its recommendations for standardisation, is more powerful.
All over Gor, of course, the slave girl is a familiar commodity. The brand used
by the Forkbeard, found rather frequently in the north, consisted of a half
circle, with, at its right tip, adjoining it, a steep, diagonal line. The half
circle is about an inch and a quarter in width, and the diagonal line about an
inch and a quarterin height. The brand is, like many, symbolic. In the north,
the bond-maid is sometimes referred to as a woman whose belly lies beneath the
sword. "Look up at me," said the smith. The slender, blond girl, tears in her
eyes, looked up at him. He opened the hinged collar of black iron, about a half
inch in height. He put it about her throat. It also contained a welded ring,
suitable for the attachment of a chain. "Put your head beside the anvil," he
said. He
took her hair and threw it forward, and thrust her neck against the
left side of the anvil. Over the anvil lay the joining ends of the two pieces of
the collar. The inside of the collar was separated by a quarter of an inch from
her neck. I saw the fine hairs on the back of her neck. On one part of the
collar are two, small, flat, thick rings. On the other is a slngle such ring.
These rings, when the wings of the collar are joined, are aligned, those on one
wing on top and bottom, that on the other in the center. They fit closely
together, one on top of the other. The holes in each, about three-eighths of an
inch in diameter, too, of course, are perfectly aligned. The smith, with his
thumb, forcibly, pushed a metal rivet through the three holes. The rivet fits
snugly. "Do not move your head, Bond-maid," said the smith. Then, with great
blows of the iron hammer, he riveted the iron collar about her throat. A man
then pulled her by the hair from the anvil and threw her to one side. She lay
there weeping, a naked bondmaid, marked and collared. "Next," called out the
Forkbeard. Weeping, another girl was flung over the branding log. In the end
only Aelgifu was left. The Forkbeard, with the heel of his boot on the ground,
drew a bond-maid circle. She looked at it. Then, to the laughter of the men, her
head high, lifting her skirt, she stepped to the circle, and stood, facing him,
within it. "Remove your clothing, my pretty one," said Ivar Forkbeard. She
reached behind the back of her neck and unbuttoned the dress of black velvet,
and then drew it over her head. She stood then before us in a chemise of fine
silk. This, too, she drew over her head, and threw to the ground. She then stood
there, statuesque, proudly. Ivar licked his lips. Several of his men cried out
with pleasure, others struck their left shoulders with the palms of their right
hand. Two, who were armed with shield and spear, smote the spear blade on the
wooden shield. "Will she not be a tasty morsel indeed?" Ivar asked his men. The
men cheered, and struck their shoulders, and again, the spear blades smote upon
the shields. Fear entered the eyes of the proud Aelgifu. "Run to the iron,
wench," suddenly commanded Ivar Forkbeard, harshly. Moaning, Aelgifu ran from
the circle to the branding log, and was thrown over it, belly down. In a moment
Norman, John - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor.txt Page 11
