Plunder of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “Who could not?” asked Lord Grendel.

  “Of course,” said Kurik.

  Lord Grendel crouched on the floor of the apartment, above the shop of Epicrates. Before him lay the great ax. I was sure it might, with a single blow, delivered with the strength of a Kur, fell a small tree or shatter a wall. Occasionally he would grasp the ax, arms trembling, and lift it a hort from the floor, eyeing the door leading downstairs to the street. I had the sense that he was ready to kill. Kurik sat cross-legged, in the Gorean fashion, near him, and I knelt, unobtrusively, to the side.

  “I will go, alone,” said Lord Grendel.

  “And kill ten, and fail,” said Kurik. “We must wait.”

  “We will be contacted,” said Lord Grendel, a noise that, even in Gorean, conveyed feral menace.

  “Certainly,” said Kurik.

  “Why have we not been contacted?” snarled Lord Grendel.

  “Be patient, great lord,” said Kurik.

  “I do not understand,” said Lord Grendel.

  “It is a device, doubtless,” said Kurik, “to increase your apprehension, to multiply your speculations and fears, to make you more ready to succumb to their wishes.”

  “It is a torture,” said Lord Grendel.

  “One you impose upon yourself,” said Kurik.

  “Of irons and tongs,” said Lord Grendel, “I prefer those you can weigh and see. More dreadful are the irons and tongs of the night.”

  “The most pointless of pains,” said Kurik, “are those one inflicts upon oneself.”

  “Why have we not heard?” asked Lord Grendel. “It has been four days!”

  “I am sure the Lady Bina is quite well, and not now in danger,” said Kurik. “Agamemnon needs her, to command your oath. Indeed, Epicrates informed us that she left of her own free will, in good spirits, escorted by an officer of the Taurentian Guard, doubtless the Assassin, Tyrtaios, in disguise.”

  “She is so naive, so trusting, so ambitious, so unaware of the world,” said Lord Grendel.

  I recalled that she had once been a grooming pet on a steel world, no more than an animal, apparently not even taught to speak. What, then, can one expect of such a thing, entered into a complex, stratified, perilous culture?

  “And beautiful?” said Kurik.

  “Yes,” said Lord Grendel.

  “But uncritical, and muchly uninformed,” said Kurik.

  “She once sent a slave, who returned muchly belabored, to the Central Cylinder, to propose her as companion to Marlenus, Ubar of Ar, that she might become Ubara.”

  “Fortunately she was free,” said Kurik. “Otherwise she might have found herself added to the stock in the Ubar’s pleasure garden, or given as a gift to some foreign ambassador.”

  “And what of Eve?” said Lord Grendel, agonized.

  “We do not know,” said Kurik.

  “Would that I had Surtak, and others, within the compass of my ax!” said Lord Grendel.

  “Patience, noble lord,” said Kurik.

  “I do not rejoice in titles,” said Lord Grendel. “We are enleagued. Therefore, speak me as ‘Grendel’, a suitable name for me, a monster. You could not pronounce my true name.”

  “As you wish, Grendel, my friend,” said Kurik.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Cross her ankles, and bind them,” said Kurik, my master. I recalled that I, earlier, had been treated similarly.

  The precaution is doubtless judicious.

  So bound, a girl cannot leap to her feet and run.

  She was terribly frightened.

  She knelt, trembling, before Lord Grendel and Kurik, my master. I was pleased to see her fear. But why should she be afraid? Had she not seen Lord Grendel before? Was she such a coward? She knelt with her knees pressed closely together. It was the position of the tower slave. At a word she would have had to spread her knees before them, in the position of the pleasure slave.

  We are slaves.

  Men are our masters.

  I crossed her ankles, and looped the cord three times about them, and yanked the knots tight, much tighter than was necessary.

  She regarded me, startled, reproachfully, not understanding.

  How dared she protest or object?

  Surely she understood that, in this situation, I was her superior. I was to her as first girl.

  “Try leaping to your feet now,” I thought, “you thing that men seem to prize so highly.”

  It was a day later, in the afternoon.

  The large, pointed ears of Lord Grendel had suddenly lifted, and he had looked up. “Someone is on the stairs,” he had said. “Small, not heavy, hesitant, perhaps unwilling, perhaps frightened.”

  “A slave,” had said Kurik.

  At that point there was a knock at the door.

  “We are contacted,” had said Lord Grendel.

  I rose to my feet, and regarded her. I then withdrew to the side, and knelt.

  How lovely she was in her collar. But are not all women attractive in collars? How little we had envisaged such things on Earth! But we were now on Gor, both of us, belongings, owned by masters.

  How furious I was with Paula. Was she truly such a jewel, so desirable, so soft, in her tunic and collar? How could it be that she had sold for a golden tarsk? How could it be that some men found her, or claimed to find her, she, plain Paula, more desirable than I? How could a master, one such as Drusus Andronicus, a powerful, handsome fellow, find her of such value? How could she have interested a man such as him? Could I not, if I wished, despite his estimation of her, despite her love for him, take him away from her? What she did, could I not do better, more deliciously?

  Could I not conquer with a smile, a turn of my body, in its tunic?

  Could I not wrench the heart of Drusus Andronicus, and put him, though free, in my collar?

  Surely I could do so.

  Surely a slave, despite the collar on her neck, the brand on her thigh, is not without power.

  I had had such power, even on Earth, which I had occasionally exercised, as it might amuse me.

  And was it not accentuated, and enhanced, exponentially, on Gor?

  To be sure, in the end, it was men who held the whip.

  “Identify yourself, and your errand,” said Kurik.

  I gathered that my master, Kurik, of Victoria, would muchly conduct this small colloquy. She might well have difficulty in following the vocalizations of Lord Grendel. I wondered if she even realized he was no simple beast, that he was a rational creature, and perhaps one of formidable intellect.

  How stupid she was!

  Too, she was our foe, or a tool of our foes.

  “I am Paula, Master,” she said, “slave of Decius Albus, of Ar. On his behalf, through his agent, the noble Drusus Andronicus, of Ar, I am commanded to address one understood as Lord Grendel.”

  I suddenly realized that Paula assumed either that Kurik of Victoria, whom she had presumably never seen, was Lord Grendel, or an agent of Lord Grendel. Her attention to Kurik, and her relative indifference to Lord Grendel, made this clear. She had, quite possibly, before her first visit to the apartment of the Lady Bina, never seen a Kur or anything Kurlike. Her consternation and terror, evinced after her first encounter with Lord Grendel, suggested this was the case. Presumably she still saw Lord Grendel as no more than a dangerous, possibly unpredictable, form of guard animal.

  “Speak, slave,” said Kurik.

  Paula squirmed a little, frightened, her ankles bound.

  “Try to get up and run,” I thought to myself, “golden-tarsk girl! Your opaque, silken tunic, and your sandals, will avail you nothing now. You are no more now than another tethered slave.”

  “I have the honor, as I understand it,” said Paula, regarding Kurik, “of addressing Lord Grendel.”

  Kurik smiled.r />
  “My speech, as I understand it,” said Paula, “will be at least delivered to one known as Lord Grendel.”

  Kurik smiled once more.

  “I am only a slave,” she said. “I must do as I am told.”

  “Speak,” said Kurik.

  “My master,” she said, “Decius Albus, of Ar, Trade Advisor to the Ubar, welcomes Lord Grendel to the city. He regrets only that he was not earlier informed of his presence. Master Decius understands that Lord Grendel stands high in the estimation of a Lord Arcesilaus, magistrate of a remote city, and hopes that his presence here might lead to arrangements of mutual profit. With this end in view, Master Decius invites the presence of Lord Grendel, or his agent, to a meeting at the tenth Ahn tomorrow, in his home, the House of a Hundred Corridors.”

  “And how, slave, do you understand this?” inquired Kurik.

  “I am only a slave,” she said.

  “Speak,” he said.

  “I speculate,” she said, “given the office of my master, that of trade advisor to the Ubar, that he is interested in the possibility of establishing trade relations between Ar and the city of the Lord Arcesilaus.”

  “What city is that?” asked Kurik.

  “I do not know,” she said. “We are told little. We are slaves.”

  “Perhaps your master is interested in an exchange of valuables,” said Kurik.

  “One supposes so, Master,” she said.

  “Tell your master he will be attended upon at the tenth Ahn tomorrow,” said Kurik.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “You know the House of a Hundred Corridors?”

  “Yes,” said Kurik. “Free yourself, and leave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, gratefully.

  I watched Paula turn about, and, sitting, bring her feet before her, and address herself to the cords on her ankles. It was not easy for her to free herself, but, after a bit, she had managed to do so. She did not look at me, but kept her eyes averted. She then rose, bowed her head, and backed to the door, where she turned, and began to descend the steps. She did so uncertainly, perhaps from having been tied, or perhaps from the trauma of the small, recently concluded conference.

  “One tells a slave little,” said Lord Grendel.

  “We are slaves,” I said.

  “Follow her,” said Kurik. “See who is about. See if she is accompanied.”

  I darted from the room, and hurried down the stairs. But Paula was not far. She was at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. She was trembling, and shaken. Her head was back, against the wall. She looked at me.

  “You must be very brave,” she said. “How can you be calm, in proximity to that gigantic, fearsome beast?”

  She did not mention how I had dealt with her, in the matter of the loops of cord.

  “I fear,” I said, “I may have tied you too tightly.”

  “You were commanded,” she said.

  “Would you have tied me so?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “But I would have tied you well. You would have been absolutely helpless.”

  That is how masters tie slave girls, not cruelly, but perfectly. One does not tie to hurt, which is stupid and gratuitous, one would not even tie a beast so, but to secure, with perfection. The best ties have their psychological dimension. Pain is to be avoided. It is unnecessary, and distractive. What is important is that the girl understands perfectly that she is controlled, that she is absolutely helpless, that she is fully at the mercy of another. That is what it is to be tied as a slave girl.

  “Are you alone?” I asked, looking out, toward the street.

  “No,” she said.

  I drew back within the doorway.

  “There is a free woman,” I said, “in merchant garb, with a parasol. I have seen her before.”

  “She is of the house of Decius Albus,” she said, “the city house, the House of a Hundred Corridors. She is free. She stands high in the house. I think she may be the confidante of Decius Albus himself. She thinks little of slaves. Beware of her!”

  “I see she carries a switch,” I said.

  “Many free women do,” she said, “a symbol of their superiority, and authority. I have felt it many times.”

  “What is her name?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “She is just ‘Mistress’,” I said.

  “As any free woman,” she said.

  “She is with you?” I said.

  “She accompanies me,” she said. “She conducts me, she sets me about my errands, she waits for me, she herds me back to the house.”

  “It seems she does not trust you,” I said.

  “What free woman trusts a female slave?” she asked. “Fear them. They are free. They hate us.”

  “Doubtless she is lively with her switch,” I said. I had reason to suppose that, from long ago, from a wharf on the Vosk.

  “As many free women,” she said, “and we are so helpless!”

  “Only she is about?” I asked.

  “No, another, as well,” she said, “Drusus Andronicus, servitor to Decius Albus.”

  “I do not see him,” I said.

  “Sometimes he does not care to be seen,” she said.

  I regarded this intelligence with some apprehension.

  “He is of the Assassins?” I said.

  “No,” she said, “of the scarlet caste, the Warriors.”

  I recalled the supper, the banquet. He had had her chained behind his couch, where she was near, but could see little. “He may have some interest in you,” I said.

  “I hope so!” she said. “He keeps me often with him. He permits me to sandal him, and remove his sandals. He permits me to bathe him. He often puts me to slave use. When he is about, he will not permit the free woman to switch me.”

  “You are his slave,” I said, archly, skeptically.

  “In heart,” she said, “but not in law. I am the slave of Decius Albus. And I do not think Decius Albus even knows I exist. I was purchased by an agent. Were it not for my collar, he might not even know he owns me.”

  “‘In heart’?” I said.

  “I love him, Drusus Andronicus,” she said.

  “Have you told him?” I asked.

  “No!” she said. “I do not wish to be whipped, and sold.”

  “You are daring, indeed,” I said, “to love one not your master. Consider the risks attendant upon so grievous an indiscretion.”

  “I am well aware of the dangers,” she said.

  “Put thoughts of Drusus Andronicus from your mind,” I said.

  “I cannot,” she said.

  “You are the slave of Decius Albus,” I said.

  “Decius Albus knows few of his slaves, and has little interest in them,” she said. “Drusus Andronicus is powerful in the house. It is his whip that is muchly feared in the pens. And, to my dismay, he can have his pick of most of the slaves, many of whom are far more beautiful than I, and some of whom, I fear, dear Phyllis, are even as beautiful as you. On a whim, should I prove in the least displeasing, or even if I were not displeasing, he could have me hooded and taken to a market. No, I am a slave, and dare not confess my love for him, even were he my master. It must be enough that I am beside myself, helpless, and uncontrollable, a slave, in his arms.”

  How could it be, I wondered, that Paula, plain Paula, could interest a master such as Drusus Andronicus? He had scarcely looked upon me, when I had served, naked, with other slaves. Surely I was far more attractive than she.

  I looked out, from the doorway.

  “The woman,” I said, “she in the white and gold, with the parasol, is waiting.”

  “Are you so anxious to speed me on my way?” she asked.

  “I do not wish you to be found displeasing,” I said.

>   “What free woman does not find a slave girl displeasing?” she said.

  “The day is cool, the woman is veiled, the sky is cloudy,” I said. “Why does she carry a parasol?”

  “I do not know,” said Paula.

  “I should return to my master, upstairs,” I said. Certainly I had gathered the intelligence I had been dispatched to obtain; the messenger of Decius Albus was not alone; two others were about, who might be watched for in the future, a free woman, in Merchant colors, who stood high in the house of Decius Albus, in charge of whom was the slave, and, somewhere, as I understood it, a male, the powerful and formidable agent of Decius Albus, Drusus Andronicus. Given the presence of such attendants it seemed clear that the delivery of Paula’s message was to be understood as more than the discharge of a simple errand.

  Paula regarded me. “Do you like me?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “You are dear to me, very dear,” she said.

  I was silent.

  “I am your friend,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “You are my friend, are you not, Phyllis?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” I said. “Why do you ask such a question?”

  “I wish you well,” she said.

  She then turned away, to hurry from the doorway, to put herself in the keeping of the free woman, she with the parasol, whose mien, I feared, now suggested impatience.

  “Good-bye,” I said to her, in English.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “And that, dear Grendel, my friend,” said Kurik of Victoria, “is what transpired in the House of a Hundred Corridors.”

  The strokes on the great bar, signaling the tenth Ahn, were still ringing when Kurik of Victoria and I, I heeling him, were ushered into an audience chamber in the House of a Hundred Corridors.

  The building was large, but I doubted that it contained one hundred corridors.

  “Welcome!” called a large, coarse-featured man in white and gold, rising from his curule chair on its dais, and hurrying down to embrace Kurik of Victoria, warmly. “Welcome, welcome, Lord Grendel,” he said. He then drew back, smiling, and gestured to a lacquered table below the dais, which was round, and circled by six curule chairs, of identical fashioning. Accordingly there would be no obvious distinction of rank amongst those who might sit about the table. I took this personage, affable and pleasant, to be Decius Albus himself. But surely he knew that Kurik of Victoria was not Lord Grendel. Might not the presence of the actual Lord Grendel have startled, perhaps even horrified, those present?