by John Norman
"What do you think?" asked Samos.
"I once shared paga with Zarendargar," I said.
"I do not understand," said Samos.
We felt the barge turn slowly in the canal. Then we heard oars being drawn inboard on the starboard side. The barge, then, gently, struck against a landing, moving against the leather coils tied there.
"We are at my holding," I said.
I rose from the low bench and went to the door and opened it, emerging near the stern of the barge. Two of my men were holding mooring ropes, one from the bow of the barge and one from the stern. I climbed to the rail of the barge and ascended from thence to the surface of the landing.
Samos, below me, came to the interior threshold of the cabin door.
"It has been an interesting morning," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"I shall see you at the meeting of the Council in two days," he said.
"No," I said.
"I do not understand," said Samos.
"Zarendargar is in great danger," I said.
"We may rejoice in that," said Samos.
"The Death Squad is already on Gor," I said.
"It would seem so," said Samos.
"How many do you think there are?" I asked.
"Two," said Samos.
"Surely," I said, "there would be more." I did not think only two Kurii would be sent to dispatch one such as Zarendargar.
"Perhaps," said Samos.
"I once shared paga with Zarendargar," I said.
Samos stepped forth onto the deck of the barge, at the stern. He looked up at me, startled. It seemed no longer was he concerned that our camaraderie of the morning might be noted. "What madness do you contemplate?" he whispered.
"Surely Zarendargar must be warned," I said.
"No!" said Samos. "Let him be slain as expeditiously as possible!"
"I do not think, in such a case, Kurii are inclined to slay expeditiously," I said.
"It is none of your affair," said Samos.
"Those affairs are mine which I choose to make mine," I said.
"White men are not even allowed in the Barrens," said Samos.
"Surely some must be," I said, "if only to effect the graces and utilities of trade."
I looked over the low roof of the barge's cabin to the canal beyond. A hundred or so feet away there was the small boat of an urt hunter. His girl, the rope on her neck, crouched in the bow. This rope is about twenty feet long. One end of it is tied on her neck and the other end is fastened on the boat, to the bow ring. The hunter stood behind her with his pronged urt spear. These men serve an important function in Port Kar, which is to keep down the urt population in the canals.
At a word from the man the girl, the rope trailing behind her, dove into the canal. Behind the man, in the stern, lay the bloody, white-furred bodies of two canal urts. One would have weighed about sixty pounds, and the other, I speculate, about seventy-five or eighty pounds. I saw the girl swimming in the canal, the rope on her neck, amidst the garbage. It is less expensive and more efficient to use a girl for this type of work than, say, a side of tarsk. The girl moves in the water which tends to attract the urts and, if no mishap occurs, may be used again and again. Some hunters use a live verr but this is less effective as the animal, squealing, and terrified, is difficult to drive from the side of the boat.
The slave girl, on the other hand, can be reasoned with. She knows that if she is not cooperative she will be simply bound hand and foot and thrown alive to the urts. This modality of hunting, incidentally, is not as dangerous to the girl as it might sound, for very few urts make their strike from beneath the surface. The urt, being an air-breathing mammal, commonly makes its strike at the surface itself, approaching the quarry with its snout and eyes above the water, its ears laid back against the sides of its long, triangular head. To be sure, sometimes the urt surfaces near the girl and approaches her with great rapidity. Thus, in such a situation, she may not have time to return to the boat. In such a case, of course, the girl must depend for her life on the steady hand and keen eye, the swiftness, the strength and timing, the skill, of the urt hunter, her master. Sometimes, incidentally, a master will rent his girl to an urt hunter, this being regarded as useful in her discipline. There are very few girls who, after a day or two in the canals, and then being returned to their masters, do not strive to be completely pleasing.
"You need not warn Zarendargar," said Samos. "He knows he will be sought. That we have, in effect, on the authority of one of the very beasts to whom we spoke this morning."
"He may not know that the Death Squad has landed on Gor," I said. "He may not know that they are aware of his general location. He may not know with whom it is that he will be dealing."
"These things are his concern," said Samos, "not yours."
"Perhaps," I said.
"Once," said Samos, "he sent you forth upon the ice, to be slain by another Kur."
"He did his duty, as he saw it," I said.
"And now you would render him succor?" asked Samos.
"Yes," I said.
"He might slay you, instantly, if he saw you," said Samos.
"It is true he is an enemy," I said. "That is a risk I must take."
"He may not even recognize you," said Samos.
"Perhaps," I said. This was, I supposed, a danger. Just as human beings often found it difficult to distinguish among various Kurii, so, too, many Kurii, apparently, often found it difficult to distinguish among various human beings. On the other hand, I was confident that Zarendargar would know me. I had no doubt but what I would recognize him. One does not forget a Kur such as Half-Ear, or Zarendargar, one who stood above the rings, a war general among the Kurii.
"I forbid you to go," said Samos.
"You cannot do that," I said.
"In the name of Priest-Kings," he said, "I forbid you to go."
"My wars are my own," I said. "I choose them as I please."
I looked beyond Samos to the boat and urt hunter in the canal. The girl climbed, shivering, into the bow of the boat, the wet rope on her neck. In the bow of the boat, crouching there, nude and shivering, she coiled, in careful circles, in the shallow, wooden rope bucket beside her, the central length of the rope, that between her neck and the bow ring. Only then did she reach for the thick woolen blanket, from the wool of the hurt, and clutch it, shuddering, about her. Her hair, wet, was very dark against the white blanket. She was comely. I wondered if she were being rented out for discipline, or if she belonged to the urt hunter. It was not easy to tell.
Most Gorean slave girls are comely, or beautiful. This is easy to understand. It is almost always the better looking women who are taken for slaves, and, of course, in breeding slaves, it is commonly only the most beautiful of female slaves who are used, these usually being crossed, hooded, with handsome male silk slaves, also hooded. The female offspring of these matings, needless to say, are often exquisite. The male offspring, incidentally, and interestingly, to my mind, are often handsome, strong and quite masculine. This is perhaps because many male silk slaves are chosen to be male silk slaves not because they are weak or like women, but because they are not; it is only that they are men, and often true men, who must serve women, totally, in the same fashion that a slave female is expected to serve a free master. To be sure, it is also true, and should be admitted in all honesty, that many male silk slaves are rather feminine; some women prefer this type, perhaps because they fear true men; from such a silk slave they need not fear that they may suddenly be turned upon, and tied, and taught to be women. Most women, however, after a time, find this type of silk slave a banality and a bore; charm and wit can be entertaining, but, in time, if not conjoined with intellect and true masculine power, they are likely to wear thin.
The feminine type of male silk slave, incidentally, for better or for worse, is seldom selected for breeding purposes. Gorean slave breeders, perhaps benighted in this respect, prefer what they take to be health to what they think o
f as sickness, and what they take to be strength to what they deem weakness. Some female slaves, incidentally, have a pedigreed lineage going back through several generations of slave matings, and their masters hold the papers to prove this. It is a felony in Gorean law to forge or falsify such papers. Many Goreans believe that all women are born for the collar, and that a woman cannot be truly fulfilled as a woman until a strong man puts it on her, until she finds herself reduced to her basic femaleness at his feet.
In the case of the bred female slave, of course, she has been legally and literally, in anyone's understanding, bred to the collar, and in a full commercial and economic sense, as a business speculation on the part of masters. The features most often selected for by the breeders are beauty and passion. It has been found that intelligence, of a feminine sort, as opposed to the pseudomasculine type of intelligence often found in women with large amounts of male hormones, is commonly linked, apparently genetically, with these two hitherto mentioned properties. There are few male slaves with long pedigrees. Goreans, though recognizing the legal and economic legitimacy of male slavery, do not regard it as possessing the same biological sanction as attaches to female slavery. The natural situation, in the mind of many Goreans, is that the master/slave relation is one which ideally exists between man and woman, with the woman in the property position. Male slaves, from time to time, can receive opportunities to win their freedom, though, to be sure, usually in situations of high risk and great danger. Such opportunities are never accorded to the female slave. She is totally helpless. If she is to receive her freedom it will be fully and totally, and only, by the decision of her master.
"You are, then, seriously, considering going to the Barrens?" asked Samos.
"Yes," I said.
"You are a foolish and stubborn fellow," said Samos.
"Perhaps," I said. I lifted the roll of kailiauk hide I carried. "May I keep this?" I asked.
"Of course," said Samos.
I handed it to one of my men. I thought it might prove useful in the Barrens.
"You are fully determined?" asked Samos.
"Yes," I said.
"Wait," he said. He went back to the door of the enclosed cabin and re-entered it. In a moment he re-emerged, carrying the boxlike translator which we had brought from the tarn complex. "You may need this," said Samos, handing it to one of my men.
"Thank you, Samos," I said.
"I wish you well," he said.
"I wish you well," I said. I turned away.
"Wait!" he said.
I turned back to face him.
"Be careful," he said.
"I will," I said.
"Tarl," he said, suddenly.
I turned back to face him, again.
"How is it that you could even think of doing this?" he asked.
"Zarendargar may need my assistance," I said. "I may be able to aid him."
"But why, why?" he asked.
How could I explain to Samos the dark affinity I shared with one whom I had met only once, in the north, and long ago, with one who, clearly, was naught but a beast? I recalled the long evening I had once spent with Zarendargar, and our lengthy, animated conversations, the talk of warriors, the talk of soldiers, of those familiar with arms and martial values, of those who had shared the zest and terrors of conflict, to whom crass materialisms could never be more than the means to worthier victories, who had shared the loneliness of command, who had never forgotten the meanings of words such as discipline, responsibility, courage and honor, who had known perils, and long treks and privations, to whom comfort and the hearth beckoned less than camps and distant horizons.
"Why, why?" he asked.
I looked beyond Samos, to the canal beyond. The urt hunter, with his girl and boat, rowing slowly, was taking his leave. He would try his luck elsewhere.
"Why?" asked Samos.
I shrugged. "Once," I said, "we shared paga."
3
I Receive Information;
I Will Travel Northward
"Perhaps this one?" asked the merchant.
"I am trying to locate the whereabouts of a trader, one called Grunt," I said.
The blond-haired girl, nude, kneeling, shrank back against the cement wall. Her small wrists were bound tightly behind her, to an iron ring fastened in the wall.
"She is not without her attractions," said the merchant.
"Do you know where this fellow, Grunt, may be found?" I asked.
Another girl, also blond, a long chain on her neck, also fastened to a ring in the wall, had crept to my feet. She then lowered herself to her belly before me. She held my right ankle in her small hands and began to lick and kiss softly at my feet. I felt her mouth and small, warm tongue between the straps on my sandals. "Please buy me, Master," she whispered. "I will serve you helplessly and well." The differences between slave girls are interesting. The first girl was a fresh capture, clearly. She had not yet even been branded. The other girl, clearly, had already known the touch of a master.
"I think he has ventured north, along the perimeter," said the merchant.
"Buy me, I beg you, Master!" whispered the girl at my feet.
I looked to the girl kneeling at the wall. Swiftly she put down her head, reddening.
"That one," said the man, indicating the girl at the wall, "was formerly free. She was taken only five days ago. Not yet, as you note, is her thigh even marked."
"Why not?" I asked. Usually a girl is marked within hours of her capture. It is usually felt that, after her capture, there is little point in permitting any possibility that she might be confused with a free woman.
"I want her deeply and cleanly branded," he said. "An iron master travels among several of the smaller border towns. He is good at his business and has an assortment of irons, ranging from lovely and delicate to rude and brutal."
I nodded. It was not unusual for the border towns, along the eastern edge of the Thentis mountains, to be served by itinerant tradesmen and artisans. There was often too little work for them to thrive in a given town but an ample employment for their services and goods in a string of such towns. Such tradesmen and artisans commonly included some five to ten towns in their territory.
"Do not fret, little beauty," said the man to the girl. "You will soon be properly marked."
The girl lifted her head, and looked at me.
"You see," said the man, "she is already curious as to the touch of a man."
"I see," I said.
"What sort of brand would you like, little beauty?" asked the man. "Have no fear. Whatever brand you wear, I assure you, indeed I guarantee it, will be unmistakable and clear."
She looked up at him. With the back of his hand he lashed her head to the side.
She then looked up at him, again, frightened. Blood was at her lip. "Whatever brand you wish for me, Master," she said.
"Excellent," said the man. He turned to me. "That is her first, full, verbal slave response. She has had, of course, other sorts of slave responses and behaviors before this, such things as squirmings, strugglings, cringings, pain and fear, and behavioral presentations and pleadings, making herself pretty and holding herself in certain ways, presenting herself as a helpless, desirable female, trying to provoke the interest of attractive men."
The girl looked at him with horror, but I saw, in her eyes, that what he had said was true. Even unbranded, she was already becoming a slave.
"Please, Master. Please, Master," begged the girl at my feet.
"What sort of brand would you like, my dear?' asked the man of the girl at the wall. "Have no fear. I am now permitting you to express a preference. I shall then, as it pleases me, accept your preference, or reject it."
Her lip, now swollen, trembled.
"Would you like a lovely and feminine brand," he asked, "or a rude and brutal brand, one fit for a pot girl or a tendress of kaiila?"
"I am a woman, Master," she said. "I am feminine."
I was pleased to hear this simple confession f
rom the girl, this straightforward, uncompromising admission of the reality of her sex. How few of the women of my old world, I thought, could bring themselves, even to their lovers, to make this same, simple admission. What a world of difference it might make to their relationships, I speculated. Yet this admission, nonverbally, was surely made, and even poignantly and desperately, by many women of my old world, despite the injunctions and conditionings against honesty in such matters enjoined by an antibiological, politicized society. I hoped that upon occasion, at least, these admissions, these declarations, these cries for recognition and fulfillment, whether verbal or nonverbal, might, in his kindness, be heeded by a male.
It is an interesting question, the relation between natural values and conditioned values. To be sure, the human infant, in many respects, seems to be little more than a tabula rasa, a blank tablet, on which a society, whether sensible or perverted, may inscribe its values. Yet the infant is also an animal, with its nature and genetic codings, with its heritage of eons of life and evolution, tracing itself back to the combinations of molecules and the births of stars. Thus can be erected conflicts between nature and artifice, whether the artifices be devised or blind. These conflicts, in turn, produce their grotesque syndromes of anxiety, guilt and frustration, with their attendant deleterious consequences for happiness and life. A man may be taught to prize his own castration but somewhere, sometime, in the individual or in the maddened collectivity, nature must strike back. The answer of the fool is the answer he has been taught to give, the answer he must continue to defend and beyond which he cannot see, an answer historically deriving from an ethos founded on the macabre superstitions and frustrated perversions of lunatics, an answer now co-opted to serve the interests of new, grotesque minorities who, repudiating the only rationale that gave it plausibility, pervert it to their own ends. The sludge of Puritanism, with its latent social power, bequeathed from one generation to the next, can serve unaccustomed masters. The only practical answer to these dilemmas is not continued suppression and censorship, but a society, a world, in which nature is freed to thrive. It is not a healthy world in which civilization is nature's prison. Nature and civilization are not incompatible. A choice need not be made between them. For a rational animal each can be the complement and enhancement of the other. For too long has the world been under the domination of the grotesque and insidious. One fears mostly they may begin to believe their own lies. They think they herd sheep. It is possible, unbeknownst to themselves, they walk with wolves and lions.
