I considered such things as the difficulties of communication, the difficulties of maintaining supply lines, the lengths of marches, the paucity of roads, the isolation of cities, the diversities of cultures and such.
"I think you are right," I said.
It would be merely that Cos would now be the dominant force on the continent. Also, geopolitically, it did not seem likely that Cos could indefinitely maintain her power. Her seat of power was overseas and her forces were largely composed of mercenaries who were difficult to control and expensive to maintain. The recent campaigns of Lurius of Jad must have severely drained the treasury of Cos, and perhaps of Tyros, too, her ally. To be sure, her outlays might now be recouped here and there, for example, from conquered Ar. Cos had succeeded in defeating Ar. It was not so clear, I now realized, that she had managed to guarantee and secure her own hegemony indefinitely. Indeed, with Ar vulnerable and helpless, nullified militarily, if the power of Cos should collapse, a new barbarism might ensue, at least within the traditional boundaries of Ar, a lawless barbarism broken here and there by the existence of minor tyrannies, places where armed men imposed their will.
"I do not hear the bars any longer," said Marcus. "Nor the crowds."
"Nor do I," I said.
It now seemed quiet at the park of the Central Cylinder, save for the sounds of the workmen, striking apart the boards of the platform. Few people, too, were about. Some papers blew across the park, some of them tiny banners of colored paper, banners of both Cos and Ar.
Again I considered the platform. On it Talena had stood, barefoot.
"Look," I said to Marcus, indicating some of the boards removed from the platform and piled to one side.
"What?" he asked.
"The boards," I said, "on their upper surfaces, they are smoothed."
"And from the reflection of light, sealed," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"Doubtless prepared for the feet of the noble Talena,' he said.
"Yes," I said.
"Unusual solicitation for a penitent or suppliant," said Marcus.
"Yes," I granted him.
"But we would not wish to risk her little feet, would we?" Marcus asked Phoebe.
"No, Master," said Phoebe.
Although Marcus had spoken in irony, Phoebe's response was quite serious, and appropriately so. She did not even begin to put herself in the category of a free woman. An unbridgeable and, to the slave, terrifying chasm separates any free woman on Gor from a slave, such as Phoebe.
"It is regrettable, is it not," Marcus asked Phoebe, "that she was forced to appear degradingly unshod?"
"Yes, Master," said Phoebe, "for she is a free woman."
Indeed, I suppose that it had cost Talena much to be seen in public, barefoot.
Phoebe, of course, was barefoot. That is common with slaves.
I watched another board being thrown on the pile.
For the most part the platform was held together by wooden pegs, pounded through prepared holes. In this way I supposed it might be easily reassembled. Perhaps there was some intention that it might be used again, perhaps, say, for the coronation of a ubara.
Then the portion of the platform nearest us was down.
I wondered how Talena might look on another sort of platform, say, on an auction platform, stripped and in chains, being bid upon by men. Such a surface would be likely to be quite smooth to her feet, too, presumably having been worn smooth by the bared feet of numerous women before her.
"Let us seek lodging," said Marcus.
"Very well," I said.
8
The Wall
"I have had the good fortune to be chosen for wall duty," said a youth to his fellow.
"I myself volunteered for it," answered the other.
"Such things are the least we can do," said the first.
"By means of them Ar will become great," said the other.
"Not all values are material," said the first.
"By means of such things we shall visibly demonstrate our love of peace," said the second.
"Without such things," said the first, "our protests of love and brotherhood would be empty."
"Of course," said the other.
"I am weary," said Marcus.
"It is the wagons," I said.
In Gorean cities it is often the case that many streets, particularly side streets, little more than alleys, are too narrow for wagons. Local deliveries in such areas are usually made by porters or carts. Similarly, because of considerations such as congestion and noise, and perhaps aesthetics, which Goreans take seriously, wagons are not permitted on certain streets, and on many streets only during certain hours, usually at night or in the early morning. Indeed, most deliveries, as of produce from the country, not borne on the backs of animals of peasants, are made at night or in the early morning. This is also often the case with goods leaving the city, such as shipments of pottery and linens.
We were walking in the Metellan district, and then turned east toward the Avenue of Turia. Phoebe was heeling Marcus.
This morning, some Ahn before dawn, a convoy of wagons had rattled past our lodgings in the Metellan district, in the insula of Torbon on Demetrios Street. Our room, like many in an insula, had no window, but I had gone to the hall and thrust back the shutters of a window there, overlooking the street. Below, guided here and there by lads, with lanterns, were the wagons. There had been a great many of them. Demetrios Street, like most Gorean streets, had no sidewalks or curbs but sloped gently from both sides to a central gutter. The lads with the lanterns, their light casting dim yellow pools here and there on the walls and paving stones, performed an important function. Without some such illumination it is only too easy to miss a turn or gouge a wall with an axle. Marcus had joined me after a time. The wagons were covered with canvas, roped down. It was not the first such convoy which we had seen in the past weeks.
"Well," Marcus had asked, "what is being borne?"
"Who knows?" I had said.
He laughed.
To be sure, we knew, generically, what was being borne. It was not difficult to tell. Normal goods, exports of bar iron, and such, do not move in the city in such numbers. It is true, of course, that sometimes wagons would congregate at meeting places near gates, the wagons, say, of various manufacturers and merchants, and then travel on the roads in convoys, as a protection against brigandage, but in such a case the wagons, having different points of origin, would not form their convoy until in the vicinity of the gates, and, indeed, sometimes outside them, in order to avoid blocking streets. But the formation of such convoys, too, are usually advertised on the public boards, this information being of interest to various folks, say, merchants who might wish to ship goods, teamsters, guards, and such, who might wish employment, and folks wishing to book passage. Sometimes, incidentally, rich merchants can manage a convoy by themselves, but even so they will usually accommodate the wagons of others in their convoys. There is commonly safety in numbers and the greater the numbers usually the greater the safety. A fee is usually charged for entering wagons in a convoy, this primarily being applied to defray the costs of guards. Too, in some cases, it may be applied to tolls, drinking water, provender for animals, and such. Some entrepreneurs make their living by the organization, management and supply of convoys. But these convoys, those of the sort now passing, were not such convoys. For example, they were not advertised. Indeed, many in Ar might not even be aware of them. Another clue as to the sort of convoys they were was that the wagons were not uniform but constituted rather a diverse lot. Some were even street wagons, and not road wagons, the latter generally of heavier construction, built for use outside the city where roads may be little more than irregular paths, uneven, steep, rugged and treacherous. Some Gorean cities, for example, perhaps as a military measure, in effect isolate themselves by the refusal to allocate funds for good roads. Indeed, they often go further by neglecting the upkeep of even those tracks that exist. It can be next to impos
sible to reach such cities in the spring, because of the rains. Besnit is an example. Beyond this, although many of the wagons were unmarked, many others, in the advertising on their sides, bore clear evidence of their origins, the establishments of chandlers, carders, fullers, coopers, weavers, millers, bakers, and so on, wagons presumably commandeered for their present tasks. As a last point, this convoy, and those which had preceded it on other days, seemed overstaffed, particularly for the city. Instead of having one driver, or a driver and a fellow, a relief driver or one to help with the unloading, and perhaps a lad to help through the city in the darkness, each wagon had at least four or five full-grown men with it, armed, usually two or three on the wagon box, and another two or three on the cargo itself, on the canvas, or, in some cases, holding to the wagon, riding on sideboards or the step below the wagon gate. Others, too, here and there, were afoot, at the sides.
"Ar bleeds," said Marcus.
"Yes," I had said.
"Where are we going?" asked Marcus, following me.
"I want to see what is going on at the walls," I said.
"The same thing," said he, "as was going on last time."
"I wish to see what progress is being made," I said.
"You merely wish to observe the flute girls," he said.
"That, too," I admitted.
In a few Ehn we were on the Avenue of Turia, one of the major avenues in Ar. It is lined with Tur trees.
"What a beautiful street!" exclaimed Phoebe. The vista, when one comes unexpectedly on it, particularly after the minor side streets, is impressive.
Marcus turned about, sharply, and regarded her. She stopped.
"Are you in a collar?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"Are you a slave?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"Do you think," he asked, "that just because I did not slay you on the day of the victory of Cos, that I am weak?"
"No, Master!" she said.
"Or that you may do as you please?"
"No, Master!"
"I decided then to think of you as merely what you are, a slave girl."
"Of course, Master," she said.
"Do you think that any of the fellows of Cos about would free you because you were once of Cos?" he asked.
"No, Master," she said, "for I am now no longer of Cos. I am now no more than an animal, no more than a slave."
"Perhaps then," he said, "you will consider such matters before you next speak without permission."
"Yes, Master," she said.
We then continued on our way.
Marcus, enamored even as he was with every glance and movement, every word and wisp of hair, of his slave, was determined, I was pleased to note, to keep her under perfect discipline. To be sure, he had not beaten her. On the other hand, she had had her warning, and might, the next time, be taught the penalties for such an infringement, in a sense, a daring to exceed her station. Sometimes a girl will court the whip, and even provoke a lashing, just to reassure herself that her master is truly her master. After her whipping, reassured of the strength of her master, and that she will be kept in her place, where she belongs, and wishes to be, she curls gratefully, lovingly, at his feet, eager to serve in all ways, his to command. To be sure, I think that Phoebe's outburst was genuinely inadvertent. I was not sure what I would have done in Marcus' place. Perhaps the same thing. Perhaps, on the other hand, I would have cuffed her. I do not know. There are, of course, inadvertences and inadvertences. Usually a girl can tell when she has an implicit permission to speak, that is, for example, when the master would not be likely to object to it, or would even welcome it, and when it would be wise to ask for such permission explicitly. When she is in doubt it would be wise to ask. I myself, incidentally, am occasionally inclined to encourage a certain inventiveness and spontaneity on the part of slaves. On the other hand the girl must always be clearly aware that she is subject to discipline, and that it may be imposed upon her instantly, at any time. She is, after all, a slave.
"Did you notice the haircut of that young fellow we just passed?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "It is done in the style of Myron, the polemarkos."
"Yes," I said.
"Here are public boards," said Marcus.
Such are found at various points in Ar, as earlier noted.
"Is there anything new?" I inquired. I would prefer for Marcus to make out the lettering. He read Gorean fluently.
"Not really," said Marcus. "The usual things, quotations from various officials, testimonials of fidelity to both Cos and Ar, declarations of chagrin and shame by various men of note concerning the crimes of Ar under Gnieus Lelius."
"I see," I said. It was now some two months since the entry of Myron into the city and the subsequent triumph of Lurius of Jad, celebrated a day later in his name by Myron, the polemarkos, in which triumph he, Myron, acting as proxy for Lurius of Jad, was joined by Seremides and Talena, and several weeks after the ascension of Talena to the throne of Ar, as Ubara. Her coronation may have been somewhat less spectacular than Myron's entry into the city and Lurius' subsequent triumph, which may have grated upon her somewhat, but I think it had been impressive enough. The crown of Tur leaves was placed upon her head by Myron, but on behalf of the people and councils of Ar. Seremides and most members of the High Council were in attendance. Certain other members of the High Council were asserted to be indisposed. Some rumors had it that they were under house arrest. A medallion of Ar was also placed about Talena's neck but the traditional medallion, which had been worn by Marlenus, and which he had seldom permitted out of his keeping, and which he may have had with him upon his departure from the city long ago, had not been found. Too, the ring of the Ubar, which in any event would have been too large for the finger of Talena, was not found. But that ring, it was said, had not been in Ar for years. Indeed, it had been rumored in Ar, even before the disappearance of Marlenus, that it had once been lost in the northern forests, upon a hunting expedition. After the medallion, Talena had been given the Home Stone of Ar, that she might hold it in her left hand, and a scepter, a rod of office, signifying power, that she might hold in her right. Her coronation was followed by a declaration of five holidays. The triumph of Lurius of Jad, as I recall, had been followed by ten such days. The chief advisors of the new ubara were Myron, of Cos, and Seremides, once of Tyros.
"Here is something," said Marcus, "though I do not gather its import."
"What?" I asked.
"There is a charge to the citizens and councils of Ar to consider how they might make amends for their complicity in the crimes of their city."
"Reparations?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Marcus.
"I would have thought that Ar had already made considerable amends," I said.
I recalled the convoys of wagons which had passed by the insula of Torbon on the street of Demetrios.
"Be careful what you say," said a man near me.
"We are guilty," said a man.
"Yes," said another.
"It is only right," said another, "that we should attempt to make amends to our good friends of Cos and others whom we may have injured."
"True," said another man.
Marcus and I then, followed by Phoebe, continued on our way.
"The Home Stone of Ar's Station is no longer exhibited publicly," said Marcus, gloomily.
"I think it will be again," I said.
"Why do you say that?" he asked, interested.
"I have my reasons," I said. "Do not concern yourself with it now."
"The wall seems very bare there," said Marcus, as we passed a public edifice, a court building.
There were also numerous small holes in the wall, chipped at the edges.
"Surely you have noted similar walls," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"Decorative reliefs, in marble, have been removed from them," I said. "As I recall the ones here, they celebrated the feats of Hesius, a perhaps legen
dary hero of Ar."
"He for whom the month of Hesius is named," said Marcus.
"I presume so," I said. The month of Hesius is the second month of the year in Ar. It follows the first passage hand. In Ar, as in most cities in the northern hemisphere, the new year begins with the vernal equinox.
"Were the marbles here well done?" asked Marcus.
"Though I am scarcely a qualified judge of such things," I said, "I would have thought so. They were very old, and reputed to be the work of the master, Aurobion, though some have suggested they were merely of his school."
"I have heard of him," said Marcus.
"Some think the major figures profited from his hand and that portions of the minor detail, and some of the supportive figures, were the work of students."
"Why would the marbles be removed?" asked Marcus.
"They have antiquarian value, as well as aesthetic value," I said. "I would suppose that they are now on their way to a museum in Cos."
"The decorative marbles on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, and those about the Central Cylinder itself, and on the Cylinder of Justice are still there," he said.
"At least for the time," I said. The building we had just passed was an extremely old building. Many in Ar were not sure of its age. It may have dated to the first ubarate of Titus Honorius. Many of the functions originally discharged within its precincts had long ago been assumed by the newer Cylinder of Justice, located in the vicinity of the Central Cylinder. Incidentally, many buildings, particularly public buildings, in this part of the city, which was an older part of the city, were quite old. Many smaller buildings, dwellings, shops, insulae, and such, on the other hand, were relatively new. I might also mention, in passing, if only to make the controversy concerning the "Aurobion marbles" more understandable, that many Gorean artists do not sign or otherwise identify their works. The rationale for this seems to be a conviction that what is important is the art, its power, its beauty, and so on, and not who formed it. Indeed many Gorean artists seem to regard themselves as little more than vessels or instruments, the channels or means, the tools, say, the chisels or brushes, so to speak, by means of which the world, with its values and meanings, in its infinite diversities, in its beauties and powers, its flowers and storms, its laughters and rages, its delicacy and awesomeness, its subtlety and grandeur, expresses itself, and rejoices. Accordingly the Gorean artist tends not so much to be proud of his work as, oddly enough perhaps, to be grateful to it, that it consented to speak through him. As the hunters of the north, the singers of the ice pack and of the long night have it, "No one knows from whence songs come." It is enough, and more than enough, that they come. They dispel the cold, they illuminate the darkness. They are welcomed, in the darkness and cold, like fire, and friendship and love. The focus of the Gorean artist then, at least on the whole, tends to be on the work of art itself, not on himself as artist. Accordingly his attitude toward his art is less likely to be one of pride than one of gratitude. This makes sense as, in his view, it is not so much he who speaks as the world, in its many wonders, great and small, which speaks through him. He is thus commonly more concerned to express the world, and truth, than himself.
Magicians of Gor Page 13
