by John Norman
“Then it seems you must be beaten,” I said.
“No!” she cried, “No!” then she turned and tried to flee, pushing her way through my men, closing her in. in an instant, two men holding her arms, she was thrust again before me, and forced to her knees. She put her head down.
“It seems,” said Rim, “that we must now beat her.”
“I do not think so,” I said.
Tina lifted her head. She was smiling. She held up her right hand to me. It held a golden tarn disk. It was of double weight.
There was a shout of pleasure from the men. They were striking their left shoulders with their right fists, repeatedly, in Gorean applause.
I lifted her to her feet. She was smiling. “You are superb,” I told her. “My father was a thief,” she said.
“And his father before him,” added Rim.
She looked down, smiling.
“Is it your intention to steal further in this camp?” I asked.
She looked up into my eyes, earnestly. “No, Master,” she said. “No!” “On the contrary,” I said, “it is my wish that you keep your skills fresh. You may steal in this camp where and when you wish, but within the Ahn you are to return what you have stolen.” She laughed, delightedly.
The men looked at one another, uncomfortably.
“Tonight,” I said, “you will, following our supper, give a demonstration.” “Yes, Master,” she said.
“Whose gold piece is this?” I asked, lifting the double tarn.
The men checked their pouches. None of them claimed the gold.
I did not think she had taken it from me. “Is it mine?” I asked her. “No,” she said, smiling. “It is Thurnock’s.” Thurnock, who had not checked his pouch, knowing it had not been taken form him, snorted in derision, a great peasant snort, like a bosk.
“It is not mine,” said Thurnock.
“Did you have a double tarn with you?” I asked him.
“Yes,” said Thurnock. He fished about in his pouch. Then he reddened. The men laughed.
I tossed Thurnock the coin.
I regarded Tina. “You are a lovely little thief,” I said. “Turn your back to me.” She did so.
I took up the cord with which she had bound in her slave tunic.
I looped it twice about her belly, and jerked it tight, tying it.
She gasped. “Do you permit me the cord,” she asked, “that I may more easily conceal what I steal?” “No,” I said. “I permit it to you that men may more easily note your beauty.” This time lovely Tina, beneath her tan, from the wharves of Lydius, blushed red, and put her head down.
I lifter her head, and took her in my arms. She trembled. I kissed her upon the lips. Her body, that of a white-silk girl, fresh to the collar, was terribly frightened. Not releasing her, I looked upon her. She lifted her lips delicately to mine, those of her master, and kissed them. Her eyes were frightened. “If I do not return, with the Ahn, what I steal,” she asked, “what will be done with me?” “For the first offense,” I said, “your left hand will be removed.” She struggled to escape my arms.
“For the second offense,” I said, “your right hand will be removed.” Her eyes were but inches from mine, dark, dilated, filled with terror. “Do you understand?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“You are slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
I kissed her again, deeply, pressing back her head. Then I released her. She stood facing me, her hand before her mouth, small, beautiful in the brief, tightly corded slave garment. I noted that Sheera, carrying a bowl, standing nearby, did not seem much pleased.
I indicated Tina. To my men I said, “You may taste her lips.”
They eagerly reached for her, and, kissing her, handed her from one to the next. When she had been passed about the circle, stumbling, her hair across her eyes, the fillet gone, she stood again before me. She was breathing deeply. She was partly bent over. She looked up at me. She was not weeping. Then she stood straight, and, shoulders back, smoothed down the brief slave garment. The men laughed.
“Do not forget you are a slave,” I told her.
“I shall not, “ she said.
Then, as the men laughed, she turned about and went to the kitchen area, they parting, permitting her beauty to pass between them unopposed.
I thought she walked rather well.
I thought Tina would prove popular in the camp.
I and my men, save the posted guards, sat about the fire on the beach, within the wall, not far from the inclining hull of the Tesephone.
Sheera knelt before me, her head down, resting back on her heels, her arms extended to me, proffering me, in the manner of the Gorean slave girl, the wine bowl.
I took it, dismissing her.
“When will we return to the forests?” asked Rim. He sat beside me. He was served by Cara.
“Not immediately,” I said. “First, I wish to arrange for the comforts of my men, those remaining at the camp.” “Is there time?” asked Rim.
“I think so,” I said. “We know the approximate location of Verna’s camp and dancing circle. Marlenus does not. He still hunts in the vicinity of Laura.” “You are a patient man,” said Rim.
“Patience,” I told him, “ is a virtue of merchants.”
I held forth the wine bowl that Sheera, from a large wine crater, might refill it.
“Patience, too,” said Rim, “is a characteristic of players of the Game, and of certain warriors.” “Perhaps,” I said, and quaffed the wine.
“I myself,” said he, ruefully, “am less patient.”
“Tomorrow,” I told him, “you will go to Laura, trekking downriver. Arrange for four paga slaves, the most beautiful you can find in Laura, to be sent to our camp. Then, when these arrangements are made, return. The girls may follow you.” “There are men of Tyros in Laura,” said Rim, looking down into his small wine bowl, cradled in the palm of his right hand.
“We are simple traders, dealers in fur and hide,” I told him, “from the island of Tabor.” “True,” smiled Rim.
“I cannot wait,” said Thurnock, “until we can again enter the forests!” I looked at him. “Thurnock,” I said, “I need a man here, an officer I can trust, one to maintain the camp, one to command shrewdly in my absence.” “No!” boomed Thurnock.
“It is my wish, my friend,” I said to him.
Thurnock looked down. “Yes, my captain,” said he.
I stood up. “It is time for the exhibition I promised you,” I said. “Tina! Come here!” She had been serving, too. Now she sped to my side.
“Build up he fire,” I said. It was done.
The interior of the camp was now ell illuminated. “Can you all see clearly?” I asked.
There were sounds of assent. Even Sheera and Cara came close, to watch. “Note,” said Tina. “Can you feel this?” she put her fingers at the pouch worn at my belt.
I was disappointed. “Yes,” I said. “That was clumsy.”
Her first finger, followed by her thumb, had slipped within the neck of the pouch, forcing apart the strings which held it shut, and emerged, holding a coin. It had been done neatly, but I had felt the tug of the strings. “I felt it,” I told her.
“Of course,” she said.
I looked at her, puzzled.
She handed me back the coin, and I returned it to the pouch. I was not much pleased.
“It may always be felt,” she said, “if one is paying attention.”
“I had though you more skillful,” I said.
“Do not be angry with me, Master,” she wheedled. She put herself against me, and with her left hand about my waist, tugged at the side of my tunic, and lifted her lips to mine. I kissed her lightly, and them put her back from me. She handed me the coin a second time.
I laughed.
There was much applause from the men, and, too, from Sheera and Cara. “That time,” said Tina,” you did not feel it.” “No,” I said,
“I did not.” “And yet it is the same thing,” she said, “which is done.” My look of puzzlement delighted her. She was much pleased. She turned to the others, not me, to explain what had been done.
“He was distracted,” she said. “One must always distract the attention. I did it by tugging at his tunic, where he would notice it, and by kissing him. We pay attention, commonly, to one thing at a time. The theft is there to be felt, but one does not feel it, because one is not intent on feeling it. One’s attention is elsewhere. One may also deflect the attention by a word, or a glance somewhere. One may sometime lead the individual to expect an attack in one area, and then strike in another.” “She should be a general,” grumbled Thurnock. Tina looked quickly at him. He slid backward in the sand.:Stay away from me!” he cried.
The men laughed.
“You, Master,” said Tina, to a handsome young seaman, who wore a wristlet studded with purplish stone, amethysts from Schendi, “would you be so kind as to rise and come forward.” He stood before her, appreciatively, but warily.
“You kissed me this afternoon,” she told him. “Please do so again.” “Very well,” he agreed.
“But guard your pouch,” said she.
“I shall,” said he.
He put his hands at her waist, and bent, carefully, to kiss her.
She stood on her tiptoes, and lifted her lips eagerly to his.
When they parted, he reached for his pouch. He grinned. “You did not obtain my pouch!” he laughed.
“Here is your wristlet,” said Tina, handing him the amethyst-studded wristlet. There was much laughter.
I and perhaps one or two of the others had seen her unbuckle it, deftly, lightly, with one hand, while his hand was at her waist. Most of those at the fire were as startled as the handsome young seaman when they saw the wristlet in Tina’s hand.
We gave her much applause.
Chagrined, but laughing, the young man rebuckled the wristlet, and went and sat down by the fire.
“Master,” said Tina.
He looked up.
“Your pouch,” she said, throwing it at him.
There was much more laughter.
“It is not always easy to unknot a pouch,” I told her.
“That is true,” she admitted. She looked at me, and smiled. “The strings, of course,” she said, “might be cut.” I laughed ruefully. I well recalled how well she had robbed me in our first acquaintance on the wharves of Lydius.
“Rim has been kind enough,” she said, ”from the blade of an old shaving knife to supply a suitable implement.” Rim, from his own pouch, handed up to her a tiny steel half crescent, ground from the blade of a shaving knife. Part of it, wrapped in physician’s tape, was bent and fitted behind her first two fingers. The blade, as it projected from between her two fingers, was almost invisible.
“Master?” asked Tina.
I got to my feet, determined not to be fooled. But when Tina stumbled against me, before I realized it, neatly, the purse strings had been cut.
“Excellent,” I told her. I reknotted the strings, tying them together. I would have a new purse tomorrow.
“Do you think you could do it again?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” said Tina. “I do not know. You are now on your guard.
She passed me once again. The strings were still intact. “You missed,” I told her.
She handed me the contents of the purse. I laughed. She had cut the bottom of the purse, dropping the coins into her hand.
Then, a moment later, the purse itself was in her hand, and again the strings dangled from my belt.
“Slave girls are not permitted weapons,” I laughed.
Tina tossed the tiny knife back to Rim.
We all much applauded her.
I pointed to the sand. She dropped to her knees in the sand, and put her head down.
“Lift your head,” I told her.
She did so.
“You are skillful,” said I, adding, “-Slave.”
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
I was much pleased. “Thurnock,” said I, “ give her wine.”
The men applauded.
“Very well,” grinned Thurnock. But he approached her warily.
“Turn you back to me,” he said, “and place your wrists, crossed, behind the back of your neck.” She did so, and Thurnock, with a length of binding fiber, looped twice about her throat, and then four times about her wrists, fastened her wrists behind the back of her neck.
“I will see where her hands are,” he grumbled. There was laughter. Then he said to her, “Kneel.” She did so, and, he holding her head back, by the hair, poured wine down her throat.
I turned to the handsome young seaman, he with the wristlet studded with amethysts.
I indicated Tina.
“Take her to the wall,” I said, “ to where she is chained for the night in the sand.” “Yes, Captain,” said he.
He lifted her easily in his arms. She struggled a bit, bound, but I could see that she was excited to be in his arms.
She had picked him out from all the others.
“Tonight,” I told the young man, “she is yours to chain in the sand.” “Captain?” he asked.
“Tonight,” I told him, “the chains she wears are yours.”
“My gratitude, Captain!” he cried.
She, a slave, bound, turned her lips to his, carried from the fire to her chains, in the darkness of the wall, on the other side of the Tesephone. Rim rose and yawned. He put his arm about Cara, and together they left the fire. The men began to drink and talk.
Sheera made so bold as to touch my forearm. My eyes warned her from me. She put down her head.
I talked long with Thurnock, discussing the plans for the enterprise in the forest, and my wishes for appointments and regulations at the camp. The fire had burned low, and the guard had been changed, before we were finished.
It was a hot night. The stars were very bright in the black Gorean sky. The three moons were beautiful. The men lay on their blankets in the sand, under the awnings stretched from the Tesephone.
The sound of the river was slow and sweet, moving between its banks, flowing downward to greet Thassa, the sea, more than two hundred pasangs from this small, silent camp.
I heard night birds cry in the forest. The shrill scream of a sleen, perhaps a pasang distant, carried to the camp. I heard the sounds of insects. I looked at the lines of the Tesephone in the darkness. She was a good ship. Before my shelter, on the sand, at the stern of the ship, there stood a figure. She wore the brief, sleeveless garment of white wool. My collar lay at her throat.
“Greetings, Sheera,” I said.
“In the forests,” she said, “you made me carry trade goods on my back. you braceleted me, and sent me into the woods, when sleen and panthers were hunting. By the women of Verna I was much abused. I was much switched.” I shrugged. “You are slave,” I said.
“I hate you,” she cried.
I regarded her.
“You are making me learn to cook,” she said, “you are making me learn to sew, to wash garments, to iron them!” “You are slave,” I told her.
“Tonight,” she said, “you forced me to serve you at the feast.” She looked at me, with fury. “You forced me to serve you as a slave girl!” “Whose collar do you wear?” I asked.
She turned away.
“Are you not a slave?” I asked, amused.
She turned to face me, her fists clenched. I heard the river behind her. “Why did you buy me?” she asked.
“To serve my purposed, to implement my plans,” I told her.
“And I have done so,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“They you may now sell me,” she whispered.
“Or slay you,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “or slay me-should it please you!”
“But I am a merchant,” I said, “I would not wish to take the loss. I paid three pieces of gold and five tarsks for you.”
“I am not property!” she cried.
“Of course you are property,” I told her. “You are animal. You are slave.” “Yes,” she wept, “I am slave, slave!” She turned away.
I made no attempt to comfort her. One does not comfort a slave.
“When in the slave market at Lydius,” she challenged, “when you saw me chained at the bar, did you think them only of your plans, your purposes?” “No,” I admitted.
She turned to face me.
“And your kiss,” I said,” when I tasted your lips, at the bar in Lydius, I did not find you without interest.” “And in the hold,” she asked, “after my branding, when at night, on the planks, you deigned to use me?” “I found you not without interest,” I told her.
“Does what transpired between us there mean nothing to you?” she asked. “It means nothing,” I said.
“I am, then, fully and unqualifiedly, a slave,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. I looked upon her. She was quite beautiful, in the shadows, in the brief, sleeveless garment of white wool, the fillet of white wool tying back her hair, barefoot, my collar at her throat.
As her seller had said, she was a beauty. And she was mine.
“Tonight,” she said, “I touched your arm.” She put down her head. “It cost me much to do so. I struggled with myself for several Ahn, fighting myself. But I reached out, to touch you. I could not help myself. I reached out, to touch you. And your eyes were hard.” I did not speak.
“I am no longer a panther girl,” she said. Then she looked up at me, and then she said, to my surprise, “Not do I wish to be.” I did not speak.
“In the hold,” she said,you taught me what it is to be a woman.”
She put down her head. “You gave me no option to my submission. You took from me everything. You took from me my total surrender.” “A woman in a collar is not permitted inhibitions,” I said.
She looked up at me, angrily.
“Is it not time you were chained for the night?” I asked.
Yes,” she said, angrily. “It is!” she regarded me. “It is time for me to be chained.” I saw the chains lying dark, half covered in the sand, not far from her feet. “I shall call one of the men,” I said, turning toward my shelter.
“I reached out to touch you tonight,” she said. “But your eyes were hard.” She looked down to the chains, half covered with hand. “Your eyes were hard,” she said.
