Mariners of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Men may look upon slaves appraisingly, as upon other beasts. If one may admire the silken coat, the flanks, of a kaiila, one may, as well, admire the pelt, the flanks, the curvature of a calf, the trimness of an ankle, the roundedness of a forearm, the delight of a shoulder and throat, the lissome figure, the exquisite features, of a lesser animal, a slave.

  Talena had been said to be the most beautiful woman on all Gor. There was no doubt she was quite beautiful. I thought she might bring as much as four silver pieces off the block. To claim however that she was the most beautiful woman on all Gor seemed absurd. A similar claim might have been made of thousands of free women, and with considerably more justification, given their revelatory garmenture, their total lack of veiling, and such, of tens of thousands of slaves. Who is to assess the complementarities, and mysteries, of such matters? A woman who is a pot girl to one fellow may be a dream to another, worthy of a diamond collar and a chain at the foot of a Ubar’s throne. There was no doubt that the traitress, the former false Ubara, Talena, was lovely. I myself, however, would have preferred to have the lips and tongue of another on my feet.

  She who had worn the medallion of power in Ar now passed me, far from the city, far from her flatterers and servitors, far from the throne, merely another slave, wrist-shackled, tunicked, and barefoot.

  The climb to the castle would be lengthy, and arduous.

  Looking up toward the rail from the wharf, I saw Seremides, watching the Pani below.

  I supposed that he would remain on the ship.

  On the wharf, I saw Tereus. A mariner, assigned the wharf watch, in charge of order here, posted to discourage loitering and prevent pilfering, spoke to Tereus, and he began to ascend the trail.

  I thought it wise for Seremides to remain on the ship.

  Many were those who wished him dead.

  Some of the lesser Pani were already returning to the wharf. Some bore sedan chairs, by means of which contract women might be carried to the castle.

  I waited about.

  A light rain began to fall.

  Such rains, I would learn, are common in the area, and, not unoften, rains far more severe.

  I supposed that Philoctetes had preceded me.

  Licinius Lysias passed, and we exchanged greetings. I was uneasy in his presence. Early in the voyage, when a galley was launched, he had often been chained to his bench. As we had no bench slaves on board, such fellows usually found on round ships, I supposed him a recreant of sorts, spared for his strength at an oar. Later he had sat his bench not otherwise than the rest of us. More than once we had drawn oar together.

  I was not eager to ascend the long climb alone.

  Men passed me, and I thought of joining them, but one prefers fellows one knows.

  Leros, and Aeacus, whom I knew from the high watches, had been in the first contingent and were doubtless already within the castle, or its walls.

  I had turned about, finally, to join others, to make my way upward, when I heard my name called, “Callias!”

  I turned about, and, to my surprise, one not pleasant, I saw Seremides hobbling toward me, the crutch striking on the wharf planks.

  “Noble Rutilius,” I said.

  “You know me from Ar,” he snarled.

  “So who are you?” I asked.

  “Rutilius, Rutilius, of Ar,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “There are no bounties here,” he said.

  “Clearly,” I said.

  “You saved my life,” he said.

  “I had not thought the matter through,” I said.

  “It is a life worthless enough, as it is,” he said.

  “It is worth what it is to you,” I said.

  “You protected me on the ship,” he said, “from the sleen, Tereus, from the bullying urts, Aeson, Thoas, and Andros. I have never forgotten that.”

  “Thoas and Andros were slain on the ship, during the boarding, near the Warning Ship,” I said. “Aeson was found in the water, near the ship, dead, the morning after the ambush, after the evacuation of the beach.”

  “Oh?” he said.

  “Their deaths were not well understood,” I said.

  “I see,” he said.

  “You smile,” I noted.

  “Have you seen the oarsman, Tereus, about?” he asked.

  “Surely you saw him from the rail,” I said. “He was ordered from the wharf.”

  “He is gone?”

  “Toward the castle,” I said.

  “He was waiting for me,” said Seremides.

  “I conjectured as much,” I said.

  “He intends to kill me,” said Seremides.

  “Do not be alone with him,” I said. “Do not accept a challenge.”

  “In Ar,” he said, “I could have cut off his ears and nose, and hamstrung him, before ramming my blade into his heart.”

  “You should have remained on the ship,” I said.

  “I was roped, raging, and lowered to the wharf, helpless, while they laughed, like a bag of sa-tarna.”

  “You are not of the Pani,” I said. “Neither are you an officer, nor a mariner.”

  “They put me off to die,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said. I thought that possible.

  “Protect me,” he said.

  “Are you afraid?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, angrily.

  “Seremides, afraid?” I said.

  “As Seremides is,” he said, “Seremides is entitled to fear.”

  “Certainly you have sent many before you to the Cities of Dust,” I said.

  “Never without cause,” he said.

  “Causes are easily come by,” I said.

  “Help me,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “People pay me little attention,” he said. “They ignore me. They do not know I am about. I do not matter. They speak freely before me. I hear things. I know matters which might be of interest to you, and others.”

  “I must be on my way,” I said.

  “How can I climb that hill?” he asked, angrily, gesturing with the tip of the narrow crutch.

  “It will be difficult,” I said.

  “In Ar, we were brothers in arms,” he said.

  “In Ar,” I said, “I was a fellow of the occupation, you were a traitor.”

  “We are of the ship,” he said.

  “You are a killer,” I said. “And I think you are a murderer.”

  “You see me as one betrayed by fortune,” he said. “Behold, I who once was formidable, mighty and feared, high in Ar, second only to Myron, polemarkos of Temos, am now reduced, am now no more than a mockery of a man, a helpless cripple, at the mercy of the meanest villain or rogue.”

  “I depart,” I said. “Do not expect me to wish you well.”

  “Help me,” he said.

  “If I am with you,” I said, “the same blade which seeks you may strike me.”

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “Who but you,” he asked, “would protect me?”

  “Cabot would,” I said. “Tarl Cabot.” I thought of him as perhaps as great a fool as I.

  “Is he here?”

  “I do not know where he is,” I said.

  “Protect me,” he said.

  “Seek another,” I said.

  “We are of the same ship,” he said.

  I cried out in rage.

  “The same ship,” he smiled.

  “Give me your arm,” I said.

  As he lurched toward me, he brushed against me.

  “You are armed,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  We then addressed ourselves to the trail, in the light rain.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I Introduce Two Slaves to One Another

  I had inquired the name of several slaves, now and then, casually, over the past few days, but was particularly interested in one name, that of one slave. Obviously I did n
ot wish to signal her out, suggesting that she might be of special interest. Slaves, of course, as other animals, are named as masters may please. The name given to the slave was Adraste.

  “It was you, in Ar, who threw me the rag of a slave!” hissed Adraste.

  I had taken Alcinoë by the hair, bent her over, and thrust her into the same small kennel with Adraste, and had then swung shut the gate, it locking with its closure. In this way, the two former highest, richest women in Ar, both traitresses, both muchly involved in the Great Treason, both wanted in Ar, both now slaves, were forced to confront one another, in their current humiliation, shame, and degradation.

  The thrice-walled grounds of the castle of Lord Temmu, all in all, must have occupied more than a full square pasang, extending broadly over a wide plateau, which, on one side, fell straight to the sea, and was accessible otherwise, as from the cove, by steep trails, one of which was walled, that from the wharf. The trails were narrow, fortified, and might be economically defended. An ascent otherwise, given the steepness of the plateau, almost vertical, accentuated by the work of Lord Temmu’s military engineers, would have been not only difficult but extremely hazardous. A small group of skilled climbers, approaching at night, might have reached the foot of the walls, but it seemed that an ascent of the plateau by any large group, certainly undetected, would have been unlikely. Three additional precautions tended to militate against a practical ascent of the plateau, one of which was quite new to me. Comprehensible enough was the precaution of symmetrically placed, projecting guard stations built into the side of the plateau, each manned by two ashigaru. From each station arrow fire might rake the side of the plateau. No point on the plateau was not accessible to fire from two directions. Each station, too, was equipped with a drum, by means of which signals could be conveyed. A second precaution, sensibly enough, was the nightly illumination of the plateau, though dimly, by lanterns. A lantern which ceased burning would be noted and investigated. The most interesting precaution, at least to me, was the provision of nesting sites on the almost vertical slopes for the Uru, which is a small, winged, vartlike mammal. This mammal, which usually preys on insects and small urts, like several species of birds, is communally territorial. When disturbed, it shrieks its warning and it is soon joined by a clamoring swarm of its fellows. In this way, a natural alarm system is obtained. Moreover, if a nesting site is closely approached, the Uru is likely to attack the intruder. It is a small mammal, but, shrieking and flying at the face of a climber, one precariously clinging to an almost vertical surface, it is, I am told, at least in such a situation, something most unpleasant to encounter. In any event, the holding of Lord Temmu, if not impregnable, was redoubtable. It remained, at least until now, despite the woes of the war, secure and inviolable, one stubborn, mighty, obdurate impediment to the designs of Lord Yamada, shogun, as it was said, at least by his minions, of the Twelve Islands.

  It was now the second day of the Sixth Passage Hand, three days before the autumnal equinox.

  Pani continued to guard the great ship.

  Training was extensive and exhausting.

  I did not know when we would march.

  I saw little of Cabot, but, from time to time, he appeared at the castle, arriving at night on tarnback, presumably to consult with the shogun, Temmu, and Lords Okimoto and Nishida. I gathered things proceeded apace with the tarn cavalry, surely so if they were as deep in training as we were.

  I myself had never seen Lord Temmu.

  I gathered this was not that unusual, given that he was a shogun.

  We had seen nothing of the fleet of Lord Yamada. Were we in the vicinity of the continent, where the climate was less mild, I might have supposed the fleet had retired to its base, or port, for the fall and winter. Here, one did not know. It might, of course, have returned to port. One did not know. I did learn, interestingly, that Lord Temmu had possessed at one time a navy, but that it had been substantially driven from the sea. He had been, it seemed, no more successful at sea than on the land. To be sure, it had been a small thing, compared with the ships at the disposal of Lord Yamada. It consisted now, I had learned, of only three ships. They were much, presumably, like the ships of the Vine Sea, with their battened sails and high stem castles. One of these ships, to my great interest, had put in at the wharf a week ago, for water and supplies, and then, a day later, set out to sea again. I had learned much of these matters from some of the lower Pani after the wharfing of the ship, who, once they had overcome their diffidence, seemed pleased to speak with me, one who would speak with them, pleasantly, bow to them, show them respect, and such. They became silent when one of the higher Pani might approach.

  Four days ago there had been much stirring, much agitation, amongst the men. Tersites, who, as Aëtius, his fellow, had never left the ship, had had eyes painted on its bow. In the morning, they were there, large, bright, patient, calm, stately. It was as though the wood had sprung to life. This produced alarm amongst the men, for it suggested the possibility that the ship might depart. Why else would eyes, after all this time, be given to the great ship? The anxiety of the men was somewhat assuaged when it was made clear to them that the Pani who guarded the ship were not mariners, and that the small number of officers and mariners who came and went upon her, from time to time, would not be enough to bring her to sea. I myself suspected that Tersites had at last given eyes to the ship because he was terrified for her, and hoped that she might now, moored at the wharf, be able to see her danger, danger more from men than the sea.

  As long as the ship was there I knew that our men would see it as a symbol of the far world they knew, and remembered, would see it longingly, would see it jealously, would see it as their only likely passage home. Was their treasure not aboard? What had they to hope for here, other than uncertainty, danger, and possible death?

  I sensed there was much secret speaking amongst the men.

  The Pani, of course, would be well aware of this.

  No wonder Tersites gave eyes to the great ship.

  The slaves were muchly sequestered, in kennels here and there, these kept in sheds, within the compound, away from the frequent rains.

  There were free Pani women in the castle, perhaps companions of officers, and several contract women. These women, demure in their kimonos, their tiny hands in their sleeves, would sometime, in their short, careful steps, visit the kenneled slaves. They looked upon them much as one would look on caged verr. Sometimes they spoke softly amongst themselves, laughed, and turned away.

  Of what interest might such caged beasts be to anyone?

  But men looked upon them and saw them differently, in terms of the uses of slaves.

  There were fewer slaves now, as some fifty had been taken from the castle’s grounds. Whereas certain things remained obscure to me, several of the lower Pani, who served in the castle, spoke to other Pani, and some of these spoke to me. A number of probes, reconnaissances, or inquiries had been conducted following our arrival. Doubtless some of these were intended to locate and ascertain the numbers and dispositions of Lord Yamada’s forces in the vicinity, but others were apparently of a much subtler nature, some to instigate apprehension which might spread naturally to the enemy, with appeals to fear and superstition, and others of a more prosaic, diplomatic nature. Rumors were being spread by Lord Temmu’s men, disguised as fishermen, herdsmen, and such, of new allies for Lord Temmu, strange warriors, arrived from far off, and, terrifyingly, of dragon birds, which might fly forth and destroy armies. I had no doubt that our mercenaries were formidable, but they were no more so, or less so, one supposed, than the forces likely to be arrayed against them. If nothing else, the ambush and fighting in the defile and at the beach would make that clear to the generals of Lord Yamada. The tarns were another matter. I gathered that these folk had never seen a tarn, and might not even, at first, understand such things to be a natural, vulnerable form of life. They might take it as a dragon bird, whatever that might be. Terror, of course, can be as dangero
us a weapon as the sword or spear. Not only would tarns be new to these islands, but they were unfamiliar as well, as far as I knew, with the swift, lofty, silken kaiila, common in the Tahari, on the southern plains, in the Barrens, and such. An army could move only as fast as its slowest man could march. The Pani did have, however, one swift mode of communication. I gathered this from my friends amongst the lower Pani. To be sure, it was available only to a few. It was the swift-flighted, message-carrying Vulo, released, seeking its familiar cot and roost. The overtures of diplomacy were addressed to minor daimyos, of which there were many. The taxes of Lord Yamada were high, the agricultural confiscations were large, to feed his army, often leaving starvation in their wake. The contumely of his officers was oppressive, and their appropriations severe, enforced quarterings, sons impressed for the navy and army, daughters taken for training in the contract houses, or, as likely, simply caged for the girl markets. The rule of Lord Yamada was one of iron. Crucifixion was a common punishment, and might be inflicted for so small a cause as an indiscreet expression, a careless word, a bow deemed insufficiently prompt or deep, insufficiently ingratiating. A warrior might remove the head of a Peasant, to try the quality and stroke of a sword before its purchase. I did not know, were the situation reversed, if Lord Temmu would be much different. But the situation was not reversed. The fifty some slaves taken from the compound were an ingredient in these various diplomatic missions. They were apportioned, along with other gifts, among the daimyos.

  In passing, one might mention the blond, barbarian slave, Saru. It may be recalled she was not a ship slave, but the personal slave of Lord Nishida. On the other hand, as far as I know, supposedly because of certain reservations pertaining to the nature and quality of her character, he had never deigned to honor her with slave use. It seems he regarded her as unworthy to be his slave.

  In any event, she was stripped and danced before Lord Temmu, after which Lord Nishida, as was apparently his original intention, gave her to him. Lord Okimoto, then, perhaps not to be outdone, gave ten slaves to the shogun. Of our original store, or cargo, of slaves then, we retained something like one hundred and forty.