by John Norman
“Master!” begged Alice.
“Be quiet!” said Janice.
Whereas rivalries among men can be serious and dangerous, the most that rivalries among slave girls can be is petty and vicious; that is to be expected; they are, after all, only small, lovely animals.
“I can please you more than she,” said Alice.
“No, you cannot,” said Janice.
“I can!” insisted Alice.
“No!” said Janice. Then she smiled. “If you are so pleasing,” she said, “then why is it that it is you who are trussed and tethered like a domestic tarsk at the slave post and it is I who lie free by my master’s side?”
Alice fought her bonds, and wept. Janice laughed.
“Do you think you are better than she?” I asked Janice.
“Am I not, Master?” she inquired.
“No,” I said.
I then took a line and tied Janice’s hands behind her back and threw her to her side at the slave post. By the free end of the line I tethered her, like Alice, to the post.
“Now see what you have done!” said Janice to Alice. “Now you have had us both tied!”
Alice did not seem displeased.
“Go to sleep now, Slaves,” I told them.
“Yes, Master,” said Alice.
“Yes, Master,” said Janice, angrily.
“Are you angry?” I asked.
“No, Master,” she said, quickly. “Please do not beat me.”
“Slave,” said Alice.
“Yes, slave,” said Janice.
“I am a better slave than you,” said Alice.
“No, you are not!” said Janice.
“Go to sleep,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” said Alice.
“Yes, Master,” said Janice.
36. Wreckage; Again We Move Upriver
“There,” said Ayari, pointing.
We put down the canoe we were carrying past the hurtling cataract.
We saw, shattered on rocks, the stern quarter of a river galley. Jagged planks, dry and hot, thrust up in the sunlight, and, lower, wedged in, pressed between rocks, wet and black, water foaming about it, was the stern itself with its splintered, side-hung rudder.
I waded out to it. There was nothing left in the wreckage.
“It could have been washed downriver for pasangs,” said Ayari.
I nodded. Once before, long ago, we had recovered evidence of what had seemed to be another mishap on the river, a chest or crate of trade goods. We had managed to put them to good use. We had not seen wreckage, however. The chest, not lashed down properly, might have been jolted or washed overboard. Too, there might have been a capsizing. We had not seen wreckage, however. Shaba had not, at that time, as far as we knew, lost a galley.
I put my shoulder against the wreckage. I then put my back against it. I freed it, and, twisting, it plunged away, westward, downriver.
I returned to the rocks of the shore. Shaba now had but two galleys.
“It was wise of you to free it,” said Kisu. He looked about. “The less evidence there is of strangers on the river the safer we shall all be.”
I looked about, too, at the jungles. They seemed quiet, “Yes,” I said. “But I would have freed it anyway.”
“Why?” asked Kisu.
“It is what is left of a ship,” I said. “It should be free.”
How could I tell Kisu, who was of the land, of the feeling, of those who had known the waves of Thassa?
“You will not free me, will you, Master?” asked Janice.
“Kneel,” I said.
She knelt.
“You are a woman,” I said. “You will be kept as a slave.” “Yes, Master,” she said.
“Now pick up your burden,” I said. She picked up her burden and held it on her head, with her two hands. “Straighten your back,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I then, with Ayari and Kisu, lifted the canoe again, and again we moved upriver.
37. We Do Not Trade Tende
The chief, on his small stool, pointed at Tende. Kisu lifted beads before him, of purple glass, strung on wire. The chief shook his head, vigorously. He pointed again at Tende.
Tende knelt beside Kisu, her hands tied behind her back. In the weeks since her conversation with Janice she had become to him a superb love slave. This is hard for a woman to conceal. The chief’s eyes glistened as he looked upon her.
Kisu shook his head, negatively.
In spite of the fact that Tende had now become to Kisu a superb love slave, he still kept her under the strictest security. Often she cried about this, but he was unrelenting. “I love you, Master,” she would weep. “I love you!” But he continued to treat her unremittingly with the discipline and harshness commonly accorded a fresh capture, not with the authority and rough affection commonly given to a girl who is so enamored of her master that she can scarcely be beaten from his feet with whips. She would cry alone at night, secured to the slave post, until Kisu, by a word, or kick or blow, would silence her.
The chief again pointed at Tende.
Kisu again shook his head negatively.
“Let us go,” said Ayari, nervously. “Yes,” I said.
We rose to our feet and pushed through the villagers. The chief called out behind us. but we continued on. I thrust a man away.
We hurried to the canoe and, quickly, thrust it into the river.
38. What Ayari Thought He Saw In The Forest
Ayari returned to the campfire.
Suddenly he seemed startled. “Janice is here,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. Janice looked up at him, and Alice.
“What is it?” asked Kisu.
“I thought I saw her in the forest, a moment ago,” he said. “Was she not gathering wood?”
“No,” I said. I leaped to my feet. “Take me to where you think you saw her.”
“It was there,” said Ayari, a moment later, pointing to a space between trees.
We investigated the area. I crouched down and studied the ground in the moonlight. “I see no tracks,” I said.
“Doubtless it was a trick of the lights and shadows,” said Ayari.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“Let us return to camp,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
39. We Are Not Pursued
“There is a village on the right,” said Ayari.
We had, in the past six days, passed two other villages. In these two other villages the men, with shields and spears, had rushed out to the, shore to threaten us. We had kept to the center of the river and had continued on.
“There are women and children on the bank,” said Ayari.
“They are waving for us to come in.”
“It is pleasant to see a friendly village,” said Alice.
“Let us take the canoe in,” said Ayari. “We can perhaps trade for fruit and vegetables and you can obtain information on he whom you seek, he called Shaba.”
“It will be pleasant to sleep in a hut,” said Janice. There is often a night rain in the jungle, occurring before the twentieth Ahn.
We moved the canoe in toward the shore.
“Where are the men?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Kisu. “Where are the men?”
The canoe was now about forty yards from the shore. “Hold the paddles,” said Ayari. “Stop paddling.”
“They are behind the women!” I said.
“Turn the canoe,” said Kisu, fiercely. “Hurry! Paddle!” Suddenly, seeing us turning about, the crowd of women and children parted. Streaming out from behind them, brandishing spears and shields, knives and pangas. crying out, plunging toward us in the water, were dozens of men.
Spears splashed in the water about us, bobbing under, then floating.
One man reached us, swimming, but I struck him back with the paddle.
“Paddle! Hurry!” said Kisu.
We looked behind us. But we did not see the men putting canoes into the r
iver.
“They are not pursuing us,” said Ayari.
“Perhaps they only wished to drive us away,” said Alice.
“Perhaps,” said Ayari, “they know the river better than us, and do not desire to travel further eastward upon it.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“What shall we do?” asked Ayari.
“Continue on,” said Kisu.
40. Tende Speaks To Kisu
I looked up at the stars.
I listened to the jungle noises, and the small, quiet crackle of the burning wood in the campfire.
Tende knelt beside Kisu, bending over him. I could hear her licking and kissing softly at his body. Her hands were tied behind her, a line running to the small tree which served us in the camp as slave post. Her ankles, too, were crossed and tied.
Both Janice and Alice, now asleep, lay near me. Neither was secured.
“Ah, excellent, Slave,” said Kisu. He then took her by the hair. “Excellent,” he said.
He then released her hair, and she put her head down on his belly. “Find me pleasing, Master,” she begged.
“I do,” he said.
“I love you, Master,” she said.
“You are the daughter of my hated enemy, Aibu,” he said.
“No, Master,” she said. “I am now only your conquered love slave.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“Do you think me any the less conquered than Janice and Alice, my white sisters in bondage?” she asked.
“Perhaps not,” said Kisu. “It is not easy to tell about such matters.”
“I, too,” she said, “am only a slave, lovingly and helplessly a slave.”
“But you are black,” he said.
“It makes no difference,” she said. “I, too, am a woman. And you have made yourself my master, fully.”
He did not speak.
“Do you hate me, Master?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Do you not like me, just a little?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“I love you,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“Can you not trust me, just a little?” she asked.
“I do not choose to do so,” he said.
“It is strange,” she said. “The other girls sleep free beside their master and I, who am so helplessly yours, surely as much a slave as they, am kept in severe constraints.”
He did not speak.
“Why, my master?” she asked.
“It pleases me,” he said.
“How can I convince you of my love?” she asked. “How can I earn your trust?”
“Do you wish to be whipped?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said.
He rolled over and took her by the arms, and put her to her back.
“It seems a small thing,” she said, “that a girl beg to be permitted to sleep at her master’s feet.” She lifted her lips and kissed him. Then she lay back. “Do you think me less than the white slaves?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “You are neither more nor less than they. You are all alike in being slaves.”
“But I am the only tied slave,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Could you not at least unfasten my ankles?” she asked.
“Ah,” he laughed. “You are a little slave, Tende.”
When he had finished with her, he did not retie her ankles.
“You have not retied my ankles,” she said. “Does this mean that you are now moved to treat me with a bit more kindness?”
“No,” he said. “It is merely that I may want you again before morning.”
“Yes, my master,” she laughed. She then snuggled against him. Soon they were both asleep.
41. The Net In The River
“Look out!” cried Ayari.
It seemed to rip up from the water, extending across the river.
It rose before us, reticulated and wet, dripping, a net, a barrier of interwoven vines.
“Cut through!” shouted Kisu.
At the same time, behind us, we heard shouting. From each side of the river, about two hundred yards behind, we saw canoes, dozens, being thrust into the river.
“Cut through!” cried Kisu.
Ayari, with his knife, slashed at the vines.
We brought the canoe against the net, so that I and Kisu, too, each armed with a panga, might slash at the woven wall which had, on vine ropes, sprung from shore, lifted up before us.
The shouting behind us came closer.
The trap, weighted, just below the surface, is activated by two vine ropes, slung over tree branches, ropes which are drawn taut when two logs, to which they are attached, one on each shore, are rolled or dropped from a concealed scaffolding. A signal which we had failed to note had doubtless been given.
The keen steel of our pangas smote apart thick vines, Water from the wet vines, struck loose by our blows, showered upon us.
“Get the canoe through!” cried Kisu.
We turned the canoe. A spear splashed near us. Ayari lifted aside vines. The canoe, vines sliding against its side, slipped through.
“Paddle!” said Kisu. “Paddle for your lives!”
42. We Leave A Village At Night
“Tarl,” whispered Ayari.
“Yes,” I said.
“We must leave this village,” he said.
We had now been on the river four months since we had, first, on the looming height of the falls, observed the many ships and canoes of the forces of Bila Huruma far behind us. We did not even know, now, if they were behind us or not. Too, we had seen no new evidence of Shaba ahead of us. A month ago we had eluded the net of vines and, by paddling into the darkness, had escaped our pursuers. They would not remain on the river at night. It is impossible to convey, in any brief measure, the glory and length of the river, and the hundreds of geographical features, and the varieties of animal and vegetable life characterizing it and its environs. The river alone seems a world of nature in its own right, let alone the marvels of its associated terrain. It was like a road to wonders, a shining, perilous, enchanted path leading into the heart of rich, hitherto unknown countries. It, in its ruggedness, its expanse, its tranquility, its rages, was like a key to unlock a great portion of a burgeoning continent, a device whereby might be opened a new, fresh world, green, mysterious and vast. Not a geographer, I could scarcely conjecture the riches and resources which lay about me. I had seen traces of copper and gold in cliffs. The river and forests teemed with life. Fibrous, medicinal, and timber resources alone seemed inexhaustible. A new world, untapped, beautiful, dangerous, was opened by the river. I think it would be impossible to overestimate its importance.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“I have been looking about the village in the darkness,” he whispered.
“Yes?” I said.
“I have found the refuse dump,” he said.
“Within the walls?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“That is strange,” I said. Normally a village would have its refuse dump outside the walls.
“I thought it strange, too,” said Ayari. “I took the liberty of examining it.”
“Yes?” I said.
“It contains human bones,” he said.
“That is doubtless why it is kept within the walls,” I said.
“I think so,” said Ayari. “That way strangers will not see it before, unsuspecting, they enter the village.”
“They seemed friendly fellows,” I said. They were, however, I admitted to myself, not the most attractive lot I had ever seen. Their teeth had been filed to points.
“I never trust a man,” said Ayari, “until I know what he eats”
“Where are the men of the village?” I asked.
“They are not asleep,” said Ayari. “They are gathered in one of the huts.”
“I shall awaken Janice and Alice,” I said. “Awaken Kisu and Tende.”
In a few Ehn, our things in hand, we crept from the village. By the time we heard men crying out in rage, and saw
torches on the shore, we were safely on the river.
43. Talunas
“See the size of it,” said Ayari.
“I do not think it will attack a canoe,” said Kisu.
Ayari shoved it away from the side of the canoe with his paddle and it, with a snap of its tail, disappeared under the water.
“I have seen them before,” I said, “but they were only about six inches in length.”
The creature which had surfaced near us, perhaps ten feet in length, and a thousand pounds in weight, was scaled and had large, bulging eyes. It had gills, but it, too, gulped air, as it had regarded us. It was similar to the tiny lung fish I had seen earlier on the river, those little creatures clinging to the half-submerged roots of shore trees, and, as often as not, sunning themselves on the backs of tharlarion, those tiny fish called gints. Its pectoral fins were large and fleshy.
