Vagabonds of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "I do not know," I admitted. After all, I was not there. I supposed, however, that dozens of men, perhaps some carrying torches or flaming brands, or lanterns, would be wading about, slipping in the mud, parting reeds, and so on, swords drawn, at the bank of the Vosk, looking for me. I did not envy them this task. It is difficult enough to find a fellow in such a place during the day. It is much harder at night. Too, if he is not there, the task becomes even more difficult.

  "I think I will go down there and see what is going on," said the fellow.

  "Could you direct me to the tent of Borton, the courier?" I asked.

  "Certainly," he said.

  "Thank you," I said.

  I watched him making his way, curiously, down toward the paga enclosure. He was joined by a couple of other fellows. They, too, were presumably curious. I could not blame them. From the higher part of the camp, now, I could see several torches flickering along the river. Too, there seemed some small boats in the water, torches fixed in their bows, much as are used for hunting tabuk and tarsk at night, from behind blinds. They were probably commandeered from local folk. I then began to make my way toward the encampment and cots of Artemidorus, the Cosian mercenary. These were located at the southern edge of the camp, that direction in which lay, presumably, the main forces of Ar. In this way the location was convenient for reconnaissance flights. They could come and go, largely unobserved. Too, it would not be necessary to cross the main camp's air space, which is usually, and for obvious reasons, kept inviolate. The cots and defenses there, too, supplied something of a buffer between the main camp and the south. It is difficult, as well as dangerous, to move in the vicinity of unfamiliar tarns, particularly at night. The tents of the couriers were supposedly near the headquarters tent of Artemidorus himself. That made sense. So, too, were their cots. Then I was in the vicinity of the encampment of Artemidorus. I avoided guardposts. Some, however, were not even manned. In moments, not challenged, I was among the tents.

  "Fellow," said I, "where lies the tent of Borton, of the command of Artemidorus?"

  I had approached the headquarters tent of Artemidorus himself, not only its central location, on a rise, and its standard, but its size making it prominent. Somewhere here, around here, I had been told, was the tent of Borton.

  "What business have you with him?" he asked.

  "None that needs concern you," I said.

  His hand went to his sword.

  "You have drawn!" he said.

  I resheathed my blade. "Look," I said, reaching into my wallet and drawing forth a handful of slave beads, "are they not beauties?" He looked at them, in the moonlight.

  "They are cheap," he said.

  "Of course," I said, "but pretty, very pretty, and strung on binding fiber." They were large and round, about half a hort in diameter, of brightly colored wood.

  "You are a merchant," he said.

  "Come here, by the fire," I said.

  I there displayed the beads.

  "Yes," he said, "pretty."

  "I am to deliver these to the tent of Borton," I said. I had decided that.

  "He does not own slaves," he said. "He rents them."

  "These need not be, at first, for a slave," I said.

  "True," laughed the fellow.

  "Imagine them cast about the neck of a stripped free woman," I said, "and her then ordered to writhe in them at his feet, in fear of his whip, hearing them clack together, knowing they are strung on binding fiber and such."

  "Yes!" laughed the fellow.

  "When he then puts his hand on her," I said, "I wager she will be well ready for him."

  "Indeed," said the fellow.

  "And may later be branded and collared at his leisure."

  "Of course," said the man.

  Slave beads are commonly cheap, made of wood and glass, and such. Who would waste expensive beads, golden droplets, pearls, rubies, and such, on a domestic animal? Still they are very pretty, and slaves will wheedle and beg for them. Indeed, they will compete desperately, zealously, sometimes even acrimoniously, for them. And they, such deliciously vain creatures, know well how to use them, adorning themselves, enhancing their beauty, making themselves even more excruciatingly desirable! Among slaves a handful of glass or wooden beads may confer a prestige that amongst free women might not be garnered with diamonds. Slave beads, too, and such simple adornments, bracelets, earrings, cosmetics, slave perfumes, and such, are well known for their effect in arousing the passions not only of the women themselves, but, too, it must be admitted, sometimes of their masters. Indeed, some masters will not permit such things to their women for fear they will make them too beautiful, too exciting and desirable, so much so that there might be a temptation to relax discipline. This fear, however, in practice, in my opinion, is illusory. The master need only make simple and elementary corrections. He may then have a slave as beautiful as he wishes, and as perfect as he wishes. Indeed, let the woman, the more beautiful, and the more exciting and desirable she becomes, be kept at least as strictly, if not all the more strictly, in the toils of her master. Why permit a jewel lenience, or even think of it, when even the commonest of slaves is ruled with a rod of iron? Does she think the master weak? Show her she is wrong. Indeed, if anything, let her discover that her beauty, far from weakening her master, serves rather, by his will, to ensure the fixity of the discipline to which she finds herself subject. This she will love.

  "His tent?" I asked.

  "There," said the fellow, indicating a tent at the foot of the rise surmounted by the headquarters tent of Artemidorus. That it was his headquarters tent, incidentally, did not meant that he, Artemidorus, was necessarily within it, or would sleep there, or such. Sometimes tarn strikes, infiltrating assassination squads, and such, are directed against such facilities.

  "My thanks, friend," said I, and bidding the helpful fellow farewell I went to the tent. It was somewhat large, and a bit ostentatious, I thought, for that of a mere courier. Like most Gorean campaign tents, at least those set up in large, fixed camps, it was circular, with a conical roof. It was striped with red and yellow, and had an entrance canopy. A pennon, one bearing the insignia of the company of Artemidorus, a sword grasped in the talon of a tarn, flew from the main pole, projecting through the roof. I myself prefer lower, more neutral colored tenting. It is easier, for one thing, to break the outline of such a tent. A tent, like this, incidentally, would not accompany the tarnsmen in their flights, borne by draft tarns, but would follow in the supply wagons of the main body. A company of tarnsmen, such as that of Artemidorus, is not burdened in flight with the transport of such items. Such a group would normally move, of course, with their war gear, such as missiles and weaponry, and supplies for a given number of days.

  "I do not think he is there now," called the fellow after me.

  "I shall wait, at least for a time," I said. Then I shook the canvas of the threshold curtain and, not receiving a response, entered.

  It was rather dark within and so I struck a light with the fire-maker from my pouch, located a lamp, and lit it. I did not think there was any point, under the circumstances, given my conversation with the fellow outside, and so on, in trying to keep it a secret that someone was within the tent. That surely would have aroused suspicion. Besides I was curious to look about the tent. There might be something there I could use. Within there were small carpets, expensive hangings, and sleeping furs. There was also a variety of small items, such as vessels and bowls, and small chests. Also, fixed on the center pole there was a piece of paper which said, "Beware, this is the tent of Borton." Everyone likely to see that sign, I gathered, would know who "Borton" was. I was pleased to see the sign, as it confirmed that I was in the right place. There was also, to one side, at the edge of a carpet, a heavy stake driven deeply into the ground. There were some pretty, but sturdy, chains scattered near it, and a whip. I was pleased to see that Borton knew how to handle women. I did not think he could be such a bad fellow, really. Certainly he had, in th
e past, proved very helpful to me. Hopefully he would do so again.

  "Ah," I said. I had turned over some of the small carpets in the tent and discerned that in one place there was an irregularity in the earth. With the point of a knife I dug there and found a small cache of coins. There were five pieces of gold there, three staters of Brundisium and two of Telnus, eleven silver tarsks, of various cities, for such circulate freely, and some smaller coins. I put these in my wallet. I had looked under the carpeting because the small chests, not surprisingly, pried open, had not yielded much of interest. For example, I already had, in my gear at my tent, a sewing kit. It is amusing, incidentally, to rent a slave, bring her to your tent, and put her to tasks such as your sewing. Then, when she thinks this is all that is required of her, and expects to be dismissed, you order her to her back or stomach, teaching her that there is more to her womanhood than the performance of such tasks. Interestingly, the performance of such tasks, so suitable to tiny, delicate hands, and to the woman's desire to serve and be found pleasing, tends to be sexually arousing to her. In their way, they confirm her slavery upon her, and prepare her for more extensive, profound and intimate services. Slavery to the woman is more than a sexual matter, though sexuality is intimately and profoundly involved in it, essentially, crucially and ultimately. It is an entire mode of being, an entire way of life, one intimately associated with love and service.

  I thought now that the search might be abating near the river, that it might, by now, have been redirected to the camp as a whole. This seemed, then, a good time to return to the vicinity of the river. I did, before I left the tent, hang the slave beads I had shown the fellow outside over the nail in the tent pole to which Borton had attached his warning sign. I thought I might as well give him something for his trouble. I looked at the beads. They were pretty, that double strand of insignificant baubles, those lovely spheres of colored wood strung on binding fiber, enough to bind a slave hand and foot. Then I left the tent.

  "I do not desire to wait longer," I told the fellow outside.

  He nodded, not paying much attention.

  "There is something going on to the north, there," said a man to me, as I passed a guardpost.

  "Where?" I asked.

  "There," he said.

  I could see the light of torches, could hear, distantly, shouts of men.

  "I think you are right," I said.

  "What is it?" he asked a fellow approaching.

  "They are looking for a spy," he said.

  "Do they know what he looks like?" I asked.

  "They say he is a big fellow, with red hair," said the man.

  "I have red hair," I said.

  "If I were you, then," said the man next to me, "I think I would remain inconspicuous for a time."

  "That is probably a good idea," I said.

  "It would be too bad to be mistaken for the spy," said a fellow, "and be riddled with bolts or chopped to pieces."

  "I agree," I said.

  "Be careful," said the first fellow, solicitously.

  "I shall," I assured him.

  "They will have him before morning," said the other fellow.

  "Yes," said the first. "The camp will be turned upside down. There will be no place to hide. They will look everywhere."

  "Everywhere?" I asked.

  "Everywhere," he assured me.

  "They will have him before morning," repeated the second man.

  "I wish you well," I said, bidding them farewell.

  "I wish you well," said the first man.

  "I wish you well," said the second.

  When men search they normally do so, naturally enough, I suppose, as if their quarry were going to remain stationary, obstinately ensconced in a given situation. It is then necessary only to examine the available situations thoroughly, and your job is finished. On the other hand, whereas it is clearly understood by most searchers that the quarry may be in B while they are in A, it seldom seems to occur to them that the quarry may now be in A while they are in B. In this fashion it is possible to both "search everywhere" and find nothing. In this sense, locating men, or larls, or sleen, which tend to double back, often to attack their pursuers, is not like locating buttons. To be sure, many of the men in this camp, both regulars and mercenaries, were skilled warriors, perhaps even trained to hunt men. The tracking of routed enemies, now fugitives, after a battle, for example, is an art in itself. The hunting of slaves is another. Such men may think with the quarry; they may bring up the rear; they may depart from the main search parties; they may conduct random searches, impossible to anticipate, and so on. Many are those taken by such men, including female slaves, to be brought helplessly in chains to their masters. There is one place, however, that even such skilled fellows are not likely to look, and that is with the search parties themselves. Whereas it is not easy to blend in with such a party if one is a female slave, given her sex, her nudity or paucity of garmenture, perhaps even slave garb, her collar, and such, a man has less difficulty. It can be risky, of course. My hope, then, was to wait until searches were taking place outside the camp, particularly toward the south, as they might in the morning. Marcus, with whom I had come to the camp, an orderly fellow, had made very specific contingency plans, and had insisted emphatically they be complied with, in case either of us were apprehended or detained, plans which he might be putting into effect like lightning at this very moment. If possible, we were to meet on the road to Holmesk, to the south, in the vicinity of the village of Teslit. If this meeting proved impractical, the fellow near Teslit, whoever it might be, was to hurry south to Holmesk, there to contact the men of Ar. He was a very serious young man, and was very serious about these plans. For my part, of course, if he were apprehended, or such, I would probably have dallied about at least long enough to determine whether I might be of any assistance or not. If one has been impaled, of course, the amount of assistance one can render is negligible. He himself, however, had insisted that he must be discounted, sacrificed without a murmur, and that I must continue on to contact the men of Ar in the south. I did not discuss these matters with him as it is very difficult to talk with people who are reasonable. To be sure, we had expected, in a day or so, to depart southward anyway, having been with the forces of Cos long enough to anticipate their route and marches, this information to be conveyed, supposedly, to the forces of Ar at Holmesk. I myself found it difficult to believe that the forces of Ar at Holmesk did not know, and with some degree of accuracy, the nature, the movements, the marching orders, and such, of the Cosian forces in the north.

  I must now, however, find a place to dally until morning, until the searching was done in the camp.

  "They will have him before morning," had said a fellow. I trusted he was mistaken.

  I thought I knew a possible place.

  2

  A Copper Tarsk

  She made the tiniest of stifled noises, her head pulled back, my hand held tightly, mercilessly, over her mouth.

  She was kneeling. I was crouching behind her.

  "Make no noise," I whispered to her.

  I felt her face and head move the tiniest bit, as it could, indicating obedience.

  I then removed my hand from her mouth and, from behind, my hand on her arm, drew her to her feet, and conducted her to the nearest of the small alcove tents in the paga enclosure. I had entered the enclosure from the Vosk side, under the railing. In a moment I had thrust her into the small tent. You cannot stand up within it.

  I lit the tiny lamp in the tent. I lowered the flame so it was little more than a flicker.

  "You!" she said, twisting about in the tiny space, on the silken carpet.

  "Do not make noise," I warned her, softly.

  She was pretty there, now naked, save for her collar, inside the canvas.

  "Your silk is gone," I said.

  "They removed it before they lashed me," she said.

  "Turn about, kneeling," I said.

  She did so.

  It is common that
clothing is removed before the administration of the discipline of leather. In this way the clothing is not likely to be cut or stained. Too, in a formal whipping, as opposed to an occasional stroke or two, perhaps called forth on a given occasion, not even as meaningless, fragile or symbolic a shield as slave silk is allowed to obtrude itself between the slave and the justice, or mere attention, of the lash. Similarly, in such a formal situation, even the hair of the slave is normally thrown forward, before her shoulders.

  "Seven strokes," I said.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Count them," I said.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, in memory of the lashing.

  "One," she said, "for parting my silk unbidden; two, for putting myself to the dirt before a customer, unbidden; three, for speaking without asking permission; four, for not speaking clearly; five, for not answering directly; six, because I am a slave; seven, because it pleased the master to strike me again."

  "In many cases," I said, "with a private master, I do not think you would have been beaten at all this evening. For example, a private master, though he might be particular about such things, is less likely than a public master, in public, to administer discipline for, say, speaking without permission. To be sure, if your speech is thought insufficiently respectful, or too bold or forward, or you have been recently warned not to speak, or it is obviously not a time in which he wishes to hear you speak, or such, you might be beaten. Similarly, a private master would not be likely to beat you for parting your silk before him or for putting yourself to his feet and writhing there piteously, in begging need, and such. Indeed, he would be more likely to be pleased. Indeed, with private masters many girls actually escape beatings by recourse to just such delightful strategies. Similarly, unclear or evasive discourse is not likely to win you a beating unless it is clear the master objects to it, and, in effect, will not accept it. Then, of course, you must speak with what clarity and directness you can. Your problem this evening, of course, is that you are a paga slave and that your master, Philebus, is before customers. You must do nothing to suggest to the customers that you are not helplessly subject, and absolutely, and perfectly, and completely, to Philebus. And you are, you know."