by John Norman
“One more,” I called to the oarsmen, “another fine, splendid, noble lady. Cast her well!”
“Unhand me!” screamed Melete.
“Unhand her,” I said.
The oarsmen, with a great laugh, flung Melete high over the rail and, with a great splash, she struck the water, and, struggling, thrashing about, encumbered by her robes, she reached out, clutching wildly at the raft. Iantha and Philomena tipping the raft, reached to her, and drew her to its surface. As it was precarious to stand on the raft, unsteady as it was, they were all on their knees, knees in water, looking wildly back, up at the rail.
“Let us trust that the splash does not attract sharks,” I said. “They can note such things, even from quite some distance away.”
“Take us back aboard!” screamed Melete, rising to her feet, struggling to keep her balance, steadied by her fellows.
“What are you doing?” cried Philomena.
“Why are you doing this?” cried Iantha.
“Out oars,” I called.
“Do not leave us!” wept Iantha.
“We are free! Show us mercy!” wept Philomena.
“We are truly helpless!” said Iantha.
“Perhaps a ship will pass by,” I said.
“We have no way to signal a ship!” cried Iantha, “no whistling, climbing, streaming flares, visible for pasangs.”
“Perhaps, in this lost desert of water, a ship will come close enough for you to call out and wave your veils,” said an oarsman.
“If your modesty will permit it,” said another.
The men at the rail laughed, but the humor, it seems, was lost on the women.
“This is a cruel joke, surely!” said Iantha.
“They will search for us!” cried Philomena.
“Where?” I asked.
“Let them search every hovel and palace in Sybaris,” said Clitus.
“You are all rogues, criminals, villains!” said Melete.
“Show us mercy!” begged Philomena.
“Why?” I asked.
“We are free women, noble and free!” cried Philomena.
“How many ships have responded to your signals of distress?” I asked. “How many ships have you lured to their doom? How many captains and crews have you distracted and held in place while corsairs closed in upon them?”
“You cannot leave us here,” said Melete.
“You are mistaken,” I said.
“We did only what we were paid to do,” said Melete.
“You should be more judicious as to the fees you accept,” I said.
“Tarsk, sleen!” cried Melete.
“Mercy, mercy!” begged Philomena.
“Look upon me, carefully,” I said. “You wondered if you had seen me before. You had. Think back. Think of yourselves, below, on seeming wreckage, looking up at me and others, we above you, at the rail.”
“You were not destroyed by the corsairs?” said Melete, disbelievingly.
“We escaped,” I said. “And we lived to remember.”
Iantha shuddered and Philomena put down her head, moaning.
“You cannot frighten us,” said Melete.
“Whether you are frightened or not is immaterial,” I said. “What does it matter?”
“Mercy!” cried Philomena, looking up, her eyes filled with tears.
“Do the others ask for mercy?” I asked.
“No!” said Melete.
“I do!” cried Iantha.
“Oars ready,” I called.
The oarsmen returned to the benches and the great levers dipped into the water, ready for the first stroke.
“I, also!” screamed Melete. “I, too! I, too, beg for mercy!”
She, too, I now saw, was on her knees.
“Aktis,” I said, “bring a loaf of bread, a bota of water.”
When these were brought, I tossed them to the kneeling women, on the tiny platform, their knees in water.
“Thus,” I said, “you are shown mercy.”
I then turned to the benches, my right hand lifted.
“Wait! Wait!” screamed Melete. “You are enemies of the corsairs. I am sure of it! Who can forget the hoax of The Village of Flowing Gold? We know much! We are privy to their secrets. We are confidants of the governor himself! Yes, he is implicated in these things. Let us reveal to you their plans!”
I doubted that they were as informed as they claimed, but it seemed reasonable to suppose that they might possess some information pertaining to at least the corsairs’ more obvious and immediate intentions.
“Where do the corsairs strike next?” I asked.
“The village of Zeuxis on Daphna!” she cried.
“When?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said, “but soon! Soon!”
“You will be in our power,” I said. “Thus I trust that your statement is true.”
“It is true!” cried Melete.
“Your recent experiences have been unpleasant,” I said. “You have been, if not wholly immersed, much drenched in the waves and spray of Thassa. You are soaked. As a consequence, your robes and veils cling muchly to your bodies and features. Thus it is hinted that you, beneath all, though free women, are females. Accordingly, I suggest that you readjust your veils and pull your garments away from your bodies. I think you can understand the reason for this. There are men aboard.”
Glancing at one another, the three women swiftly, apprehensively, complied with my suggestion.
“Good,” I said.
“And now, Captain?” asked Thurnock.
“Now,” I said, “take them aboard.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An Account of What Occurred, Following a Supper at the Cove of Harpalos
“Master,” said Lais, kneeling, her head down, submissively, between her extended arms, lifting the goblet of paga to me.
“Disgusting,” said Melete.
“You may withdraw,” I informed Lais.
She rose, gracefully, backed away some feet, head down, and then turned, and hurried from the room.
“At least,” said Melete, “you could put her in some clothes.”
“She is clothed,” I said. “She is in a slave tunic.”
“She might as well be naked,” said Melete.
“Were no free women present,” I said, “she might well so serve.”
“The collar is pretty on her neck,” said Iantha.
“They are designed to be lovely,” I said, “and secure.”
“Some women, low women, worthless women,” said Melete, “belong in collars.”
“And find themselves in them,” said Captain Tab, currently assigned the captainship of the Dorna, fifty-oared, larger and more formidable than the light, swift Tesephone, sped by twenty oars. The Dorna, in my view, was the match for any of the seven ships in the corsair fleet.
We were at table, a benched table, in the common room of the harbor authority of the Cove of Harpalos, kindly made available to us by the harbor master and his deputies. Several, aside from the ‘Three Ubaras’, were present, primarily ships’ officers, and others associated in one way or another with our enterprise amongst the Farther Islands. We had now finished a simple, pleasant supper, served by Lais.
“Captain Glycon, if I may use the name,” said Melete, “we are grateful for the courtesy and honor with which we have been treated.”
I nodded.
I had even managed, given the sorry condition of their original clothing, following their experiences at sea, to supply them with a fresh, ample wardrobe, footwear, robes and veils, purchased locally.
“It is our due, of course,” she said, “as we are free women.”
“Certainly,” I said.
She was seated with Iantha on her right and Philom
ena on her left. Given their robes and veils, I could see little but the eyes of the three. In the manner of free women with strangers present they would lift the veil with their left hand and eat and drink discreetly behind the veil.
“You have even allowed us, properly supervised, of course, the liberty of this small, lovely port.”
“My pleasure,” I said.
“On what island is it,” she asked, “and what is its name?”
“It is a location suitable for my purposes,” I said. “You need know no more.”
“I understand,” she said. “But, as we have been open and forthcoming, even generous, with respect to your inquiries, I trust that we, given our assistance and your gratitude, will shortly be freed and returned to Sybaris.”
“I can understand your interest in the matter,” I said, “but before one could think of such a thing, returning you to Sybaris, there is the matter of Zeuxis, on Daphna, which would need to be confirmed.”
“We understand,” she said.
“But,” said Iantha, “that will soon take place.”
“It is clear your ships, even now, are readied to leave port,” said Philomena.
“That is true,” I said. “We will raise our masts tomorrow.”
“As I suspected,” said Melete, “this supper, then, in this special place, in this special chamber, is one of special moment. It looks forward to your departure, your setting forth to Daphna.”
“That is so,” I said.
“You are foolish, Captain,” said Philomena. “Best free us now, that we may plea with the governor to spare your life.”
“Your concern is appreciated,” I said.
“It is no happy, brave adventure you contemplate,” said Iantha. “You will sail into the jaws of a seven-headed monster, the seven ships of the corsair fleet.”
“Do not go,” said Philomena. “You will have no chance. You will be destroyed, every ship, every man.”
“Be quiet!” snapped Melete. “Let these brave and noble men not be deterred from their worthy, noble task.”
“We appreciate your support, noble lady,” I said. “We are heartened. Too, we appreciate the data supplied to us pertaining to Archelaos and the plans of the corsairs. Your assistance, that of all three of you, has been invaluable. We appreciate the names and ranks of enemies, their numbers and weaponry, their supplies and stores. Therefore, let us close this pleasant evening with a grateful toast to you, all three of you, our gracious guests, the ‘Three Ubaras’, Mistresses of The House of the Golden Urt, the noble, and perhaps lovely, ladies Melete, Iantha, and Philomena.”
This suggestion was welcomed by those present.
“Be it so,” said Tab.
“Be it so,” said Thurnock.
“Be it so,” said Clitus.
“Be it so,” said others.
Men lightly struck their left shoulders with their right hand in polite Gorean applause.
I clapped my hands, twice, sharply. “Wine,” I called. “Wine!”
A moment later Lais entered, holding a bottle wrapped in white linen.
Lais looked to me, uncertain as to how to proceed. In the tavern of The Living Island, she had never served free women. Free women were not allowed in the tavern. In some cities a free woman foolish enough to enter the precincts of a tavern is arrested, stripped, branded, collared, and sold.
“Surely, slave,” said I, “you know enough to serve free women first.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”
“I wonder what it is, to call a man ‘Master’,” said Melete.
“I must do so, Mistress,” said Lais, softly. “As I am a slave, I must call all free men ‘Master’ and all free women ‘Mistress’.”
Slaves are expected to speak clearly, softly, and with abject deference, to free persons. They must never raise their voice to a free person. That can be cause for swift and savage discipline. Goreans treat slaves as the slaves they are.
“That is fitting for you, half-naked, meaningless, worthless, collared slut, slave,” said Melete.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Lais.
She poured a bit of wine into the goblets of the three free women, and then poured a similar, small amount into my goblet.
“That will do for now,” I said.
I gestured that she should leave the bottle at my place.
I lifted my goblet. “Shall we drink?” I asked.
The three free women lifted their goblets.
As they did so I, as though inadvertently, with a casual gesture, slipped the wrapper of white linen down, away from the bottle.
Melete sprang to her feet, screaming in horror, hurling the goblet away from her. Iantha thrust the goblet from her, spilling the contents on the table. Philomena shook her head in terror, and, shaking, pushed her goblet from the table, to the floor.
“Ladies,” I said, “you have spilled your wine.”
At a gesture from me, Lais, frightened, restored order, replacing the goblets before the three women and pouring a small amount of wine into each goblet.
“What is wrong?” I asked the three women. “Do you suspect that the wine is inferior? Are you perplexed, or curious, as to the quaint markings on the bottle?”
“Do not make us drink,” said Melete, shuddering, struggling to appear calm, now once more seated, as were Iantha and Philomena.
“This wine may not be Falarian,” I said, “but Falarian, if it exists, is quite rare. Perhaps, if you had access to the cellar of a Ubar, you might find a bottle.”
“Do not make us drink,” said Melete.
“It would be easy enough to do so,” I said. “One binds the woman, kneels her down, holds her head back, pours the liquid into her mouth, and pinches her nostrils shut. Then, when she must breathe, the liquid goes down her throat.”
Lais shuddered. Doubtless slave wine, which prevents conception, had been administered to her in such a way. The breeding of slaves, of course, as with other animals, is at the discretion of their owners.
“But,” I said, “as you and your colleagues are free women, and are entitled to the privileges of your status, we are willing in your case to refrain from the embarrassing unpleasantries of vulgar coercion. Rather, we accord to you the privilege of drinking of your own free will, of drinking with honor, with stately dignity, which you may now do.”
“No!” cried Melete.
“Then you leave us no alternative,” I said.
“Wait! Wait!” said Melete. “Are we worth nothing? Have we no value?”
“Free women are priceless,” I said. “Thus they have no value.”
“But slaves have value!” said Melete.
“Of course,” I said, “a greater or lesser value. They can be bought and sold.”
“And ridding yourself of a slave,” she said, “would be foolish, like casting money into the sea.”
“That is true,” I said.
“No free man would do that,” she said.
“I would not think so,” I said.
“Then!” cried Melete.
“But what relevance have such considerations to the present case?” I asked.
“I have often felt acute uneasiness in the presence of men,” she said. “I do not know what is going on in my body when I am near them. I feel small, weak, and needful. I have wanted to obey them, to be commanded by them. I have felt the impulse to kneel before them, abjectly, and kiss their feet, hoping to please them, being ready to feel their whip if I did not. I fought these feelings resolutely and savagely. How unworthy they were of a free woman! Yet they were my feelings, and though I denounced them, I could not deny them!”
“I, too!” cried Iantha. “My body felt like fire and I wanted to throw off my clothes, and put myself before them, on my belly, vulnerable, begging, and naked!”
“I, as well!” wept Philomena. “I have long wanted a Master, and, naked, to feel his chains on my limbs!”
“I fear what they might speak,” said Thurnock. “Be quick! Bind shut their mouths before they can speak and then cut their throats.”
“I pronounce myself slave,” cried Melete. “I am a slave!”
“I am a slave!” cried Iantha.
“I am a slave!” cried Philomena.
Thurnock’s great fist smote the table in frustration.
Melete laughed, abruptly, an uncontrollable exclamation. There were tears in her eyes. Iantha and Philomena sobbed in relief.
“On your knees, slaves,” I said. “How dare you be sitting in the presence of free persons?”
Swiftly the three slaves knelt.
“Unveil yourselves,” I said. The faces of slaves are to be kept naked. They are to be looked upon as the animals they are. Too, their features bared, their least expression can be read. They cannot hide. This makes it easier to master and control them. One reason Gorean men, apprised of the Second Knowledge, commonly regard the females of Earth as slaves is the thoughtlessness with which they commonly bare their features. Are they trying to present themselves for the perusal of Masters? Do they not know how stimulating and exciting their features are to men?
The three slaves lowered the veils they had worn as free women.
“Excellent,” said more than one man at the table.
The women shuddered, viewed as the properties, the meat, they now were.
I rose to my feet and regarded the slaves.
“It seems,” I said, “that you are no longer the ‘Three Ubaras’.”
“That was a feint of advertising,” said Melete, “a joke, a way of calling attention to ourselves, an image designed to amuse the wise and impress the unthinking and ignorant, those few who were stupid enough to take it seriously.”
“By now,” I said, “I would suppose that there are three new ‘Ubaras’ in Sybaris, managing The House of the Golden Urt.”
The slaves looked at one another.
Even were they freed what would there be to which they might go back? And they had been prisoners of the enemy and had doubtless revealed secret information, confidences, and plans.
