Plunder of Gor (33 page)

I could do little more than whimper, for the bit.

“You would have warned him, I sensed that,” said Tyrtaios.

I whimpered desperately, twice.

“Lying slave,” he said. “I suppose I should kill you, say, bind you, and cast you to the harbor sharks, but a dead slave is worthless. You have been of use. I am grateful. You have identified Kurik of Victoria for me. Too, you should be worth most of a silver tarsk, perhaps more.”

We were now on the higher streets.

“Still,” said Tyrtaios. “You tried to warn the quarry. It is not your fault he was too stupid to understand. And you lied.”

I whimpered, but not in response to signals, rather from misery. I did not attempt to deceive him further.

“Here!” said Tyrtaios, stopping by a public slave ring, one with its chain, collar, and key.

I was drawn rudely to the ring, by the arm.

“Kneel here,” he said, “lying slut.”

I knelt. He removed the stick and collar from my neck and cast it aside. “We no longer need this,” he said. “It has served its purpose.” I was still, of course, bitted, and braceleted. He then took the cup on its cord from about my neck and poured the coins into his wallet. “A coin is a coin,” he said. “Small emoluments are not to be neglected, however humble their origin. And we would not wish the modest proceeds of our work to be made away with, would we, while you wait here, so patiently?” Then he flung the cup away, it rolling and clattering on the stones. The ring collar was then snapped about my throat. The ring itself was about a yard high. The chain, running between the ring and the collar, was about a foot in length. He then removed the key from its hook by the ring. The key is numbered, and the number matches the number on the plate to which the ring is attached. He put the key in his wallet.

“I will ascertain, as I can,” he said, “his place of residence, and then, by arrangements, employ others to observe him. Copper tarsks, in that district, will be sufficient for such a purpose. I will frequently be in contact with these others. Indeed, I will take up quarters from which it will be convenient to keep our friend under surveillance. He will not recognize me for I have removed the bandage that muchly concealed my face. Was it not like a mask? When he moves to the piers or warehouses I shall be nearby.”

I shook my head, protestingly, pleadingly. The chain shook, rattling on the ring.

“I shall return for you shortly, or surely before morning,” he said. “You will be returned to the court. My work may take a day or two, or perhaps more. During that time we are unlikely to see one another.”

I whimpered, helplessly.

I squirmed.

“Trust,” he said, “that my mission is successful, for if Kurik of Victoria should survive, and learn you betrayed him, as you did, and very nicely, it would not be well to fall into his hands.”

I looked up at him.

“Not at all,” he said. He then turned about and retraced his steps, once more downward, toward the pier district.

I wept.

I had betrayed Kurik of Victoria.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I leaned against the wall to which, by the ring, I was chained. I was on my knees, as I had been placed. My knees were sore, from the stones. I could not lie down, given the collar, and the length of the ring chain. I was high above the pier district. This, I take it, was fortunate. Men had occasionally glanced at me, as they passed, but I was neither accosted nor molested. It was not unusual, of course, to see a slave chained at a public ring. That is what such rings are for. I was grateful I had not been secured closer to the piers. Bitted and back-braceleted, and slave, would one not prove delicious sport for the disorderly and unruly? Happily no free women passed the ring. A slave, I lived in terror of free women. It would be difficult to make clear to those unfamiliar with the culture the animosity with which the slave is viewed by the free woman. Occasionally they will gratuitously, and fiercely, beat an unattended slave fastened at a public ring. They are pleased to take out their hatred and rage on a helpless, vulnerable slave. She is made to stand proxy for a thousand collar sisters hitherto resented and loathed. I had often looked up, above my head, to the hook on the wall where the collar key had hung. Its number, as noted, corresponded to the number on the plate to which the ring was fastened. I had seen my master, Tyrtaios, of the black caste, deposit it in his wallet. I had not noted the number, nor, as I was illiterate, could I have read it, had I noted it. On the other hand, I knew it was likely to be one in a sequence, given that it was numbered. Most slave rings, of course, as far as I know, are not numbered, even in Brundisium. I had never, for example, seen one in Ar that bore a number, and such rings, in Ar, are quite common, particularly in commercial districts.

Eventually night fell.

I remained alone, at the ring.

The sky was overcast, but occasionally the light of the white moon, the clouds parted, broke through, illuminating the street and adjoining buildings.

Then it was dark, again.

I heard the bar for the eighteenth Ahn.

From what my master had said, I might not be fetched before morning.

I grew hungry, and I was cold.

Two men were approaching. One carried a lantern. I kept my head down. The light fell on me. Then they moved away. They were guardsmen.

Later I heard the bar for the nineteenth Ahn.

Shortly thereafter I heard more footsteps, these climbing, coming from the pier district.

My senses sprang alert. I was afraid. I peered into the darkness.

Bitted, I could do no more than whimper.

I could not see the form in the darkness, but I knew it was there.

I whimpered, again.

“Face away,” he said.

I turned away.

“Nadu,” he snapped, and I assumed position, as well as I could, being back braceleted. I knelt back on my heels, my body tall, my back straight, my head up, my knees spread. I could not place the palms of my hands down on my thighs, for the restraints.

“You respond nicely,” he said. “I see you have had some training.”

I whimpered, muchly distressed.

“Head down,” he said.

I lowered my head, humbly.

I felt hands at the back of my neck, and the bit snaps were released, and the bit was pressed forward, and then pulled from my mouth.

It was glorious to be free of that detestable impediment! It seemed I could still feel the metal back between my teeth, the pressure at the sides of my mouth.

The device was then, apparently, thrust into a satchel, or pouch, probably suspended across the body.

“I did not mean to betray you!” I whispered.

I could not but recognize the voice of my first master, Kurik, of Victoria.

“Did you request permission to speak?” he inquired.

“Forgive me, Master!” I said. “May I speak? I supplicate you! I plead to speak!”

“If you wish,” he said.

“Beware!” I said. “My master is not blind. The bandage he wore is a hoax! His sight is as keen as that of the tarn! He is as dangerous as the larl in rutting time. He hunts you. He is of the black caste!”

“I thought,” said he, “the black caste might be involved. They prove to be excellent agents, well worth their pay.”

“Master!” I protested.

“Surely one must admire them,” he said.

“He is armed,” I said. “He is dangerous! He follows you, to discern some object, an object to which he expects to be led. Then he intends to slay you, secure your authorization or credential, and thus obtain the object.”

“What object?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“A bold plan,” he said, “one worthy of the black caste—or others.”

“He may return, momentarily,” I said. “Flee! Make away!”

“You expect his return, I take it, anon?” he said.

“At any moment,” I said. “Do not dally! Flee! Make away! He is a killer. He knows you!”

“How could he know me?” asked Kurik.

“From before, from information, from descriptions, somehow,” I said.

“But not by sight,” he said.

“No,” I said, “not until today.”

“I see,” he said.

“I identified you,” I said.

“I see,” he said.

“I was tricked,” I said. “I could not help myself!”

“The guide stick,” he said.

“He seeks you,” I said. “He intends you harm, death. Do not loiter here! Run! He is of the dark caste! You are hunted! Neither dismiss nor ignore this threat! You are not dealing with an ordinary man! He is of the dark caste! He is one who has ascended the nine steps of blood.”

He was crouching near me, behind me. He reached about me, and unhooked the belly belt. The two lengths of open chain then fell behind me.

“Master!” I wept. “Run, I beg of you!”

I felt a small key inserted into one of my bracelets, and then the other. My wrists were freed.

I rubbed my wrists, bewildered.

“How is it you have the key to the bracelets?” I said.

The belly chain and the bracelets were then deposited, as had been the slave bit, in some sack, or container, which proved to be an across-the-body satchel.

I had not been given permission to turn about.

At that moment the clouds parted, again, and the light of the white moon fell on the stones before me.

“Master?” I said.

I felt a key thrust into the collar lock, and, a moment later, the collar, opened, fell back against the wall, dangling from the ring. A bit later Kurik stood, and replaced the key on its hook.

“You have the key to the lock,” I said, frightened.

“The number,” he said, “made it easy to locate you.”

“You killed my master, Tyrtaios!” I said.

“So that is his name,” he said.

“You know it?” I said.

“Only now,” he said.

“You slew him,” I said.

“I am not an Assassin,” he said.

“He will resume his hunt,” I said.

“It is not he whom I fear,” he said. “It is the others.”

“What others?” I said.

“The beasts,” he said.

“What beasts?” I said.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Cold?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Then,” he said, “we shall patronize some tavern, until the nineteenth Ahn, tomorrow evening.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“The ‘object', as you called it,” he said, “is to be received at the twentieth Ahn tomorrow, at the house of Flavius Minor, and is to be claimed precisely at the first Ahn.”

“Precisely?” I said.

“That is the credential,” he said.

“No paper, no document, no divided coin, no ostrakon?” I said.

“Such might be stolen,” he said.

“Then,” I said, “how could Tyrtaios, my master, assume your identity?”

“It would be difficult to do, would it not?” he said.

“Master is wise,” I said.

“Or those in whose cause I labor,” he said.

“You will take me to a tavern?” I said.

“Surely you do not think I am going to leave you here, do you, behind me, to inform on me, to be interrogated,” he said.

“I would not inform on you,” I said.

“Perhaps you have never heard a slave girl shriek,” he said, “the splinters beneath her nails.”

“I have never been in a tavern,” I said.

“You may find the experience instructive,” he said.

“Might I not flee from the tavern, and betray you?” I asked.

“I do not think you could manage that,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“It is a Gorean tavern,” he said.

Chapter Thirty

He thrust me through the small opening, and then turned to buckle shut the leather curtain.

He then turned, and, sitting cross-legged, faced me. I knelt. Slaves are not permitted to sit cross-legged. Too, he was a free male. It was appropriate then that I, a slave, should kneel, and be in a position of suitable subservience and submission, before a free person. The enclosure was not large, but it was large enough, and high-ceilinged enough, for a full-grown man to stand upright within it, and, if he wished, wield a whip. It was lit by a single tharlarion-oil lamp, set in a niche, to the left of the opening, as one would enter, now to my right. There were cushions about. The floor was carpeted with deep, lush furs. The floor itself, where I could see it, was of dark, varnished wood.

“What manner of place is this?” I asked.

“Get your clothes off,” he said, “completely.”

“One garment I cannot remove,” I said. “It is locked on my neck.”

“Appropriately so,” he said.

I slipped from the tunic, and was then before him, clad only in my collar.

I had dared to be impertinent. I knelt before him, insolently, naked. I was angry. He was not claiming me. Again I was nothing to him. He was merely holding me, that I might not compromise his plans, that I might not reveal a time, a place, an identity. Had he not once told me I would not be kept, had he not sold me, had he not rid himself of me? Now it seemed he must keep me, for a time.

How unfortunate for him!

Poor, inconvenienced master!

I was furious, but, too, I knew I was at his mercy, completely. There was a collar on my neck.

We had entered the tavern but shortly before. At the door he had put his hand in my hair and bent me over, holding my head at his right hip. Then, I in leading position, he had entered the tavern, I stumbling helplessly beside him, so conducted, my hands on his wrist. I glimpsed the low tables, the hanging lamps, the fellows at the tables, cross-legged, conversing, drinking, gaming. Two were playing kaissa, which game I recognized, but did not understand. Beside the table a slave lay, bound, hand and foot. She was doubtless a paga girl. I saw other paga girls about, bearing goblets, replenishing goblets at the vat, serving paga, fetching viands. How sensuous they were, I thought. Doubtless they were purchased with such things in mind. How could a man keep his hands from them? Too, they were cheap; they would go with the price of a drink. I saw two of these regard me, curiously. How dared they? Did they think I was being brought to the tavern as a new paga girl? Did they think I was to be put in so tiny and thin a tunic, to be so helplessly, so shamelessly, displayed before a master's patrons? But then I realized I could be sold to such an establishment, for just such a purpose. Then I, too, would be a paga girl! How far I was from my former world, the office, my well-chosen, fashionable garments!

Kurik then went to the proprietor's counter, where he released me, and I knelt beside him. A paga girl, carrying a tray, regarded me. No, I was not a paga girl. I pretended I did not notice. Meanwhile, Kurik, by means of a coin or two, was making certain arrangements.

I was not clear on the nature of these arrangements.

He then turned about, and leaning his back against the counter, his elbows on it, looked about the dimly lit, but well-occupied, tavern.

I saw, centrally, a circle of sand, which, I supposed, was dancing sand. There were cushions to the side, probably for musicians. The accompaniment for a dancer can vary considerably, from as little as a single flute, often the case with a street dancer, to several individuals and a variety of instruments. A typical group would consist of a czehar player, usually the leader, one or two flautists, one or two players of the kalika, and a taborist.

It was clear to me that Kurik, to my annoyance, while waiting for his specifications, whatever they might have been, to be effectuated, was considering the paga girls, two or three of whom were only too well aware of his regard, and little loath, I fear, to bring him paga.

“Master,” I said, “at the far table two men play kaissa. Why is a slave lying beside them, on the floor, bound?”

I was curious, but, too, I thought it not amiss to distract him from his observations and, doubtless, speculations.

“She is for the winner,” he said. “The loser will pay the proprietor for her use.”

He then returned his attention to the subject matter of his former purview.

Need they move like that, I wondered. Could they not take a more circuitous, a more remote route, to the paga vat?

Shortly thereafter the arrangements, whatever they might have been, seemed to have been completed. In any event, Kurik then indicated an opening in the wall, one of several such, and I, at his gesture, approached it. It was then, as I hesitated, that he had thrust me through the opening, and then turned to buckle shut the leather curtain.

He had then turned, again, and, sitting cross-legged, had faced me, and I had knelt.

I was now before him, kneeling, unclothed, slave naked, namely, naked as a slave is naked, naked, but collared.

I could see the leather curtain behind him, buckled shut.

I looked about, uneasily. Here and there, mostly fixed to rings, were collars, chains, and shackles. To one side, at hand, I saw strips of cloth, by means of which one might be bound, or from which might be fashioned gags and blindfolds. I saw, too, on their pegs, a long, supple switch and a whip, a slave whip, with its five broad blades.

The only light was from the small tharlarion-oil lamp.

My knees were half buried in the furs on which I knelt.

“What manner of place is this?” I asked, again.

“An alcove,” he said.

“I have heard of such places,” I said.

“You are now in one,” he said.

“To such a place as this paga girls are brought?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“To be put to use,” I said, “for the sport and pleasure of masters.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I am not a paga girl,” I said, angrily.

“You will do,” he said.

“Surely I am not to be put to use,” I said, indignantly.

“We shall see,” he said.

“Oh?” I said.

“Do not look disappointed,” he said.

I turned away, angrily.

“As I recall, from Victoria,” he said, “you had the incipiency of collar readiness. By now, doubtless, slave fires have been kindled in your small, shapely belly.”

“I cannot help what men have made me,” I said.

“Amusing,” he said.

“‘Amusing'?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“A slave is pleased,” I said, bitterly, “that she has amused Master.”

“You are now a slave of your needs, wholly so, as men wish their slaves to be,” he said.

“I see,” I said, angrily. How true that was! How helpless I was! What choice had I been given? They do with us what they please, they make us what they want!

“But it is not just that,” he said. “It is the whole thing, all of it.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “surely, from what I knew of you, and your personality and character, on your former world, you should not be surprised that I find it amusing to see you as you are now, kneeling before me, naked, a collared, Gorean slave girl.”

“It was you who brought me to the collar!” I charged.

“Where you belonged,” he said.

“Beware of Tyrtaios, of the black caste!” I said.

“I shall be,” he said.

“I may escape,” I said. “I may inform on you. I may betray you, as I did before!”

“You could not help yourself,” he said. “It was the trick of the guide stick. You did not wish to betray me. That was clear. Your agonized expression informed me of as much.”

“Perhaps I would now enjoy betraying you,” I said.

“You are not now likely to receive the opportunity to do so,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

He glanced to the side, to the dangling whip.

I was uneasy.

“You are going to hold me,” I said, “until the nineteenth Ahn, tomorrow?”

“Or have you held,” he said, “on a chain somewhere.”

“You are not going to keep me,” I said.

“Who would want you?” he said.

“I see,” I said, angrily.

“To be sure,” he said, “it would be judicious to keep you until we have made our visit to the house of Flavius Minor.”

“Perhaps I would cry out,” I said.

“There is the slave bit,” he said.

“I do not wish to be bitted,” I said.

“One could scarcely blame you for that,” he said. “Still, a woman looks well in a slave bit.”

“I am missing from the slave ring,” I said. “Guardsmen may be alerted.”

“The yellow tunic,” he said, “is too striking, surely too easy to recognize. We shall have to find you another, shorter, but less conspicuous, as a tunic.”

“Surely,” I said, “the yellow tunic is short enough.”

“Not for my taste,” he said. “Also, you have excellent legs.”

“Surely I would be more conspicuous,” I said.

“But not for the tunic,” he said. “Guardsmen will be looking for a yellow tunic. One sight of you, and they may be distracted from thoughts of a tunic.”

“Apparently I have some value,” I said.

“Far more now,” he said, “than when you were on your former world, clad in its cumbersome, barbarous garments. They do not know how to clothe a slave.”

“I have a collar,” I said.

“What does it say?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said. “I cannot read.”

“You have not been taught,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “I want you illiterate.”

“So I am even more a slave!” I said.

“Of course,” he said. “Was the collar never read to you?”

“No,” I said. “But its legend is deceptive. It would have me returned to one address, not obviously connected to the black court, from which address I would then be remanded to the black court.”

“Clever,” he said. “But no matter. Collars may be easily changed.”

“I cannot do so,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“This tavern,” I said, “is not the Sea Sleen.”

“No,” he said. “Obviously not. This is a larger, better tavern, more respectably situated, the Tavern of the Slave Whip. I expect that your Tyrtaios, and his colleagues, would not expect me to conceal myself in a public tavern, and surely not in one as prominent as this. Thus, they are not likely to look for me here.”

“Doubtless Master thinks himself clever,” I said.

“Apparently you think me stupid,” he said.

“Master?” I said, uneasily.

“On the street,” he said, “when you had inadvertently identified me for your Tyrtaios, you tried, by your expressions, to warn me of my danger.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Thus,” he said, “you thought me so stupid as not to be aware of my danger.”

“I did not think you were aware,” I said.

“And thus thought me stupid,” he said. “Did you not realize that I would instantly be aware of the anomaly of a former possession of mine suddenly appearing in Brundisium, who might be used in identifying me, and did you think I would be unaware that your supposedly blind master had the body of a human panther, and limbs and hands shaped by the practice of arms, limbs and hands that might have been expected in an arena fighter, a warrior—or Assassin?”

“Apparently Master thinks me stupid,” I said.

“Naive, ignorant, unreflective, not thinking, perhaps,” he said, “but not stupid. We do not bring stupid women to Gor. What would they be good for? Who would buy them? They do not sell well. We want something worthwhile, stripped on the block. We look for women who are highly intelligent, and highly sexed, women who are healthy and vital, women with profound physical and emotional needs, women who desire to be women, desire to submit and surrender, who long for the collar, who desire to love and serve, who find themselves and their fulfillment in their subjugation, who understand and become themselves only in a man's chains.”

“And perhaps beauty is a consideration?” I said.

“Certainly,” he said. “They are to be marketed.”

“I am not stupid,” I said.

“I trust not,” he said.

“I am not stupid,” I said, again, angrily.

“And it is my hope that neither am I,” he said.

“May I speak frankly?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “of course. At least until I forbid you to speak.”

“Speaking of stupidity,” I said.

“Or of naivety, or of a lack of reflection,” he suggested.

“Yes,” I said.

“Continue,” he said.

“Tyrtaios, of the black caste,” I said, “regards you as a fool.”

“Good,” said Kurik, of Victoria.

“‘Good'?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“He thinks you were unaware of your danger,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said.

“He mocks you, that you chose the name ‘Tenrik of Siba' as a concealing name,” I said, “for it is foolishly and clearly close to that of ‘Kurik', and he finds it pathetically inept that you should have claimed to be from Siba, for that is merely another town on the Vosk, as is your true town, Victoria, thinks that you should have chosen a more judicious name and claimed to come from a farther place, one remote from the great Vosk.”

“That such inferences be drawn was my hope,” he said. “One strives to be underestimated by one's enemy.”

At that point, a girl's voice spoke softly, from the other side of the buckled-shut leather curtain. “Provender, and drink, Master,” she said.

Kurik turned to the curtain, but remained a bit to the side. “Speak,” he said.

“Victoria is the ruby of the Vosk,” she said.