Plunder of Gor (42 page)

“I would suppose so,” I said.

“Yet,” he said, “the very sight of a Kur militates against the success of such a scheme.”

“They are frightening, horrifying things,” I said. “They inspire fear. Their very sight repels humans. They would not be trusted.”

“It would be a foolish tarsk or tabuk,” he said, “that would ally itself with a larl.”

“Surely,” I said.

“So a plan was formed,” he said, “to produce a form of life to bridge that chasm of mistrust and terror, to produce a form of life more acceptable to humans, one that might enlist the aid of thousands of humans, suitably armed, to rise against and overthrow Priest-Kings, thus unwittingly to do the work of concealed Kur masters.”

“And what, later, of such humans?” I asked.

“It would be a foolish tarsk or tabuk,” he said, “that would ally itself with a larl.”

“I see,” I said.

“But the project failed,” he said. “The monstrous creature thus formed, though part human, was no more acceptable to humans than a full-blooded Kur that had eaten and torn its way free from a sessile, tunnel womb.”

“But what, Master,” I asked, “has this to do with the hideous, crated creature taken from the house of Flavius Minor?”

“Later, in the same steel world,” he said, “that in which this unnatural experiment, so grievously unsuccessful, was consummated, internal strife arose. Kur fought Kur. The tides of war ebbed and flowed. Deceit reigned. Terror stalked. The day rang with steel. The night was filled with blood and fire. Heroes clashed. And then the war was done. The ashes cooled, the blades were cleaned. Upon the throne, surveying his metal domain, crouched a new ruler, Lord Arcesilaus, High Kur, the Twelfth Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World, that world.”

“I understand nothing of this,” I said. “Has this to do aught with the creature seized in the house of Flavius Minor, she carried away into the night?”

“One of the mighty heroes who labored in the cause of Lord Arcesilaus,” he said, “was the outcome of the aforementioned hideous experiment. Following the war, he emigrated to Gor, with a human female, one known from the steel world, that she might be accompanied, protected, and sheltered.”

“They were companions?” I said.

“Not in the sense you might think,” he said. “To him she was more in the nature of a dear, wayward pet, for whom he cared.”

“Surely she does not regard herself as such,” I said.

“I would suppose not,” he said.

“But the beast from the crate?” I pressed.

“When the first monster was conceived and delivered,” he said, “and sanguine hopes flourished, a mate for it was planned, the more to make it seem human, the more to endear it to men, the better that it might carry out its tasks, but with the debacle attendant on the failure of the first project, the second project, that of the mate, was abandoned.”

“I gather” I said, “interest was renewed, the matter was rethought.”

“Clearly,” he said, “but now with a very different end in view.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“What a misery and loneliness to be the first and last of its kind,” he said.

“Master?” I said.

“The monster, and others, had served well in the war, that which had brought Lord Arcesilaus to the throne. Some Kurii, as some men, believe in fittingness. Do not speak of gratitude, but of fittingness. In Torvaldsland, jarls give rings and places at table, some above the salt. In the Barrens, are there not prize hides and belts of beads? Do not Ubars bestow women, land, and power?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“She is a reward, a reward for the emigrated monster, now on Gor, to be delivered to him,” he said, “she whom we find so repulsive.”

“Oh, yes, Master!” I said. “I recall! Tyrtaios, your enemy, he of the Assassins, spoke of a gift!”

“What did you say?” he said, sharply, angrily.

“He spoke—of a gift,” I stammered, frightened.

“Who?” he demanded.

“Tyrtaios, Master,” I said, “he of the Assassins!”

Kurik of Victoria rose up and removed the switch from the wall.

“Master?” I said.

“On your belly,” said he, “slave.”

He then applied the switch to me, methodically, administering ten strokes, spaced from the back of my neck to my ankles.

The back of my body stung. My eyes burst with tears.

“Master?” I begged.
Ela
, how stupid I was!

“Who?” he demanded.

“Tyrtaios,” I wept. “No, no, please!”

Then ten more strokes were laid upon me.

My cheeks, and the furs, ran with tears. My head was down. I clutched the furs tightly.

“Who?” he asked, again.

“Master Tyrtaios!” I blurted out. “Master Tyrtaios.”

He then replaced the switch on the wall, and resumed his place, sitting, cross-legged, near me.

“But he is your mortal enemy, Master!” I said. “I fear so. He might well seek you out, and kill you.”

“But he is also a free man,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said. “Forgive me, Master.” How stupid I had been! One of the first things of which the new slave is apprised is the deference owed to the free. A slave, if she speaks the name of the free, is expected to do so with the respect to which the free, being free, are entitled. It is offensive to speak of them as though they might be only another slave.

“May I speak?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Master Tyrtaios spoke of her, the beast, as a gift, as you suggested, but a gift others intended to acquire, to use for purposes of their own.”

“Of course,” he said. “But for what purpose?”

“Master Tyrtaios did not say,” I said.

“The matter cannot be a simple one of vengeance, or spite,” he said. “If all that was wished was to deprive the monster of a companion, a mate, or slave, or such, she could have been summarily killed in the house of Flavius Minor, perhaps even on the steel world, he being informed, of course, of what was done. Surely that would have done, nicely.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. My back still stung. It was as though it had been lacerated with fire. From each stroke, pain, like a ripple in boiling water, spread about my back.

“But, clearly,” he said, musingly, “this purpose, it will have to do with the monster.”

I supposed this so.

“The thing was made,” I said, “to be the companion, or mate, of the monster.”

“That is my understanding,” he said.

“And you were to deliver the thing to the monster?” I said.

“That was the intention of the faction of Lord Arcesilaus,” he said.

“Am I to speak of Mistress Eve?” I asked.

“That is not necessary,” he said, “as she is not human, but merely another beast.”

“But you said she was free, a free person,” I said.

“At least not a slave,” he said.

“What if,” I asked, “if she is a person, if she is free, she does not wish to companion herself with the monster?”

“Then,” said he, “as she is a female, she may simply be collared, and owned.”

“I see,” I said.

“So we have ‘Eve',” I said. “And what is the name of the other?”

“The names of Kurii, and such,” he said, “cannot be rendered in the sounds of Gorean, or, I suppose, in any human language.”

“Surely some provision must be made for dealing with them in Gorean,” I said.

“Names are chosen,” he said, “either by the animal itself, or by others. He whom you spoke of as ‘the other' chose his own name, which is Grendel, Lord Grendel.”

“That is the name of a monster, a hideous monster,” I whispered.

“He chose it for himself,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

For a moment, Kurik of Victoria seemed unsteady.

“Master?” I said. “Your wound!” Some blood had seeped through the bandage that had been affixed by the tavern master's man.

“The purpose obviously has to do with the monster, with Lord Grendel,” he said.

“Allow me to call for an attendant,” I said.

“Therefore, our next step is clear,” he said.

“Allow me to summon an attendant,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“You must hide, and rest,” I said. “Master Tyrtaios, and doubtless others, the beasts and others, know you. You have done all you could do. Now, desist, and, in some days, when you have recovered your strength, return to Victoria.”

“In the morning,” he said, “we leave for Ar.”

He then lay down, and was asleep. I covered him over with one of the furs. I then lay beside him, on my chain, my head at his thigh.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Paula!” I cried.

“Phyllis!” she cried.

We embraced, weeping, in the shaded street bordering the market of Cestias, in Ar. It was not that far from the Plaza of Tarns. From where we were we could see the Central Cylinder towering toward the sky.

We wore tunics, collars.

How appropriate it was! We were slaves.

“Come to the side, lest free women pass,” she said, delightedly, but anxiously, looking about.

We hurried, to the side, and withdrew into a doorway. There we again embraced, and began to cry.

“I never thought to see you again,” I said.

“Nor I you, dear Phyllis!” she exclaimed, crying. “How beautiful you are!”

“As a slave!” I laughed.

“Of course,” she laughed. “We are women! We are most beautiful as slaves!”

I did not gainsay her. I am sure Paula had known that long before I had, perhaps even when we had been on our former world, and had been, as it was there understood, free women. How far we had been from “free women,” as that condition is understood on Gor!

“Who whips you?” she asked.

I thought for a moment, hesitating.

“Surely you know who whips you?” laughed Paula.

“Tenrik, of Siba,” I said. “Who whips you?”

I had never been whipped, though my master, Kurik of Victoria, never hesitated to use the switch on me when I had been stupid, slow to respond, or in any other way the least bit displeasing. I well knew myself under discipline. I would have it no other way. A woman, I was thrilled to be subject to a man's discipline. I wished, desperately, to be pleasing to my master. The question, incidentally, is little more than a ritual. It is merely a slave's way of inquiring concerning the master of another slave, or a free person's way of inquiring of a slave the name of her master. The question, in effect, inquires as to whose whip one is subject, namely, who owns one.

“Decius Albus,” she said, “trade advisor to the Ubar.”

“To the Ubar?” I said.

“Marlenus, Marlenus of Ar,” she said.

“You are owned by so high a personage?” I said.

“So are many,” she said. “He may not even know he owns me.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

A tear clouded her eye. “I am a display slave,” she said, “one kept largely for show.”

“Surely you know,” I said, “what it is to be at his feet, to have your embonded body helpless in his imperious grasp, that of a master?”

“
Ela
,” she said, sadly. “Let us speak of other matters.”

“Where were you sold?” I asked.

“In Ar,” she said. “I was transported immediately to Ar.”

I had heard that prices were highest in Ar.

“In what selling house were you vended?” I asked.

“The Curulean,” she said. I had heard of this house.

“What block?” I asked.

“The Central Block,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“I do not know,” I said. “I was curious.”

“Your tunic is short,” she said. “It seems you, too, belong to a master who enjoys displaying a slave.”

“Or humiliating her,” I said, smiling.

“The two matters are wholly compatible,” she laughed.

“It seems so,” I said.

“I always thought you had exquisite legs,” she said.

“Fit for a slave block,” I said. Paula's legs seemed well-formed but sturdier than mine. Surely her ankles were thicker.

“As is the whole of you, lovely Phyllis,” she said, admiringly.

I smiled.

I could not help that I was beautiful, of course. And, to be sure, I did not object to being so. I felt sorry for Paula, plain, simple Paula. How then, I asked myself, could she be a display slave? I wondered what she had cost.

“Your tunic,” I said, “is more modest than mine.” Surely its greater length, not that it was so much greater, was to conceal more of her legs.

“Tastes differ,” she said. “My master's slave dressers favor a subtle discreetness, speculating slyly that it is more reserved, more provocative.”

“The cloth appears rich,” I said.

“I am told it is a Turian silk,” she said.

“Its draping, with its smooth folds, muchly flatters your body,” I said.

“I fear it is the same body, however it is garmented,” she said. “I would much prefer the simplicity of your own garment.”

My tunic, I knew, left little to the imagination. I was grateful that Paula had not called attention to the fact that it was of simple rep cloth.

“You have a lovely collar,” I said. “I wager it was expensive.”

My collar was indistinguishable from thousands of others, a quite common collar.

“I do not know,” she said. “All the display slaves have similar collars.”

“Your master must be rich,” I said.

“I fear so,” she said. “I have heard his chamber slaves and dancers are sometimes put in jeweled collars.”

“Like expensive sleen,” I said.

“But more silken, and caressable, than sleen, I conjecture,” she laughed. I wondered again what she had cost.

“You have sandals,” I said.

I was barefoot.

“All the house's slaves are sandaled,” she said. “I think the master wishes to display his wealth.”

“What a vain monster,” I said.

“Except for those who work in the kitchen and gardens, of course,” she said, “or are being punished.”

“Of course,” I said, annoyed.

“Your master is of Siba,” she said. “That is somewhere on the Vosk. What brings him to Ar?”

“Business,” I said.

“May I inquire as to what business?” she asked.

“Pottery, securing recipes for glazing,” I said. I knew this was not true, but I did not clearly understand what his business might be, and this account was the one furnished to me by my master, which account I was to proffer in the event that any condign inquiries might arise.

Why, I asked myself, had Paula been shipped so promptly to Ar? Indeed, perhaps she had been sold but once. Was that not unusual? Why had she been vended in the Curulean, and from the Central Block, and why was she a display slave?

“It must be nice,” said Paula, “to know the arms of a master.”

“We have little to say about such things,” I said.

“Do you buck and kick, and writhe, and squirm, and gasp and moan, and whimper and beg well?” she asked.

“Paula!” I protested.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Yes!” I said, angrily.

“I thought, once collared, you would,” she said.

“What choice have I?” I asked. “He is a Gorean master! I am in his hands! He does with me what he wishes! I am helpless. He excites me as he pleases. I cannot help myself!”

“Do not be so defensive,” she laughed. “Do not be so indignant, so righteous. We are women. We are born slaves.”

“Oh?” I said.

“You need not deny it now,” she said. “You are not now on Earth.”

“I see,” I said.

“Would you want it otherwise?” she asked.

“No!” I said. “I have never before known such feelings, such emotions, such helplessnesses, such sensations, such global raptures, physical and psychological, such a being owned, such yieldings and such beggings!”

She embraced me. Tears were in her eyes. “I envy you, lovely Phyllis,” she said.

“I must see you again,” I said. “Where are you kenneled, where are you chained?”

This, again, was a ritual matter, a slave's way of asking, so to speak, for an address.

“In the house of Decius Albus,” she said, “off the Plaza of Tarns.”

“So close to the Central Cylinder?” I said.

“My master,” she said, “is trade advisor to the Ubar.”

“Of course,” I said.

“And where is your cage?” she asked.

“We are renting on Emerald,” I said, “not far from the fountain of Aiakos.”

“I fear it grows late,” said Paula, looking about. “I must be away.”

“I, too,” I said.

“Dear Phyllis,” she said.

“Dear Paula,” I said.

“We must meet again,” she said. “Let it be, when we can, sometime, near the fountain of Aiakos.”

“What did you sell for?” I asked.

“What difference does it make, dear sweet Phyllis?” she said.

“No difference,” I said, “but I am curious.”

“I am not nearly so beautiful as you,” she said.

“Nonsense,” I said. “You are quite nice.”

“How kind you are,” she said. “I know little of such things.”

“It has been conjectured,” I said, “that I might bring as much as two silver tarsks.”

This may not have been true, but I wished to impress Paula. I, at least, had conjectured that I might bring that much.

“That is a splendid price,” she said. “The bidders, those sweet monsters, are no fools.”

“It was only conjectured,” I said. “I never actually sold for that price.”

“Still,” she said.

“Two coins,” I said, “and of silver!”

“
Ela
,” she smiled, “I sold but for a single coin.”

“A silver tarsk is an excellent price,” I said.

“Indeed it is,” she said.

A shadow fell across us.

We turned about, frightened.

“Loitering slaves!” cried a woman's voice.

Instantly we went to our knees.

“Slothful slaves!” she exclaimed.

“Forgive us, Mistress,” said Paula.

“Barbarian!” cried the woman.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Paula.

“And the other, too, I do not doubt,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Paula.

“Of course,” she said. “What slave of Gorean birth would permit herself to consort with a barbarian?”

I was uneasy, as the woman carried a switch. It is not unusual for a Gorean free woman to do so. I recalled the free woman from the wharf in Victoria. She, too, had carried a switch.

“How dare you neglect your duties, your tasks, how dare you dally?” she asked.

“We just met,” said Paula. “We knew one another, from before.”

“From the barbarian world!” said the woman.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Paula.

“Now you are where you belong,” she said, “on Gor, in collars!”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Paula.

“Hiding in a doorway,” she exclaimed, “hoping to avoid detection! I should bind you, hand and foot, and leave you for the rounds of guardsmen!”

A slave is not permitted to resist her securing. She can be bound helplessly, by any free person.

“Please do not do so, Mistress,” said Paula.

“Shirkers,” she said, “idlers, malingerers!”

“Forgive us, Mistress,” begged Paula.

The free woman then, enraged, lifted her switch.

“Keep your hands on your thighs!” she said.

“Yes, Mistress!” said Paula.

Then, as we put down our heads to protect our face and eyes, she began to lash at us with that supple leather wand. We were struck, at the back of the neck, and across the shoulders and arms. “Now, up, go, slothful slaves!” she cried. We sprang up, eager to escape her blows but the pursuing switch, hastening in our wake, struck each of us at least twice across the back of the thighs as we fled.

Surely we should have been more watchful!

So distracted we had been that we had not noticed the approach of a free woman.

Hot tears burned in my eyes and my body stung, but, as I ran from the street at the side of the market of Cestias, toward Emerald, I was joyful. I was weeping, and laughing. Dear sweet, plain Paula! I had never thought to see her again! Then we had met! In my joy, I was weeping. How wonderful, how amazing! I was so grateful. We had been reunited, if only briefly. I did not know if I would ever see her again, but surely I was hopeful. She was in Ar! And I knew the fountain of Aiakos. It was at the intersection of Clive and Emerald. I knew it, even from before, from Venaticus. Indeed, it was from that very fountain that I drew water.

I was pleased to learn that she had sold for only one coin.

If my master had thought so highly of her, it would do no harm for me, inadvertently, to mention that.