Rebels of Gor (21 page)

“There was a war, an invasion, an occupation,” I said. “Collaboration took place. Assets and skills were turned to profiteering. Then came the restoration of Marlenus, Ubar of Ubars. Law returned, in the form of the red sword. Proscription lists were posted. Impaling poles were weighted. Buildings were burned. Even blackened bricks were carted away and cast into the great swamp. Goreans have long memories.”

“Why is she named ‘Jane’?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said, “that she may now know herself as no more than a barbarian, no more than another worthless slave.”

“Such as I?” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“And Gregory—.”

“Pertinax,” I said.

“—owns her?” she said.

“Like a tarsk,” I said.

“I suppose that is acceptable,” she said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“She is Gorean,” she said.

I laughed. “I think it is clear,” I said, “that you understand little of these things. You know nothing of Gorean free women. You have never trembled before one. You have never prostrated yourself before one, hoping not to be lashed. You are less valued than the dust beneath the sandals of such a one. She is a thousand times above you, you, a mere slave. Indeed, you are different forms of being, which may not even be compared. You would learn to beg, even to be permitted to kiss the hem of her robe on your belly. The Gorean free woman is exalted, proud, noble, and powerful. She possesses a Home Stone.”

“They are not the only free women!” she said.

“Oh?” I said.

“I was a free woman!” she said.

“You had no Home Stone,” I said.

“I was free!” she said.

“At best a yet-uncollared slave,” I said.

“Is this so different from other women of my former world?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said.

“The men of Gor,” she said, “think of us as slaves.”

“Not just the men of Gor,” I said.

“The women, as well,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“As slave stock,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Suitably enslaved,” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “Consider your shamelessly bared features, your unconcealed ankles, your small wrists and slender hands, exposed to public view, the nature of your skirts, sometimes high enough to reveal a calf, or even more, the silken undergarments, the clothing fashionably designed to be provocative, clothing in which you might vend yourself for your own profit. You put yourselves on your own block.”

“Please do not speak so,” she said.

“Such things, of course, are convenient,” I said. “They facilitate the inspection and assessment of the slaver.”

“Doubtless!” she said.

“But here,” I said, “on this world, the profit on you will be taken by another.”

“I do not see that we are so different from other women,” she said.

“I do not think you are,” I said.

Surely much could be done with the robes of concealment, with their layerings and drapings, their bright colors, so ingeniously arranged, with veils slack or disarranged, even diaphanous, the street veil brazenly neglected, with loose, casual hoods from which strands of hair might escape, as though inadvertently, with gloves, with a sleeve too loose, with embroidered slippers, with a hem lifted to ascend a step or curb, such things.

“I hate this ‘Jane’,” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “It was she who was chained at the feet of Pertinax. It was she who wore the chains you wish were yours.”

“No!” she said. “I hold Gregory in contempt! I revile him! He is a weakling!”

“You brought him to Gor with you,” I said.

“A servant, a tool,” she said. “He amused me. I enjoyed manipulating him, as other men. We have power, you know. I needed a male, and what better excuse for a male than Gregory? He was so simple, so hopeful, so eager to please. He could pretend to be master, as I instructed him, he obedient to my tutelage, while it was I who was mistress. I well ensnared him on Earth, with a word, a gesture, a smile, and then, when he was hopelessly mine, devoted, complaisant, and managed, he would accompany me in my work.”

“You hated him?” I said.

“Despised him, rather,” she said.

“As I understand it,” I said, “you had considerable resources at your disposal. Why then did you not enlist another servitor, one stronger, one more independent, one more formidable, more redoubtable?”

“To accompany me to Gor?” she said. “What if I should find myself at his feet?”

“You wanted a typical Earth male,” I said.

“Of course,” she said.

“There are deep rivers in human beings,” I said. “I do not think you were aware of these waters, and their currents.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Perhaps you were dimly aware of them in yourself,” I said, “or your body was, and perhaps you, or your body, were dimly aware of them in Gregory White.”

“Absurd,” she said.

“When you were serving in the stable at Tarncamp,” I said, “you hoped he would visit you, and succor you.”

“Perhaps to be kind to me, perhaps to comfort me, perhaps to save me, to free me, to rescue me,” she said, angrily.

“Perhaps to steal you and flee with you?” I said.

“Steal me?” she said.

“Of course. You are a property.”

“Of course,” she said.

“And flee with you,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“You would have been destroyed by guard larls within a pasang of the wands,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said, angrily.

“I do not think that that was all,” I said.

“What else?” she asked.

“It was my surmise that you, in your bondage, now well taught you were a slave, hoped to be his slave.”

“Absurd,” she said. “Never!”

“Perhaps, on some level,” I said, “even on Earth, you wanted to be his slave.”

“That is absurd,” she said. “Never! Never!”

“Then put that aside,” I said. “But perhaps, once you were on Gor, and embonded, you had such hopes.”

“Of course!” she said.

“I thought so,” I said.

“But for what reason?” she asked.

“Tell me,” I said.

“I knew him from before,” she said. “We were both from Earth. I could speak to him. We even worked for the same company, though his position was clerical and menial, mine significant and instrumental. We had been brought to Gor together. I knew him well. If he could manage to acquire me, to buy me, or such, then things would be much the same as before. I could rule him, and, though in a collar, be mistress!”

“You would not have been for sale,” I said. “Lord Nishida would not have sold you. Aside from your mission to encounter me and see that I was conducted to Tarncamp, you were destined, even from Earth, to be a gift for the shogun, Lord Temmu.”

“There are thousands of women on Earth as beautiful as I,” she said.

“Or more beautiful,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“But your coloring,” I said, “the blond hair, the blue eyes, the fair skin, would make you an unusual gift on the islands. Would you not be exotica in the markets? Too, you had come to the attention of slavers. Perhaps other women had not. Too, your character, your mercenary nature, your pettiness, your ambition, your shallowness, your greed, fitted you well for the projected employment. Too, I suspect more than one executive, or client, with suitable connections, relished the prospect of you on Gor, thought you might look quite well, stripped on a slave block.”

“Why did Gregory not visit me at the stable?” she asked.

“He may be different from what you remember,” I said.

“He did not seek me out, even later,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said, “he has seen through you, and has been turned away by what he has seen.”

“He loves me!” she said. “A woman can tell! He loves me! He is mine, helplessly and hopelessly mine!”

“Perhaps no longer,” I said.

“A smile, a tear,” she said, “and he would be again at my feet.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Gregory White,” she said.

“He is now Pertinax,” I said.

“I have been brought to the quarters of Master,” she said. “I am before Master, bound and kneeling. I am a slave. What is the will of Master?”

“What do you think would be my will?” I asked.

“The will of a Master, with a slave,” she said.

I rose up, then crouched behind her, and freed her wrists. I returned the one length of ribbon to the wardrobe chest, and then stood before her.

“You have been somewhat trained,” I said.

She nodded.

“You are familiar with positions?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Assume the position of the she-tarsk,” I said.

She went to all fours.

I took a slave whip from the wall and cast it to the other side of the room. “Fetch it,” I said, “in your teeth, and return it to me.”

After a time she lifted her head to me, and I removed the whip from between her teeth.

“You are aware of certain formulas,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Speak,” I said.

“Whip me, Master,” she said.

“Have you been displeasing?” I asked.

“I trust not, Master,” she said.

“Why, then, should I whip you?” I asked.

“I am a slave,” she said. “Master may do with me as he wishes.”

“If you are not pleasing,” I said, “what will be done with you?”

“I am not a free woman,” she said. “I am a slave. If I am not pleasing, I will be punished.”

“Why do you think I had you brought to my chambers?” I asked.

“That I might serve the pleasure of my Master’s guest,” she said.

“And what might that pleasure be?” I asked.

“That I might provide him with the pleasures of a slave,” she said.

“But I think I will save you for another,” I said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“First obeisance position,” I said, unpleasantly.

Instantly, frightened, she went to her knees, her head to the floor, the palms of her hands on the floor, beside her head.

“Do you wish to live?” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you beg to be permitted to live?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Beg,” I said.

“I beg to be permitted to live,” she said.

“As the worthless, and abject slave you are?” I said.

“Yes, Master!” she said.

“You are the slave of Lord Yamada,” I said. “I take it you may frequently be in his presence, may serve him, and such.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“He has withdrawn the majority of his troops from the north,” I said. “He is unlikely to remain long on the defensive. What are his plans?”

“I do not know, Master,” she said.

I myself, based on my earlier conversation with the shogun, was well aware of plans imparted to me, but, in the case of a Lord Yamada there may be plans unspoken, plans behind other plans, or different plans altogether. I thought some inkling of such matters might have reached the slave. Rumors, for example, abound in the pens. Even the wisp of an allusion, or a seemingly unrelated or meaningless action, the dispatch of a messenger, the nature of the seal on a document, the ordering of a map, may sometimes hint at movements, at routes, at alliances.

“Several slaves, in the number of some one hundred and fifty, were sold for rice,” I said. “Where are they?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I am
kajira
! I am told nothing. I am
kajira
,
kajira
!”

“Are they penned, are they sold, distributed, are they in the fields?” I asked.

“I know nothing, Master,” she said. “Forgive me! I am only
kajira
!”

“What have you heard,” I asked, “of an iron dragon?”

“Little,” she said. “It is in stories, it is a fiction, a creature of imagination, a thing of legend, a creature of myth. The Pani slaves speak of it only in whispers.”

“Why, if it be such,” I asked, “should the Pani slaves so fear it, that they will not even speak aloud of it?”

“I do not know,” she said.

“Perhaps they know something you do not,” I said.

I did not doubt that the iron dragon was a creature of legend. Lord Nishida viewed it as such. Lord Okimoto seemed less skeptical. He seemed more open on the matter. Perhaps he feared some pebble of truth might lie concealed within the mountain of myth. And Lord Temmu, perhaps under the influence of Daichi, seemed to credit at least the possible existence of such a beast. Lord Yamada, on the other hand, I suspected, despite his alleged fear of its awakening, presumably manufactured for diplomatic reasons, would view such claims as preposterous, spun from no more than the fumes of benighted superstition. What gave me pause in the matter, or at least uneasiness, were the references to such a beast by so unlikely an informant as Tyrtaios, who was not Pani, and would not have been likely to be acquainted with Pani lore. Tyrtaios, as I understood him, a dark realist, as careful and prudential as a knife, was not likely to be the victim of any superstition, let alone that of an alien culture. Yet he had spoken as though this fiction might have had ribs of iron and claws of steel, might be as real as ore and fire.