Swordsmen of Gor (51 page)

Shortly she was secured in place.

I gathered that she was not the first capture he had helplessed in such a manner.

Pertinax was distraught.

Yet, too, his eyes glistened.

Perhaps he sensed what it might be to have a woman so before him, a tethered prize, supine, across his saddle. How far then seemed the former Miss Wentworth from the corridors of power, from the cabs of Manhattan, from the large, wood-paneled offices of the investment firm. Perhaps he wondered what it might be, were she his, and the binding fiber his own.

But I feared he did not understand that she was now a slave.

“I wish you well!” called Licinius, and drew on the one-strap.

“Lord Nishida will not be pleased,” said Tajima, gloomily.

We watched the tarn ascend, and streak away, to the southeast.

“He escapes,” said Pertinax, angrily.

“No,” I said.

“No?” asked Pertinax.

“No,” I said. “The tarn will return.”

“I do not understand,” said Tajima.

“You will see,” I said.

Chapter Twenty-Two

LICINIUS LYSIAS HAS RETURNED TO TARNCAMP;

I CHOOSE TO DEAL WITH LICINIUS LYSIAS IN A CERTAIN MANNER;

SARU IS TO BE TAKEN FROM THE STABLE;

I RETURN TO MY HUT, FOLLOWED LATER BY PERTINAX

Growling, enraged, struggling, now awakened, Licinius Lysias, he of Turmus, fought the straps which held him, hand and foot, at our feet.

The slave, lying to the side, had not yet awakened.

“Licinius,” I said, “had not eaten nor drunk in several Ahn. There was no food, no water, in the stable. He would be hungry. Worse, he would languish in thirst. Frightened, in his haste to put many pasangs between himself and the camp, he would hesitate to bring the tarn down. Too, he would suspect himself pursued. He would remain in the saddle at least until darkness.”

“The bota at the saddle,” said Tajima.

“Fresh, cool water,” I said.

“And Tassa powder,” said Tajima. “I have heard of it.”

Tassa powder is a harmless, tasteless, swift-acting drug. It is commonly used in the taking of women. It might be introduced into the parties of maidens, into the private, candle-lit suppers of high-born beauties, into the beverages of inns or vendors. Commonly the women are innocent, guilty only of their unusual attractiveness, which will bring them to the slave block. To be sure, a woman might be less innocent, and might partake of, say, wine, with a stranger, one on whom she hopes to employ her wiles to her profit, one from whom she might hope to win some favor or advantage; perhaps she regales him with some contrived tale of hardship or woe, designed to elicit coins; perhaps she merely delights in tormenting a fellow, teasing and taunting him, leading him on to dazzling expectations and hopes which she has no intention of satisfying. She exercises her presumed beauty, seductive and mysterious within her robes and veils, to gratify her vanity, or even her dislike of males, such oafish, vile brutes. There are many ways, obviously, in which a woman can torture a male. In any event, it is not altogether unknown for such a woman to awaken later, helpless, gagged and bound, hand and foot, in a slave sack, being transported from her city. One interesting case involved a woman’s intention to arrange for the capture and enslavement of a hated rival, but it was she instead who found herself stripped and chained, and was delivered to the rival as her serving slave. From a cage, naked, branded, her throat enclosed in her rival’s collar, she was permitted to watch the ceremony of her rival’s companionship with the male she had sought. Present, too, at the celebration, was he whom she had sought to enlist on her behalf, a friend unbeknownst to her from the childhood of the male companion. Drawn from the cage, she served her rival’s feast, and, later, knelt before her, nostrils pinched shut, and head held back, was forced to imbibe not the festival wine, but bitter “slave wine,” that she might, before her rival, be readied for slave usage, before being sent to the kitchen.

Similar reflections, one supposes, obtain in the cases of many women of Earth, luscious slave fruit harvested by Gorean slavers. It is not their fault that their intelligence is high, their features sensitive and exquisite, their figures shapely. Too, I suspect that the choices of slavers are not always clear to those lacking their training and skills. One supposes more is involved in such things than the turn of a hip, the rounding of a calf, or forearm, the slimness of an ankle, the slenderness of a throat, such things. Is it a way of speaking, an expression, a hesitation, a gesture, a turning of the head, a shyness, a glance, a subtle, revealing, furtive unwillingness to make eye contact when a certain word is spoken, what? There are a hundred subtle cues, readable by the experienced and skilled. Some can read the needful slave in a woman when the woman herself fears to recognize it, and, in any event, dares not reveal it. In any event, much diversity occurs in the markets, and a multitude of choices are available to buyers. Perhaps, on the whole, the women have little more in common than the fact that they are lovely, and will be sold.

To be sure, it is clearly not the case that every woman brought from Earth to the sawdust of the Gorean slave block is so innocent, guilty of no more, say, than her intelligence and beauty. Doubtless many women, both of Earth and of Gor, have been inserted on one acquisition list or another for no reason other than the fact that it has pleased some fellow that it should be so. Perhaps some behavior, or attitude, a rudeness, a glance, a hasty word, an insolence, or such, displeased a fellow, and it was decided then that the fair creature will pay for her indiscretion, the matter made clear to her while she is awaiting her first sale.

I had no doubt, for example, that it had pleased Thrasilicus to bring the former Miss Margaret Wentworth into a Gorean collar.

She had been, in my opinion, an excellent choice.

Given the number of Gorean mercenaries in the camp I had not doubted that Tassa powder would be available in the camp, and it had been. I had then had it introduced into the bota, where its presence could not be detected.

It was toward dark, and a fire burned nearby.

“How did you know the tarn would return?” asked Pertinax.

“When the rider lost consciousness, it was no longer controlled,” I said. “It would then, having no guidance, return to its cot, perhaps even hastening, that it might not miss the evening feeding.”

It had arrived, interestingly, some Ehn before the evening’s distribution of meat.

We had then recovered Licinius and the slave, both unconscious.

The effect of Tassa powder is not felt for a time, but when it takes effect, it does so swiftly. Presumably Licinius would not have a weapon at the ready swiftly enough to slash the girl’s throat. Even more likely, he would not think to do so. Goreans frown on gratuitous injury to a slave, as they would to any other animal. Too, if he had had time to think, which seemed unlikely, the last thing he would wish to risk would be falling into the hands of vengeful captors. He had lost. He would abide by the consequences.

“Licinius was kept in the saddle by the safety strap,” said Pertinax.

“Of course,” I said.

“And the slave was quite safe,” said Tajima.

“Yes,” I said, “secured in utter helplessness, as befits one such as she, merely a soft, smooth, shapely beast, nicely tethered, a bound
kajira
.”

“She, too, was unconscious,” said Tajima.

“I thought she would be,” I said. “It did not really matter, of course, but I supposed he would give her of the water. Why should he not? Would she not be thirsty, as well? Are animals not watered?”

“Yes,” said Tajima.

“Too,” I said, “there was plenty. Also, water rounds the belly of a slave nicely, and freshens her appearance.”

“True,” said Tajima.

It was common, of course, to water women before their sale.

“How you think of her, how you speak of her!” protested Pertinax.

“She is a slave,” I said. “And the sooner you learn to so think of her, and so speak of her, the better.”

“Never!” said Pertinax.

“Did you not note,” asked Tajima, “how she denied being cold, and addressed Licinius Lysias as ‘Master’?”

“She was frightened,” said Pertinax.

“Surely, even in fear, truth may be spoken,” I said. And, I thought, though I did not bring this to the attention of Pertinax, a slave who is frightened is often afraid not to speak the truth. The Master may know the truth, and be examining her. Too, whereas a free woman may lie as profoundly and frequently as she wishes, a slave girl is forbidden to lie. A free woman may lie with impunity; a slave girl does not have this privilege. The slave girl fears to lie. Lying is not acceptable in a
kajira
. Punishments are terrible. She is not a free woman.

“Would you prefer,” inquired Tajima, “that the slave was frigid?”

“Surely such things are a matter of private concern,” said Pertinax.

“Not in a slave,” I said. “In a slave they are quite public, like eye color and hair color. They affect her price.”

“You would wish her to be frigid?” asked Tajima, politely.

“She is not a free woman,” I reminded Pertinax.

“— I suppose it is better for her to be frigid,” said Pertinax, “in order that she may remain her own woman, retain her self-respect and self-esteem, her dignity.”

“The slave,” I said, “is not her own woman. She is her master’s woman. Too, whereas she may well think well of herself, rejoice in herself, celebrate herself, love herself, as well as the master, for how can one love another if one does not love oneself, and so on, she is not likely to have self-respect and self-esteem in the senses that I think you understand such things. She is, after all, an animal. And certainly she is not permitted dignity. She is a beautiful animal, and whereas she has far more attractions than, say, a she-tarsk, she has no more dignity than a she-tarsk.”

“I see,” said Pertinax.

“The slave is not a free woman,” said Tajima. “She is to be hot, helplessly so. She must juice upon command. A touch readies her. At a snapping of the fingers, she must hasten to assume whatever attitudes or positions you wish. Indeed, she may assume them hoping that her master will see fit to caress her. Usually she conveys her desires by kneeling and nuzzling, and making tiny noises and whimpering, and kissing the feet and legs of the master, looking to him, lips parted, hoping for attention, such things. There are many variations. Slaves are very inventive, and very clever. Too, I assure you, my dear Pertinax, it is pleasant to have one in one’s arms, squirming, and writhing, and gasping, and moaning, and crying out, and weeping, and begging, and yielding.”

“They are not free women,” I reiterated.

“Such things,” said Pertinax, “are for low women, not for such as Miss Wentworth.”

I smiled to myself. Pertinax did not know, as Cecily and I knew, that the stable grooms had well ignited, as it had amused them, and doubtless in accord with the instructions of Lord Nishida, slave fires in the belly of the former Miss Wentworth, at that time a stable slave at their disposal. Any woman in whose belly burn slave fires is a slave, and henceforth and thereafter can be but a slave. Ropes, straps, and chains were not the only bonds to which the former Miss Wentworth was now subject. A free woman might, of course, look upon the former Miss Wentworth and, in virtue of the brevity of a tunic, perhaps, or a brand, or a collar, easily see her as slave, but they might sense, too, to their jealous fury, that something less visible and far more profound was involved, that she now, supplicatingly and irremediably, belonged to men. In her belly, smoldering, ready to spring into flames, seldom far from the surface, was the heat of a slave, and of this, perhaps, a brand on her thigh, a collar on her neck, might be understood as little more than institutional tokens hinting at the possibility of a far deeper bondage.

No wonder they hated slaves with such vehemence.

How could they, free women, hope to compete in interest with a slave? A slave, of course, came with no companion dowry, no land, no wealth, no social or mercantile connections, but men, nonetheless, somehow, enjoyed having them at their feet.

“Perhaps,” said Tajima.

“Certainly,” said Pertinax, irritably.

“She is stirring,” I noted. The effect of Tassa powder, on a smaller body, given identities of quantities, and such, is more lasting than on a larger body. Licinius had regained consciousness, in his bonds, something like a half of an Ahn past. Too, of course, I did not know the size of the draught accorded to the slave. She would not have been freed to drink, of course, but, tethered, supine, would have had the spike of the bota thrust between her teeth.

Licinius again fought his bonds.

He was well swathed with straps.

“Lord Nishida will have him crucified,” said Tajima.

“For the sake of the Priest-Kings,” said Licinius, addressing me, “use the sword, swiftly.”

“I fear that is not practical,” said Tajima, “for you are a spy, and traitor.”

“No traitor!” he said.

“You wear the cavalry’s gray, and betrayed it,” said Tajima.

“I am in another’s fee,” he said.

“Whose?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “I was approached in Turmus.”

“You may be tortured before you are crucified,” said Tajima. “Perhaps that will to some extent refresh your memory.”

“He would either die, or lie, to stop the pain,” I said. “Too, I doubt he knows from what purse his gain was taken.”

“I do not know,” said Licinius.

“I believe him,” I said. “Those who bought his services would be discreet in such a matter. A spy, he might be apprehended, and tortured. He can not reveal what he does not know.”

“Use the sword, before they come for me,” begged Licinius. “We are not of the Pani. It is a small favor to ask. Did I not attempt to escape? Slay me, and then loosen and discard the straps. None will know.”

“I fear several would know,” I said.