Swordsmen of Gor (63 page)

She was a slave. Could he not understand that?

“She is not different,” I said. “She is a woman.” Indeed, as noted, Saru’s slave fires had been ignited, and she was now their helpless, pleading prisoner, as much as any other slave, whether of Gor or Earth, in whom this lovely, irreversible development had occurred.

Once a woman’s slave fires have been ignited she can no longer be but a slave. She then needs the collar.

Without it she is in torment, and lost.

With it, she is whole.

“She is worthless,” he said.

“She is pretty,” I said.

“She is the property of Lord Nishida,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“Let us go to the center of camp,” had said Pertinax. “We are to join the guard of Lord Nishida, as I understand it.”

“Yes,” I had said.

We then left the hut which, shortly thereafter, was set afire.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

IN THE FOREST, ITS MISERIES;

A TALENA;

I AM ATTACKED;

A SLEEN IS IN THE VICINITY

It was now the third day on the forest road.

The rain which had intruded itself lightly, intermittently, then more heavily, briefly, for some Ehn, when I had been aflight, responding to what had turned out to be the summons of Seremides, had been little more than a harbinger of storms which had begun in earnest some two days later.

The track was muddy, and we were surely far behind schedule, for wagons, on the already deeply rutted road, became frequently mired. Often they required a twenty of men, and levers, to free them, and then, an Ahn later, one must again strive to unfasten them from the deep pools and clutching mud. Finally some tharlarion were unharnessed from a given wagon and added to the team of another wagon, simply to free the wagon. One had then, again, of course, to take the time to put them once more in their proper traces. Often, too, the wagons must be unloaded, freed, and then again loaded. Sometimes trees were felled to widen the road, to avoid the miring. Twice the road was washed out and a bridge of felled, roped trees must span it, a bridge that would sometimes break and be swept away, given the current and the weight to which it was subjected. I doubted that we would reach our destination for another two or three days, due to the impediments we faced.

The weather had been hitherto unusually warm for the season, even given the moderations in temperature, and the warmth, associated at this latitude with the current of Torvald, but now a chill snapped in the air. My calculations, corroborated by those of Torgus and Lysander, placed us in the fourth day of the Eighth Passage Hand, the five days preceding the ninth month, on the last day of the passage hand of which occurs the winter solstice, the Gorean new year beginning when the world begins its own, on the vernal equinox, which follows the last day of the waiting hand, which follows the passage hand of the twelfth month. Most Gorean months are numbered, and not named, rather as October would have been the eighth month, November the ninth month, December the tenth month, and so on, of the Julian calendar. On the other hand, some months are named in given cities, for example, the third month is called Camerius in Ar, Selnar in Ko-ro-ba, and so on. Generally the four named months are associated with the solstices and the equinoxes. For example, the fourth month, that following the third passage hand and the summer solstice, is En’var or En’var-Lar-Torvis, the First Standing of the Sun; the seventh month, following the sixth passage hand and the autumnal equinox is Se’Kara or Se’Kara-Lar-Torvis, The Second Turning of the Sun; the tenth month, following the ninth passage hand and the winter solstice is Se’Var or Se’Var-Lar-Torvis, the Second Standing of the Sun; and the first month, following the twelfth passage hand and the waiting hand, culminating in the vernal equinox, is En’Kara or En’Kara-Lar-Torvis, the First Turning of the Sun. The passage hands and the waiting hand are five days each. A Gorean month consists of five five-day weeks. The Gorean year, as that of its sister world, Earth, is approximately 365 days in length. Every few years, as necessitated, an additional day is inserted into the calendar, at the end of the waiting hand, but, as the Gorean year is apparently somewhat shorter than the Earth year, and as its orbit seems to vary somewhat, from time to time, presumably due to the adjustments of Priest-Kings, the insertion year varies somewhat. The calculations in these matters are due to the devices and measurements of Scribes. Two important fairs take place in the vicinity of the Sardar Mountains, in the spring and fall, that of En’Kara in the spring, and Se’Kara in the fall.

I heard the snap of a whip and a cry of pain.

One of the slaves had fallen into the mud.

Had she been careless, or was it something that could not have been helped, something for which she was utterly blameless?

But such discriminations, one supposes, are too subtle for the whip.

“Please do not strike me again, Master!” I heard.

But there was then another stroke of the whip, and another cry of pain.

The trek was not pleasant for the slaves. Such treks seldom are.

Their hands had been unbound though the ropes stayed on their necks. In this way it was easier for them to keep their balance in the mire.

Yet the reprimanded slave had fallen.

Doubtless she had been careless.

For the most part they followed the wagons to which they were neck-fastened.

Men, too, slipped, and fell, and cursed.

The girls were cold, and rain was falling.

Several, standing to the side, waiting, wept and shivered.

The rope which fastened them together was wet, cold, and stiff. They held their arms about themselves and shuddered, barefoot, in their tiny, clinging, soaked tunics.

How miserable, I thought, they must be.

But, too, it was clear they were well-figured. One could scarcely fail, under the circumstances, even in their helplessness and misery, to notice the excellence of their slave curves.

But it is for such reasons, and others, that such as they are brought into the collar. Men will have it so.

Several slaves, a few yards ahead, were thrusting against the back of a wagon, lending their small strength to the effort to free it. Some had their slight shoulders to the two rear wheels. Some others were trying to turn the wheel by means of the spokes. Rain was falling, cold and pelting, almost blinding. Their hair was clotted with mud and their tunics were filthy. Mud covered their legs to the thighs.

“Mercy, Masters!” cried one, on her knees in the mud, lifting her hand piteously, and her outcry, unacceptable and importunate, was answered with a stroke of the switch.

She regained her feet and, joining her coffled sisters, pressed, weeping, with the palms of her small hands against the rude back of the wagon.

“Hold,” I said, moving forward.

I put my back under the wagon, facing backward, and, straightening a little, managed to lift it from the mud, and thrust it forward a foot or two. “Ai!” said a mercenary, nearby. “Master!” breathed one of the slaves. Others stepped back, and stood in awe, in the mud, on their neck-rope. I withdrew from the wagon, and stepped back, away, to the side of the road. Many men could have done what I had done. Leverage is important in such matters. One lifts mostly with the legs, the back little more than a lever. At least I had not slipped. I moved away. I did not think my contribution had made much difference. I did not doubt but what the wheel would soon again be arrested.

I walked down the line of wagons, toward the head of the march, some two or three hundred yards. The march itself must have been a pasang or more in length.

It was toward evening, and the light, in the rain, and within the looming trees, was poor.

The rain continued to fall, but it had lessened from some Ehn before.

Several of the wagons had a coffle of slaves.

Some of them, lips trembling, looked piteously upon me as I passed. Could the march not stop? Could they not rest?

Did they think I was in charge of the march? I was not.

I had no doubt they were weary, even exhausted, and that, from their unaccustomed efforts at the wagons, their small bodies must be unsteady, and tremble and ache. It was no wonder that so many had fallen.

“Forward!” cried men, and the wagons moved again, creaking, and many of the slaves, the cold, muddy water to their thighs, whimpered, and again, wading, staggered forward, obedient to the tether which bound them.

At dawn the march had begun, as much on Gor begins with the first light. And it was now late. And there was the rain and cold.

I changed my position.

The water here was only ankle deep.

Once again the rain began to fall heavily. A wind swept the forest, with a rushing noise, whipping wet, overhanging branches, tearing away leaves, shedding and spattering more and more water onto the pools in the road.

Another coffle passed, fastened to the back of its wagon.

This coffle was much as the others.

The hair of the girls, sopped, and bedraggled, spread about their faces and shoulders. Their tiny tunics were drenched. And not one tunic was without its stains and soiling. Some were open at the back, cut apart, and reddishly stained, where the whip had fallen. One could see the track of rivulets of water on their necks and shoulders, and note the progress of its tiny, coursing, chill streams elsewhere on their bodies, on their arms, and muddied thighs and calves. Their scanty, revealing garmenture, suitable for slaves, was chilled and soaked, the cold, pelting water easily penetrating the light, porous cloth, not only from without but from within, as well, as water ran from their bodies. Some of the girls clutched the tunic about their neck, tightly, to keep water from slipping within the garment. Some of the girls, staggering, clung even, with both hands, desperately, to the stiff, wet, cold neck-ropes, perhaps that they might be steadied in the march, or perhaps merely that they might have something, anything, to cling to, even be it the bond which fastened them, directly or indirectly, to the back of a wagon, the very bond which in its way left them in no doubt that they were women, and slaves. Muchly were their eyes filled with anguish and fear, and muchly did they shiver and tremble. Could one not read in their countenances a mute plea for pity? They did not dare speak for fear of being struck. “Please, Master, please!” begged their eyes.

Was mercy not to be shown to them?

Was it not understood that they were females, and slaves?

I continued on my way.

I wondered how many of them, as free women, might have teased men, or led them on, or sported with them.

Such days, if they had been, were now behind them. They were now slaves, and the properties of men.

An unharnessed tharlarion was led by, his might to be applied to some wagon forward.

A whip master, too, passed by.

One is not to intrude oneself, incidentally, between a whip master and his duty.

Although one should show no concern for slaves, I felt sorry for them. They are, of course, to be understood as, and treated as, the animals they are, that goes without saying, but this does not mean that one should not be concerned for their health, comfort, and safety. After all, it is appropriate to care for one’s animals. One should be concerned with the health, comfort, and safety of all one’s stock, of whatever sort, even that which is well-curved and two-legged. To be sure, a typical husbandman is likely to be more concerned for the welfare of his kaiila than his female slaves, but then the kaiila is a far more valuable animal. But it is obvious that an animal which is well cared for is likely to provide a much better service and last longer than one which is ill fed, frightened, and abused. Slaves, like other animals, respond well to kindness, provided it occurs within a context of a never-compromised, iron discipline.

Somewhere a tharlarion bellowed.

It was probably hungry.

I hoped we would soon halt for the night. Tenting would be set up for the men, the Pani, the craftsmen, the teamsters, mercenaries, and others. Small fires, fueled with sheltered, dried kindling, collected earlier and brought hither, in the wagons, could be set under the roofing of canvas shelters, permitting some cooking. Certainly I would appreciate a cup of steaming kal-da, and later an opportunity to take refuge under a tarpaulin in the back of one of the wagons. The slaves were slept under the wagons. Bedded, they were kept on their neck-ropes, but their hands were retied, behind them, lest any be so foolish as to try to address themselves to the knots at the ends of the coffle rope. Their ankles were not bound, lest men, late at night, might be inconvenienced in the darkness.

I suspected the terminus of our journey would be the Alexandra.

As it was we were nearly in the ninth month.

A time was approaching in which the temperamental vagaries of restless Thassa would predictably begin. Goreans seldom brave her churning, often towering, violent green waves between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. That is the season of bitter cold in the northern latitudes, and of high winds and storms. In such a season Gorean mariners refrain from taunting mighty Thassa. Their ships remain in port, and, in Torvaldsland, even the slim, open dragons of the Torvaldslanders, as resilient and supple as they are, remain in the sheds. Let Thassa close her roads then as she will. Let her have then her season of privacy, of isolation and ferocity, of storms and terror. In such moments she wills to be alone. Do not then venture upon her. Leave her to her moods, and her dark, swelling frenzies. Later the sun will ascend, the air will warm, and the waves subside. Then fit and rig your vessels; then roll your dragons to the shore. No, the winter is not a time to venture forth on Thassa. It is a time rather for the taverns and halls, for fires and brew, for paga and kaissa, for brawls and slaves, and the waiting for En’Kara, when, one’s resources likely having been depleted, one will seek out captains and merchants, and seek perchance a new bench, a new oar.