Beasts of Gor coc-12

by John Norman

  “You will see who is in authority here,” she said, angrily. I felt the line on my neck jerk tight. I accompanied her down the stairs of the platform.

  “Guards!” she called. Some four guardsmen came to her, running.

  “Bring Drums to me,” she said, “if necessary in chains.”

  They hurried from her. In a few moments they returned, he who called himself Drusus with them.

  She pointed arrogantly to the ground at her feet. “Kneel,” she said to him.

  Angrily he knelt.

  “Tell him your name,” she said to him.

  The man looked up at me, in fury. “I am Drusus,” he said.

  “Attend now to your duties, Drusus,” she said.

  He got to his feet and left. I saw that she was truly in authority. If her tenure of authority were to be soon terminated there was as yet no sign of it. She looked at me, and tossed her head arrogantly. She was supreme among these men.

  “It was Drusus who identified you for me,” she said.

  “I see,” I said.

  “Three prisoners have been captured,” said a man, coming up to her.

  “Bring them before me,” she said.

  The three prisoners, their hands bound behind their backs, were brought forward. One was a man, the other two were girls, slave girls. The man was on an individual neck tether, in the hand of a guard. The girls were on a common tether, the throat of each tied at a different end of a long strap; it served as their common leash, a guard grasping it in the center. The man was the red hunter I had seen at the fair. He no longer possessed his bow or other accouterments. The two girls were the slaves he had purchased at the fair, the Earth girls, one blond, the other dark-haired, who had worn the torn red pullover. He was dressed as he had been at the flit, in trousers and boots of fur, but bare-chested. The two girls now, however, wore fur wrapped on their feet, tied with hide string, and brief fur tunics. The hair of each was tied behind her head with a red string. Under the tether on the throat of each there was tied an intricately knotted set of four leather strings. In such a way the red hunters identify their animals. The owner of the beast may be determined from the knetting of the strings.

  “Kneel,” said a guard.

  The two slave girls immediately knelt, obedient to a master’s command.

  My lovely captor regarded them with contempt.

  The red hunter, he of the polar basin, had not knelt. Perhaps he did not speak Gorean well enough to understand the command. There are several barbarian languages spoken on Gor, usually in more remote areas. Also, some of the dialects of Gorean itself are aimost unintelligible. On the other hand, Gorean, in its varieties, serves as the lingua franca of civilized Gor. There are few Goreans who cannot speak it, though with some it is almost a second language. Gorean tends to be rendered more uniform through the minglings and transactions of the great fairs. Too, at certain of these fairs, the caste of scribes, accepted as the arbiters of such matters, stipulate that certain pronounciations and grammatical, formations, and such are to be preferred over others. The Fairs, in their diverse ways, tend to standardize the language, which might otherwise disintegrate into regional variations which, over centuries, might become mutually unintelligible linguistic modalities, in effect and practice, unfortunately, separate languages. The Fairs, and, I think, the will of Priest-Kings, prevents this.

  “No,” said the red hunter. He had spoken in Gorean.

  He was struck to his knees by the blows of spears. He looked up, angrily. “Free our tabuk!” he said.

  “Take him away and put him to work on the wall,” said my lovely captor.

  The man was dragged away.

  “What have we here?” Sidney Anderson asked, regarding the two girls.

  “Polar slaves, beasts of the red hunters,” said a man.

  “Look up at me,” she said.

  The girls looked into her eyes.

  “You have the look of Earth girls,” said my captor, in English.

  I thought her perceptive. They could still be distinguished from Gorean collar girls. There was still something about them which, to a discerning eye, betrayed their intricate, constricted Earth origin. Later, if they had the proper master or series of masters, it would no longer be possible to do this by sight. They would be betrayed then, if their teeth were not carefully inspected, only by their accent. A filling found in a tooth is usually a sign of an Earth girl. It is not an infallible sign, however, for not all Earth girls have fillings and some dental work is done upon occasion by the caste of physicians on Gorean girls. Cavities are rare in Goreans because of their simple diet and the general absence of cruel emotional stress, with its physiological and chemical consequences, during puberty. Gorean culture tends to view the body, its development, its appetites and needs, with congeniality. We do not grow excited about the growth of trees, and Goreans do not grow excited about the growth of people. In some respects the Goreans are, perhaps, cruel. Yet they have never seen fit, through lies, to inflict suffering on children. They seem generally to me to be fond of children. Perhaps that is why they seldom hurt them. Even slave children, incidentally, are seldom abused or treated poorly, and are given much freedom, until they reach their young adulthood. It is then, of course, that they are taught that they are slaves. Men come, and the young male is tied and taken to the market. If the young slave is a female she may or may not be sent to a market. Many young slave maidens are raised almost as daughters in a home. It is often a startling and frightening day for such a girl when, one morning, she finds herself suddenly, unexpectedly, put in a collar and whipped, and made to begin to pay the price of her now-blossomed slave beauty.

  “Are you not Earth girls?” asked blue-eyed, auburn-haired Sidney Anderson of the two kneeling girls, in their short fur tunics, the strings on their throats, and tethers, their hands tied behind their backs.

  “Yes! Yes!” said the blond girl suddenly, “Yes!”

  Sidney Anderson, I conjectured, was the first. person on Gor whom they had met who spoke English.

  “What are you?” asked Sidney Anderson.

  “We are slaves, Mistress,” said the blond girl.

  “What are your names?” asked my lovely captor.

  “Barbara Benson,” said the blond girl. “Audrey Brewster,” said the dark-haired girl.

  “I scarcely think,” said my captor, “that those names would have been given to you by an Indian.”

  I had not really thought of the red hunter as an Indian, but I supposed this was true. The men of the polar basin are usually referred to as the red hunters in Gorean. Certainly they were culturally distinct from the red savages, tarn riders, of the countries north and east of the Thentis mountains, who maintained a feudal nobility over scattered agricultural communities of white slaves. Those individuals, more than the red hunters, I thought of as Indians. Yet, doubtless the red hunters, too, if one were to be strict about such matters, were Indian. On the other hand the children of the red hunters are born with a blue spot at the base of the spine and those of the red savages, or red tarn riders, are not. There is, thus, some sort of racial disaffinity between them. There are also serological differenees. Race, incidentally, is not. a serious matter generally for Goreans, perhaps because of the inter-mixtures of people. Language and city, and caste, however, are matters of great moment to them, and provide a sufficient basis for the discriminations in which human beings take such great delight.

  The blond-haired girl looked up at Sidney Anderson. “I am Thimble,” she said.

  “I am Thistle,” mid the dark-haired girl.

  How beautiful they looked, kneeling, with their hands bound behind them.

  “Are you not shamed to be slaves?” asked Sidney Anderson.

  “Yes, yes!” wept the blond-haired girl. I remembered she had once worn the brief, denim shorts, raveled, and the man’s shirt, tied under her breasts.

  “Good,” said Sidney Anderson.

  They looked at her.

  “Look at
yourselves,” she said. “Consider your attire. You should be ashamed.”

  “Are you going to free us?” breathed the blond-haired girl. Then she added, “—Mistress?”

  Sidney Anderson regarded them with contempt.

  “Some women,” she said, “should be slaves.”

  “Mistress,” protested the blond-haired girl.

  “I look upon you,” said Sidney Anderson, “and I see women who deserve to be only meaningless slaves.”

  “Mistress!” protested the blond-haired girl.

  “Take them away,” said Sidney Anderson.

  “Do you want them killed?” asked a guard.

  “Wash and comb them,” she said, “and then chain them in the long house for the guards.”

  “It will be done,” said the man.

  The girls were dragged away.

  “Doubtless you have other girls, too,” I said, “kept for the men.”

  “Those are the only two,” she said. “I have given orders that our sutlers not peddle slave sluts in the camp.”

  “When I was captured,” I said, “a blond slave named Constance was taken, too. I would have thought she would have been brought here.”

  “No,” said my lovely captor.

  “Where was she taken?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” she said..

  She tugged on the rawhide leash I wore. Then she reached up and removed it from my neck, and coiled it, and replaced it on the ring on her belt.

  “The sun is beautiful in your auburn hair,” I said.

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Did you know that girls with auburn hair often bring higher prices on the slave block?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, “I did not.” Then she said to guardsmen who stood about. “Take him to the whipping frame. Secure him there and beat him well. Use the snake. Then pen him and chain him. Tomorrow put him to work on the wall.”

  “The red hunters depend on the tabuk,” I told her. “Without it they will starve.”

  “That is not my concern,” she said.

  The men put their hands on my arms.

  “Oh,” she said, “incidentally you may know of a ship of supplies which had been bound for the high north.”

  “I know of such a ship,” I said.

  “It has been sunk,” she said. “Its crew doubtless will greet you tomorrow. They, too, labor on the wall.”

  “How could you take the ship?” I asked.

  “There are five tarnsmen here,” she said, “though now they are on patrol. They fired the ship from the air. Its crew, abandoning the ship, were apprehended later. The ship, burned to the waterline, was steered onto the rocks and fell awash. In the rising of the tide it was freed and sank. Sharks now frequent its hold.”

  I looked at her.

  “We are thorough,” she said.

  “The red hunters will starve,” I told her.

  “That is not my concern,” she said.

  “Why are you holding the tabuk?” I asked. “What have you to gain?”

  “I do not know,” she said. “I am merely discharging my orders.”

  “The red hunters,” I said.

  “They are not my concern,” she said. Then she said, “Take him away.”

  Two men seized me and conducted me from her presence. I was confident that I saw the point of stopping the tabuk. Its role in the plans of Kurii seemed clear to me. I was puzzled that the girl did not see its import.

  She knew no more, it seemed, than she needed to know.

  10. What Occurred In The Vicinity Of The Wall

  “Is he still alive?” asked a man.

  I lay chained in the slave pen.

  “Yes,” said the red hunter.

  “He is strong,” said another man.

  I wanted the woman in my power who had had me beaten. I struggled to a sitting position.

  “Rest now,” said Ram. “It is nearly dawn.”

  ‘They have you, too,” I said. I had left him in Lydius, in the paga tavern.

  He grinned wryly. “Late that night,” said he, “in the alcove they surprised me with Tina. At sword point I was hooded and chained.”

  “How was the girl?’ I asked.

  “In a quarter of an Ahn,” he said, “I had her screaming herself mine.” He licked his lips. “What a slave she is!” he marveled.

  “I thought she would be,” I said. “Where is she?” I asked.

  “Is she not here?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Where have they taken her?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “I want her back,” he said.

  “She is only a slave,” I said.

  “I want to own her again,” he said.

  “Do you think she is your ideal slave?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “I do not know. But I will not be content until she is again at my feet.”

  “But did you not make her serve you paga publicly in her own city, and as a slave girl?”

  “Of course,” he said. “And then I took her by the hair to the alcove.”

  “Is that the way you treat your ideal slave?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Excellent,” I said. I saw that Ram was a true master. The girl’s helplessness was doubtless in part a response to his strength. Slave girls are seldom in doubt as to which men are their masters and which are not.

  “What is your name?” I asked the red hunter. “Forgive me,” I said.

  Red hunters are often reluctant to speak their own name. What if the name should go away? What if it, in escaping their lips, should not return to them?

  “One whom some hunters in the north call Imnak may share your chain,” he said.

  He seemed thoughtful. Then he seemed content. His name had not left him.

  “You are Imnak,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I am Tarl,” I said.

  “Greetings, Tarl,” he said.

  “Greetings, Imnak,” I said.

  “I have seen you before,” said a man.

  “I know you,” I said. “You are Sarpedon, who owns a tavern in Lydius.

  “I sold the little slave whom you knew,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “She is now collared in my house.”

  “A superb wench,” he said. “I often used her for my pleasure.”

  “Your tavern, now,” I said, “seems to be managed by one called Sarpelius.”

  “I know,” he said. “I would that I could get my hands on the rogue’s throat.”

  “How came you here?” I asked.

  “I was voyaging upstream on the Laurius,” he said, “to see if panther girls had caught any new slave girls, whom I might purchase from them for arrow points and candy, for use in the tavern as paga sluts. But unfortunately it was I, taken by five tarnsmen on the river, who found myself chained. It was part of a plan, of course. My assistant, Sarpelius, was in league with them.”

  “Your tavern is being used to recruit workers for the wall.” said Ram.

  Several men grunted angrily.

  “Put Sarpelius in my grasp,” said Sarpedon, “and I will see you receive rich satisfaction for your inconvenience.”

  “Admiral,” said a man.

  “I know you,” I said. “You are Tasdron, a captain in the fee of Samos.”

  “The ship was fired, and then sunk,” said he, “the supply ship, that bound for the north.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “I am a failed captain,” said he.

  “It is difficult to defend against tarn attack, the sheets of burning oil to the sails.”

  “They came again and again,” he said.

  “You were not a ram ship,” I said, “not craft set for war.”

  “Who would have thought there would be tarnsmen north of Torvaldsland,” said Ram.

  “It is possible in the spring and summer,” said Sarpedon.

  “You save
d your men,” I said. “You did well.”

  “What ship is this?” asked Imnak.

  “I had a ship sent north,” said I, “with food for the men of the polar basin, when I heard the herd of Tancred had not yet trod the snows of Ax Glacier.”

  Imnak smiled. “How many skins would you have demanded in payment for this provender?” asked he.

  “I had not thought to make a profit,” I said. Imnak’s face darkened.

  The people of the north are proud. I had not meant to demean him or his people.

  “It is a gift,” I said. He would understand the exchange of gifts.

  “Ah,” he said. Gifts may be exchanged among friends. Gifts are important in the culture of the men of the polar basin. There need be little occasion for their exchange Sometimes, of course, when a hunter does not have food for his family another hunter will invite him to his house, or will pay a visit, bearing meat, that they may share a feast. This pleasantry, of course, is returned when the opportunity presents itself. Even trading in the north sometimes takes on the aspect, interestingly, of the exchange of gifts, as though commerce, obvious and raw, might somehow seem to offend the sensibility of the proud hunters. He who dares to pursue the twisting, sinuous dangerous sea sleen in the arctic waters, fended from the teeth and sea by only a narrow vessel of tabuk skin and his simple weapons and skill, does not care to be confused with a tradesman.

  “I know you are wise and I am stupid,” said Imnak, “for I am only a lowly fellow of the polar basin, but my peoples, in the gathering of the summer, in the great hunts, when the herd comes, number in the hundreds.”

  “Oh,” I said. I had not realized there were so many. One ship would have done little to alleviate the distress, the danger of starvation, even had it managed to slip through the air blockade of the Kurii’s tarnsmen.

  “Too,” said Imnak, “my people are inland, waiting for the herd to come to the tundra grazing. It gives me pleasure to know that you understood this, and knew where to find them, and had considered well how to transport the gifts to them. so many sleeps across the tundra.”