by John Norman
“The leader then conferred briefly with one of his men, he whom I suspected had been absent from the camp earlier, for several hours. I heard the fellow say, ‘The twentieth Ahn,’ but could make out nothing else. The slaves were then put between two of the small buildings, and the men sat near them, in various attitudes of repose, some fetching food and drink from their packs. To my disgust I saw one of the slaves whimpering for food, and bending forward. A fellow held out a scrap for her, and she bent forward, gratefully, and, hands bound behind her, took it from his hand. The other slaves, too, then, importuned the men for bits of food. Some were fed by hand. At other times scraps were tossed to the ground, which the slaves, sometimes fighting for them, might retrieve as they could, in the moonlight. The leader and I remained standing, outside the group, at the edge of the road. Then he drew on my leash and I followed him, and found myself brought into a small building, one of those few in which a lamp had been burning, visible through the window. It was a Metal Worker’s shop, and it was empty. There was a fire in the forge. I thought this strange, for the Ahn. A bell hung at one side of a door, leading through the back, perhaps to the proprietor’s private quarters. The leader then removed the leash from my neck. ‘Thank you,’ I said. I then turned about, that he might undo the ropes that bound me, but he spun me about, rudely, and pointed to the floor, and said, ‘Kneel there.’ It was a command such that a woman, despite her status, whether slave or free, could not but obey instantly. I was frightened. ‘You are from Brundisium?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Describe its Home Stone,’ he said. I was silent. ‘You have holdings in Brundisium, treasure, high family,’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes!’ ‘Then it is clearly in my best interest to hold you for ransom,’ he said. ‘No!’ I cried. ‘List your holdings, and the streets,’ he said. ‘Name your family, its members and their wealth.’ ‘I lied!’ I said. ‘I do not have family in Brundisium, but I have great wealth, placed with coin merchants!’ ‘Name them,’ he said. I was again silent, frantic. I twisted in the ropes. Tears burst from my eyes. He then ruthlessly demanded from me information upon information, information which would be common knowledge to anyone from Brundisium, things as obvious as to where lay her Street of Coins, her largest markets, how many gates she had, and such. ‘I invested through agents, from Ar!’ I cried. ‘Name them,’ he said. ‘It will be easy to examine your claims.’ ‘I lied!’ I wept. ‘I lied!’ ‘And you are a liar from Ar,’ he said. ‘Do you think I do not know the accents of Ar? You may deny being of Ar but you are belied by the very words in which you enunciate your denial, for they proclaim you of Ar. You are no more from Brundisium than Talena of Ar. Indeed, perhaps you are Talena of Ar.’ ‘No,’ I cried, ‘no!’ It is strange but one is almost always unaware of one’s own accent. Is it not the others who always have an accent? ‘No’, said he, ‘I do not think you are Talena of Ar. I think, rather, you are the Lady Flavia of Ar.’ ‘No,’ I wept. ‘No!’ ‘Stay on your knees, Lady Flavia,’ he said. ‘I am not Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I said. ‘But before I return you, naked and bound, to Ar,’ he said, ‘something is to be done to you. You have been annoying.’ He then went behind me and removed my sandals. ‘You will not need these any longer,’ he said. He put them to the side, on a shelf. ‘What are you going to do?’ I said. He then went to the cord dangling from the bell which hung near the door leading from the shop, presumably to the private quarters of the Metal Worker. He rang it once, decisively. Shortly thereafter three men emerged from the rear, one the Metal Worker, a brawny fellow in a leather apron, and two others, strapping young men who, I took it, were his sons. The Metal Worker began to stoke the coals at the forge, and thrust two irons into the coals. ‘Get up,’ said the leader, and I struggled to my feet. The two young men stood behind me. They held my arms. I struggled. I was helpless, in their power. ‘What are you going to do?’ I cried. He did not respond to me, did not grant me his attention, but addressed himself to the Metal Worker. ‘Strip and brand her,’ he said.
“In moments I lay supine, head down, ankles elevated, in the rack, my limbs held in the clamps. I wept and squirmed, save that I could not move, in the least, my left thigh. In double clamps, it was held utterly motionless. I looked up at the leader, turning my head to the left. ‘Desist!’ I wept. ‘Desist! I am a free woman!’ ‘That was determined while you slept,’ said the leader. ‘You dared to draw back my tunic in my sleep, you dared to examine me?’ I cried. He laughed. So, too, did three or four of his men who had now entered the shop. He held the tunic now in his hand. He dangled it. ‘And we ascertained,’ said he, ‘as we had anticipated, further discoveries. What fine lady, such as a Lady Flavia, would flee from Ar without resources?’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I cried. He reached into his pouch and drew forth a handful of small objects, which he held where I might see them. They were the jewels I had concealed in the tunic. They sparkled in the light of the lamp. Amongst them was the small key, as well, which fitted my collar lock. I felt sick, helpless, discovered, ruined, and destitute. I no longer had the wealth which I had brought with me, with which I might have hired men and brought myself again to power, and, without the key, I could not remove the collar. It was now fixed on me with the same understated, flawless efficiency with which it might have encircled the neck of a slave. ‘Please, let me go, have mercy!’ I begged. Then I shouted, angrily, squirming before him, ‘Do not look upon me in that way!’ He smiled. ‘I am a free woman, a free woman!’ I cried. ‘Is the iron ready?’ asked the leader, of the Metal Worker. I heard an iron moved amongst coals, then lifted from them, and thrust again amidst them. I did not look. ‘Nearly,’ said the Metal Worker. ‘You have everything,’ I said to the leader. ‘Let me go!’ He turned to a sand glass on a nearby shelf. I could not well see it. I remembered someone had spoken of the twentieth Ahn, the fellow whom I thought had earlier absented himself from the camp. ‘Let me go!’ I begged. ‘I will let you kiss me!’ ‘But you are a free woman,’ he reminded me. ‘No matter!’ I said. To be sure, it is an inestimable privilege, to be permitted to kiss a free woman. ‘If you are a free woman,’ he said, ‘you should not be locked in a shameful collar.’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘of course not!’ He then turned the collar on my neck, so that the lock was upward, at the front of my throat, inserted the key, moved back the bolt, and removed the collar from me. He then handed the collar, the key left inserted in the lock, to one of the young fellows, one of those I thought likely to be a son of the Metal Worker. The young man looked at the device approvingly. It was, I knew, a quality collar, finely tooled and attractive. I had seen to that in preparing my disguise, which I began on the first day of the uprising, when the outcome was muchly unclear, a rudely armed populace rising against a professional soldiery. It was surely far different from the dark, cheap, plainer, common collars I saw hanging on a projecting spindle at the side of the shop. The leader looked down at me, at my now-bared throat, and, I fear, my lips, and then he looked into my eyes. I realized he wanted me uncollared, the beast, that it might be clearer what he was doing, that he was preparing to kiss a free woman. ‘Yes,’ I said to him, ‘you may kiss me.’ ‘Your kiss for your freedom?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes!’ ‘I do not bargain,’ he said. ‘I do not understand,’ I said. Then he bent down beside me. As I lay, supine, and backward sloping, my head low, my wrists over my head, behind my head, on each side, in the clamps, my ankles higher, on each side, in their clamps, my left thigh held immobile in its double clamps, he took my hair in his hand. He held my hair, painfully, so that I could not turn my head from him. There was amusement in his eyes. ‘No!’ I cried. Then his lips were pressed to mine. I was held in place. I could not struggle. For several Ihn I was forced to endure that merciless, shameful contact. Then he drew away from me and gestured to the Metal Worker. I looked up at the leader in consternation, in shock, and reproach. How dared he, and I a free woman! Where were guardsmen that I might summon? Surely that was not such a kiss as might be given to a free woman! Might it not have been
more appropriately imposed upon a paga girl or a brothel slut, fastened down for a man’s pleasure? But I was strangely, inexplicably, stirred. Unaccountable sensations coursed through me. What might it be, I wondered, to be vulnerably, helplessly, legally, subject to such abuse? What might it be, I wondered, to be in a man’s arms, owned by him, to be choiceless, to have no option but to feel and yield. I struggled to put such thoughts from my head, but then I screamed in misery, for the pain had begun.
“I was sobbing wildly, and he placed his hand over my mouth, and I looked up at him, wildly, over his hand, and he removed his hand from my mouth, and said to me, ‘Good evening, slave.’
One of the men looked at me, and said, ‘A good mark.’ I did not even know what mark it was.
I heard the iron immersed in water, and heard the water hiss and boil about the metal.
As I put my head back, sobbing, I felt a cloth measuring tape put about my neck, read, and removed. The Metal Worker then sorted through the encirclements on the projecting spindle, and, a moment later, approached the rack. In another moment, I felt a collar snapped about my neck, and then turned, so that the lock was at the back of my neck. The key was handed to the leader. ‘What time is it?’ he asked. A fellow, glancing at the sand glass, said, ‘A bit past the nineteenth Ahn.’ The leader then said, ‘Take her out back and tie her to a slave post.’
“I was freed of the rack by the two young men, and, each holding an arm, they assisted me, half carrying me, for I could barely walk, back through the shop, and the private quarters, toward a rear entrance, from which one might approach the stable yard of what had been the Inn of Ragnar. As I passed through the kitchen, we passed a sturdy, stocky woman in rags, clearly of a low-caste aspect, doubtless the companion of the Metal Worker. I was afraid of her because of her overt attitude of contempt and hostility, and, as I was considerably slighter than she, I was sure she could easily subdue me, and hurt me, should it please her. ‘Hereafter,’ she said, ‘do not bring an animal through my kitchen.’ As I passed she spat upon me. Behind her was a younger woman, probably her daughter. I think it was she whom I had seen drawing water, earlier. The girl regarded me, curiously. I sensed she might be comparing herself with me, perhaps wondering which of us might bring a higher price in a market.
“Shortly thereafter the two young men brought me to one of several slave posts, thick, sturdy stakes, some four feet high, fixed in the abandoned stable yard behind the closed Inn of Ragnar. I was knelt, my back to the post. My ankles were then crossed and bound behind the post, and fastened to a ring there, and my wrists were crossed and bound, too, behind the post, and fastened to a second ring there. They then withdrew, and I knelt at the post.
“I was helpless and miserable, and in pain, and overcome with the enormity of what had been done with me, and was scarcely able to comprehend the radical transformation which had taken place in my fortunes, from a noble, lofty, exalted, free woman, a legal person, and one of wealth and station, to that of a purchasable object, a vendible beast, an animal, a branded, collared slave, but mostly I was terrified that my identity was suspected, and that I would be returned to Ar, for tortures culminating in the humiliation and agonies of the impaling spear. As Ar might be unable to apprehend Talena, I feared that much of the hatred and rage which would have been levied against the former puppet Ubara might now be visited upon me, not merely as a co-conspirator and abetting traitress, but as one supposedly her dearest friend and colleague, and one certainly, obviously, her highest-placed, best-known, and most-trusted confidante. My affection for the Ubara had, of course, been cunningly feigned, to achieve power and wealth, but this might not be believed, and, even if it were, this pretense might not be seen as redemptive, or counting in my favor. I had, of course, quickly enough, and eagerly enough, agreed that she was to be repudiated, betrayed, and sacrificed for the welfare of our party, that of Seremides and others. Who would not? She was then no longer the key to wealth and power in Ar; indeed, even to have been acknowledged by her, let alone to have been a member of her inner circle, was now a dangerous liability. But this stratagem, to bargain with her for our freedom, even if those of Ar were prepared to bargain, came to naught with her disappearance, her rescue or abduction, from the roof of the Central Cylinder.
“I drew against the cords on my wrists and ankles. I was helpless. I had been tied by men who were obviously no strangers to the tying of slaves. I put my head back, miserably, and felt the metal of the collar rub against the wood. I was collared. My head fell forward, in misery. I was afraid, too, of what I had heard about the twentieth Ahn, which must be nigh. What was to occur then? Clearly it must have to do with me!
“So in the moonlight, in the abandoned stable yard, kneeling, tied to a slave post, I waited.”
From what she had told me it seemed clear that some sort of rendezvous was to take place at the village of Ragnar. Leaving a slave bound and alone, of course, is not that unusual. It may be used as a discipline, of course, but that is seldom the case. More often, it is used simply to impress upon her what she is, that she is a slave, subject to the will of her master. Often she does not know how long she is to be left bound, which muchly impresses upon her her helplessness and her dependence on the will of another, this demonstrating for her her vulnerability and utter subjugation. Perhaps he is supping in an adjoining room, and she must wait until she is recollected, or he has time for her. This may also be used as heating technique. Often they will beg to be unbound, rearing and twisting in their cords, that they may be permitted to please their master.
“I lifted my head,” she said, “and, looking up, I saw the leader, standing there in the darkness, a few feet from me. ‘They should be here soon,’ he said. ‘They?’ I asked. ‘They-Master,’ he said. ‘They,’ I whispered, obediently, looking up, pulling a little at the cords, and sobbed, ‘-Master.’ It was the first time I had truly, appropriately, used that word, not as an ingredient in an imposture, not as an element in a disguise, but in the sense in which it must be truly found on the lips of a slave. ‘Search parties emanating from Ar and leagued cities use many such places as the village of Ragnar, scattered over thousands of pasangs,’ he said, ‘in their endeavors to track and apprehend fugitives. Tarnsmen make wants known at such places, exchange informations, carry intelligences elsewhere, and so on. It was here, earlier today, that we conveyed to an agent of Ar, and he then to his superiors, that we had the Lady Flavia of Ar in custody, and, for a suitable consideration, were prepared to remand her to the proper authorities, here, at the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I cried. ‘Perhaps you are curious,’ he said, ‘as to why you have been marked and collared. There were two reasons. First, it had come to light that some months ago Talena of Ar, herself, being guilty of a violation of the couching laws of Marlenus of Ar, had been secretly enslaved. Amusing then that it was a mere slave who sat upon the throne of Ar, in imperial regalia. Accordingly it was determined then that the Lady Flavia, if apprehended, should be similarly enslaved, that she should not stand higher than the former Ubara. In no way was she to be deemed superior to Talena. Let the two of them then share the same fate, the collar. The second reason is personal. I found you annoying, and thus, in any event, I would have had you brought under the iron.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia,’ I insisted, sobbing. At that point, we heard the hovering beating of a tarn’s wings, and, looking up, I saw a tarn, with tarn basket, preparing to alight in the stable yard. I shut my eyes against the dust. ‘It seems,’ said the leader, ‘it is the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I said. ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ The tarn, controlled by a tarnster from the basket, had alit several yards away, across the yard. In the basket there was the tarnster, and a warrior, and, to my surprise, a woman, a slave. The tarnster remained in the basket; the warrior lifted the woman from the basket and set her in the yard, and then leapt from it to the ground. He remained in the vicinity of the basket, and two of the leader’s men, not the leader, now come thr
ough the back of the Metal Worker’s shop, went to join him. At the same time the leader turned about, and, moving measuredly through the darkness, returned to the shop. He would remain indoors, it seemed, waiting for the identification to be confirmed. Perhaps he preferred to come under the purview of Ar as little as possible.
“The slave approached.
“She wore a brief, revealing tunic, cut at the sides, with a disrobing loop. Clearly she had been dressed for the pleasure of men. I was scandalized, but men do with slaves what they please. I surely would never have let my sandal slaves dress so, in a way so exhibiting their beauty, in a way that so blatantly proclaimed their bondage.
“The slave, who seemed marvelously figured, and would doubtless have been of much interest to men, stopped a few feet from me, almost as though startled. Then she seemed to recover herself and approached, and stood before me. I, terribly frightened, put my head down. She took my head in her hands and lifted it, and the moonlight, the clouds separated, fell full upon my face. Tears ran down my cheeks. My head was held still, so that she might examine my face with care.