Mariners of Gor cog[oc-30

by John Norman

  “Do not dally overlong,” pleaded the officer. “Their bodies will be examined. Secure them, and hasten away!”

  There was much laughter.

  But the men understood that the slaves were not to be used. Few cared to perish beneath the blades of the Pani.

  I saw more than one rape the lips of a beauty with the kiss of the master, and then cast her, chained, to her mat, and depart, despite her extending her hands futilely after him. Well then did she jerk at her chain, again and again, in frustration, which held her in place.

  “It will doubtless be the same in the Kasra keeping area,” she whispered. “Will you protect me?”

  “And who,” I said, “will protect you from me?”

  “I do not want protection from you,” she said.

  “You might make a nice armful of collar meat,” I said.

  I considered her, luscious, hot, aroused.

  “I would hope to please you,” she said.

  Yes, I thought, she might be very nice.

  To be sure, I must remember that she was nothing to me.

  “You speak as a slave,” I said.

  “I am no longer free,” she said. “I am a slave. Thus I may speak as I wish.”

  “If given permission.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “It seems you are beginning to feel your collar,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Next,” I said, “you will be on your belly, begging to lick and kiss the feet of a master.”

  “May I so beg?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “That is a Kasra girl,” said one of the slaves, a chain running from her ankle to its ring. “She does not belong here!”

  “I am better than you!” said Alcinoe

  “You are not!” said the slave.

  “I am!” said Alcinoe. “If you are so good, why are there no men lingering about you? In the Kasra area, men would linger about me!”

  “Slave!” hissed the girl.

  “Slave!” hissed Alcinoe.

  “Come away,” I said to Alcinoe.

  “I am better than she, am I not?” said Alcinoe.

  “You are only a Kasra girl,” I told her.

  “But, am I not?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, annoyed.

  “Good,” she said, “and I am only a Kasra girl!”

  “That may be told from your tunic,” I said. It was of low-quality rep-cloth, and, as noted, there was not much to it, not that I minded that.

  “Beware the Pani!” called the officer.

  Some two or three men left the keeping area.

  “Where are the whip slaves?” I asked a fellow.

  “Over there,” he said, casting a contemptuous thumb to the side.

  I went a bit to the side, and there I found, prone, naked, bound hand and foot, the five large, gross whip slaves who, as first girls, served to keep the smaller, softer, more beautiful, more desirable slaves in order. To be sure, their power rested on their authority, and not on their coarseness, or bulk. They had had behind them the power of men. Three or four smaller women, together, might have overcome, perhaps in her sleep, bound, and beaten such women.

  “I trust the whip slaves in the Kasra area,” said Alcinoe, “are similarly inconvenienced.”

  “Probably,” I said.

  “Good,” she said.

  She had doubtless felt their switches frequently enough.

  I pulled the head of one of the whip slaves up a little, and back. She whimpered. She was afraid. To men, she was only another woman, and one unlikely to be of interest. Between the teeth of each was bound a switch.

  “You tried to stop the entrance of men into the area?” I asked.

  The woman, her head held up and back by the hair, whimpered once.

  “Do you wish to be turned over to the slaves not yet secured,” I asked, “to be lashed?”

  She whimpered twice, pathetically.

  I let her lower her head, stood up, and looked about.

  The whip slaves doubtless feared the vengeance of the charges whom they had kept in such terror, over whom they had ruled with such cruelty.

  Given their plainness, and grossness, they had something of the hatred of the free woman for the exquisitely feminine, muchly desired female slave, smaller and weaker, but so much their superior.

  But once the slaves were chained, they had little to fear. When, later, they had been freed, by one officer or another, things would doubtless be much the same in the keeping area.

  But perhaps not.

  The men might come again.

  The voyage might well be near its end, and, if that were the case, who knew what might ensue?

  “Where are the hooded slaves?” asked Alcinoe.

  It was quite unlikely they would be hooded now, in the area.

  “They will be here, somewhere,” I said.

  “We may have seen them,” said Alcinoe, “and, if so, they are not so extraordinary.”

  “You sound like a Kasra girl,” I said, “a jealous one.”

  “Master!” she protested.

  “There must be another area,” I said.

  Surely, somewhere, hoods would be stored.

  I went toward the back of the keeping area. “There is a door here,” I said. It was not a holding door, but a light door, more for privacy, I supposed, than anything else. I slid back the bolt, and swung the door open. It was dark inside.

  “Master,” I heard, from within, a woman’s voice. They could see it was a man, as the light was behind me. “What is going on?” asked the voice.

  “Curiosity,” I told her, “is not becoming in a kajira.”

  “Yes, Master,” said the voice, frightened.

  “It is so dark,” said Alcinoe.

  “I will fetch a lamp,” I said.

  “You are curious, are you not?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” I said. “Are you not, as well?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I would look upon these allegedly fabulous creatures.”

  I unhooked one of the small lamps from the ceiling of the larger, general portion of the Venna keeping area, and, lifting it a little, entered the smaller area, followed by Alcinoe.

  Lifting the lamp more we discerned some twenty women in the special area. Each was at her mat, and secured there by her chain. When the general liberty, recently, had been accorded the slaves, the freedom of the deck, these women had remained below, it seemed, in the darkness of their area, secured.

  “Look, Master,” said Alcinoe, pointing to a wall, to our left.

  “Yes,” I said.

  There, suspended by their neck buckles, placed over hooks, were several slave hoods, each with a small padlock and key, the padlock about the buckle, the key on a string, dangling from the lock. Also, nearby, on another hook, a larger hook, were several loops of rope, by means of which the slaves, when brought to the upper deck, were belly coffled.

  The slaves, who were naked, as one commonly keeps slaves at their mats, were huddled, crouched down, bent over, covering themselves, as they could.

  “Master is not authorized,” said one of the slaves. “Master must depart. We may not be looked upon.”

  “Do you wish to be lashed?” I inquired.

  “No, Master,” said the slave, hastily.

  Though one of the slaves of the sheltered area, she was apparently familiar with the lash.

  I looked about, as I could, in the light of the lamp. Some of the slaves had covered themselves completely with their small blankets; others gathered the blanket about their head and shoulders, and kept their heads down. Several, bent over, had brought their hair about their face, as a veil. Some, for whatever reason, perhaps discipline, had no blanket at hand. Their heads were down. Their small hands covered what they could of their beauty. Their knees were pressed firmly together.

  Outside, in the larger area, I heard one or more men, perhaps apprehensive now, urging the others to make their departure.

/>   I sensed some were leaving.

  “I do not suppose they are so beautiful,” said Alcinoe.

  “It is hard to tell, as they are,” I said.

  “Should Master not consider departing?” said a slave.

  “We are not to be looked upon,” said another.

  “And why,” I asked, “are you not to be looked upon?”

  “Because, Master,” said a slave, huddled in a blanket, “we are of such extraordinary beauty.”

  “It seems,” I said, “that that would be a reason why you should be looked upon, as Masters find it pleasant to look upon beautiful slaves.”

  “Please, Master,” said one of the slaves, bent over, her hair held about her face.

  “Is it true that you are all so beautiful?” I asked.

  “Certainly, Master,” said one of the slaves.

  “We shall see,” I said.

  “Master?” said a slave.

  “Position!” I said.

  “Master!” protested several.

  “Need a command be repeated?” I asked.

  With cries of misery, and sobs, the slaves, or most, went to position.

  “Hold the lamp,” I said to Alcinoe.

  She took the lamp.

  “Please, no,” wept slave after slave.

  I drew away blankets, which had not fallen about the slaves.

  “Backs straight,” I said. “Lift your heads. Peer straight ahead. Shake the hair behind your shoulders.”

  I looked about, from one slave to another.

  It was pleasant to do so.

  “Shoulders back,” I said. “Suck in your belly. Palms of your hands down on your thighs, firmly. Feel them there.”

  “Please, Master,” sobbed a girl. “We are high slaves!”

  “Many of us were once of high caste!” said another.

  “Split your knees,” I said.

  “Master!” wept a girl.

  “Wider,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” they wept.

  “Better,” I said, “better.”

  Yes, it was pleasant to look upon them.

  I thought them quite nice.

  Alcinoe followed me about with the lamp.

  “What do you think, Alcinoe?” I asked.

  “Average,” said Alcinoe. “I see little that is extraordinary here.”

  Some of the girls gasped in indignation.

  “There is some gold here,” I said.

  “Yes, Master!” said more than one of the slaves.

  “Not much,” said Alcinoe.

  “Many are beautiful,” I said. “But that is common with women whom men find worth putting on a chain.”

  “Beautiful enough, I suppose,” said Alcinoe, with a toss of her hair which might have caused bids to surge. How right, I thought, how perfect, that women such as she were put in collars.

  “It is true,” I said, “that I see little justification for hooding.”

  “Master!” protested a slave.

  “There is nothing special about high-caste slaves,” I said. “They are often purchased to be put to lowly duties, and thrash at the slave ring.”

  “I wonder if any of these slaves are hot,” said Alcinoe. I thought this was an interesting remark, considering that Alcinoe, at least as far as I knew, was white silk.

  “If they are not now,” I said, “they will soon become so, in the hands of masters.”

  “Please, Master,” protested one of the slaves.

  “As your beauty, while remarkable,” I said, “does not seem all that unusual for slaves, I am supposing that there is another reason for your hooding.”

  “Master?” said one of the slaves.

  “It is perhaps to conceal identities,” I said. “Perhaps, say, in Ar, there is a bounty, for your return.”

  I heard a rattling of chain.

  This reaction told me much of what I wanted to know. Hundreds of high-caste women, associated with the party of treason, must have fled Ar, many of whom, far from its Home Stone, might, as had the former Lady Flavia of Ar, fallen into bondage. Many may have had their hair shorn and begged retreating soldiers, of Tyros and Cos, and of the free companies, to take them with them, not as inconvenient, troublesome free women, but as begging, complaisant slaves. Others who had accompanied the retreat as free women might have found themselves eventually sold in the western ports, in particular, in Brundisium, where the Pani seem to have purchased most of their slaves for the voyage. The Pani, of course, would not have realized, in most cases, that there were bounties in the offing, and, had they realized it, they were, apparently, not much interested in such things. They were apparently more interested in what might be done with the women on the far side of Thassa. It was something there that they wanted them for. And, I supposed, not all of the women, and perhaps only a few, might be wanted in Ar. Of the women who had spoken, only two had had an accent which suggested Ar. Accordingly, it seemed clear to me that there must be a different purpose behind the hooding. Alcinoe, for example, whose identity might have been suspected by more than one fellow on the ship, had not been hooded. Too, if the Pani had any interest in bounties, and such, the last thing they would have done would be to transport such women far from Ar. The Pani wanted beauty, not gold, of which it seemed they had a good deal.

  So why then, I asked myself, would these women, those of a particular group, housed in the Venna keeping area, have been hooded?

  “Well,” I said to Alcinoe, looking about, “what do you think?”

  “Perhaps, Master,” said Alcinoe, “they were not hooded for beauty, but, rather, to conceal their plainness.”

  “Master!” protested several of the slaves.

  “Beat her, Master!” urged one.

  “These are obviously beautiful slaves,” I said, “high-grade merchandise, which would bring good coin off the block, but, as you have suggested, I see no particular reason for their hooding.”

  “Surely,” said Alcinoe, “several of the other slaves, of the Venna keeping area, never hooded, are every bit as beautiful.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  I could remember that from the deck.

  “And doubtless some of the Kasra keeping area, as well,” she added.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I could remember several of them, as well.

  Alcinoe, I thought, was fetching in the Kasra tunic, what there was of it.

  “Bring the lamp,” I said to Alcinoe.

  “Hold position,” I said to the slaves.

  “Perhaps we should leave, Master,” said Alcinoe. “I think the men have left the outer area.”

  I looked about.

  “Follow me,” I said.

  In the special area, that devoted to the slaves who would be brought hooded to the upper deck, there were twenty slaves, as I determined, arranged in five rows of four each. I went toward the back of

  the special area, on the right.

  Each slave was in position.

  “Perhaps we should hurry, Master,” said Alcinoe.

  “Follow me,” I said.

  Alcinoe followed, with the lamp.

  “Master?” said Alcinoe.

  “I have not well examined this last row of slaves,” I said.

  I began with the one farthest to the right, drawing her head back, by the hair, that I might examine her features in the light of the lamp.

  “She is nice, is she not?” I said to Alcinoe.

  “Perhaps,” said Alcinoe.

  I released the girl’s hair, that she might return to position.

  I similarly examined the next two girls.

  “Lovely,” I said of each.

  Of the first Alcinoe suggested that her value might be improved, if she could play the lyre. Of the second, Alcinoe wondered if slavers might be more interested in her, if she could dance.

  “Can you dance?” I asked the girl.

  “The flower dance of the free maiden,” she said, frightened, her head held back, by the hair.

  “Then
you do not know the dances of begging slaves,” I said.

  “No, Master,” she said. Such dances are often taught to the snapping of a whip.

  “After you are in the hands of a master,” I said, “you may beg to learn such dances.”

  “Master?” she said.

  “To be more pleasing,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I wondered if Alcinoe could learn slave dance. I thought so. Such dance is instinctual in a woman. I had little doubt that many lives had been saved, after the fall of a city, by a naked captive’s supplicatory writhings before its conquerors.

  We came then to the last slave, on her chain.

  Oddly, she cried out in fear, broke position, and bent over, shuddering, covering herself, as she could, with her hands.

  “Bring the lamp closer,” I said to Alcinoe.

  By the hair, I drew up the head of the slave, and she, interestingly, tried to turn to the side, and, neglecting her body, covered her face with her hands.

  To be sure, many women fear face stripping more than body stripping. The face, after all, with its subtleties of expression, is uniquely personal, particularly revelatory, and especially revealing. A woman’s face, exquisite, delicate, and beautiful, commonly so different from that of a man, unveiled, is vulnerable and defenseless, a window into her emotions and thoughts, into her heart and needs, a window that puts her ever the more helplessly in a man’s power. A saying has it, bare the face, bare the woman. Another well-known saying is, remove the veil of a free woman and look upon the face of a slave. So it is no wonder that the free woman is concerned with her veiling. But this was a slave. Slaves are not permitted to conceal their faces. Their faces must be naked, and all are to be free to look upon them. Would it not be absurd to veil a verr, or kaiila? Such an inhibition seldom lasts past a girl’s first switching. And soon a slave, the vain creature that she is, delights as shamelessly in the exhibition of her features as of her form. And perhaps more so. It is the whole of her, after all, marvelous and wondrous, that is collared.

  So why would this slave have attempted to conceal her face?

  “Position,” I said to her, soothingly.

  She then knelt.

  “Split your knees,” I said to her gently.

  I released her hair, and, with a hand on each knee, widened them.

  She still had her hands before her face. She was trembling.

  “Lift up the lamp,” I said to Alcinoe.