by John Norman
“Is not treason the worst of crimes?” called Abrogastes.
“Yes,” cried several men, about the tables.
“No!” shouted Abrogastes. “The instigation to treason is the worst of crimes!”
He pointed to Huta.
“Yes, yes!” cried men. The tables roared.
The former ladies of the empire, kneeling about the hall, at the sides, before the tables, trembled.
“Mercy, Master!” cried Huta, throwing herself to the rush-strewn floor of the hall.
“What shall be done with her?” called Abrogastes.
“Kill her! Kill her!” cried men. Men, too, rose from behind the tables. Others pounded upon them. “Kill her!”
“Let it be a lesson to all who would betray the peoples!” cried a man.
“Yes!” cried others.
Huta, lying prone in the dirt, looked up, and lifted her hand to Abrogastes. “Mercy, Master!” she begged.
Doubtless she then understood why food had not been given to her that day, that it might not be wasted upon her.
The giant spear, held by two men, was large, upright, behind the slave.
“Kneel up!” cried Abrogastes.
Terrified, Huta obeyed, though she could scarcely, even kneeling, keep her balance, so shaken, so helpless, she was.
“Let me cut her throat!” cried a man, coming about a table.
“No, let me!” cried another.
One man then even leapt to the slave and had her head back, cruelly, held by the hair, his knife at her throat.
He looked eagerly to Abrogastes.
Abrogastes waved him back, and the others, as well.
“You were a priestess, were you not?” inquired Abrogastes.
“Yes, Master,” said Huta.
“You were a consecrated, sacred virgin, were you not?” inquired Abrogastes.
“Yes, Master,” wept Huta.
“You do not appear to be clothed,” said Abrogastes.
“No, Master,” she wept.
“She has her brand!” laughed a man.
“Yes!” said another.
There was laughter.
“Behind you, behold the spear of the Alemanni!” said Abrogastes.
“Yes, Master,” she said, falling to all fours, and turning.
“Go to it!” he said.
Quickly she did so, and, unbidden, began to kiss, and lick it, desperately.
There was laughter.
“She is not unintelligent,” said a man.
“No,” said another.
The spear, interestingly, may not be touched by free women, of the Alemanni, or others. It may, however, receive the ministrations of female slaves, this being taken as a service or an obeisance, much as the washing of a warrior’s feet by the tongues of the women of the enemy, the acts serving as a symbol of the nothingness of the slaves, as an irrevocable token of total submission, and as a recognition of, and an acknowledgment of, the power and glory of the Alemanni,
“Turn about!” commanded Abrogastes.
Huta, trembling and fearful, unsteady, on all fours, turned about, to face Abrogastes.
“It will now be decided whether you live or die,” said Abrogastes.
“Master?” begged Huta.
“Bring the scales,” said Abrogastes.
Men cried out with pleasure.
Scales were brought, wide, shallow, pan scales, which, when the pointed staff was driven into the earth, to one side of the floor, and steadied there by the hand of a man, stood half as high as a man, and with them a small table, on which were a large number of lead pellets, tiny measured weights.
“Stand!” commanded Abrogastes.
Huta, trembling, unsteadily, stood.
“Bring musicians,” said Abrogastes.
Three men, from the sand latitudes of Beyira II, were summoned, from where they had been waiting, in a small room off the main hall, a pantry shed. Two carried pipes, and one a small drum. The sand latitudes of Beyira II are, of course, not entirely sand, but they are, on the whole, windswept, desolate regions. They are crossed by lonely caravans. Here and there, among the dunes, there are small oases, where dates may be found, and grass, for small flocks. Some of these are well known and determine caravan routes. Some are known only to local groups, of nomads, of herdsmen, who move among them, seeking grass at one, while allowing it to replenish itself at another. Sometimes there are storms of sand which last for weeks, which must be weathered by the tiny groups and their small flocks. On the desert, and in the desolate regions in general, there is much loneliness, and much time. The inhabitants, the nomads and herdsmen, of these areas, as might be expected, have a rich oral culture, rich in such things as myth and storytelling. Too, they have their music, which is intricate, and melodiously sensuous, a music which moves the blood of men and the bellies of women. Although the tents of these nomads are dull, and inconspicuous, on the outside, melding in well with the browns and tans of the country, they are often lined with colorful silk, and, inside, may contain such things as rich rugs, carved wooden stools, and bright metal vessels. The world inside the tent contrasts with the plainness and hardship of the world outside the tent. Inside the tents is found another world. Within this world, not unoften, is found another aspect of the ancient culture of the men of the sand latitudes. Within the tents, on the gorgeous rugs, often pound small, bangled feet, within them often swirls colorful, revealing silks, within them often rings the sudden, bright erotic flash of finger cymbals. The men of Beyira II are known throughout galaxies for their dancing slave girls, for none but slaves are allowed by them to dance such dances, which so say “female” in all its beauty and vulnerability, in all its joy and radiance, in all its rhythmic gracefulness and incredible erotic allure, dances which celebrate, in all their unapologetic richness and glory, the astounding attractions, and the desirability and excitement of the female who, though perhaps collared, is totally free to be herself, and must be herself, even, if she be reluctant, to the instruction of the whip, or worse. These girls are often bought by the men of the sand latitudes at the cities which, like ports, border the edges of the lonely, terrible countries. They are then carried away, bound and hooded, on sand beasts, into the trackless deserts to serve. The men of the sand latitudes pay for these women in a variety of ways, as with fees from guiding, and guarding, caravans; with pressed dates, from the oases; with gleanings, of flesh, horn and skin, from their herds; with minerals, found in obscure outcroppings, which to them are largely useless, except for their aesthetic value, but which are valued by the men of the “coastal cities,” minerals such as vessa and forschite, which are copper and gold; with semiprecious stones such as turquoise, garnets, amethysts, opals and topaz; and rare clays, reds and whites, used in the manufacture of the red-figured Beyiran ware. There is speculation, too, when the nomads come to the cities with struck coins, diamonds and pearls, and tales tending to provoke skepticism, if not unwise contradiction, of having found such goods in the remains of perished caravans. To be sure, there may be some truth to the claim, but, if so, the matter shifts to speculation having to do with the precise nature of the misfortune which may have befallen the caravan. Sometimes, too, girls appear in slave markets claiming to be the daughters or nieces of rich merchants, governmental officials, and such, but, as they are by then branded, they are whipped to silence, and must soon, generally far away, accommodate themselves to the nature of their new life. Some might be kept, too, it is speculated, by the nomads, to be trained in slave dance. In any event, in time, these dancers, however they may be acquired, either honestly, by trade or through purchase, or in gifting, as are doubtless most, or by some less open modality of acquisition, such as the ambush, cloak and rope, become, under the harsh tutelage of the men of the sand latitudes, incredibly valuable as prizes, and gifts, being exchanged among groups, sometimes traded to passing caravans, and sometimes, too, being lost to brigands, hunting such dancers, some for their own camps, some for marketing, even on other wo
rlds. The dancers of Beyira II are famed throughout galaxies. To be sure, the lives of such women is not all dance and such. There is much work to do about such camps, and it falls to the hands of the beauties. Their life is not easy. They must even braid the leather whips, under male surveillance, which may be used upon themselves.
The musicians took their position, cross-legged, on the floor of the hall, before the dais, but to its left side, as one would look out, toward the hall.
Huta, standing in the center of the hall, before the great upright spear, to which she had rendered zealously the ministrations of a slave, shook her head wildly, negatively.
There was a testing skirl of the pipes, the abrupt sound of a stroke on the small drum. The men with the pipes licked their lips. The fellow with the drum adjusted the tension of the head, and struck it twice more. He then seemed satisfied.
Huta moaned, audibly.
She had recognized the robes of the musicians, or the style and color, of their robes. She knew them for the sort of robes worn within the sloping, many-poled, lamp-hung tents on worlds such as Beyira II. Outside the tents, for most of the year, the robes tended to be white, to reflect sunlight, but, in the winter, in the prime traveling months for caravans, they tended, as the tents always were, to be mottled, with the result that they blended in with the background. The mottled robes, too, were usually worn away from the camps, even in the summer, when the men rode forth on various businesses, whatever might be the nature of those businesses, leaving boys behind, to supervise the flocks, and slaves.
The men looked to Abrogastes, ready to play.
Huta threw herself to her knees and, weeping, held out her hands to Abrogastes.
“Please, no, Master!” she begged. “No!”
Abrogastes looked about the tables. “How many of you,” he asked, “have ever seen a priestess dance?”
The men looked at one another. One or another said, “I have, milord, a priestess of the rites of the Libanian Grain Cult.”
Abrogastes laughed.
Dance figured in the rites of many cults, for dance can be a language of the emotions, of feelings, even exalted feelings and emotions, and, too, like song, speech, and gesture, can have its religious applications, but in many of these cults, the dances were performed in sacred caves or grottoes by stately priestesses, sedate, dignified and grave, veiled, and fully clad, often elderly women, in purest white, who had for years ascended the hierarchies in their cult, earning their right to dance before the high, mysterious candlelit altars of their vegetation gods.
“I have seen a priestess of the rites of Asharee dance!” said a man.
“Better!” said Abrogastes, slapping his knee.
A ripple of interest took its way about the tables.
“Now that is a dance!” said a man.
Asharee was a fertility goddess of Issia VI. Her priestesses were sacred prostitutes.
Their dances, and subsequent embraces, brought many coins rattling into the golden bowls of Asharee’s shrines. Only noble, freeborn women were accepted into the cult, sometimes even matrons. For a coin their husbands might find what a marvel they were married to, but then, so, too, might any others, visiting the shrine.
“What of the rites of Lale?” called another man.
“And those of Cytele!” cried a man.
“Aleila!” called another.
“Lanis,” said another.
“Seborah!” cried another.
“Yes, yes!” said men.
Many of these cults were now, for most practical purposes, secret cults.
In most the priestesses were, in effect, temple dancers, whose caresses, for a suitable donation, might be bestowed upon the faithful. The services in many of these cults tended to begin, sometimes following certain days set aside for fastings and abstinences, and after a lengthy wait in a darkened temple, with the appearance of a small light, and readings, readings celebrating the wonders and joys of life, which readings were then followed as often or not, with a reenactment of a mythic drama, in which men, alone and without women, pathetic, lonely and miserable, besought mercy of the goddess in question, who, seeing their sorrow and pain, and taking pity upon them, created women in her own image, that his prayers might be answered, and that he might be granted a companion. At the conclusion of this drama, or, one supposes, rather as a culminating portion of it, the women appear, first one seen, and then another, so illuminated, and seem as if awakening, and finding themselves to be, begin to dance their joy in life, but soon, as the men before them, each seems apart and alone, and grieving, for, though they are created in the image of the goddess, they are not the goddess, but are finite, and thus incomplete. These women are, of course, the temple dancers. They are clothed, by intent, much as might be slaves, for example, they are barefoot, and bangled and silked. This, as well as the subdued light, and such, has its inevitable effect on the congregation, and, doubtless, too, on the officiants. They dance their loneliness to the men, whom they need as much as they are needed, for that was the intent of the goddess. Soon the dance becomes more enticing, more piteous, and more erotic until a final clash of cymbals occurs and the women and men rush to clasp one another, and the women are lifted, and carried, each to her alcove, or cell, in the temple. In their joyous union, as it is consummated in rapture, it is supposed that worship is offered up to the goddess, who is pleased with her work. There are many ways to worship gods, and this is one of the ways with certain cults, in the union of man and woman, joyously, gratefully, in mutual ecstasy. The gift of produce, or of coins, or whatever it might be, is left afterward in the alcove. The servants of the goddess, and the high priestess, and others associated with the temple, its keepers, and accountants, and such, require, of course, such things, for the satisfaction of their material needs.
As I have mentioned, many of these cults now practice secretly.
There is a good reason for that.
Too, they tend to be far less numerous than before.
There is a good reason, too, for that.
Many of them, you see, have tended to share the fate of the cult of Asharee, or, at least, that of many of her shrines. The lusciousness, and desirability, of the priestesses of Asharee, and those of certain other cults, did not go unrecognized, nor was the potential value of such women long to be ignored. In the services it was scouted out, and marked, by men whose interests tended to be less religious than practical and economic. In the eyes of some, the cult places came to be regarded as little more than places where beauty, like fruit in an orchard, might be harvested, for disposal in various markets. The cults, and shrines, particularly as the administrative, organizational, and defensive capacities of the empire began to deteriorate, became frequently the targets of slavers. Many times, to screaming and dismay, to misery and panic, were the services interrupted, by the sudden appearance of intrusive, determined, merciless men, appearing as if from nowhere, yet seeming to be everywhere, bearing weapons, and chains. “If you would be slaves,” they would say, laughing, placing chains on the small, fair limbs of the priestesses and dancers, “you will be slaves!” They were distributed to various markets, some on different worlds. Many were sold to taverns and brothels. In some cases the husbands purchased back their wives, who were then no more than their slaves. And their services, in all their fullnesses and delights, then belonged only to them, not merely to anyone who might pay a coin. Too, no more then was she neglected for she was now a slave, for whom money had been paid. Surely he will see that he gets superb returns upon his investment. Too, she must now serve and love, selflessly, unstintingly, and be owned, as she had wanted. Too, if she is not pleasing, she must fear the whip, or worse.
“I cannot dance, Master!” Huta cried to Abrogastes. “I know nothing of such things!”
“Kill her! Kill her!” called men from the tables.
A saurian slid from about a table and, in one clawed appendage, picked a lead pellet from the table by the scales and flung it, contemptuously, into one o
f the pans, that which bore the emblem of a skull. That pan then, almost imperceptibly, descended, and the pointer associated with the arm, to which the pans, by small chains, were attached, inclined, by ever so little, toward the left side of the dial, that marked, too, with the emblem of a skull. On the other pan, as an emblem, was the representation of a slave collar, which representation, too, as emblem, lay at the termination of the dial on the right.
“Please, no, Master!” wept Huta, as another saurian, a fellow of the first, left his bench and deposited, too, a pellet in the pan of the skull.
Such creatures, of course, as would certain others about the tables, of diverse ambitious, aggressive species, alien to humans, as humans were alien to them, saw her only as a deceiver and troublemaker, and as a configuration which, as like as not, was not only unmoving to them, but tended to fill them with disgust. To be sure, such creatures occasionally kept human females as slaves.
“Mercy, Masters!” wept Huta to the tables.
Many of the cults, as we have suggested, had now gone, in effect, underground, and become secret cults, but it is a difficult secret to keep, the existence of such things, the times and places of their meetings, the identity of the officiants, and such. Too, many such cult meetings, it seems, were betrayed to slavers, sometimes by cult officials themselves, sometimes by members of the faithful, and so on. Slavers pay well for such information, often with bounties for excellent catches, and sometimes with bounties for individual women, depending on their quality. It seemed clear that many such cults, largely because of the abduction and embondment of their officiants, were disappearing. To be sure, in such a matter, it is difficult to gather data.
“Do priestesses of the Timbri not dance?” inquired Abrogastes.
“No, Master! No, Master!” cried Huta.
To be sure there were many cults, billions, within the empire.
Not all favored, of course, goddesses, and such.
Many cults were dedicated to male gods, to virility, to manliness, to the principle of masculinity and such things.