“The fellow to whom he rented the booth would presumably have been masked,” said Samos. “It is, after all, carnival time. I doubt that Vart would be able to help us. Besides he is not noted, anyway, for his excessive concern for scrupulosity in his business dealings.”
“What, then, do you think?” I asked.
“The signs, it seems to me,” said Samos, “suggest a calculated ambush and one in which your friend here was probably implicated.”
“I agree,” I said. “You are thinking, then, in terms of a carefully planned robbery?”
“Not really,” said Samos. “All things considered, such as the coins in his wallet, robbery seems to me, at least, to be a very unlikely motive for this attack.”
“What could have been the possible motivation then?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he said. “Who do you know who might wish to have this done?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said. “What did you wish to see me about?”
His face clouded.
“You wish to speak to me,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Let us leave the booth,” I suggested.
“No,” he said. “Not now. I must speak to you privately in any case. This place is as good as any. Then we will leave the booth separately. It would not be good for us to be seen together at this time.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I fear spies,” he said.
“The spies of Kurii?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Of whom, then?” I asked, puzzled.
“Of Priest-Kings,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said, puzzled.
“I think there is a new order in the Sardar,” he said. “I suspect it.”
“That is possible,” I granted him. I remembered the tale of Yngvar, the Far-Traveled.
“Twice, rather recently, I have heard from the Sardar,” he said, “once some ten days ago, and once yesterday.”
“What is the import of these messages?” I inquired.
“They pertain to the arrest and detention of one who is reputed to be an enemy of Priest-Kings.”
“Who is he?” I inquired. “Perhaps I can be of assistance in his apprehension.”
“His name,” said Samos, “is Tarl Cabot.”
“That is absurd!” I said.
“When the first message arrived, some days ago, I was certain there was some grievous error involved. I sent back to the Sardar for confirmation, if only to buy time.”
“It is no wonder you were so uneasy when I was in your holding,” I said.
“I wanted to speak to you,” he said, “but I did not know if I should do so. I thought it best, finally, not to do so. If the whole thing turned out to be a mistake, as I was sure it would, we could then, at a later date, no harm done, have a fine laugh over the matter.”
“But yesterday,” I said, “the confirmation arrived.”
“Yes,” he said, “and the terms of the orders are unmistakable.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “I am unarmed. Doubtless you have men outside.”
“Do not be silly,” he said. “We are friends and we have stood together with blades before enemies. I would betray Priest-Kings before I would betray you.”
“You are a brave man,” I said, “to risk the wrath of Priest-Kings.”
“The most they can take is my life,” he said, “and if I were to lose my honor, even that would be worthless.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I am sure,” he said, “that this whole business is founded on some mistake, that it can be rectified, but the orders are clear. But I will need time.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I shall send a report to the Sardar tomorrow,” he said, “dated tomorrow. I shall inform the Sardar that I am unable to carry out their orders for I am unable to locate you, that you have apparently left the city.”
“I see,” I said.
“In the meantime,” he said, “I shall press for further clarifications, and a full inquiry into the matter, detailed explanations, and so on. I shall attempt to get to the bottom of things. Some terrible mistake must surely be involved.”
“What are the charges?” I asked.
“That you have betrayed the cause of Priest-Kings,” he said.
“How can I have betrayed their cause?” I asked. “I am not really an agent of Priest-Kings. I have never pledged a sword to them, never sworn a fidelity oath in their behalf. I am my own man, a mercenary of sorts, one who has, upon occasion, as it pleased him, labored in their behalf.”
“It may be no easier to withdraw from the service of Priest-Kings than from that of Kurii,” said Samos.
“In what way have I frustrated or jeopardized their cause?” I asked. “How have I supposedly subjected them to the insidiousness of betrayal?”
“You saved the life of Zarendargar, War General of the Kurii, in the Barrens,” said Samos.
“Perhaps,” I said. “I am not really sure of it.”
“That was your avowed intention, was it not, in entering the Barrens?” asked Samos.
“Yes,” I said. “I wished to warn him of the Death Squad searching him out. On the other hand, as it turned out, he anticipated the arrival of such a group. He might have survived anyway. I do not know.”
“Also, as I understand it,” said Samos, “you had dealings with him in the Barrens, and ample opportunity there to attempt to capture or kill him.”
“I suppose so,” I admitted.
“But you did not do so,” said Samos.
“That is true,” I said.
“Why not?” asked Samos.
“Once we shared paga,” I said.
“Is that what I am to tell the Sardar?” asked Samos, ironically.
“I see your point,” I said.
“The Sardar, by now,” said Samos, “probably views you as an agent of one of the parties of Kurii, and as a traitor, and one who probably knows too much.”
“Perhaps I should turn myself in,” I smiled.
“I do not think I would recommend that,” smiled Samos. “Rather I think you should conveniently disappear from Port Kar for a time, until I manage to resolve these confusions and ambiguities.”
“Where shall I go?” I asked.
“I do not want to know,” said Samos.
“Do you think you will be successful in straightening this matter out?” I asked.
“I hope so,” he said.
“I do not think you will be successful,” I said. “I think the Sardar has already acted.”
“I do not understand,” said Samos.
“You received the first message some ten days ago,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I expect its terminology, and such, was clear,” I speculated.
Samos shrugged. “I suppose so,” he said.
“You may have endangered yourself by your delaying,” I said.
“How is that?” asked Samos.
“The Sardar transmits a clear message,” I said. “Instead of an acknowledgment and compliance report it receives a request for clarification or confirmation, and that from an agent of high intelligence and proven efficiency. This informed the Sardar that you were reluctant to carry out the orders. Furthermore, our friendship is not unknown, I am sure, to the Sardar. It is not difficult to conjecture the nature of the response in the Sardar. Presumably it has been decided that you are not to be relied upon in this matter. Indeed, you yourself, in virtue of your response, may now be suspect to them.”
“I received the confirmation yesterday,” said Samos, lamely.
“That may have been to conceal from you any apprehensions existing in the Sardar as to your loyalty.”
“Perhaps,” he whispered.
“In any event the delay between the messages has given independent agents of Priest-Kings time to arrive in Port Kar. It may also have been noted that you did
not act immediately upon the receipt of the confirmation.”
“What are you saying?” asked Samos, aghast.
“I think I have an explanation which makes sense of this little affair in the booth,” I said.
“No!” said Samos.
I looked down at the fellow in the rich robes, the knife protruding from his chest.
“I think I have just killed an agent of Priest-Kings,” I said.
“No!” said Samos. “No!”
I shrugged. We could hear the sounds of carnival outside.
“If anyone,” said Samos, “Kurii must have sent him.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Priest-Kings would not behave in such a way,” said Samos.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Leave the city,” he said.
“In his wallet were staters of Brundisium,” I said. “Do you know anything about Brundisium, anything having to do with either Priest-Kings or Kurii?”
“No,” said Samos.
“Then the Brundisium staters are probably meaningless,” I said.
“I would suppose so,” said Samos. “They are, of course, a valuable stater. There would be nothing incredible about their use being specified in a given transaction.”
“Why not the coinage of Ar,” I asked, “or that of Port Kar, or of Asperiche, or Tharna, or Tyros, or Schendi or Turia?”
“I do not know,” said Samos.
“How will I know if it is safe to return to Port Kar?” I asked.
“From time to time,” said Samos, “presumably you yourself, incognito, or an agent acting on your behalf, might be in the city. Do you know the slave chains I have hanging behind the banner on the banner bar to the left of my threshold, where the bar meets the wall, those that have tied there with them a bit of scarlet slave silk?”
“Yes,” I said.
“When it is safe for you to again appear publicly in Port Kar, when it is safe for you to again make contact with me, the scarlet slave silk will be replaced with yellow.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I wish you well,” he said. We clasped hands.
“I wish you well,” I said.
Samos then withdrew from the booth. I remained inside for a few Ehn. It would not be well for him to be seen with me at this time. I looked at the man on the floor of the booth, he twisted there, awry, on the closely woven, thin, flat carpet, it spread over the broad, stony tiles of the piazza, he in whose heart I had left his own knife. I recalled the tale of Yngvar, the Far-Traveled. There was a new order, I surmised, in the Sardar. I did not regret what I had done in the case of Zarendargar. Once we had shared paga.
I listened to the merriment of the revelers outside, to the cries, the horns and music.
I must leave Port Kar tonight. I would go to my holding; I would make arrangements; I would obtain weapons, moneys, letters of credit. I could be gone in two Ahn, on tarnback, before Priest-Kings discovered the failure of their plans.
I looked back at the small, lovely redheaded slave bound hand and foot on the large cushion, the wallet filled with the staters of Brundisium tied at her collar. Throughout all that had transpired in the booth she had not regained consciousness. Tassa powder is efficient.
I then left the booth. In a moment I was again making my way through the crowds of carnival.
I was bitter.
I would take no men with me. I had no wish to endanger them, nor to involve them in the dark matters of warring worlds. Too, the best guarantee of the safety of Samos, it seemed to me, was my departure from the city. He was my friend. He had risked much for me. I could be gone in two Ahn, on tarnback, before Priest-Kings discovered the failure of their plans.
“Paga?” inquired a fellow.
“Of course,” I said. It was carnival.
We exchanged swigs, I from his bota, he from mine. Then he turned aside, to offer paga to another. I stepped back, while one of the gigantic fellows, on stilts, stalked by. I was jostled. I checked my wallet. It was intact.
I then continued on my way, pressing through the throngs.
“Master,” said a woman, kneeling before me. She put down her head and kissed my feet, and then looked up at me.
I recognized her. She was the free woman whom I had seen earlier, she masquerading as a slave, with the brief bit of cloth about her hips.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I have been in agony for two Ahn,” she said. “I am now ready, of my own free will, to go to a rack.”
I looked down at her. Women are very beautiful on their knees.
“Please,” she said, “—Master.”
“Precede me,” I said.
She rose to her feet and, frightened, trembling, I behind her, made her way through the crowds.
At one point we were literally stopped in the press.
“Paga?” asked a fellow, waiting beside me. We exchanged swigs. Then, in a few moments, the crowd loosened and, once again, I followed the female.
She came to the foot of a rack and stopped, regarding it. It was one of the strap racks, not a simple net rack, or rope rack. It was now open. Frightened, she crawled upon it, and then lay on it, on her back, on the broad, soft, flat, smooth, comfortable interlaced straps.
“I have never been on a rack before,” she said.
“Not all of them are this comfortable,” I assured her.
“I do not doubt it,” she smiled. The comfort of the slave may or may not be taken into consideration by the master, as it pleases him. They are only slaves.
“You are a free woman,” I said. “You need not go through with this.”
“Touch me,” she said.
“Paga?” asked a fellow. We exchanged swigs. Then he was on his way. He had not concerned himself with the woman. He had assumed she was a slave. She was, after all, half naked, in a collar and on a pleasure rack.
“I had to wait,” she said, wonderingly.
“If you are going to masquerade as a slave,” I said, “you should grow accustomed, at least in some respects, to being treated as a slave.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Suppose it were not a masquerade,” I said.
“I understand,” she said. Her eyes briefly clouded. I saw that she was frightened. I saw that she had just had some inkling as to what it might be to be truly a slave, to be truly, utterly, at the mercy of masters.
“Leap up,” I suggested. “Flee the rack. Hurry home. If the straps are fastened upon you, it will be too late.”
“No,” she whispered.
“But what of respect and dignity?” I asked. “Surely you desire these, desperately.”
“I have had respect and dignity for years,” she said, “and they are empty! I have had my fill of respect and dignity! For years I have been betrayed and deluded by those trivializing, vacuous, negative verbalities! I do not want respect and dignity! Obviously they are not the answer. If they were, I should be happy, but I am not! I do not want respect and dignity! I want fulfillment, and truth!”
I saw that her sexual drives were far too strong to be appropriate for those of a free woman. In her there was an eager, succumbing slave.
“Now I want to be overwhelmed, dominated. Now I want to take my place in the order of nature. Now I want to be what I am, and have always been, truly, a woman!”
In every woman, of course, Goreans think, there is a slave. Perhaps, in the end, there is no difference.
She looked at me, pleadingly.
“You are a free woman,” I told her.
She moaned.
“It would seem thus,” I said, “at least according to some, that you are entitled to respect and dignity.”
“I have never encountered a convincing proof to that effect,” she said. “Have you?”
“No,” I said.
“Oh, would that I were a slave,” she smiled. “Then I would not have to concern myself with such matters. Then I would only have to mind my manners and make certain that I pleased my ma
sters, totally.”
“To be sure,” I said, “many of the matters with which the free woman must concern herself are simply irrelevant to the slave.”
“Such as dignity and respect,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Under those names I have gone hungry for years,” she said.
“And yet, now,” I said, “you have come, and of your own free will, to a rack.”
“There comes a time,” she said, “when the slogans no longer suffice, when it is no longer practical to deny the barrenness of the rhetoric, a time when the myth is seen to be meaningless.”
“And such a time came for you?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“And then you put on a collar and came to carnival.”
“Yes,” she said, “and to a rack!”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Are you going to touch me?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“You touched the slave, earlier,” she said. “I watched. I saw!”
“She was only a slave,” I said.
“Treat me similarly,” she said, “with the same brilliance, with the same authority, and audacity!”
“But you are free,” I smiled.
“You would use me without a second thought if I were a slave,” she said. “You are putting me through this because I am a free woman. That is why you are making me suffer! That is why you are torturing me! Do you want me to beg?”
“Surely that would be unseemly in a free woman,” I said.
“If I were a slave,” she smiled, “I would beg quickly enough.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said. I could sense that she was quite hot, for a free woman. To be sure, as a free woman, she could not even begin to suspect what it might be to be in the throes of slave need, to be slave hot, so to speak.
“Are you going to touch me?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said, musingly.
She twisted her head angrily, in frustration, to the side, on the surface of broad, soft, interlaced straps.
“You are free to leave, of course,” I said. “You have not yet been fastened in place.”
“And what if I were fastened in place?” she asked.
“Then you would not be free to leave,” I said.
“What if I asked to leave then?” she said.
“It would then be too late,” I said. “I am only human.”
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