by John Norman
“She knows what she is doing,” complained Julian, “the vixen.”
“How can it be?” asked Otto. “She is a free woman.”
“She is a woman,” said Julian.
Too, it must be remembered that once, some time ago, on the Alaria, the princess Gerune had felt bonds. The symbolism of such things, the psychological suggestions associated with them, their reverberant emotional impact, so inexplicable, seemingly ancient and mystical, the memories they recall, the truths at which they hint, are things no woman ever forgets.
That evening food was brought to the tent.
“Do not eat it,” said Julian to Otto.
“She is in the tent,” said Otto. “I do not think it will have been tampered with.”
They could not know, outside, for example, whether or not Gerune would be permitted to eat.
“They do not need to drug you, or poison you,” said Gerune.
“Why?” asked Otto.
“They are not of the empire,” said Gerune.
“Bitch,” said Julian.
“Dog!” she exclaimed, angrily.
She lay at the side of the tent, on the blankets, her weight partly on her right elbow, the cloak up about her. You could not see her well, because of the darkness.
“You will eat first, bitch,” said Julian.
Gerune looked away.
“I must eat, to keep up my strength,” said Otto.
He had not been fed in two days.
“It will not matter,” said Gerune.
“Why do you say that?” asked Otto.
“Because you will lose,” said Gerune.
“How do you know that?” demanded Julian.
“You have no chance,” she said, bitterly.
“The weapons are unfamiliar, the chosen champion presumed invincible?” inquired Otto.
“No,” she said.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“I will partake of the food,” said Gerune.
“You will indeed,” Julian assured her.
She looked up at him, angrily.
Otto lit a small lamp in the tent and hung it on the forward pole.
“Perhaps you should remove your cloak,” said Julian. “The bodies of slave girls are exquisite in this sort of light.”
“Dog of the empire,” she hissed.
“Are you hungry?” inquired Julian.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then, eat,” said Julian.
He took a chunk of bread from the broad trencher on which it had been brought, and threw it to the blankets before Gerune.
“You throw me food as though I were a female slave!” she said.
“And a slave would be grateful for as much,” said Julian.
“You are only a despicable thrall of the Wolfung!” she said.
“I am a free man of the empire,” said Julian.
“And I am a princess of the Ortungen!” she said.
“Would you prefer, Princess, to crawl to me, and take food in your mouth, from my hand, like the bitch you are, or as the slave you should be?”
She looked down, trembling.
It is common for slaves to be fed in such a fashion. They are, of course, being slaves, lower than bitches.
She reached for the chunk of bread.
“Wait, Princess,” said Otto.
He retrieved the piece of bread and handed it to her.
“Thank you, milord,” she said.
“She is not a slave, she is free,” said Otto to Julian.
Julian watched carefully while Gerune finished the bread. He then, from the trencher, brought her samples of the food there, and, carefully, watched her eat each bit.
Gerune looked up, angrily, at Julian.
“We will wait some time,” said Julian. “The effect may be delayed, and they may have an antidote for the princess.”
“Dog,” said the princess.
“She may have developed, over time, through graduated doses, an immunity to certain poisons,” said Julian.
Certain rulers, and high men, had done this.
“I do not imbibe poisons,” said the princess.
The technique was dangerous, however, sometimes resulting in the sickness and death of the subject, and was also on the whole of little protective value, in virtue of the variety of toxins available to the potential assassin. A cabinet of antidotes, depending on the symptoms manifested, was generally preferred. Too, of course, in royal households, the acquisition of foods and their preparation tended to be carefully supervised. A number of such households, too, utilized the time-honored practice of skilled food tasters. These, contrary to popular belief, were normally free persons, and were often trained chemists, physicians, and such. Their senses, particularly those of taste and smell, were both acute and highly trained. The services of such men, who were sometimes court physicians, as well, were valued far above those of animals and slaves. Sometimes, too, particularly within the empire, samples of certain foods, prior to being served, were literally subjected to chemical analysis. But even so, many were the emperors who had died at the table. It is interesting to add, in this respect, that little attention, on the whole, was paid, or needed to be paid, to such matters in barbarian courts. In the barbarian court there tended to be a unified ethos, an ordered oneness, an organic wholeness, a tribality, a community. There one was commonly environed with individuals known to one, with one’s comrades in arms, one’s brothers, so to speak. One had a history in common with them. It was quite different from the situation in civilization where one had about oneself not a community, not a band of brothers, but a world of milling, swarming strangers, an aggregate of self-seeking, often hostile, competitive units, innocent of honor and tradition, many of which might have something to gain, and little to fear, from shifts in power. Too, in the barbarian situation there was commonly at hand no maze of nameless streets, no anonymous crowds, so to speak, in which one might immediately lose oneself, seeking escape or refuge. In a barbarian community reprisals tended to be swift and sure. Their hunters were efficient and relentless. The barbarian community tends to be organic, with a structured hierarchy, its parts, each essential and celebrated, in harmony with one another. It knows that there is a jungle, but it keeps it at bay; it does not invite it within. It is joyous to feast with one’s companions. It is dangerous to eat with strangers.
“They can kill us now, if they want,” said Otto. He picked a piece of meat from the trencher and, holding it in both hands, began to tear at it with his teeth. They had not been permitted utensils.
“You see, dog of the empire,” said Gerune, later, “the food is acceptable.”
“But poorly prepared,” said Julian. “If you were mine, you would be taught to prepare food properly.”
“I, cook?” asked Gerune.
“It would figure among several of your other duties,” said Julian.
“Such as?” she asked.
“Surely you can guess,” he said.
“Dog, dog!” she cried.
“It seems,” said Otto, “that the food has not been tampered with.”
“It would not be necessary to do so,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“You will see in the morning,” she said, “milord.”
“You do not care to speak further of this matter?” asked Otto.
“Beware the priestess Huta,” said Gerune.
“She of the Timbri?” said Otto.
“Yes, milord,” she said.
“What has she to do with the Ortungs?” asked Otto.
“She has come to have much influence over my brother,” said Gerune.
“Do you approve of this?” asked Otto.
“No, milord,” said Gerune.
“In what way does she figure in the affairs of the morrow?” asked Julian.
“You wear chains,” she said, scornfully.
“Would that you were truly a female slave,” said Julian. “You might then be tortured. You would then speak
.”
She drew back form him, shuddering, clutching the cloak more closely about her.
“Speak further,” said Otto.
“What is to be done,” she said, “is worthy only of the empire, not of my people.”
“You do not care for it?” asked Otto.
“No, milord,” she said.
“Will you not speak further?” asked Otto.
“I may not, milord,” she said.
“Speak!” cried Julian.
“No, naked thrall,” she hissed.
“You require a taste of the whip, Princess,” said Julian.
“Dog!” she hissed.
“I will lock your wrists behind you, in slave cuffs,” said Julian, “and make you writhe, and cry out, like a slave girl!”
“You would not dare!” she cried.
He took a menacing step toward her, extending his chained hands toward her.
“No,” said Otto, sternly.
Julian arrested his advance, angrily.
“Would that you were my slave,” he said. “You would learn quickly enough your fate!”
She shrank back before him, even to the wall of the tent.
“No,” said Otto. “She is free.”
Julian turned away, angrily.
“Let us retire,” said Otto. He lifted the globe on the lamp. He blew out the tiny flame.
“Milord,” she said, late that night.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Do you want a woman, milord?” she asked.
“You are free,” he said.
“You are not to survive the morrow,” she said.
“You are free,” he said.
“Yes, milord,” she said.
CHAPTER 10
“Let the auspices be taken,” called Ortog, from a dais.
This dais was outside, open to the sun and air, but it, and the area for viewers, and the field of the challenge itself, were within a large, oval, temporary enclosure, some seven to eight feet high, wall-like, formed of braced poles and yellow silk. This silk billowed in the wind. If one listened carefully one could hear it. Occasionally a bird’s cry, too, could be heard, from somewhere beyond the enclosure. It was traditional that challenges be met in the open air, and on a natural surface, such as earth or grass. To be sure, they sometimes took place on a small island, in a river, or on a bleak skerry, offshore, or even, interestingly enough, in a stream itself, commonly one dividing warring territories.
“As the king wishes,” said Huta, of the Timbri, in her white gown.
Her cheekbones were high, her eyes bright, her hair as dark as the night of sunless Sheol.
“Let the truthful, consecrated blood, sacred to the ten thousand gods of Timbri, be brought,” she called.
Two women, perhaps acolytes, or novices, escorted two men who brought forth, and placed a few feet before the dais, on a surface of linked boards, supported by two trestles, a large, sealed container.
“That will be blood from the sacrifices,” said Julian, whispering to Otto.
They stood rather alone, a bit before, and to one side, of the dais.
On the dais, but clearly isolated there, stood Gerune. None regarded her. None would stand near her. She had, last night, been taken to the tent of the Wolfung. She had spent the night there. She had been put there, as much at his mercy, as much to be used as he might wish, as any slave girl. Not even her women would now look upon her. She wore, however, having been carefully dressed therein, within the women’s tents, that she might appear resplendent upon the dais, adding glory to the day, intricately worked, regal, barbaric garments, these garments, too, with gold and jewels, muchly bedecked.
The two men who had set the container on the surface of linked boards now withdrew.
The two acolytes removed its lid.
Otto looked about himself.
There were many within the enclosure, much as there had been within the great tent, and many were the same individuals, warriors, soldiers, ambassadors, traders, guests, free men, free women.
On the dais, with Ortog, were his shieldsman, and the clerk, and other high men.
Hendrix and Gundlicht were to one side, to the right of the dais as one might face it.
A priestess brought forth a large wooden pole, and plunged it into the container, and began to stir the liquid within it.
She lifted it and blood, fresh and bright, dripped back into the container.
Men cried out with awe.
“How can it be fresh?” asked Otto. “Surely now it must be caked and hard.”
“It is done with chemicals,” said Julian, irritably.
“What are chemicals?” asked Otto.
“Substances,” said Julian, “iron, salt, a thousand things.”
Otto was silent.
He had been raised in a festung village. There were many things he did not understand.
“We are so helpless!” Julian said suddenly, angrily. He pulled a little at the golden manacles confining his wrists.
Some men regarded him, and then looked away.
Gerune turned, too, and looked at him, but then lifted her head, loftily, in misery, and looked away.
“I wonder if Ortog has tried to contact an imperial fleet with respect to your ransom,” said Otto.
“Do not concern yourself with me,” said Julian.
“He will doubtless wait a time,” said Otto. “It will be done through intermediaries. He will not wish to reveal his own position.”
“Consider your own peril, my friend,” said Julian.
“I wonder if your message, from Varna, was heard,” said Otto.
“It would seem not,” said Julian.
“Surely an imperial fleet would be in the quadrant,” said Otto.
“One does not know,” said Julian.
“The Alaria surely had time to transmit distress signals, calls for help,” said Otto.
“We are far from the scene of the Alaria’s misfortune,” said Julian.
“You transmitted a message from Varna,” said Otto.
“It seems it was not heard,” said Julian.
“Bring a plain piece of cloth,” said Huta to a priestess, “a simple piece of cloth, one no different from any other.”
A cloth was fetched.
Surely there seemed nothing unusual about it.
“Would you care to inspect this cloth, milord?” inquired Huta of Ortog.
“No, milady,” said Ortog.
Huta held the cloth by its corners, and turned about, displaying it to the crowd. It was some two-foot square.
“I should like to inspect it,” said Otto.
“You would detect nothing unusual in it,” said Julian.
“There are many slaves present,” said Otto.
This was true, and there was a purpose for it. Earlier, in the great tent, there had been, near the dais, rather at its foot, to the right, as one would face it, chained in place, only three slaves, three only, blond display slaves, women who had been taken from the Alaria, women who had been, in a former reality, one now quite abrogated and superseded, citizenesses of the empire. But there were now several slaves present, perhaps between forty and fifty, many kneeling, their wrists chained behind, or before, their bodies, in the first row of the viewers, the men standing behind them.
“Yes,” said Julian. “And one of the most beautiful is on the dais.”
“She is free,” Otto reminded Julian.
“She is a beautiful slut,” said Julian, admiring Gerune.
She looked down at him, and then glanced away, quickly.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Do you not think she would make an excellent slave?” asked Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto. “I think she would make an excellent slave.”
“You note,” said Julian, “that her former garments, and jewelry, are about.”
“Yes,” said Otto.
And, indeed, it was to display such things that so many slaves were present.
On each o
f the slaves present there was some shred, or particle, of what had been the regal garments of Gerune on the Alaria.
Those garments had been cut, and torn, to pieces, until they were now little more than scarves and ribbons.
At the foot of the dais, rather to its left, chained there much as they had been in the great tent, one might again notice the three blond display slaves, spoken of upon occasion earlier, the former citizenesses of the empire, taken from the Alaria. Their adornments, such as they were, may be taken as typical of those of the slaves present. One wore, knotted about her left ankle, much as though it might be a slave anklet, such things, metal and locked, used in some locales to identify slaves, a shred of cloth, cut from the garments which Gerune had worn on the Alaria. Another had such a strip of cloth thrust loosely, and then looped there, about her collar. The third had such a piece of cloth knotted about her upper left arm. These three, too, among them, shared the jewelry which had been worn by Gerune, bracelets, after the placement of which their manacles had been replaced, and several necklaces, thrown over their heads, the hair then taken back and lifted up, thence to be replaced attractively, arranged and smoothed, over the strings and chains. The hair of the women had not been cut since their capture. Long hair tends to be favored in slave girls, as it is attractive and there is much that can be done with it, both cosmetically and in the performance of their more intimate tasks. It may also serve, upon occasion, as a bond. Cutting the hair short, or shaving the head, is normally a punishment. To be sure, much depends on the tasks to which the girl is set. Long hair is less practical, for example, if she is to be put to the cleaning of stables. The length, style, arrangement and such of a slave’s hair, is, as one would expect, a function of the will of the master. She must wear it as it pleases him, and may make no changes without his permission. It is so, of course, in effect, with the grooming of any animal.
“How shamed must be Gerune, to see her garments, her jewelries, thus displayed on the bodies of mere slaves,” said Otto.
“Yes,” said Julian, approvingly.
“Do you not feel sorry for her?” asked Otto.
“As she is a free woman, and I am a free man, in a sense, of course,” said Julian. “But if she were a slave, then I would not feel sorry for her.”