“Now,” said Epicrates, smiling, looking down on me, “what is all this about?”
“Master?” I said.
“I have never heard of a potter, let alone a master potter, named ‘Tenrik of Siba’,” he said. “I doubt there is such a fellow. Also, I am not a master potter, and I am no authority on pigments and glazes, at least no more than most in my caste.”
I remembered last night, when our former dwelling place had been set afire, and we had made our escape. Before we had descended into the interior of the building that we had reached by means of the narrow tem-wood bridge, and while the fire was still raging, and while we were waiting for it to subside, when, we anticipated, those of the faction of Lord Agamemnon would proceed to investigate the smoldering debris, to determine the success of their assignment, I had been put to use, as a slave. Later, I had lain beside him, gratefully, my lips pressed to this thigh.
I felt his hand, roughly, but affectionately, in my hair, as one might hold an animal. “You are well subjugated,” he said. “Yes, Master,” I had whispered, kissing his thigh. How subdued, and well subjugated I was! I was owned. He was my master! How his I was. I would have it no other way. I had no choice but to yield the submission I was born to yield, and had longed to yield. I feared only he might tire of me, and sell me. How vulnerable, and yet loving, I felt. I wanted so to be a slave, and the slave of such a man. I was happy. What terror there is in the collar, what joy there is in the collar! I loved him, but dared not tell him. He was my master.
“I had hoped,” he had said, musingly, “for the assistance of adherents in Ar, for that, given the contact made by the slave, Paula, of Decius Albus, but clearly he is our foe. No other contacts were made. We must now proceed alone. We know nothing, as yet, of the Kurii from Brundisium, nor of their prisoner. They may not, as yet, have put their plan into effect. In any event, we will have to make contact with Lord Grendel.”
“Let us give up the matter,” I said.
“No,” he said, “we must essay the matter.”
“The fire burns but yards away,” I said. “It seems clear that desperate, unscrupulous men are about.”
“Undoubtedly,” he said.
“Withdraw,” I said. “Abandon these terrible games.”
“Never,” he said. “Can you not sense the exhilaration of the play?”
“Men are mad,” I said.
“A larl is a larl,” he said, “a man is a man.”
“Do not mix in these things,” I said. “There are Kurii, and there is even Lord Grendel himself.”
“Lord Grendel is to be contacted,” he said.
“Might not danger attend such an effort?” I said.
“That is quite possible,” he said. “Lord Grendel is part Kur, and the Kur tends to be violent, short-tempered, and unpredictable, easily provoked, easily excited to attack. They are very dangerous, even to one another.”
“Do not approach Lord Grendel,” I urged.
“I will not do so,” he said.
“Good,” I said.
“You will do so,” he said.
“I?” I said.
I was not cheered to receive this intelligence.
“Yes,” he said. “You are a woman, and a slave. Even a Kur knows the value of a woman, and a slave. Where a man might be summarily bitten to death and eaten, a woman would be seized and bartered for food or coin. Where a blade or quarrel might await a man only a new pen or chain awaits a woman, or at least one who is a slave. A free woman might be slain, mayhap, for she is free, but who would destroy a domestic beast, a kaiila, or a domestic beast as vital, as silken and soft, as helplessly inflammable, as a kajira?”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“Too,” he said, “a slave is less likely to be suspected.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You did not even suspect a slave, if he were a slave,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“You will go to the pottery shop of Epicrates,” he had said. “It is on Emerald. His companion is the Lady Delia. The upper floor of the building is occupied by a free woman, whose name is Bina. With her you will find Lord Grendel.”
“Yes, Master,” I had said. I recalled the shop, and the woman, and the beast, for I, long ago, had seen these things. I had not known, of course, that the beast, so large, agile, and wary, was Lord Grendel.
“So,” said Epicrates, kindly, “what is this all about, lovely kajira?”
“I may not touch the pouch, on its string, about my neck,” I said, “but Master may open it.”
At least Kurik of Victoria had not braceleted my hands behind my back, before sending me on his errand. I would not, on any account, however, have touched, let alone opened, the pouch, for I had been forbidden to do so. Sometimes a stain is put on the pouch and, if the girl dares to touch, or open it, the residue of this stain, which may last for days, will betray her. She is then likely to be subjected, and well, to the attentions of the slave whip. Back-braceleted slaves are often used for conveying messages, transferring coins, and such. Too, it is not that unusual for unattended slaves to be back-braceleted. In this way they are much less likely to seize up a tospit or small larma from a vendor’s cart. If apprehended, of course, she may expect a generous switching. As their arms are pinned back, this arrangement does tend to accentuate their figure. When back-braceleted, incidentally, a girl is more likely to be subjected to the attentions of passing masters met on the streets, being lip-raped and fondled. Whereas this is frowned upon in theory the girl is, it must be remembered, only a slave. On the other hand, a back-braceleted slave is less likely to be stopped and switched by a free woman. I suppose that is because she is obviously so helpless. Free women, on the other hand, might not realize how attractive a back-braceleted slave can be.
“Please, Master,” I said, “that which is in the pouch is for you.”
Epicrates reached down and lifted the loop of string, with its pouch, over my head.
I saw it dangle before me.
I watched him open the pouch.
“There is nothing here,” he said, “no note, no letter, no proposal, only a silver tarsk.”
“It is for you, Master,” I said.
A potter such as Epicrates, as many in the lower castes, would usually deal in tarsk-bits, or copper tarsks. Indeed, much transaction amongst the lower castes was done in terms of barter. A member of some of the lower castes might seldom see a silver tarsk. Even amongst the lower orders of the high castes some of the Builders and Scribes might see a year’s wages in terms of a handful of silver tarsks.
“I do not understand,” said Epicrates. “I am not an Assassin, I have no secrets to sell. I do not wish to sell the shop.”
“To rent from you,” I said, “a lovely lady, and another, her fearsome pet or creature. My master asks only that you, who will be known to them, who are presumably in no danger from them, and will not fear them, intercede on his behalf, and permit me, on his behalf, to speak with them.”
“The lady,” said he, “is a strange, imperious little thing, whose Home Stone I do not know, but her pet, though large, is pleasant, sweet, and gentle. My companion helped her learn to read, if you can imagine that. She is not a slave, but could not even read Gorean. They had a slave, but not now. They pay their rent on time.”
“I am instructed to assure you, by my master,” I said, “that the silver tarsk is yours, and agreeably so, whether you approach the couple on his behalf, or not.”
“Your master is generous, quite generous,” he said. “Your accent is barbarian. I wonder if you know the value of a silver tarsk. Possibly you have never seen one hitherto. In any event, you needed only ask. No tarsk is necessary. I would be pleased to inquire on behalf of your master.”
“A slave is grateful,” I said.
“What is going on?” inquire
d Lady Delia, thrusting her head through the portal leading, I supposed, to their living quarters.
“It is a petition from the master potter, Tenrik of Siba,” he said, “he whom you well know by reputation, that I refrain from marketing my purple-and-white craters in the Vosk markets for at least one year.”
“The sleen!” she cried. “He wants to duplicate your work, and flood the river markets with his own cheap trash while you sit like a dolt at your wheel, doing nothing!”
“I fear so,” said Epicrates.
“How much did he give you?” she asked.
“A silver tarsk,” said Epicrates, lifting the coin.
“Demand two, five!” she said.
“I wonder how he heard of my purple-and-white craters,” said Epicrates.
“Spies,” she said. “Give me the coin!”
Epicrates surrendered the coin and Lady Delia examined it, carefully.
“I have never sold anything in the Vosk markets,” he said. “I have no intention of doing so. They are far away. The goods might never reach there. I do not think I could afford the shipping. Roads are precarious.”
“Tenrik of Siba does not know that,” she said.
“Perhaps not,” said Epicrates, thoughtfully.
“It seems silver,” she said.
“Take it to the Street of Coins,” he said. “See if they will give you a hundred Brundisium copper-tarsks for it.”
“A single silver tarsk is not enough,” said the Lady Delia. “Demand ten silver tarsks, a gold tarsk!”
“Ela, dear companion,” he said. “I have already accepted the arrangement.”
“For but a single silver tarsk?” she asked.
“I fear so,” he said.
“I shudder,” she said, “to think what it is for a shrewd woman like myself, one of acumen, one with hard business sense, to be companioned to so simple, naive, innocent, and gullible a fellow as you.”
“Yet we have renewed the companionship forty times,” he said.
“Someone must look out for you,” she said.
Epicrates then replaced the empty pouch on its string about my neck.
“I am off to the Street of Coins,” said Lady Delia.
“There is more clay to be kneaded,” said Epicrates.
“It can wait,” she said, hastening out into the street.
“Should you not veil yourself?” he called after her.
But she was already well down the street.
“Master?” I said.
“I cannot return the coin to you now,” he said. “You see the difficulties. I am sorry.”
“The coin is yours,” I said.
“Wait here, a bit,” he said. “The tenants upstairs are congenial, and affable, if unusual, and they are both home. They seldom go out until evening. I will return in a moment.”
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
A short while later, Epicrates returned. He seemed slightly troubled.
“May I ask, Master,” I said, “how the matter went?”
“Well enough, it seems,” he said. “But they seemed surprised, uncertain, and circumspect. I have not hitherto seen them so. Perhaps it is because they have so few visitors. Surely they were not expecting this business, this new business. I know little about them, really. I am unsure of their background and antecedents. I do not think they are of Ar. I do not know the source of their coins. Too, they know no Tenrik, of Siba.”
“Were they alarmed?” I asked.
“Rather, puzzled, I think,” he said.
The nature of their response suggested to me that they were, as least as of yet, unaware of anything that might have to do with the recent events in Brundisium.
“May I go upstairs now?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “You are to return at the eighth Ahn tomorrow.”
“My master did not anticipate a delay,” I said, distressed.
“They may wish to think, to talk,” he said, “to inquire, to consult, to prepare.”
“My master,” I said, “I am sure, will not welcome the delay.”
“I am sorry,” he said.
“Time may be crucial,” I said. I feared this might be true.
“You are not the first to seek such an audience,” he said.
“There is another?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “and that perhaps accounts for their puzzlement, their possible apprehension.”
“When is this first audience to take place?” I asked.
“It is scheduled for the seventh Ahn tomorrow.”
“An Ahn before mine,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“A coin was rendered?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But, as with your master, the party, or her principal, seemed reluctant to approach our tenants abruptly, to approach them unexpectedly, or uninvited. They, no more than your master, it seems, understood the lady’s pet to be as harmless and placid as it is. To be sure, it has a fierce, dangerous mien.”
“This earlier interview was also arranged by a slave?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Might you describe her?” I asked.
“Like yourself,” he said, “she has brown hair and brown eyes.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “she was very beautiful, even for a kajira.”
Chapter Forty-One
The seventh bar had rung. I had heard it even before I had slipped from my master’s new rental on Hermadius. From Hermadius I had gone to Clive, and, after a few blocks, turned south, from Clive, at the Fountain of Aiakos, onto Emerald. It was now near the eighth Ahn.
“I fear,” had said Kurik, my master, “we will not make the first contact with Lord Grendel. That is unfortunate. In this way he will not be warned. He will not have had time to reflect, will not have had time to prepare. He will be taken unawares. Who knows what his mood may be once he is contacted by the agents of Kurii.”
“Perhaps I should have rushed up the stairs, despite Master Epicrates, and intruded upon Lord Grendel,” I said.
“So precipitously?” he smiled.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I think not,” he said. “Even your collar might not protect you from so indiscreet and rash an act. As the ancient joke has it, many a track leads into the den of the larl but few lead out.”
“Master Epicrates assured me that Lord Grendel is a gentle creature,” I said.
“So, too, is the larl,” said Kurik, “until it is hungry, or needful, or surprised or annoyed, or suspects its territory is transgressed.”
“Master Epicrates seemed clear on the matter,” I said.
“Lord Grendel knows Epicrates,” said Kurik. “He does not know you, or whom you might represent.”
“Could I not go earlier,” I asked, “before the seventh Ahn?”
“No,” he said. “The matter has been arranged. The time was set. One does not tamper with the plans of the larl. We shall make the best of it.”
“What could the Kurii want with Lord Grendel?” I asked.
“We do not know,” said Kurik. “But when you arrive, at the Eighth Ahn, Lord Grendel might know.”
“I fear so,” I said.
“If the eyes blaze, the breathing quickens, the paws tremble, the claws extrude, the ears lie back against the head, the jaws open, and the fangs are moist, do not dally, but withdraw, politely, and respectfully, with all expedition.”
“Master?” I said.
“There is always a moment, however fleeting, before the Kur charges,” he said.
“I trust Master jests,” I said.
“If you read the signs aright,” he said, “there will be no danger, even were you a male.”
“I shall withdraw promptly,” I said.
“I recommend it,” he said. “A more auspicious meeting time may be arranged later.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, uncertainly.
“Do not be concerned,” he said. “Your sex will protect you. That is doubtless why the Kurii are making their own contact by means of another kajira. Just do not make any sudden moves, and, if you sense impending danger, a readiness to attack, withdraw.”
“Master Epicrates informs me that his tenant, whom we know as Lord Grendel, is harmless.”
“Lord Grendel is part Kur,” said Kurik.
“I shall leave shortly after the seventh Ahn, in the morning,” I had said.
“Beware of being followed,” he said.
“I shall be careful,” I said.
“Beware of anyone,” he said, “even one who might seem innocuous.”
“I understand,” I said.
I remembered the strong, handsome fellow, with long, powerful arms, a kajirus, or one seemingly a kajirus. His name, I recalled, or what he had proffered as his name, had been ‘Drusus’. A woman who is a slave is not likely to forget such a fellow. Were he not in a collar, and clad kajir, it would have been easy to think of him owning slaves. How women might tremble when he entered the slave quarters, carrying his whip!
The seventh bar had rung. I had heard it even before I had slipped from my master’s new rental on Hermadius. From Hermadius I had gone to Clive, and, after a few blocks, turned south, from Clive, at the Fountain of Aiakos, onto Emerald. It was now near the eighth Ahn.
I looked about myself.
As nearly as I could determine, I had not been followed. Certainly I had seen none about in my journey whom I deemed suspicious, nor did I see any about now, here in the vicinity of the shop of Epicrates, who seemed other than what one might expect at such an Ahn on such a street. No one seemed to pause, or linger. No one seemed to feign, perhaps too studiously, a lack of interest in a mere kajira, one doubtless bound on some trivial errand for her master. I think my master’s new rental was unknown to those who might be his foes. Those who had set the fire, and perhaps waited outside to strike us, if we fled the building, would by now have determined, presumably to their chagrin, that no charred bodies lay amongst the debris. I thought it even possible that they might have reported to their superiors that their mission had been successfully completed, or, more likely, more judiciously, that we had not been in the building. I supposed that a fellow might think carefully before he chose to acknowledge that he had failed to carry out a task set to him by creatures such as I had seen in Brundisium, in the house of Flavius Minor.
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