“Of course,” he said. “Such attributes much enhance the loveliness of a Kur female.”
“I see,” I said.
I knew little of Kurii, but I knew something of men, and women, and competition, and war, and politics. Women, slave and free, often figured in the plans of men, as instruments, as enticements, as bribes, as prizes. I supposed something of the sort might obtain amongst Kurii, as well.
“She burned my tunic,” I said.
“It was soiled,” he said.
“Even so,” I said.
“It would not have been permitted to you anyway,” he said.
“How so?” I said.
“As long as you are here,” he said, “you are to aid in the serving. Some of the guests will be human males.”
“I see,” I said.
Many human males, though perhaps not those of Earth, enjoyed being served by naked, collared slaves. This was alleged to improve the appetite. Does this practice not add a sauce to any dish? Consider the slave kneeling, proffering the dish, hoping the master will be pleased. If free women were to be present, of course, it was common for slaves to be decorously clothed, even to the ankles. The rationale of this is easy to see. Suppose a young free woman was present. Might not then the imagination of male diners stray inevitably to thoughts of how she might appear, similarly serving?
“We must not keep our hosts waiting,” said Lord Grendel.
“No, Master,” I said.
Chapter Forty-Five
“You have not tasted the tospits in black syrup, have you?” inquired the reclining, garlanded male.
“No, Master,” I said, kneeling, offering the plate to him.
“Open your mouth,” he said, “and stick out your tongue.”
How pleased I was that I had not, even in the kitchen, thrust so much as a finger into the syrup and licked it.
I did not wish to be whipped.
He thrust a food prong into the bowl, lifted forth a drenched tospit slice, and, nibbling, savored it.
“Excellent,” he said.
“A slave is pleased,” I said.
He then thrust the prong once more into the bowl, secured some three or four more slices, and slid them onto his plate, which was already laden with parsley, steamed rice, fried verr, and roast bosk.
I was very hungry.
With a gesture I was dismissed, and I rose, and backed away.
No food had yet been given to the animals.
The room was large, and long, with a high ceiling. It was lit with torches. The walls and ceiling, as nearly as I could tell in the light, were covered with scenes suggesting tranquility and prosperity, scenes of fishing, herding, and agriculture, scenes of flocks and herds, scenes of sowing and harvesting, scenes suggesting, too, caravans, fairs, and markets. I recalled the post of Decius Albus in the administration of the city. There were several supper couches, with their narrow tables, aligned, facing one another, in two long lines, these two lines parallel to the walls, and oriented toward the end of the room, where there was a high dais. There was a serving aisle between the couches and tables. The supper, which had been earlier characterized as a light collation, proved more in the nature of a small feast. Eleven slaves, including myself, were serving. There were perhaps forty men present, and, on a high dais, at the end of the room, crouching, facing the diners, six Kurii, including the she-Kur that had so impressed Lord Grendel. Lord Grendel, whom I might easily have mistaken for a Kur, was in a place of honor. The she-Kur was crouched on his left. I supposed he could feel her presence. I had no doubt it had been seen to that she was well groomed. Perhaps, too, she was perfumed. A difference in her harnessing and accoutrements had been called to my attention by Lord Grendel before we had entered the room, and this made it easier for me to distinguish her from the male Kurii about. At Lord Grendel’s right was a Kur whom I recognized from Brundisium, largely because of the two metal rings on his massive, left wrist. I did not know if the other two Kurii from Brundisium were present or not. It is difficult, particularly at first, to tell one Kur from another. Indeed, I might easily have taken the she-Kur for a male. The she-Kur tends, statistically, to be slighter than the male, and narrower in her frame. The Kur fertilized egg, at an early stage, is deposited in one of the “rooted wombs,” where it is brought to term, or, better, comes to term, as it feeds and tears its way from the womb.
“To the noble Lord Grendel!” called a large, handsome, long-armed, reclining, red-robed fellow at one of the two tables closest to the dais, lifting a wine goblet toward the dais.
“Lord Grendel!” said several others, lifting their goblets.
The Kurii on the dais, too, lifted their goblets, and Lord Grendel modestly inclined his head, briefly, acknowledging this attention. The she-Kur at his left held her own goblet to his lips.
This seemed to have been done in a most sensual, even seductive, manner.
The long-armed, red-robed fellow who had first lifted his cup to Lord Grendel, initiating this gesture of recognition and esteem, signaling out and honoring him, was the same as he who had first cordially saluted him upon his entrance into this house, apparently one of several owned by Decius Albus. Decius Albus himself, as far as I could tell, was not present. Perhaps that was because of the nature of the occasion. How could the master of the house, if present, not be in the highest place? But only Kurii, the “high ones,” so to speak, occupied the dais, except, of course, for Lord Grendel. Perhaps they, these “high ones,” did not care to share the dais with representatives of what they might regard as an inferior species. I knew little of these things. In any event, Decius Albus was not, as far as I could tell, present. Perhaps he would not have cared to sit at one of the low tables, in his own house.
I, now no longer blindfolded, had recognized the red-robed fellow instantly upon entering the serving chamber. But now he was not disguised, not collared, not clad in a humble tunic, that of a kajirus, a male slave. He was now garlanded, and clothed in the robes of a free person, and apparently one of high station. It was he who had identified himself as ‘Drusus’ and had so thoughtfully and solicitously carried my burden of water to the very entrance of my master’s rental on Hermadius. Unwittingly, foolishly, I had betrayed my master’s whereabouts, leading a foe to his very doorstep. Even when I had been blindfolded, and had recently entered into this house, the voice had sounded familiar, and, despite the accents of a free man, I had thought I might have recognized it. Then there had been no doubt when I saw him, following my entrance into the dining chamber, or feasting room, heeling Lord Grendel. And he had looked upon me, as well, as I was, stripped and collared, smiled, and returned to his conversation with a fellow to his left. I had no doubt that he had recognized me, his dupe, she whom he had so easily and effectively deceived, she whom he had so easily tricked into serving his own purpose. Lord Grendel was conducted to the high dais, and I was set about my duties by the first girl.
There were no free women present.
Perhaps that was why we served as we did, clad only in our collars.
I had little doubt that the handsome, red-robed fellow was important, and stood high in the service of Decius Albus. He had greeted Lord Grendel upon Lord Grendel’s admission into the house; he was on the right side of the room, on the couch nearest the dais; and he had first lifted his goblet to him, during the feast, a prerogative of the feast host. I hated him for how he had fooled me! I wondered what it would be to be in his arms, submitting to him as I would have to do, as a slave, as though I could have helped myself! I was no longer my own person, not that I wished to be. That had ended when I was collared.
“Stop staring at the handsome master,” hissed the first girl. “He is not for you! See what he has chained behind his couch! That is the sort of slave he can command! Why would such a man want one such as you? Now, serve, serve, lazy slut!”
“Yes, Mistress!” I said, and
hurried again, amongst the tables.
I was very hungry.
“Napkin!” called a fellow. He had just rinsed his hands in a hand bowl. He now had his hands lifted from the bowl, water falling from them. A slave rushed to him, on whose hair he dried his hands. In conversation, he paid her no attention.
“Wine!” called another fellow, and a lovely red-headed slave hurried to him, with her pitcher, and replenished his goblet. She, rather as the other, was not even looked upon. He had merely extended his goblet. She backed away, head down.
I had made it a point not to go near the first couch.
I did not think that I could endure the humiliation and embarrassment should I find myself looked upon by him. It was not so much that I was a naked slave, as that I would be a naked slave before him, she of whom he had so cleverly and thoroughly made a fool.
My serving dish was shortly empty, and I knew I should withdraw to the kitchen, either to have it layered with more syrupped tospit slices, or supplied with another provender, perhaps rice, white, or brown, or red or purple, from Cos, or a plate of cheeses, from local dairies, served with warmed bread, or prepared after the fashion of Ti, rolled in honeyed tur-pah leaves.
“But what slave,” I wondered, “is chained behind the couch of handsome, mighty Drusus, so important here, he not now in a collar and tunic, not now imposing on a naive slave, but in fine supper raiment, and so near the dais?”
“I would see such a slave,” I thought.
I determined the first girl was not watching, and made my way about the tables, so that I might be behind the couches on the right, those nearest the dais.
“Paula!” I said.
“Phyllis!” she whispered, eyes wide, moving in the chain, locked about her throat, by means of which she was fastened to the back of the couch of Drusus.
I knelt down, to be more on a level with her. How naturally, how unthinkingly, I knelt!
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I am put where masters will put me,” she smiled.
“Who whips you?” I asked.
“I am the slave of Decius Albus, of Ar,” she said. “With more than four hundred others!”
“I do not think he is here,” I said.
“I think not,” she said.
“I am naked,” I said.
She was not, but clad in an ample, silken tunic, white. To be sure, I could see much of her. It was a slave tunic. It seemed she had a fine collar, probably a dress collar.
“Are not the others?” she asked.
“Can you not see?” I said.
“No,” she said. “The back of the couch is high, my chain is short. I cannot look over the couch.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Kajirae,” she said, “commonly so serve.”
“It seems you do not,” I said.
“I begged to serve,” she said. “I would do so! I was not permitted, not so privileged.”
“I am barefoot,” I said.
“I did not ask for sandals,” she said. “They were forced upon me.”
The sandals were golden, with purple straps.
“It seems you are a high slave,” I said.
“Do not be angry, Phyllis,” she said. “You are far more attractive than I.”
“It seems many masters do not agree,” I said.
“I cannot account for the judgments of men,” she said. “I am only a woman, helpless, and a slave.”
“You delivered a message in Ar,” I said. “I saw you.”
“Yes,” she said, “pertaining to a meeting. But I was terribly frightened. There was a gigantic beast in the place.”
“There was no point in being frightened,” I said. “It was only a Kur, or something much like a Kur.”
“I had never seen such a thing,” she said.
“I had,” I said.
“You are so brave, Phyllis,” she said.
“I suppose, a little,” I said. “Do you know there are intrigues afoot, that we are pawns in a game we do not understand?”
“I am only a slave,” she said. “I obey. I must do what I am told.”
“There is a war,” I said. “I fear we are on opposite sides.”
“If we are pawns,” she said, “who moves us?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“The pawn,” she said, “does not understand the game. It does not even know the hand that moves it.”
“True,” I said.
“And then,” she said, “understanding nothing, it may find itself swept from the board.”
“I fear so,” I said.
“Let it not separate us,” she said. “We were friends on Earth. Let us be friends here, on Gor, in our collars.”
“I never sold for a golden tarsk,” I said.
“Forgive me,” she said.
“Perhaps we will compete for masters,” I said.
“I do not think my master, Decius Albus, even knows I exist,” she said.
“You are chained behind the couch of Drusus of Ar, of the service of Decius Albus,” I said.
“I long to be at his feet, his slave,” she said. “The first time I saw him he so excited me that I almost swooned. I did not know such a man could exist, and I, a slave, whom he might buy! I was giddy with desire. Even now my knees are weak in his presence, and I desire to cover his feet and legs with the petitioning kisses of a female slave! How thankful I am to be in a collar, where one such as I rightfully belongs!”
“Why has he not stripped you and put you to serving?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. “I am not special. I wish to serve, as the others, as a meaningless, naked slave.”
“You have a fine collar,” I said. “You are gowned, and sandaled.”
“Surely a slave tunic is not a gown,” she smiled.
“It seems,” I said, “he has looked upon you with favor.”
“Before him,” she said, “I oil, and beg to please!”
“Perhaps you enjoy his caresses,” I said.
“I live for them,” she said.
“Perhaps he puts you to use,” I said, “slave use.”
“Frequently,” she said. “It is what I am for. I am a slave. And what ecstasy can compare to that of the mastered, ravished slave? I love it! I love it!”
“Oh!” I cried, suddenly, stung sharply across the calves by the first girl’s switch.
“Oh!” cried Paula, startled, in sympathy. We had not noted the arrival of the first girl.
“Lazy girl!” said the first girl. “To the kitchen, the kitchen!”
“Yes, Mistress,” I cried, and leapt up, and hurried toward the kitchen, running, trying to escape the repeated, stinging blows of the angry, pursuing first girl.
“Oh, Phyllis!” cried Paula, miserably, behind me.
The collation, or feast, was drawing to its close.
Steaming black wine, with its trays of sugars and creams, one of which I bore, and liqueurs, some apparently from as far away as Turia, were being served.
Black wine is expensive.
The plants from which its seeds are obtained apparently grow favorably, perhaps even most favorably, on the slopes of the Thentis Mountains, an area under the jurisdiction of the mountain city of Thentis. The trade in black wine is closely controlled by the so-called “vintners” of Thentis. For example, it is forbidden to take viable black-wine seeds or plants from the vicinity of Thentis. And, as one would suppose, the sale of the roasted seeds from which the black wine is brewed is carefully supervised and regulated. Doubtless some smuggling occurs. Where such plants are found, illegitimately planted, at least from the point of view of the Thentis “vintners,” they are uprooted and destroyed. Similarly, smugglers, if apprehended, are often dealt with harshly, by impalement, or servitude in the m
ines, quarries, or galleys. This policing is commonly done by representatives of the “vintners” of Thentis, but it is sometimes hired out to the caste of Assassins, which constitutes the nearest thing to an international police force on Gor, a force subject neither to the constraints of walls, borders, or Home Stones. Most public eating establishments cannot afford to serve black wine. There are several cases where a female slave has been exchanged for a cup of the beverage. Needless to say, the serving of this beverage at our small collation, or feast, was an indication of the formidable wealth, and widely ranging connections, of Decius Albus, trade advisor to the Ubar of Ar, a man named Marlenus. Whereas the plants from which the seeds, or beans, for black wine are brewed may have been native to Gor, I rather suspected that their world of origin might have lain far away, perhaps on another world.
Then, after a time, the tiny vessels of black wine, and the liqueurs, were put aside.
There was a stirring on the dais, and I gathered that the supper was at its end, or nearly so.
I was hungry, very hungry. And so, too, I supposed, were the other slaves.
“The slaves have not been fed!” called Drusus, addressing the diners, from the first couch. “Shall we feed them?”
“It is agreed!” responded several of those present.
I was pleased that there were no free women present. Men are fond of slaves. If there were free women present, the decision as to the feeding of the slaves would have been left to them, in deference to their status, which is far higher than that of free women on my former world, Earth, sometimes referred to by Goreans privy to the second knowledge as the Slave World. In such a case the slaves are often sent to their chains hungry. The kajira is vulnerable, helpless and rightless, an animal, and is commonly despised and hated by free women. Accordingly, she looks to men, often piteously and desperately, for protection.
Sometimes a master will feed a slave at table, by hand. Sometimes she may feed with him, from her plate or bowl, kneeling beside the small, low table, where he sits, cross-legged. His is always, of course, the first bite. Sometimes food is cast to the floor, and she, on all fours, not permitted to use her hands, will feed upon it. Sometimes, if there are several slaves present, it may be cast to the floor and the slaves, permitted to use their hands, will scramble for it.
Plunder of Gor Page 48