Gor 30 - Mariners of Gor
Page 47
“I want you to be my master!” she wept.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because,” she said, “I—I—”
“Yes?” I said.
“Nothing, Master,” she whispered.
“What a stupid little slave you are,” I said, “but one well-curved.”
“You dare to speak so,” she said, suddenly, abruptly, eyes flashing, “to she who was once the Lady Flavia of Ar?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“Have your keepers,” I said, “in your training, not put you naked before a mirror, and bound, that you might look upon yourself?”
“Yes,” she said, “and made me struggle in my bonds.”
“Surely then,” I said, “you are aware of your slave curves.”
“I have known,” she said, “since puberty, that I was a slave, and should be a slave.”
“That is often denied,” I said, “but it is not unusual.”
“Are all women slaves?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said, “but surely many are.”
“I am one such,” she said.
“And such,” I said, “will never be fulfilled, until they are at the feet of a master.”
“I would be at your feet,” she said.
“Any man will do,” I said.
“Do you think,” she said, “that a master makes no difference to a slave?”
“You speak of the feelings of a slave,” I said. “Her feelings are unimportant. They are nothing. She is merely a slave. Let her kneel, and hope to please.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“One buys a slave for work and pleasure,” I said.
“The slave seeks love,” she said.
“What the slave seeks is unimportant,” I said.
“How can a slave work for her master, know his domination, obey him, wear his collar, kneel before him, be put to his pleasure, squirm and kick, begging, in his chains, and not succumb to him, not fall in love with him?”
“Such things can take place without love,” I said.
“We want our love master!” she wept. “Do not masters search for their love slave?”
“Speak of love,” I said, “and you may be lashed.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”
I grew muchly uneasy, and angry. The slave is a work object and a pleasure object, nothing more. That must be kept in mind. She is a meaningless, purchased beast. See that you treat her as one. She is an animal. See that you train her as one. Dress her, if you do, for her exposure and exhibition, publicly and privately, and for your pleasure. She is to wear her hair, and such, as you please. Belittle and mock her, if you wish. Scorn and detest her, if you wish. Do not be easy to please. Never let her forget that she is a slave, only that. Command her. Master her. Yours is the whip. Hers is the collar. Do not let her forget this. Work her well, and derive much pleasure from her, inordinate pleasure. She is your slave.
“The slave is nothing,” I said. “You must clearly understand that.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Do not speak of love,” I said.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.
“You are, of course,” I said, “not displeasing to look upon.”
“Master?”
“As an exciting, tender morsel of collar meat.”
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.
“Excellent slave curves,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“It pleasant to have you on your knees before me.”
“A girl is pleased, if she is found pleasing,” she said.
“You kneel well,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“With one exception,” I said.
“Master?”
“Your knees,” I said, “split them,”
“Yes, Master.”
“More.”
“More, Master?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“How do you feel now?” I asked.
“I have known for years that I was a slave, and should be a slave,” she said, “but until this moment, in this place, I did not expect these feelings, as they are now, which irradiate my body. I am enflamed, Master, helplessly enflamed.”
“Describe your feelings,” I said.
“I feel slave,” she said. “I feel slave.”
“You are slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“A slave,” I said, “yearns for her master.”
“I would,” she said, “that you would be the master of my slave, the slave that I am.”
“You are not an unattractive slave,” I said.
“Choose me!” she begged.
“As what?” I asked.
“As a mere slave,” she said, “surrendering all, giving all, to her master, asking nothing, expecting nothing, of her master.”
“I see,” I said.
“Choose me, choose me!” she begged.
“Slaves do not choose their masters,” I said. “Masters choose their slaves.”
“Choose me!” she wept.
“I cannot,” I said. “You belong to the Pani, to the ship.”
She bent over, before me, her head down. Tears fell to the dirt.
After a time, she looked up, her face tear-stained.
I pointed to my feet, and she bent down, and kissed them. Tears were on my boots.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered, sensitive of the privilege which had been accorded to her, however unworthy she might be. She, a mere slave, had been permitted to kiss the feet of a free man.
“Master,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“All women are slaves,” she whispered.
“Oh?” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“I did not know that,” I said.
“It is true,” she said.
“Excellent,” I said.
I smiled. I had thought that a secret shared only by strong free men, the sort who have women only as slaves, the sort before whom a woman can be only a slave, the sort before whom they remove their clothing and kneel.
She then looked up. “Perhaps,” she said, “a free man may conduct a slave to her kennel.”
“It will be so,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Victory of the Exploratory Force;
There Will Be Feasting
I heard the drums, and emerged from the barracks.
It was early morning.
“The exploratory force returns,” I heard, “in glorious triumph!”
I had heard nothing of them in the vicinity. Thus, I supposed they had marched all night.
“Let us see the trophies, and women!” cried a fellow, hurrying toward one of the plateau gates, surmounting a trail south of the castle grounds, that eventually abutting on the road leading to the largest of the three local villages.
I climbed the stairs to the parapet of the interior wall, of the three walls, which was the highest wall.
I had no glass of the Builders but one could make out the thatched roofs in the distance.
There were two Pani on the parapet.
There was a darkness on the road, in the distance.
“What is going on?” I asked the Pani.
One was shading his eyes.
“Tal,” said the other, politely. They did not respond otherwise.
The courtyard below was beginning to be crowded, as men, our armsmen, and Pani, even some free women, or contract women, emerged from their respective housings.
Looking across the courtyard, I saw a vulo exit the castle. It seemed to circle, for a time, and then flew north, and west, toward the mountains.
Turgus and Tyrtaios both now joined me on the parapet, Turgus, liaison to Lord Nishida, Tyrtaios to Lord Okimoto. Each bore a glass of the Builders.
“The exploratory force returns?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, and handed me the glass.
I looked down the trail. A column was indeed approaching. Before it were carried the narrow, vertical banners of Lord Temmu.
The order of march seemed ragged.
The column, as a whole, I conjectured, is separated from this column, a shorter column, on the trail, which must be the vanguard.
I turned the glass on the village, and its road. The thatched roofs swirled into focus, and the darkness on the road resolved itself into tiny figures, and several hand-drawn carts. Among these figures I made out what seemed to be a coffle, of some eight or ten figures, being moved northwest, toward the mountains.
I looked to Turgus.
“The village,” he said, “is being abandoned.”
Thetis and Iole had been returned to the castle grounds four days ago, following their disciplinary interlude in the slave hut. It was said their service was now humble, and zealous. It was also noted that now, before Pani warriors, they did not kneel, but prostrated themselves, putting themselves instantly, trembling, to second obeisance position, prone, hands to the sides of their head, eyes to the ground.
I returned the glass to Turgus.
He did not seem eager to report to Lord Nishida.
I suspected that Lord Nishida, perhaps from messages conveyed by vulos, had already sufficient reports in hand.
Down in the courtyard, now, in addition to the drums, there were soundings on the Pani’s conch horns.
I made my way down to the courtyard, to welcome the returning troops, or, I trusted, the vanguard.
The plateau gate, the trail of which led most directly to the largest of the villages below, was swung open. I could then see, beyond it, the other two gates, already opened. I could see the tops of banners, approaching, up the trail, then helmets, then men. Blasts were blown on the conch horns. Drums rolled bravely. We in the courtyard moved to the sides, to clear a passage for the column.
None of the high Pani came to greet the column.
Several men began to cheer, but were then quiet.
The drums were silent; so too, the conch horns, or trumpets.
“Where are the trophies?” asked a man.
“Where are the women?” asked another.
The column, preceded by its bannermen, in rows of four, entered the courtyard.
The marchers were weary.
Given the Ahn, I feared they had marched all night.
They were drawn, and haggard, perhaps thirsting, perhaps hungry. Some men staggered, and some limped. Some men were aided by others. We saw some borne on litters. Many were in soiled, rent garments. Some wore bandages. A number were bloodied.
“How far behind is the column?” I inquired of a marcher.
He looked at me, vacantly, not responding.
Beside me now were Philoctetes, Aeacus, and Tereus.
“How far behind is the column?” I asked a second fellow.
“This is the column,” he said, not looking at me.
“No speaking!” warned a Pani warrior, within, directing the bannermen, and their attendant troops, to follow him, away from the castle.
Turgus now joined me, come down from the parapet.
“There were a hundred Pani,” I said. “I see almost none.”
“Gone,” said Turgus.
“There were four hundred armsmen,” I said. “I do not think more than a hundred returned.”
“The force, obviously,” said Turgus, “was cut to pieces.”
“I saw no Pani officers,” I said.
“Probably most died in battle,” said Turgus. “Others, I suspect, would not return and face Lord Temmu.”
“They fled?” I said.
“That is not likely,” said Turgus.
“Captured?” I said.
“I do not think so,” said Turgus.
“What then?” I asked.
“It has to do with honor,” he said.
“It is no disgrace to be defeated in battle,” I said, “if one is outfought, if one has done one’s best.”
“I agree,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“We are not Pani,” he said.
The first gate was then shut, and then the second, and then that near us.
“I do not think we will soon march,” said Philoctetes.
“The village below,” I said, “has been abandoned.”
“It is likely to be burned,” said Aeacus.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I spoke to a fellow, who spoke to one, lower on the trail,” said Aeacus. “The enemy is moving toward us.”
“In what strength?” I asked.
“I do not think we know,” said Philoctetes.
“It is speculated,” said Aeacus, “that it is between five and seven thousand ashigaru.”
“I would guess,” said Philoctetes, “that the exploratory force encountered little more than its vanguard.”
“We would then, I conjecture,” I said, “be much outnumbered.”
“Yes,” said Aeacus.
I supposed Lord Temmu, who had furnished the hundred Pani who marched with the exploratory force, had some two thousand troops on which he might rely, most housed within the castle grounds. Lords Nishida and Okimoto, as I estimated their warriors, had some three hundred and fifty men. Of armsmen and mariners, I supposed we retained some eleven hundred men, after the apparent debacle of the exploratory force. All in all, as far as I could estimate these things, we must have something less than thirty-five hundred men at arms. Peasants might be impressed as ashigaru, but, I suspected, from what I had seen earlier, many of the local peasants might have left their villages and fields, and withdrawn to the mountains. We did have some one hundred and forty tarns back in the mountains, with their riders and auxiliary personnel. Whatever might be the initial psychological impact of the tarn on those unfamiliar with its form of life, it would be only a matter of time before it became clear to the enemy that the tarn, however formidable, was a natural creature, limited, and mortal, nothing dreadfully mysterious, no unnatural and inexplicable dragon bird, sprung from the clouds, gifted with the ability to blight fields, towns, and armies. Too, whereas a tarn cavalry can acquire intelligence, strike unexpectedly, cut supply lines, and such, it is of limited value against a distributed land force. In this way it differs from the crashing thunder of a tharlarion charge, or the swift attack of kaiila-mounted lancers.
“How close,” asked Tereus of Aeacus, “is the enemy?”
“One gathers,” said Aeacus, “its sighting may be imminent.”
“Not necessarily,” said Turgus.
“How so?” said Aeacus.
“I have learned,” said Turgus, “from Lord Nishida, that this holding can withstand a siege of thousands, and has done so more than once.”
“So?” said Aeacus.
“Thus I see no rush to be upon us,” said Turgus.
“But the enemy is advancing,” said Tereus.
“Yes,” said Turgus.
“We will be penned here,” said Tereus. “Waiting to be stormed, or to die, of thirst or starvation.”
“The castle is equipped, of course,” said Turgus, “with reservoirs, and supplies.”
“We are muchly outnumbered,” said Tereus. “Many will see little to be gained by huddling together in this place, without prospects.”
“We are not Pani,” said Aeacus.
“There is honor to be satisfied,” I said. “Many of these men have taken fee.”
“This is not our war, and not our country,” said Aeacus.
“Fee has been taken,” I said.
“I smell smoke,�
� said Philoctetes.
“The village,” said Tereus.
He looked across the courtyard, where Seremides, seeing him, quickly, awkwardly, hobbled away.
Tereus’ hand went to the dagger at his belt.
He doubtless remembered Thoas and Andros, and Aeson.
At this point, a Pani crier began to cry out. A set of feasts were to be prepared, served in dozens of rooms, and barracks, and in the courtyard, at long tables, celebrating the victory of the exploratory force. I heard then the roll of drums once more, and the soundings of conch trumpets.
“It seems,” said Turgus, “victory is ours.”
“What victory?” said Philoctetes.
“The return of the exploratory force, some of it,” laughed Tereus, and then he turned away from us.
I watched, to make certain he did not follow Seremides.
“Slaves will serve the feast, will they not?” asked Aeacus.
“One supposes so,” I said.
“They are likely to know nothing of what has occurred,” said Philoctetes.
“They will see it as a victory feast,” said Aeacus.
“I suppose so,” I said.
“I hope they will have tarsk,” said a man.
I hoped that, too, as I was growing weary of rice and parsit. The Pani do raise tarsk, verr, and, of course, vulos.
“Perhaps they will break out paga,” I said.
Some had been brought to the castle from the ship.
“Let us have a good time,” said Turgus.
“Let us commemorate the beginning of a siege,” laughed Aeacus, lifting his hand, as though it held a goblet.
“And,” said a man, “let us celebrate the inviolability of the holding of dear Lord Temmu, and rejoice in our safety and security.”
“Surely we dare not meet the enemy in the field,” said a fellow.
“No,” said Turgus.
“Excellent,” he said. “So we will feast aplenty, and drink apace, whilst the enemy, should he invest this place, may freeze, wither, and starve.”
“How long might a siege last?” asked Aeacus.
“One, I learned from Lord Nishida,” said Turgus, “lasted four years.”
“That would require a great deal of paga,” said a man.
“Learn to savor sake,” said a man.
I looked up to the parapet. I saw the warrior, Nodachi, looking over the parapet, toward the village. He had his two swords with him. After a time, he began to turn about, and perform martial exercises, with a patient, unhurried grace.