Gor 30 - Mariners of Gor

by Norman, John;

  The house would close at the twentieth Ahn, to open in the morning, with the first light. Several Merchants, I did not doubt, would arrive well before dawn.

  “As I recall,” said the stranger, “you were going to buy us some food.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That should be easy, as there are still several vendors about.”

  “Yes,” I said. I did have some tarsk-bits in my purse, and I had certainly volunteered to buy something to eat. On the other hand, that was at a time, as I recalled, when I thought the stranger had not a tarsk-bit to his name. He was now a wealthy man, quite possibly the most wealthy man in Brundisium not of the Merchant caste. I suddenly began to suspect something of the economic dispositions, calculations, and shrewdness of the extremely wealthy, which shrewdness, and such, apparently, it did not take long to acquire. After all, I thought to myself, too, he is a Cosian, and everyone knows what Cosians are like, though to be perfectly honest I had never given much thought up to that point as to Cosians in general. Still, he was not a bad fellow. And some fellows are changed by a single tarn disk, so there was some excuse for him.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  In a few moments I had made my way to a vendor’s cart and purchased some wrappings of food. I spent a bit more than I had intended, an extra tarsk-bit or two, but, in this manner, I thought, I might demonstrate the munificence of the Caste of Scribes, apparently a munificence well beyond that of warriors, mariners, the common oarsman, the newly rich, and such, a munificence, to be sure, commonly exercised within judicious limits.

  “Where is your master?” I asked Alcinoë.

  She was kneeling where I had left her and the stranger.

  “I do not know, Master,” she said.

  “You are not secured,” I said.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  Usually one does not leave a good-looking slave alone, unless properly secured. There were, at the wall, for example, some slave rings, to which more than one slave was chained.

  “What is going on?” I asked. “Was there trouble?”

  “I do not know, Master,” she said. “I do not think there is trouble. My Master said for me to wait here, and we might begin to eat.”

  “Is he coming back?” I asked. “The warehouse will close shortly.”

  “I am very hungry,” she said.

  I gave her one of the wrappings of food, and took another. After a time, as the stranger had not returned, and the warehouse was to close in a bit, we divided the last wrapping of food between us.

  Let Callias take that, I thought.

  Still I was uneasy.

  “I fear for your master,” I said.

  “He is armed,” she said.

  “What business would take him from your side?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “It must be of great importance,” I said.

  “I would like to think so,” she said, licking her fingers.

  “The closing bar will ring shortly,” I said. “It will be the twentieth Ahn. We will be expelled.”

  Already some of the tables were closing.

  Some men were exiting the warehouse.

  “Where is he?” I asked. “I am concerned. I am apprehensive. The streets may be dangerous.”

  Actually I did not have too much concern along these lines, as the night lamps would be lit, and, given the warehouse, the exiting Merchants, and such, there would be a number of guardsmen about, private guards, city guards, and guards in the employ of the harbor administration. Too, I had little doubt there would be a sufficient number of Pani about, as well, some to assure the safe conduct of their goods, gains, and such, back to the ship, and others outside, to guard the warehouse, and the abundant stores still within.

  “I trust he had something to eat,” I said.

  “I would suppose so,” she said.

  “He was to return, and meet us here, was he not?” I asked.

  “He did not say so,” she said.

  “It seems he has been detained,” I said.

  “He is armed,” she reminded me.

  “On what business was he embarked?” I asked. “Did he say nothing?”

  At that point the trading bar began to ring.

  “It is the twentieth Ahn,” I said.

  “I think we must leave,” she said.

  That was very clear, as goods were being covered, lamps were being extinguished, the praetors had left their platforms, and attendants were marshalling folks out. To dally was to invite the intervention of guardsmen, impatient for the conclusion of their day’s duty. It is well to follow the requests and instructions of such fellows punctually. The pounding of spear shafts and butts produces serious bruising.

  “I still do not see him,” I said, looking about, outside the large portal to the warehouse.

  The street was darker than I had anticipated. I could see lights on the River Dragon, moored at the nearby wharf. The crowds were thinning out, and, I feared, the streets would be soon deserted. I did see a pair of guardsmen at the land end of the wharf, and a number of Pani were taking up stations near the now-closed warehouse.

  That much was surely to the good.

  I supposed it was safe enough in the vicinity of the warehouse.

  I was not at all sure about some of the nearby streets.

  Where was Callias?

  If he had not met us in the warehouse, should he not, at least, meet us here, outside the warehouse?

  The bar had rung.

  It was clearly past the twentieth Ahn.

  “Should I not be bound and leashed?” asked the slave.

  “Your master retained the sirik,” I said.

  “You have no binding fiber, no leash?” she asked.

  “I am a Scribe,” I said.

  “Do not Scribes have slaves?” she asked.

  “This one does not,” I said.

  “If you had one, you would doubtless have such things,” she said.

  “Doubtless,” I said.

  “Poor master,” she said.

  I could think of a slave I would have enjoyed having in my binding fiber, and on my leash, a slender brunette, a barbarian paga slave, whom I knew from The Sea Sleen.

  I looked down the dark street, about the right-hand corner of the warehouse, as one faced it.

  “I would rather have you free,” I said, “so that you can scream, and run for guardsmen.”

  “But men might emerge from a doorway,” she said, “and subdue and gag me before I could do so.”

  “We will keep to the center of the street,” I said.

  “The streets seem to be quite narrow,” she said.

  “Ho!” called a cheery voice.

  “Callias!” I cried.

  “Here you are,” he said, genially. “Let us make our way to your domicile. As Alcinoë and I have no other lodging, and it is rather late, I take it you will put us up, give us breakfast, and charge us nothing.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “Who but a boor could deny one as needy as you so trivial a boon?”

  “Good fellow,” he said.

  He then took some time to embrace and kiss Alcinoë.

  “It is past the twentieth Ahn,” I said. “It is rather dark.”

  Callias unsheathed his sword and led the way, followed by myself, and, lastly, heeling us, Alcinoë.

  People of means commonly do not frequent the streets at night, and, when they do, they often hire a lantern bearer and a pair of guardsmen to attend them.

  My domicile was not far away, but it always seemed farther than usual at night.

  “It is a pleasant night,” said Callias.

  He was in a good mood, which, given the events of the day, was not inexplicable.

  “Do not sheathe your sword,” I said.

  “Just smell Thassa, the salt, the wind from the sea,” he said.

  “Watch the doorways,” I said.

  My domicile was reached by an external stairway, leading to a long balcony
, off of which were several common-wall dwellings in a single long, elevated building, on pilings, facing the harbor. It is within walking distance of the registry. Two lamps were posted at the head of the stairwell, and, in their light, one could negotiate not only the stairs but, though with more difficulty, the balcony, which tended to the left of the stairwell.

  We ascended the stairway, went left, and, a few doors later, were before my domicile.

  “Wait!” I said. “That is not my signature knot.”

  “No,” said Callias, “it is mine.”

  Many doors in Brundisium, particularly in the more impecunious quarters, are tied shut, often by a leather cord tied about two staples, one on the door and the other on the jamb. To enter the door, one simply unties the knot and frees the door. Whereas anyone may untie the knot the tying of the knot is a secret, difficult to duplicate except by one familiar with the knot. If, say, the proprietor returns to the dwelling and discovers the knot is missing or different, that suggests that the area has been entered without authorization. Doors may be secured from the inside, usually by two bars. In some dwellings, of a somewhat better sort, such as mine, the signature-knot fastening is combined with a latch or bolt arrangement, in which the drawing of a latch string, put through a small hole in the door, moves the latch or bolt. When one is absent, or within and, say, expecting company, the latch string may be left free, outside the door. When one wishes, one draws the latch string within, which prevents the door from being opened, except from the inside. In more prosperous areas, generally farther from the waterfront and the warehouse district, metal locks, answering to metal keys, are more common. Some of these locks are massive, with corresponding keys. Indeed, the keys might function as weapons.

  Callias undid his knot, drew the latch string, freeing the latch, and opened the door.

  “After you,” he said.

  “The lamp is lit,” I said.

  “I left it on,” he said.

  “I will see if I can find you something to eat,” I said.

  “Do not bother,” he said. “I had a pleasant supper at a tavern.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “I trust you fed well,” he said.

  “The vendors had something left,” I said.

  “Splendid,” he said.

  “It is late,” I said. “I shall arrange some bedding.”

  “When I am finished with Alcinoë,” he said, “she shall sleep at my feet.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Friend,” said Callias.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You have treated me well,” said Callias. “You were kind in the tavern. You offered me money. You befriended me. You gave me lodging. I am grateful.”

  “It is nothing,” I said.

  He pressed into my hand a tiny beadlike object.

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Low Scribes do not have such things,” I said.

  “Be the first,” he said.

  “I cannot accept this,” I said. My view of rich men, and, in particular, of Cosians, was in the process of being suddenly and radically transformed. They were, after all, were they not, generous and noble sorts?

  “Would you dishonor me, by refusing?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “And there will be more later,” he said. “Where are you going?”

  “To The Sea Sleen!” I said.

  “Hold,” said Callias, “it is late, and dark, you are unarmed.”

  “No matter,” I said.

  “You would carry a golden tarsk through the streets of Brundisium, at this Ahn?” he inquired.

  “Who would know?” I asked.

  “One need not know,” he said. “You could be robbed for a copper tarsk, for a tarsk-bit.”

  “I wish you well!” I said. “You, too, Alcinoë!”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “I take it you have a sudden craving for paga,” said Callias.

  “A sudden craving, yes, dear friend,” I said, lifting my clenched fist, holding the tiny, beadlike coin, a golden tarsk, “but scarcely for paga.”

  “What then could you possibly have in mind?” he asked.

  “Come now, dear friend,” I said, “can you not recall something which I could not hitherto afford, something in a yellow camisk, with bells on her left ankle?”

  “The paga girl,” he said, “the slender brunette?”

  “Of course!” I said.

  “She is a barbarian,” said Callias.

  “One I want in my arms,” I said.

  “You would do that, you would buy her, a barbarian?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes!”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Be serious,” I said.

  “Barbarians are not that rare,” he said, “not in the larger markets. They are brought from that place called Earth.”

  “Surely you have noted,” I said, “that they are generally of extremely high quality.”

  “They are selected with that in mind,” he said.

  “It is not simply that she is beautiful, that she is exquisite, that she is delicate, that she has deep, profound eyes, lips made for kisses, small wrists and ankles, that her body is rich in slave curves, in the many turnings and planes which the auctioneer’s whip calls to our attention. It goes mysteriously beyond such things, eluding calculations and measurements.”

  “To you,” said Callias, “she is different, and special.”

  “So tamely put,” I said, “such words manage only to point, only to hint, at ineluctable, mysterious matchings, and sensings.”

  “Perhaps,” said Callias.

  “And what does Alcinoë mean to you?” I asked.

  “Ah!” smiled Callias.

  “Master,” breathed Alcinoë, softly.

  “To all fours,” he said to her.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  This position can be igniting to a female slave, being so positioned by a master. At the least, they are well reminded, so positioned beside a man, that they are slaves.

  No free woman, of course, would be so positioned.

  It makes clear that the slave, legally, and otherwise, is an animal, her master’s animal.

  “Surely,” I said, “you could detect her intelligence, her sensitivity, her emotional depth, her readiness, her softness, her femininity, her needs, the incipience of her passions?”

  “I gathered something of that,” he said.

  “Consider,” I said, “such a one, with all her beauty, intelligence, and depth, and how helpless she will be when slave fires burn in her belly!”

  “I saw her look upon you,” he said. “I suspect they burn there already.”

  “She is perfect,” I said.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “Consider the studies to which she was drawn, studies of a world much different from her own, a simpler, more natural world.”

  “And she a female,” he said.

  “What would be the most, on such a world, for which she, an alien female, might hope, and what, on such a world, might be what she truly desired, wanted, and would hope for?”

  “As she is a desirable female, and might bring a decent price on a block, that seems clear,” he said.

  “She must have understood,” I said, “that she, in all likelihood, if found on such a world, would be captured, and would soon find herself stripped and in the chains of a slave, awaiting her sale.”

  “I would think so,” he said.

  “Do you think she did not know herself, even on her own world, as suitably a man’s slave?” I said.

  “What woman does not, on any world?” he asked.

  He looked on Alcinoë, and she, on all fours, put down her head.

  “Why then should she be denied, as her own world would deny her, submission to the mastery, ropes on her ankles, her wrists pinioned behind her back in slave bracelets, a collar on her neck, her lips pressed obediently to a master
’s whip?”

  “I, for one,” he said, “would have no interest in denying her such things, particularly if she would look well at a man’s feet. It is cruel to deny to a woman her nature, and, as well, to a man his.”

  “She would be a delicious, perfect slave,” I said. “I want her! I want her, wholly! I want to own her, completely! Let herself then discover herself, and know herself, as that for which nature has designed her, a man’s slave!”

  “And if you owned her,” he said, “and she writhed in her chains before you, miserable in the throes of slave fires, and begged for the attentions commonly bestowed on a slave, would you show her mercy?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “if she begged well.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “Master,” said Alcinoë to the stranger, looking up at him, “I am needy!”

  “Kneel,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Bedding is there,” I said, pointing to a side of the room. “And in the locker, at the back, you will find ka-la-na, and food. I am off now to The Sea Sleen!”

  “Do not go,” said Callias.

  I paused at the door.

  “You advise me to wait until morning?” I asked. Surely there was much to be said for such counsel.

  “No,” he said.

  “You wish me to wait, a bit,” I asked, “and you, armed, would accompany me? I would be grateful, and that is thoughtful, but it is not necessary. Too, I suspect there must be guardsmen about. I will keep to the wider, better-lit streets.”

  “No,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “It is too late,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “I stopped by The Sea Sleen, after leaving the warehouse,” he said. “It is there I had supper.”

  “So?” I said, apprehensively.

  “The slave whom I suppose you mean,” he said, “the slender brunette, who heard the story of the voyage, she of the yellow camisk and belled ankle, is no longer there.”

  “No!” I cried.

  “I assume she is the one you had in mind,” he said.

  “She is no longer there?” I said. “Are you sure? Perhaps she was not on the floor at the time.”

  “No,” he said. “She was sold.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Recently,” he said.