The Totems of Abydos

by John Norman

  Brenner was pleased that Rodriguez had the rifle. Brenner, of course, had, as far as he knew, seldom been in danger. On the other hand, he knew that dangers did exist, at least in certain places. They existed in space, for example, and not merely from such things as equipment failures, the leakage of suits, the jamming of locks, and such, or radiation and orbiting debris, but even from some forms of rational life, for example, from the masters of rogue ships, the pilots of predatory corsairs, and such. Too, there had been dangers, it had been hinted, even on the home world, at least in certain backward areas, in which it was rumored that certain elements of the population had not yet been fully domesticated. Brenner had avoided such areas, of course. But in the forests, he conjectured, there might be dangers, genuine dangers, dangers not always easy to avoid, from which not even a party card, if he had had one, would have served as an adequate guarantee of safety. Doubtless in the forests there were wonderful life forms and such, but wonderful as they might be, they might not be literate, and they might be hungry. But then, he told himself, there is probably, actually, little danger. Such things tended to be exaggerated. Consider for example that the Pons had camped in safety, apparently for days, outside the fence. And they actually lived in the forests themselves, with their primitive culture, their simplicities, and no tools more formidable than, say, pointed sticks and their tiny “scarps,” little more than sharpened spoons. No, there would be no real dangers, even in the forests. Surely life, existence in its many aspects, had outgrown danger. But, still, he was not displeased that Rodriguez had brought the rifle. A charge from it could cut through a tree.

  Brenner could not, of course, at least now, forget the woman. He wondered if she were still there, back, behind the fence, closed in, on the other side of it. Probably not, he thought. She has her pastry. He wondered why she had cried out that she hated him. He doubted that that was true. Too, why should she hate him? After all, she had received her pastry. He had not even made her beg for it, and perform for it, as might, for a master’s amusement, have been required of a slave.

  He stopped, but he did not look back. The Pons near him stopped with him, and even, too, those following, with the tent poles, and such.

  He must not think of the woman, he told himself.

  But what would become of her, he wondered. She had surmised, and doubtless with considerable justification, that her eventual fate would be the anklet, or collar, on some far world. Surely that seemed not impossible. It was a common fate, Brenner had gathered, for women on contract. He had conjectured that she would look well, serving, in a G-string and collar. Surely that was true. He considered her, being handed from master to master, from world to world. He thought she would probably bring an excellent price. He wondered what her brand might look like. Such things are, he had gathered, at least in the case of women, discreet and lovely, enhancing their beauty. They would also be, of course, clear, and easily locatable. He recalled that she had declared herself his slave. It was well, he thought, that Company Station was not a place where such utterances constituted legal enactments. There were, of course, many such worlds. To be sure, in her case, such an utterance, even on a different world, one where such utterances could be taken as legally efficacious, would not be binding. She was under contract. She had declared herself his slave. That was nice, he thought. He considered her, stripped and collared, kneeling beside his bed, begging to be permitted to crawl into it. It was a pleasant picture.

  One of the Pons pulled at his sleeve, and he, angrily, shook his sleeve, disengaging its grasp. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to the small creature.

  He was tempted to look back, but he did not do so.

  He continued on his way.

  How well she had looked on the bed, removing the sheet, bit by bit, moving before him!

  He smiled.

  How desperately she had wanted to please him, almost as though he had been, in truth, not the simple patron of an establishment, but her owner, her master!

  Forget her, he ordered himself. It is best to be done with her. She is a vile, low woman. She is not a person. She is insufficiently neuteristic. She does not behave as she should, as a “same.” She was found “incurable.” There could be no place for such as she on the home world. She had thus, appropriately, been put under contract and deported. She was disgusting! She had sexual needs! Brenner was pleased he had treated her as he had, coldly, and abandoned her. It was well that such vile needs be denied and frustrated! Or let her be reduced to bondage, in which degraded condition such needs are not only acceptable, but welcomed. And, indeed, in bondage, they are not only welcomed, but required! But he hoped, in spite of his contempt for her, and her weaknesses, that she would return to the zard’s establishment before her absence might be noted. It was still early. Perhaps she could slip in, unnoticed. He did not want her hurt. He recalled the heavy, supple quirt which had lain on the zard’s desk. He hoped that would not be used on her. He hoped that the zard would, as would presumably one of his own species, take into consideration her slightness, her softness, and beauty. Surely a chaining, and a switching, would be enough. She was not stupid. That should suffice to reform her behavior. Then he shuddered. He remembered the scaly countenance of the zard, its stature, and the seldom-blinking eyes. How much she must have wanted that pastry, thought Brenner. Brenner did not doubt, of course, that discipline was necessary to keep order in a house, for example, amongstst contracted women, and surely amongstst slaves, but he hoped, too, that the zard would possess at least a modicum of common sense about such matters. It was some consolation to him to suppose that the zard was a rational creature, and a businessman, so to speak. He had, if nothing else, an investment to protect. He would then, doubtless, adopt a policy which would both, insofar as these objectives were mutually achievable, preserve the beauty and usefulness of his contractees, women of Brenner’s species, and, at the same time, guarantee the absolute perfection of their service. Then again he shuddered. He had again thought of the creature’s seldom-blinking eyes. Hopefully the zard knew something of his species, and of the nature of pain. Brenner supposed that discipline is best imposed within a given species, that its nature and effects may be more adequately understood. Rodriguez had once told him, with a laugh, that slaves almost universally desire to belong to members of their own species. Brenner now thought he understood that remark more fully than he had earlier. To be sure, there were many reasons for keeping a bondage relation an intraspecific one, for example, the master’s knowledge of the nature of the slave’s nutrition and physiology, her exercise and rest needs, the limits of her small strength, her parameters of performance, her requirements with respect to atmospheres, her tolerances with respect to climatic conditions, and so on, not to mention such obvious things as the ease of communication and the mutual intelligibility of behaviors. Too, of course, in many cases, as was the case in Brenner’s species, the female can be a source, in many ways, of enormous pleasure to the male. That is another advantage of intraspecific bondage.

  Brenner’s foot slipped to the side in the mud, but he quickly regained his balance.

  Yes, thought Brenner, that is doubtless one of the major reasons one buys them off the block, for the pleasure one will derive from them.

  He would not look back.

  If she was serious about loving him why had she not cast aside the pastry? Why had she kept it? That proved it was the pastry she wanted, that the rest had been a pretense.

  He would not look back.

  Surely she would be gone by now.

  He would not look back.

  He trusted that she would have turned about by now and run as quickly as her small, sweet, shapely legs would carry her, back to the establishment of the zard. Hopefully she would manage to return unnoticed. That would be clever of her, to both obtain the pastry and escape a beating.

  He would not look back.

  She must be gone by now.

  He would not look back. But then, as he ascended a small hillock, s
ome yards before the beginning of the trees, he did stop, and he did turn about, and he did, over the heads of the Pons, look back.

  Her small figure was still there, on the plank road, behind the double fence, not far from the tower.

  For a moment he had not seen it as the area had been obscured by fog. Then the wind had stirred the fog, whipping it softly away from the gates. Now he saw it clearly, small, through the soft rain, clutching the cloak about itself.

  How stupid she is, he thought, angrily. Let her hurry back before she is caught out of the house without permission! But he was glad he saw her. He was glad she was still there. She must have seen him, too, on the hillock, turned, for she lifted her arm to him. He did not return the gesture. She still, in one hand, held the pastry. She had not cast it away, she had not relinquished it. That is what she wanted, thought Brenner. That is why she came to the gates this morning, why she risked so much. It interested him that so tiny, so frivolous a thing, a trivial sweet, could have been so important to her. He looked at her again. Again she lifted her arm, but, again, he did not respond. Then he turned about, quickly, and descended the hillock. Rodriguez and most of the Pons, with the sled, were waiting at the edge of the trees.

  “Are you all right?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Yes,” said Brenner.

  She had said that she loved him, and that she hated him. Surely that was some sort of contradiction. Brenner wondered what love might be, and if it truly existed. One school of thought, of course, held that love was a myth devised by men to oppress women. This position had originated, it seemed, with frustrated women who hated men and wished to destroy them as men, blaming them for all their own difficulties and shortcomings, and, who, in many cases, as it had turned out, interestingly, wanted other women to themselves. Strangely enough they were rival “lovers.” One did not hear much of “love” these days. He was a little puzzled, even, that she had heard of it, at least in an intersexual sense. Could it have emerged somehow naturally, spontaneously, within her? But how would she have known what to call it? She must have heard of it somewhere before. That was not impossible. There were, of course, worlds on which love, intersexual love, was accepted and known, but they were, on the whole, worlds in which the position of women was low, “suitably low,” as Rodriguez might have said. Love did seem to have something to do with putting women to the feet of men. But he doubted that men had invented this. Rather it seemed to have to do with the nature of love. There had been, at first, it seemed, an attempt to change the meaning of the word, by talk of what constituted “true love,” and such, to conformance with the political objectives of certain establishments, but this had not been successful. Unsuccessful, too, interestingly, had been efforts to construe “love” in terms of the civil tepidities, respect, and dignity, and such, prescribed to obtain amongst “sames.” Now, generally, however, one did not hear the word, at least publicly and in intersexual contexts. It had become, in such contexts, a word which occurred only infrequently in polite, informed discourse, a word which had become, in effect, to recall an ancient allusion, merely another “four-letter” word. To be sure, love was regarded as appropriate in certain contexts, as for the parties, for the state, and such things, and also for all life forms, of course, regardless of their placement on various phylogenetic scales. It was acceptable for a man to declare his love publicly for coelenterates, for example, and some did, but not for women. Brenner wondered what love might be, and if, indeed, there were such a thing. It must be some sort of emotion, he thought, or something like that, only perhaps much more complex. He did not doubt that there was hate. He had seen a great deal of that, even in his sheltered life. If there were hate, it seemed likely then, though not necessary, of course, that there might be such a thing as love. But surely the whole notion is unintelligible, thought Brenner. Yet she had said she loved him. He had heard, of course, that slaves often loved their masters, even when their masters had forbidden it. That was of interest to Brenner. Surely she had seemed, in many ways, slavelike, so passionate, so beautiful, so helpless, so desirous to please. Perhaps then, as she was such a woman, such a weak, low, helpless, worthless thing, she did love him. Perhaps she was indeed a slave, and that it was precisely in virtue of this that she was capable of love. But too, he reminded himself, she had said she hated him.

  “Are you all right?” asked Rodriguez, again.

  “Yes,” said Brenner, angrily.

  Some of the Pons looked up at him, through the holes in the hoods, blinking. Their eyes seemed large, and soft.

  “This is as far as we are going,” said Rodriguez, “without seeing whom we are with.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Brenner.

  One of the Pons suddenly squeaked, seized by the arm by Rodriguez.

  “Stop!” said Brenner, horrified.

  But Rodriguez had his free hand on the hood covering the creature’s head. It squirmed. It tried to hold the hood over its features. “Grab that one!” said Rodriguez, gesturing with his head to another Pon.

  “No!” said Brenner. “Stop!”

  “He’s a strong little bastard,” said Rodriguez.

  “Stop!” said Brenner.

  Then Rodriguez had jerked away the hood.

  “It may bite!” said Brenner.

  But the Pon did not bite. Rodriguez held it now, firmly, by the back of the neck and, with his free hand, forced open its mouth.

  “Must you do that?” asked Brenner.

  “See?” asked Rodriguez, grinning.

  “Yes,” said Brenner.

  “No fangs,” smiled Rodriguez.

  “It may be poisonous,” said Brenner.

  “I doubt it,” said Rodriguez.

  The dendition of the Pon was regular, small, and fine.

  The other Pons had scurried back, away from Rodriguez and the sled. They stood about, a few feet back.

  “Do not be afraid,” said Brenner, soothingly.

  Rodriguez released the Pon. Interestingly, it did not run away. It stood near him, looking up at him.

  “Do you think you’re going to buy it, or sell it, or something?” asked Brenner.

  Rodriguez laughed.

  Slavers sometimes force open the mouths of captured free women, as a portion of their assessment. The nature of a female’s dentition can be informative, providing as it does an index to such things as her general health and condition, her accustomed diet, her age, and, even, in some cases, her former socioeconomic class. Sometimes the mouths of women in markets are also forced open but this is usually merely to remind them that they are slaves, as they, subject to the submission consequent upon their condition, may not only not attempt to prevent, but must, upon any appropriate indication, comply with, and abet, all such inquiries, inspections, and examinations.

  “You should not have done that,” said Brenner. “You might frighten them. You might make it difficult to win their confidence. You might contaminate the data. You might even be violating some kind of taboo.”

  “No,” said Rodriguez. “I know what I am doing. These little bastards have shown up often enough at Company Station without hoods. I checked that with the operator at the gates.”

  “The hoods, then, are for our benefit,” said Brenner.

  “Apparently,” said Rodriguez.

  “Why would they conceal their faces from us?” asked Brenner.

  “I’m not sure,” said Rodriguez.

  “If they had anything to hide, they surely would not have invited us in,” said Brenner.

  “I would think not,” said Rodriguez.

  “They may be afraid of us,” said Brenner.

  “Possibly,” said Rodriguez.

  “Perhaps they are pathologically shy,” said Brenner.

  “Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.

  “Perhaps it is a custom to welcome guests while hooded?” said Brenner.

  “Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.

  “Perhaps it is really intended to have its full effect later, in rendering familiar
, or unsuspect, a concealment for their females,” said Brenner.

  “That is possible,” said Rodriguez. “By hooding all, they might hope to indirectly achieve such a desiderated objective, in an apparently innocent manner.”

  On many worlds, of course, and in particular on those on which men were untamed, and proud, it was customary for free women to veil themselves, putatively that their beauty not constitute an irresistible provocation to sexual predation. To be sure, there seemed to be cultural ambiguities in such matters. For example, there was little doubt that veiling was in its way, rather like vulnerability and shyness in a woman, often sexually stimulatory to the male. It tended to suggest that she was a concealed treasure, and to enhance her aspects of remoteness, mystery, and inaccessibility. Besides, were veils not meant to be removed? Accordingly, veiling, the intent of which might seem to be to reduce the temptations which might otherwise overwhelm strong, excitable males, did not always have this effect. Too, it might be noted that the free women on these worlds often lavished great care and ingenuity on these veils, treating them less as defensive opacities, behind which they might hide, than as stimulatory accessories to their desirability. As a note it might be added that slaves on such worlds, and on such worlds, where there are strong men, there are always slaves, were commonly denied veiling. That dignity was not to be theirs. Rather, as was appropriate, given the lowliness and degradation of their condition, let them be shamed, refused the security and honor of the veil. Let their faces be bared, exposed to the gaze of any.

  “But we do not really know,” said Brenner.

  “No,” said Rodriguez, “but in any event I will not go into the forests with things whose faces I cannot see.”

  Brenner looked at the Pon. It was tiny, of course, hardly coming to Rodriguez’s waist. It was fine boned. It seemed childlike. Its head and face were covered with hair, the face’s hair a lighter down. It’s eyes were large. Its hands and feet, as its body, were small. It had five digits on each hand, as Brenner would have expected, from the reports. Its nose was not prominent, but broad and flat. Its forehead sloped slightly backward. Its jaw was slightly prognathous. Its appearance, on the whole, was rather simian. Brenner, like Rodriguez, doubted that it was poisonous. It was regarding Rodriguez quizzically, sometimes blinking with the large eyes. It seemed surprising to Brenner that something like that, which resembled the tiny apes of Thera, was rational, that it could think, to some extent, and speak. To be sure, they lacked metallurgy and native pottery. They did have a culture, of a sorts, however simplistic. They were primitive. They were reputedly totemistic. The totem animal, Brenner recalled, was the Abydian mouse, or Abydian ground git, a tiny, stub-tailed rodent. That seemed fitting for the Pons.