by John Norman
"Three rings!" cried a high fellow in one of the Alemanni tribes, the Dangars.
"Five!" cried another fellow, from another of the Alemanni tribes, the Teragar, or Long-River, Borkons.
"No, no!" cried a man, angrily. "See the scale! It tips to the skull! It points to death!"
"No rings of gold for her!" cried a man.
"Would that I had a ring of gray, base lead, to hurl it into the pan of death!" cried another.
Huta hurried to the fellow who had cried this out, and fell to her knees before him, some feet before his table, and then, on her knees, with her body and arms, to the music, lifting her arms to him, so danced, on her knees, in supplication before him.
"Ai!" cried a man.
The fellow tried to turn away, but in a moment, furious, tears streaming down his face, turned again, to regard the slave.
Huta lifted her dark, glorious hair, spreading it about herself, and then shielded herself with it and then, as though timidly, and as if commanded, drew it away from her body, looking at the fellow, as though shyly, frightened, as though he had ordered this done.
"Ai!" he cried, in fury.
And then, to the music, she wrapped the hair about her wrists, as though they might be bound, and then placed her wrists, crossed, behind the back of her head, holding them there, as though they were bound there, and then, before him, regarding him fearfully, surged, and struggled, as though helplessly, as though striving to free herself from bonds, but futilely.
"How now will you cast your pellet?" inquired a fellow at his elbow.
He put his head down, weeping, striking the table with his fists.
And Huta was up, to dance before another. "I will fill your drinking horn with emeralds for her!" called a high fellow of the Aramars, one of many tribes allied with the Alemanni.
"A thousand rubies!" cried another fellow, from the Vessites, the Copper People.
"A diamond from Kolchis III!" cried another fellow, a Buron, from Safa Minor.
There were a great many tribes, and peoples, allied with, or well disposed toward, the Alemanni.
In the Alemanni nation itself, as we have mentioned, there were eleven tribes.
"Dance, slave, dance!" cried a man.
"Yes, Master!" cried Huta.
Huta could not but have been aware of the effect of her dance on the feasters, and, in particular, on the humans, the Alemanni and others, and, indeed, even on certain of the other species as well, some not even closely kindred to the human species. As we have suggested, several of these species kept human females as slaves, putting them to a variety of purposes.
Huta began to suspect, the hope rising in her, suddenly, irresistibly, wildly, elatedly, in her dance, that she might have a chance for life, that she might be able to exert some real influence in her favor, however small, on the dark matter which, only too realistically, hung in the balance.
"Dance!" cried another.
"Yes, Master!" she cried.
I may live, she thought wildly. I may live!
She swayed, meaningfully, before a man.
She read his keen desire in his eyes.
I have power, she thought. I have the power of a slave!
"See! She grows proud!" cried a man.
This terrified Huta, whose slavery then was only too clearly recalled to her.
She flung herself to the rush-strewn, dirt floor, rolling and begging, prostrating herself, piteously.
Her movements said, I am not proud! I am weak and helpless, and I beg mercy!
"Oh!" she suddenly cried, as she lay supine, in the dirt. Her hips suddenly shook, and rocked, uncontrollably. She lifted herself a little, with her hands and her heels. Her haunches heaved, and she was startled. Her hips bucked. She lost the music, bewildered, for a moment, turning to her side, pulling her legs up, in consternation, trying to hide and cover herself.
There was laughter.
"Oh!" cried more than one of the ladies of the empire, moving wildly on her knees. Many of the others turned scarlet, trying to cover themselves.
"Finish your dance!" cried a man.
But Huta, now, could do little more than crawl on her knees, her stomach moving, to reach the foot of the dais.
"Take the vote!"
"Cast the pellets!" cried men.
"Mercy, Master!" wept Huta, beside herself in misery, and bewilderment, her eyes wide, her hands at her hips.
Muchly then was there laughter.
"Behold the needful, helpless slave!" cried a man.
Huta cast a pathetic, helpless glance at him.
"Masters! Masters!" cried one of the former ladies of the empire. "We are yours! Take pity on us!"
"Down!" cried one of the lads, savagely, lashing across the shoulder with his supple, greenwood switch she who had cried out. The former lady of the empire put her head down, bent far over, weeping, clutching her thighs.
Other former women of the empire moaned, looking about themselves, fearfully, wonderingly, at men who might, at a word from Abrogastes, become their masters.
Huta's hips, despite her efforts, moved.
"Forgive me, Master! Mercy, Master!" she cried.
"The music, slave, the music!" cried one of the musicians, angrily.
Abrogastes regarded her, eyes closely lidded, face expressionless, considering what a mere touch might do to such a slave.
"The music!" cried the musician.
Doubtless for such a lapse, in a tavern or brothel, a girl might be muchly leathered.
"The music!" insisted the musician.
The whip lies always to hand, you see, to instruct such women in deportment, its presence admonishing them to control themselves to the end of the dance.
They may afterward be thrown to those for whom they have been reserved.
It was not unknown, too, that their own girls might, upon occasion, in the dark, woolen, silk-lined, lamp-lit tents, fall to the rugs, weeping, tearing away veils, touching their collars, writhing, begging for the touch of masters.
Such was sometimes permitted, if there were no guests.
But sometimes, even in taverns and brothels, it is recognized that a woman, even one frightened and resolved, cannot always help herself. She is, after all, a slave, and is thus in a state of intensified nature. Some of the manuals recommend lenience, even indulgence, at such times.
What is done depends, of course, on the master.
"Dance!" ordered he who was first among the musicians.
Huta then, in agony, crawled to a few feet before the dais of Abrogastes, and knelt before him, precisely as she had before the spear.
"Good! Good!" said the leader of the musicians.
She then, to the music, leaned backward, until her dark hair was swirled upon the rush-strewn floor, and then, slowly, gracefully, came forward, lifting herself, her hands, and arms and body seemingly entwined with the music, obedient to its beat and caress, helplessly responsive to the melody, exquisitely, vitally vulnerable to it, submissive to it, swept up in it, like living silk in the wind, borne by it, and in it, sensuous and rhapsodic, wordless and eloquent, fluent in the speech of desire and emotion, like the glow of firelight on a brass vessel, the movement of silk, the rustle of ankle bells.
"Good," said the leader of the musicians.
Then she bent forward, as she had before the spear, and, trembling, performed obeisance, head to the dirt, palms on the dirt, before Abrogastes, and then lowered herself to her belly, and crawled to the dais.
"Down," said Abrogastes to the rumbling, agitated hound to his right.
The beast subsided, its ears erecting, the bristling, manelike hair, crackling, descending over the knot of muscle at the back of its neck.
Huta then squirmed to the surface of the dais and, putting down her head, began to kiss and lick at the boots of Abrogastes, as she had at the butt of the spear, still held by the two warriors toward the center of the hall.
The music then, suddenly, stopped, Huta's tiny hands about the left boot
of Abrogastes, her lips pressed down, piteously, fervently, to the boot of her master.
Huta trembled.
The furred boot of Abrogastes was damp with her tears, and dampened, and streaked, pressed down, wet, from the desperate, placatory attentions of her soft tongue and lips.
Abrogastes rose to his feet, and, with his boot, thrust Huta from the dais.
She lay then on her side in the rush-strewn dirt at the foot of the dais, trembling.
She drew her legs up, she covered the soft, swelling beauty of her bosom with her hands.
Her hips stirred in the dirt.
She wept. No longer could she help herself.
"Behold the helpless slave!" laughed a man.
There was much laughter.
But the slave, miserable, and in agony, could not, as we have said, help herself.
"The proud Huta has been stripped of her freedom," said a man.
"And of her clothing," laughed another.
"And now, too," said another, "she has been stripped of her pride."
Huta shuddered.
She sensed that no woman who has so danced can ever again be anything but a man's slave.
She lay there in the dirt, trying to control herself.
"It remains now only to strip her of her virginity," said another man.
"Yes," said another.
"Abrogastes!" cried men. "Abrogastes!"
But Abrogastes descended from the dais, and stepped over the trembling form before the dais, which had, in the plans of Abrogastes, now served its purpose.
"Are you well feasted, and well entertained?" called out Abrogastes.
"Yes!" called men, and other forms of life.
Goblets smote upon the heavy planks of the feasting tables.
"This is nothing," cried Abrogastes, "only a little food and drink, and the pathetic appeal, in dance, of a meaningless slave."
Men looked at one another.
"Do you think it is for the sake of such trivialities, such pleasantries, that I have called you here?"
"Speak, Abrogastes," called a man.
"Behold the spear of oathing!" called Abrogastes, pointing to the great spear, held upright by two warriors.
The hall was silent.
Abrogastes then surveyed the former women of the empire, kneeling, huddled together, frightened, here and there, before the tables.
They shrank back, but well, after the dance of Huta, knew themselves slaves.
She who was the first of the three display slaves, kneeling, raised her hands from her thighs, turning them, and lifting the palms, piteously, to Abrogastes.
Another, she who had been lashed when she had called out for the pity of masters, lifted her head a little, pathetically, but dared not move. Muchly did she fear the switch of her impatient, youthful mentor. Her eyes spoke for her.
Others of the women had their thighs pressed closely together. Some squirmed.
"To the spear, slaves!" called Abrogastes, harshly, waving his hand about.
These women had been well instructed by the example of Huta, and they hurried piteously to the great spear, and desperately, in fear for their lives, and, too, muchly aroused by what they had seen, the dance, and the masters about, and their own vulnerability, and condition, as slaves, ministered to the great spear, holding it, grasping it, pressing themselves against it, pathetically, caressing it, licking and kissing it.
There was much laughter at the tables, as the former women of the empire, with their bodies, their small hands, and their lips, and tongues, bestowed attentions upon the mighty spear.
They crowded about the spear, trying to reach it, kneeling, and bellying, none on their feet, each vying with the other, each striving to touch it, to lick and kiss it, each attempting to do so more lovingly, more zealously, more submissively, than the other.
"Behold the women of the empire!" called Abrogastes. He gestured to the crowd of slaves at the spear, performing the spear obeisance.
The men at the tables looked on, approvingly.
"Do they not attempt to caress pleasantly?" asked Abrogastes.
"Yes," said men.
"Do they not attempt to lick and kiss well?" inquired Abrogastes.
"Yes!" called men.
"Are they not pretty little things?" called Abrogastes.
"Yes," shouted men, approvingly.
"Do you not think they could be instructed to squirm well?" inquired Abrogastes.
"Yes!" laughed men.
"Enough!" cried Abrogastes, sharply, and the lads, who had been alerted to this moment in the feast, long before its commencement, lashed the ladies from the spear and to their bellies, where they then lay in the dirt, clustered about it.
"We are despised, as you know, my brothers," said Abrogastes, "by those of the empire, we, the lords of stars, by the fat, the haughty and the weak, by the complacent, the petty, the smug, the wealthy, the arrogant."
Men exchanged glances, uneasily.
"What do they, with their vaunted civilization, their refinements and luxuries, know of hardship, of pain and war, of adventure, of victory?"
"Little, milord," said the clerk.
"Which of them has swum in cold, restless, black waters, who among them has hunted the long-maned lion, who trekked the ice of the month of Igon, pursuing the white bear, who marched, in the heat of solar fire, a pack on his back, a thousand miles to distant outposts, who braved the flood, who forded, afoot, turbulent rivers, who drawn the oars, or held the tiller, of river vessels, who driven the stakes of the high tents, who lived alone in the forest, who met enemies at borders, and on lonely skerries, who hunted beasts and by them was hunted?"
"Not those, surely, of the empire, milord," said the clerk.
"They wear silks and linens, and we coarse cloths, and the skins of beasts," said Abrogastes.
There was silence.
"To whom does the lamb belong?" asked Abrogastes.
"To the lion, milord," said the clerk.
"To whom the pig?"
"The leopard, milord."
"To whom the gazelle?"
"The vi-cat, milord."
"To whom the slaves?"
"To the masters, milord."
The former women of the empire trembled, lying in the dirt, about the foot of the great spear.
"The empire is vast, and rich," said Abrogastes, "vast and rich beyond measure."
"The empire is invincible, and eternal," said a man.
"Once," said Abrogastes, "there was no empire."
Men looked at one another, for the empire was taken much for granted, as might be a mountain or star.
"It is true, milord," said the clerk.
"The empire is invincible," said one of the men, uncertainly.
"Let us raid now and then, and return to our worlds, with some loot, for feasting, the telling of stories, the songs of skalds,'' said a man.
"While the empire strengthens her defenses, and even prepares to send her ships of reprisal forth to follow you?" asked Abrogastes.
"They must find us first," said a man.
There was some uneasy laughter.
"Are you content to be weasels and scavengers, nocturnal filchen to rush forth, at night, to seize a crumb from the garbage of a palace?"
"To what end do you speak, mighty Abrogastes?" inquired a Dangar.
"Walls may be scaled, ditches may be bridged, portals may be smote down," said Abrogastes.
Men looked at one another, uneasily. Much as they might hate the empire, they feared it, either as a dim, vast, remote presence just beyond the horizon, one awesome, one fearsome and menacing, or even as a reality, sharp and bright, fierce, which they may, upon occasion, almost as though in the dark, suddenly, their dismay and grief, have touched.
Huta lay forgotten in the dirt, before the dais.
Only gradually did she begin to understand how she had been used by Abrogastes, she responding totally naturally, in every particle of her being, as she must, in her own needs and interest
, yet, at the same time, just as naturally, serving simultaneously, as was the intent of Abrogastes, to unite the feasters, giving them a common object to hate and hold in contempt, and to ignite their anger and resentment against any form of treason, any form of divisiveness; in these ways, thusly, she found herself used to serve the purposes of Abrogastes. Too, of course, her reduction to slavery, this reduction in status, from that of a consecrated, sacred virgin, even a priestess, to that of a mere desire object, a slave, who could be bought and sold in any market, must convey its message as well. And, of course, doubtless Abrogastes had enjoyed showing her off, displaying her as one of his properties. And, obviously, she had figured in the feast's entertainment, as might have any slave. It seemed clear that several of the feasters had not failed to derive some pleasure from her performance. And, too, of course, she had, in her ministrations at the spear, and in her dance, served her purposes, as well. She had set an example for the former ladies of the empire, instructing them, in her way, in what was required of them at the spear. Too, there was no doubt that her dance had taught them, incontrovertibly, not only what she was, but what they were, as well. Many had moaned with helpless arousal and desire. Some had cried out. Many had squirmed in need, some scarcely understanding what was going on in their bodies. Her dance, if such were needed, had readied them, primed them, for slave service. They wanted now their masters' touch. They, though former ladies of the empire, were now eager for it, now zealous for it. Some were ready even now, though not so long in their collars, to beg for it.