by John Norman
“What of me?” asked Cornhair.
“What of you?” said the dealer.
“Am I not, too, to be clothed?” asked Cornhair.
“Do you wear a tunic well?” he asked.
“It is my hope that I would be more amply concealed,” she said.
“Do you wear a tunic well?” he asked.
“Doubtless as well as any other woman,” she said.
“As well as a slave?” he asked.
“Doubtless,” she said.
“And appropriately?” he asked.
“Surely not appropriately,” said Cornhair.
“You have a slave body,” he said.
“Master!” protested Cornhair.
“You may thank me,” he said. “You have been complimented.”
“‘Complimented’?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Slave bodies are the loveliest, the most exciting, and desirable of female bodies. Those with such bodies should be slaves, and, obviously, in the way of nature, have been bred for bondage.”
“I?” she said. “Bred for bondage?”
“Yes,” he said, “externally, and internally.”
Cornhair, of course, from the tale of a thousand mirrors, was well aware of her lineaments. She was well aware that they might bring coin off a slave block. Indeed, had it not been for such, she supposed she would not have been recruited as a tool for shaping deeds to the ends of Iaachus, he, Arbiter of Protocol in the court of the emperor, Aesilesius. Surely her beauty, such as it was, had been germane to his projects, a beauty which, as it seems, had not been marred, but, rather, considerably enhanced by being fastened in a collar. But, what of internality? Could she, in virtue of the simple realities of her sex, emotionally, profoundly, psychologically, and needfully, have been bred for bondage? It would be a strange nature, indeed, which would content itself with façades, and leave unattended, neglected, and unfurnished the rooms within, the chambers and housings of the heart and mind. Nigh overwhelming her, there rushed upon her a thousand memories and desires, and readinesses, tremblings, and hopings, feelings which she had tried to cry out against, against which she had tried to levy and lodge a thousand prescribed, acculturated denials, only to be once more afflicted by the persistent, intrusive whispers of a prohibited nature.
“You may thank me,” said the dealer.
“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.
She struggled to reject the thought that her body was suffused with warmth when she uttered her response.
Then she clung again, desperately, to the mockery and deceit, the veil, behind which she dared not look, for fear of what might be found.
“In time, you will learn yourself,” said the dealer.
“I now know myself,” she said.
“I think not,” he said, “not yet.”
“Master,” she said.
“Yes?” he said.
“I am not yet clothed,” she said.
“Clearly,” he said. “Keep your head down.”
“And,” she said, “it seems, a mere slave has been given precedence over me, placed forward, near the reins of the horses, at the side of the wagon bench.”
“So?” inquired the dealer.
“Why she?” asked Cornhair.
“It pleased me,” he said.
“I beg permission to speak to Master,” she said.
“You may do so,” he said.
“Master does not understand who I am,” she said.
“You are a slave,” he said. “What else is there to know?”
“I am not a common slave,” she said.
“I see you as common, indeed, as more common than most,” he said.
“Master,” she said, “is apparently unaware of my antecedents.”
“I do not understand,” he said.
“May I kneel before Master, and look up at him?” asked Cornhair.
“Very well,” he said, puzzled.
“I have awaited the opportunity to identify myself,” she said. “It is now at hand.”
“I do not understand,” he said.
“Master is Telnarian?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Master is then well aware of many of the high families of the empire, families which brought about the glories, the victories, the achievements and conquests, of the empire, the thousand families which, in their way, are the historical foundation on which the empire rests, which constitute the entwining, genealogical fibers which bind worlds together, which dignify, ennoble, and enhance the imperium itself.”
“I am aware,” he said, “of the rapacious, high honestori, which seizes land and covets resources, which loots peasantries and buys palaces, which renders land sterile, poisons seas, and, with fumes and noxious vapors, clouds and darkens skies, which manages and ruins worlds, which takes all and gives nothing.”
“No!” said Cornhair. “I speak of the finest and the best, of the true nobility of the empire, of the highest and most glorious of the ancestral lines, such as that of the Larial Calasalii!”
“The worst!” snorted the dealer.
“You have heard of the Larial Calasalii?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Regardless of what you may think of them,” she said, “they are powerful. Their wealth could buy worlds!”
“You think so?” he said.
“Yes!” she said.
“What has this to do with you, a naked little slave, at my feet, in your collar?”
“I am the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of the Larial Calasalii!”
“You tell me,” he asked, “I have such a person before me, kneeling in the dirt, not yards from a Herul camp, collared?”
“I am she!” said Cornhair.
“Your thigh,” said he, “wears, tiny and unmistakable, the rose, your neck the circlet of bondage.”
“Very well,” she said, “if you wish, I was the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of the Larial Calasalii!”
In imparting this information it seems that Cornhair failed to mention that she had been cast from the family, in effect, put aside and disowned.
“Very impressive,” said he.
“So, now,” she said, “have me rise, remove this dreadful, degrading object which encircles my neck, and bring me, as soon as possible, suitable clothing, garmenture fit for a lady of quality.”
“Why?” he asked.
“That I may be restored to my rightful dignity.”
“Ransomed, perhaps?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“Or bought?” he said.
“If you wish,” she said.
“By your family?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“What would they pay?” he asked.
“They will pay any price,” she said.
“Thousands of darins?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“I have seen your sort,” he said, “on many selling platforms, at crossroads, at fairs, at provincial markets, on holidays. You would bring between fifteen and twenty darins.”
From her position forward, in the wagon box, kneeling at the side of the wagon bench, the voice of White Ankles trilled with laugher.
“I do not understand?” said Cornhair.
“On your belly,” said the dealer. “Cross your ankles, and cross your wrists, behind you.”
Dismayed, Cornhair put herself to her belly, and assumed the prescribed position. Shortly thereafter, her crossed ankles were bound together, and her wrists, behind her, as well.
She was then lifted up, over the side of the wagon bed, and deposited on the boards.
“Do not do this to me, Master,” she protested. “I am—I was!—the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of the Larial Calasalii!”
; “You know little now of the Larial Calasalii,” said the dealer.
“We are of the exalted honestori, of the high patricians, of the senatorial class!” she said.
“No more,” he said. “It began as a clash of private armies, between the Larial Calasalii and the Larial Farnichi.”
Perhaps it might be noted that private armies were not rare in Telnarian times. There were many reasons for this, given the frequent absences of enforceable imperial authority, the precariousness of life, the lack of, or fragility of, communication, the exhaustion of land, the paucity of goods, the desire to protect and control dwindling resources, the desire to suppress banditry and piracy, the desire to rule and wield power, and such. Indeed, as the empire became ever more expanded and unwieldy its effective power, so attenuated, diminished. And while lawlessness prowled perimeters, and displaced populations fled to cities, to form restless, dangerous, idle, hungry crowds, requiring pacification, if not a velvet suppression, supplied by doles of grain, and plentiful, lavish amusements, spectacles, pageants, plays, races, and games, strong men, here and there, sometimes in barren provinces, took to the saddle and imposed order. Indeed, it is speculated that at the founding of honored kingdoms, if one should seek far enough, one might find something surprisingly inauspicious, a renegade soldier, a local tyrant, an ambitious leader of a handful of armed men, what, at the time, might have been denominated a brigand or rogue.
“Four campaigns were waged,” he said, “on three worlds. Much blood was shed, much gold expended. Then, allegedly to keep the peace, but at the invitation of the Farnichi, an invitation weighted with gold, the empire intervened, intervened on behalf of the Farnichi. The forces of the Farnichi then, now abetted by the striking hammer of the empire, shattered your vaunted Larial Calasalii. Its surviving forces were disbanded. Its goods were confiscated by the state, and distributed, half to the empire, half to the Farnichi. The family was stripped of its titles and privileges. It, reduced to poverty, was demoted to the humiliori. Then, at the request of the Farnichi, it was secretly outlawed, an outlawry which became public, only on the morning after its men were arrested and imprisoned, many to be sentenced to the mines and quarries. Its thousand women were collared and sold at auction, most to be house slaves, and scullery slaves, many to serve in the houses of the Farnichi, and others became field slaves, many then to labor in the fields, orchards, and vineyards of the Farnichi. Many, to be sure, became pleasure slaves, and many of these, doubtless, eventually found themselves chained at the foot of the couches of Farnichi Masters.”
“No, no, no!” cried Cornhair, twisting, writhing, tied, on the boards of the wagon bed.
White Ankles laughed, merrily.
“We must be on our way, slave girl,” said the dealer.
“What is to be done with me?” wept Cornhair, struggling.
“You are going to be marketed,” he said.
In a bit, with a jolt, the wagon lurched forward.
In a few minutes, the wagon was making its way through the grass.
“We leave the Herul camp behind!” said White Ankles, joyfully.
“You are a pretty slave,” said the dealer.
“I am more than pretty, Master!” said White Ankles.
“Stop that!” laughed the dealer.
“I would please my Master,” said White Ankles.
“You are an appetitious little brute,” he said.
“I am a slave, Master!” said White Ankles.
“Stop it!” laughed the dealer.
“Let me please you, Master!” said White Ankles.
“Slave! Slave!” cried Cornhair.
“Later, later!” laughed the dealer.
“As Master wishes,” said White Ankles.
Cornhair thrashed on the floor of the wagon bed. She pulled, futilely, at her bonds.
“Stop twisting about,” called the dealer, from the wagon bench. “You must not abrade your body. We want it to look smooth and pretty on the sales block.”
“Yes, Master,” wept Cornhair.
“You cannot free yourself,” said the dealer. “You are a tied slave. Do you know what it is to be a tied slave?”
Cornhair pulled a little at her bonds, futilely.
“Yes, Master,” she said, sobbing. “I know what it is to be a tied slave.”
Notes, Prior to Chapter Fourteen
Our principal source for reconstructing these accounts is the manuscript, or, possibly, the manuscripts, given certain subtleties in the text, discovered several years ago in the ducal library of Valens, one of the lesser duchies in the confederation of Talois. The ducal librarians cataloged the text, or texts, as 122B Valens, and it, or they, have, on the whole, remained identified under this designation, despite certain disruptions in the confederation, mostly consequent on schisms. The swords of faith are not uncommonly bright with the blood of zealotry. In any event, as I once made clear, long ago, the Valens manuscript, while not unique in this particular, is unusual amongst Telnarian, or allegedly Telnarian, manuscripts, as the narrative is relatively personal, and deals, on the whole, with individuals, rather than institutions, with personal lives, rather than the broad, tumultuous storms and tides of history. I think there is some point in this, not only for its own interest, for we, as human beings, have an interest in human beings, but, beyond that, we discover our species, and thus ourselves, in the lives of others. Have we not lived, then, at the edge of icy seas, not met the lances of foes on distant fields, not trekked beside wagons seeking new lands? Have we not waited at dawn for the attack of Heruls, not noticed the dim horizon dotted with advancing horsemen, not noted, to our unease, the tracks of the vi-cat near our camp? Love, fear, sorrow, rage, joy, curiosity, suspicion, betrayal, friendship, treason, trust, are these not our name, and that of our brothers? In glimpsing other lives we live our own more deeply, more keenly, more richly. We understand the nature of our species in the record of its deeds. How could it be otherwise? What is the vi-cat without claws, the keen-sighted hawk without its wings? It is less than itself. Let our desert be enriched with the greenery of kinship. Meadows laid waste may again bloom. What are these great movements and institutions, these migrations and dislocations, these inventions and discoveries, these wars and recoveries, but the outcomes of human action? Let far rain refresh our aridity. A mariner resides in the heart of man. Is it wrong for caged wolves to howl and recall the forest? Might they not, somehow, slip between the bars? All is not as we find it in our own chambers. The mountains of history consist of human particles. Let us observe the mountain, but remember that it consists of human particles, and one learns of the mountain, in a way, by learning of those particles, those which contribute to its grandeur and might, its terror and fearsomeness, those without which it would not have existed. In short, other times are our times, as well. In learning of others we learn of ourselves. How can one learn the meaning of borne standards, without understanding who bears them, and why?
Although we are concerned in this work primarily with individuals, and less with herds and flocks, environments and weathers, as most histories, it seems clear that certain developments in our narrative, shortly to be recounted, might appear somewhat out of joint, or somewhat surprising and anomalous, if treated bluntly. Accordingly, to render our accounts more intelligible, it seems judicious, if not imperative, to devote some attention, in however cursory a manner, to a number of events which were simultaneously occurring in the empire, events which have been only tangentially noted, if at all, to this point in the Valens manuscript.
For purposes of simplicity these events might be denominated political and religious, which semantic differentiation, however, is misleading, for they were often closely intertwined, and, upon occasion, seemingly fused.
Early in our chronicle, even before certain events transpired in a Terennian arena, the Floonian phenomenon was noted. At that time, attention was paid to th
e nature of the phenomenon, its founder, his teachings, its doctrinal controversies, its development, its relationship to the empire, and other matters. It would be repetitious, and, I think, unnecessary, to delineate these particularities once more. Let us say, rather, simply, and looking forward, that the Floonian phenomenon had undergone significant changes since its inauspicious and local beginnings as a tiny, eccentric, ridiculed, despised sect on the reptilian world of Zirus. Floon himself was a rational salamander or, perhaps better, a salamanderlike creature. Later, of course, Floon was represented under the likeness of a thousand species, on a thousand worlds. His teachings, for example, that rational creatures possessed an invisible, undetectable koos, which was their real self and eternal; that Karch, the chief god, and later supposedly the sole god, endorsed Floon’s teachings, and was somehow identical with Floon, but not really as they were different, too; and that Karch, as Floon taught, was particularly partial to the unhappy, ignored, belittled, envious, resentful, and unsuccessful, who were, as one might expect, numerous, tended to be understandably popular. To these latter folk, the unhappy, ignored, and so on, was promised, for a temporary investment of behaving in a certain way, an eternity of wealth, palaces, gold dishes, good food, happiness, and such. As might be expected, Floon ran afoul of an establishment rather fond of its own notions of a rightly ordered universe, and was executed, being burned alive on an electric rack. This did not prove to be the end of the Floonian phenomenon, however, as Floon was reported to have appeared, though briefly, thereafter, in good health and none the worse for his tragic demise, on a large number of worlds, possibly in a large number of forms. To the skeptic two problems, at least, lingered: first, did this remarkable event occur, and, second, if it occurred, what was its logical relationship, if any, to the Floonian phenomenon? For example, what if a minor god liked Floon and reassembled his charred remains from the grid. Would that somehow be relevant to Floon’s teachings, teachings for which the minor god might be willing to forgive Floon, in the light of Floon’s exemplary, if strange, life? In any event, in the earlier period of the Floonian phenomenon, Floonians were largely societal outsiders, concerned with little but denouncing the world in which they tended to be unsuccessful, and caring for, and nurturing, their koos. The empire, as was its policy, tolerated thousands of gods and thousands of faiths. It had enough trouble on its hands without gratuitously meddling in matters which were largely immaterial to its own security and prospects. On the other hand, as the Floonian phenomenon developed, its relationship to the empire proved more problematic. For one thing Floonians tended to be reluctant to serve a state they found to be, at best, irrelevant to the koos, and, at worst, inimical to its welfare. The state, it seems, was unnecessary and, possibly, opprobrious. For example, it wanted taxes, in the form of money or service; it wanted servitors and soldiers; it wanted respect; it wanted loyalty. The empire, naturally, particularly as Floonianism began to spread, was not eager to see the supposed fibers of its security and power, of its very existence, unraveled, or cut. Also, one might note, whereas the empire tended to be permissive and tolerant, these virtues, or faults, were not shared by the Floonians, or at least by their leaders, exploiting an unexpected source of power, who tended to be dogmatic and intolerant. The developing competitive hierarchies within Floonianism, sometimes by majority votes in councils, sometimes by assassinations, sometimes by riots, sometimes by burning and looting districts, including consecrated edifices, began to develop an impressive maze of unintelligible doctrine which it was important to get just right, even if it was incomprehensible; for example, in some of the clearer announcements, it was discovered that Karch was the sole god, after all, and, by lucky chance, was their god. Further, as noted, Karch and Floon were identical, except different, too, which was a mystery, and all the more awesome for that. In any event, in the hands of various prophets, ministers, patriarchs, deacons, bishops, and such, the gentle, loving teachings of Floon tended to be replaced, as suggested, with dogmatism and intolerance. Also, if the Floonians were correct, their particular faith, in one or another of its several forms, must be the one, true faith, with the result that the thousands of other one, true faiths were not simply mistaken, but wicked, and suitably, justifiably, extirpatable. It was, moreover, alleged that individuals who benightedly failed to profess certain prescribed unintelligibilities would experience a less than pleasant afterlife, very much so, which was not welcome news to large, uneasy, diverse populations. In any event, whether in virtue of intimidation, threats, terrorism, coercion, the burning brand, or whatever, or in virtue of the splendid example of their ideal and blameless lives, Floonianism was spreading throughout the empire. And, as suggested, it was not clear that it was in the best interests of the empire, even that it was compatible with the empire. For example, Floonians kept much to themselves, formed their own societies, declined military service, and so on. A trivial illustration of the increasing friction between this faith and the state, but one that came to assume significant symbolic import, was the matter of professing allegiance to the empire. For example, annually, commonly on the emperor’s birthday, but sometimes on other holidays, it was thought appropriate that an expression of loyalty be vouchsafed to the empire, for example, that a sprig of laurel, a flower, a pinch of incense, a handful of grain, or such, might be placed on the altar of the genius, or spirit, of the empire. This trivial act, so trivial that most citizens did not even bother with it, nor did the state much care, was publicly repudiated by some Floonians, which action forced the state to take notice. As I have suggested, the general policy of the empire toward religious belief was tolerance, and, for the most part, it was as tolerant of Floonianism as it was of the thousands of other faiths within its borders. It did, however, rarely, and sporadically, as it felt threatened, persecute certain Floonians at certain times and in certain places, perhaps to supply the larger populace with monitory examples. On the whole, however, officials found Floonians, wisely or not, quaint and harmless. On the other hand, Floonianism, as time passed, was becoming a force to be reckoned with. It was either, then, to be challenged and fought, or, perhaps more wisely, put to one’s own purposes.