by John Norman
“Yes, sir,” said Cornhair.
“Think carefully,” he said. “And answer with the absolute truth.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cornhair, not daring to raise her head.
“Are you a slave?”
“—Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
The fellow in the blue uniform then turned away.
“You should be punished,” said the man from Bondage Flowers to Cornhair.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.
“A slave,” he said, “is not a free woman. A slave should be invariably pleasing, and perfectly so.”
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.
“You called attention to yourself,” he said. “You were disruptive. You dallied, you made a nuisance of yourself, you inconvenienced free men, you delayed our departure. You told a lie, claiming to be free, when you knew better.”
“Please, forgive me, Master,” she said.
“Do you know why you are all front braceleted,” he asked, “though coffled?”
“No, Master,” she said.
“It further reminds you that you are slaves,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
She felt the key thrust into the right-hand cuff lock, and her wrist freed. “Left hand back, behind the small of your back,” said the man. With a jangle of chain Cornhair complied, and felt the opened right cuff strike against her back. A moment later, her freed right wrist was whipped behind her and locked into the dangling cuff. Her hands were then fastened behind her.
“How will I feed, Master?” she asked.
“You should all be whipped,” he said.
“Please, no, Master!” said more than one of the girls.
“Punish Cornhair, not us!” said another.
“She it was who displeased Masters!” said another.
“Leave her to us,” said a girl.
“We will attend to it,” said another.
The fellow from Bondage Flowers raised his whip.
Several of the girls tensed.
“Load, board!” pleaded the fellow in the white uniform.
The fellow from Bondage Towers looked about, and then he lowered the whip.
Time was short, the weather hot.
“Stand as slaves,” he said. “Stand beautifully. Stand as what you are, the most beautiful, exciting and desirable of women, women accepted for bondage, women found suitable for servitude, women found worthy of chains, women found fit for the great privilege and honor of wearing a Master’s collar!”
There was a rustle of chain, down the line, from the linkages, and the braceleting.
“Ah!” said more than one man about.
“May we speak, Master?” asked a slave.
“Yes,” said the fellow from Bondage Flowers.
“Are we to be coffled on the ship?”
“No,” he said.
“But braceleted?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“How are we to be kept, Master?” asked a girl.
“Will we have cells, or stalls, Master?” asked a girl.
“You will occupy a common slave bin,” he said.
“No!” cried more than one slave, in dismay.
“Do not fear,” said the man. “It will be washed down with a hose, once each ship day.”
“Whither are we bound?” asked a girl.
“You will learn in time,” he said. “Pigs need not be informed of where they will be marketed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”
“How will I feed, Master?” begged Cornhair, pulling at the light, but stern circlets which now confined her hands behind her back.
“If at all, as the pig you are,” said the man from Bondage Flowers.
“Board! Hurry!” called the loading officer, from some yards away, near the gantry.
“Move, move!” said the fellow from Bondage Flowers. “Onto the loading platform!”
Some of the lower hatchways had already slid shut. One remained open, at the seventh level.
The forty ankleted, coffled slaves were crowded onto the metal platform. The man from Bondage Flowers flung shut the gate.
There seemed something significant and decisive about that closure, rather as a new slave might find something significant and decisive in the snapping shut of the first collar on her neck.
There was a whirr of machinery, and the platform beneath their bared feet vibrated.
Cornhair, miserable, pulled again, futilely, frustratedly, at the close-linked metal circlets by means of which her small hands, captured, were held behind her back. These circlets, light and tasteful, even attractive, were designed for women. They are designed to be comfortable and lovely, and to enhance a woman’s beauty, rather as bracelets, anklets, armlets, necklaces, and such. They have one additional property, of course. That is to guarantee that their occupant will find herself helplessly and wholly at the mercy and disposal of others.
“Sisters!” pleaded Cornhair.
But she saw no sympathy or pity in the eyes of her fellow slaves. Perhaps they might have all been lashed, with the possible exception of herself, for her indiscretion. Had there been more time, perhaps the leather might have addressed itself in abundant, stinging admonitions to their defenseless softness. It is not unusual to punish a group of slaves for the fault of one. This keeps surprisingly good order in the pens and bins.
Sometimes the one whose indiscretion has resulted in the punishment of the group, say, its switching or lashing, is not herself punished. That is left to her sisters.
“We are not pleased with you, Cornhair,” said a girl.
“Forgive me, dear sisters,” said Cornhair.
“You may lie on your belly on the plates,” said a girl, “and wait for your superiors to finish, to see if you will be fed.”
“Have mercy,” said Cornhair, pulling helplessly at her confined wrists. “I am back-braceleted!”
“You can kneel and feed like a dog,” said a girl.
“Perhaps we will let you lick the pan, when we are finished. Perhaps there will be some gruel left. You may hope so, Cornhair,” said a girl.
“The trip may be long, and you may become quite hungry,” said another.
“It will not hurt you to lose three or four pounds,” said another. “You may then be trimmer on the block.”
“Some men prefer a trimmer slave,” said a girl.
“Others prefer a more generous, ampler buy,” said another.
“It depends on the taste of the Master,” said another.
“Please be kind to me, Mistresses,” begged Cornhair.
“You will have a pleasant trip to the market,” said another.
The platform shook a little beneath their feet, and it began to slowly rise. Many of the slaves now crowded more closely together, toward the center of the platform.
The man from Bondage Flowers had informed her that the front-braceleting was to assist in reminding them that they were slaves. What then would be indicated by the disciplining of back-braceleting? Surely she was not a new slave, who might be back-braceleted, shackled, and even belled. Let her now, then, assess her status, not only as a slave, but as a slave amongst slaves.
“No,” she thought to herself, in misery, “he would not punish all, here or on the ship, but, instead, in the unchallengeable wisdom of Masters, as he chose, would use all to punish me! He has seen to my punishment, and, indeed, excellently well!”
“How foolish I was,” she thought. “Do I not understand what I now am? I am now only a slave!”
The platform was now rising. There was the feel of the corrugated, sun-warmed metal beneath her feet.
The hull of the freighter seemed to be sinking behind her.
The pier was far below,
and the men and carts on it, seemingly small. She could see the roofs, with red tiles, of the warehouses.
Looking out over Point North, she could see Lisle in the distance, and roads, some bearing vehicular traffic, and a small lake.
The roar of departing ships, though, she thought, would carry even to distant Lisle.
The platform then stopped.
“Here, here!” called a voice from within the freighter.
Cornhair turned about, and looked within, to a dimly lit steel corridor. There were two men there, brawny fellows, with bare arms. Clearly, they were not members of the ship’s crew. They were keepers, stock keepers. They carried whips.
“A pretty bouquet of roses, slave roses,” said one of the men.
“Weeds,” said the other.
“Forward,” said the first, gesturing down the hall.
The lead girl, the tallest in the coffle, though small compared to the keepers, hastened forward. There was a rattle of chains as the others followed.
Suddenly there was a snap of a whip, sharp, unmistakable. Several of the girls cried out in fear, but Cornhair did not believe that anyone had been struck. The cry of a struck woman is quite different from that of a merely frightened woman. But the message of the whip was quite clear.
The coffle hurried down the hall.
A bit behind them, Cornhair heard the smooth sound of the hatch’s closing.
Cornhair did not know it, of course, nor did the others, but they were on their way to Telnaria, and, indeed, even to Telnar itself, the capital itself, the seat of the empire, for the holiday sales associated with that world’s spring equinox.
Chapter Eighteen
“Excellent,” said Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar, fingering the tiny, golden replica of a metal-ribbed torture rack slung about his neck, over the purple robes, standing behind a railing, circling the golden domelike roof of the high temple of Telnar, observing the smoke rising in the distance across the city.
“It is the judgment of Karch,” said a robed figure at his side.
“Karch provides,” said Sidonicus, devoutly.
“It is so,” said others about, pale, thin men, standing back, also robed, but in white.
“Let us sing a hymn of thanks, of praise,” said the fellow at the side of Sidonicus. He, as Sidonicus, wore purple, but of a lighter shade. Already gradations of the ministry were instituted, and a hierarchy emplaced. This did not, however, compromise the teachings of holy Floon, who had denounced such things.
“None will be allowed to escape, I trust,” said Sidonicus.
“No,” said the fellow at his side. “Orders were strict.”
“It is a miracle,” said one of the white-robed fellows in the background.
“Yes,” said another, “the false temple sprang spontaneously into flame.”
“At the very moment of its high services,” said another.
“A judgment,” said one of the men.
“Yes,” said another.
“Thus Karch speaks,” said a man.
“But would not many die?” asked a man, nervously.
“Heretics,” said another man.
“Let us hope the fire does not spread,” said a man. “Then more might die, many more, even those of the true faith.”
“Do not concern yourself,” said Sidonicus. “That very hour they will feast at the table of Karch.”
“True,” said the fellow at his side, in the lighter purple.
“It is so,” said more than one man on the roof.
“How is it that the temple was so suddenly and fully enfired?” asked a man wonderingly.
“It is miraculous,” said a man.
“It is so,” said several.
“One does not question the doings of Karch,” said another.
Sidonicus turned about.
“I did not mean to question such things!” said the fellow who had asked the question, frightened. “One does not question the doings of Karch!”
“Heresy is everywhere,” said Sidonicus.
“But not so much as before,” said a man.
There was a ripple of mirth, but it was soon silenced.
Sidonicus returned his attention to the smoke in the distance.
There was then a sighted lapse, a caving inward, of the distant, spired roof, then fallen, no longer pointing skyward, followed by a burst of flame, and more billowing smoke, and, a moment later, the sound of a distant crashing came to the ears of the observers.
“I heard cries, far off!” said a man. “Screams of agony.”
“It is your imagination,” said Sidonicus. “It is too far off.”
“Many would be trapped, choking, crushed, crying out, beneath the flaming timbers,” said a white-robed man.
“Heretics,” said Sidonicus.
“It would be a terrible way to die,” said one of the white-robed men.
“Heresy must be rooted out,” said Sidonicus.
“If necessary,” said the fellow in the lighter purple, “by fire and sword.”
“Those who thrust the brand of fire and cleave with the sword in the name of Karch do his holy work and are thrice blessed,” said one of the white-robed figures.
“It is so,” said another.
“Better,” said the fellow in the lighter purple, “that ten thousand should die such a death, or worse, than that one koos be led astray, even briefly.”
“It is so,” said a man.
“Your Excellency,” said a white-robed figure, one but now emerged onto the roof, “one below would speak to you, in your chambers.”
Sidonicus nodded.
“One who was expected?” said the man in lighter purple.
“Doubtless,” said Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar.
He then looked again, into the distance, where smoke still stained the sky.
“May a hymn of praise be now raised?” inquired the fellow in the lighter purple.
“Yes,” said Sidonicus.
“This is a day of glory,” said his fellow, he in the lighter purple, to those about, behind the railing, on the roof. “Let us now raise a hymn of gladness, of joy, of thanksgiving! Let us sing praise, and glory, to Karch!”
“Let it be,” said Sidonicus, “‘I shall trust in the tenderness, love, and mercy of mighty Karch, who protects and shelters me, and destroys my enemies.’”
“It is so,” said the man in lighter purple, and nodded, at which signal the others on the roof began to intone the strains of the hymn, a solemn but joyous, swelling hymn, purportedly one of the most pleasing to Karch.
Sidonicus cast one last look at the distant smoke, and then went back, away from the railing, to the height of the narrow stairway leading down, into the precincts of the temple complex, through the vestry, past the chancel, to his private chambers, followed by the man in lighter purple.
“Your Excellency,” said the man in lighter purple.
“Yes, dear Fulvius?” said the exarch.
“He will want his gold,” said Fulvius.
“And he shall have it,” said the exarch.
“It seems ironic, if not deplorable,” said Fulvius, “that one should want pay for doing the work of Karch.”
“Nonetheless, he shall be paid,” said the exarch. “It is well known that the obligations of the servitors of Karch are inevitably and impeccably discharged.”
“I fear he knows too much,” said Fulvius.
“Perhaps,” said the exarch, “he will think the better of the matter, and be moved to restore the gold to the coffers of the temple.”
“I fear he may not be so benevolently disposed,” said Fulvius.
“The gold will be recovered,” said the exarch. “Arrangements are already in place.”
“And what of him?” asked Fulvius.
“He will be sent to the table of Karch,” said the exarch.
“Excellent,” said Fulvius.
“He knows too much,” said the exarch.
“What of the others,” asked Fulvius, “those who closed the street, cordoned off the area, guarded the exits, and slew any who might have tried to flee?”
“They know nothing,” said the exarch.
“They will miss their pay,” said Fulvius.
“They will be unable to find their paymaster,” said the exarch.
“Perhaps he has fled from the city,” said Fulvius.
“Perhaps,” said the exarch.
“This is a good day,” said Fulvius.
“Any day is a good day, on which is done the work of Karch,” said the exarch.
“It is so,” said Fulvius, humbly.
“I have a bottle of kana, a century old, brought from the highlands of the holy world itself, at great expense,” said the exarch. “I would be pleased if you would share a cup with me.”
“I would be honored, your Excellency,” said Fulvius.
“Let us descend,” said the exarch.
“After you,” said Fulvius.
The two men then left the roof of the temple.
Behind them, as they took their way downward, they could hear, for a time, the strains of the hymn.
In the distance, from the roof, more smoke could be seen, this suggesting that the fire might have spread.
Chapter Nineteen
The Annals are often laconic.
Consider the terse entry, “The sky was dark with the coming of ships.” Much, we suppose, lies behind so curt an entry.
One can gather, of course, that there were a great many ships. Something may be gathered, as well, from the apparent fact that reports and notices from various worlds, usually toward the perimeters of the empire, seem to have lapsed at much the same time. This does not, of course, entail that such worlds were destroyed. That seems unlikely for various reasons, for example, first, the prohibitive expenditure of resources which would be necessary for shattering a world and spinning its fragments into its star, or even to scorch its surface and destroy the great majority of, if not the entirety of, its life forms, and secondly, the pointless stupidity of destroying coveted objects. It would be a strange thief who would risk destroying what he intends to steal. This is not to deny that more than one world, by the empire, or others, was destroyed, or sterilized, to avenge a perceived insult or to set into public view an example of the foolishness of rebellion or dissent. On the other hand, a shattered world, or a scarred, and burned, world, would be a dismal, sorry prize for victory, a guerdon scarcely worth seeking in the expensive, dangerous, arduous games of ambitious men. One seeks productive populations, salubrious climates, and rich mines, established industries, green expanses and teeming seas, not ashes and cinders. Accordingly we may suppose that after the clash of fleets and the hammering and extermination of resistances, things might be much the same. Perhaps new ceremonies might be instituted and new oaths required. Indeed, in some cases, the same individuals might be doing much the same thing, only in different liveries and uniforms, under new flags. To be sure, once the mighty web of the empire, with its organization, its massive civil service, its networks of communication, its facilities of enforcement, its report lines leading ultimately to Telnar, built up over millennia, was torn, a thousand worlds would go their thousand ways. Indeed, on many worlds conquerors would come and go, taking worlds, losing worlds, abandoning worlds, seeking new worlds, their engines and ships remembered only in the stories of old men. And on such worlds districts, provinces, towns, and manors multiplied, and order and law would become diversified and local, often anchored to keeps and strongholds, often extending only as far as men could ride, only as far as swords could reach.