by John Norman
“As a woman of the empire,” he said, “it makes little difference as to what barbarian you might fall. We all know what to do with women of the empire.”
“Please sell me, Master,” she said. “Please sell me soon, to someone of civilization.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But barbarians enjoy owning women of the empire, particularly former high women. They look well in rags, or less, tending pigs, and such.”
“Have mercy,” she pleaded, on all fours, head down, collared.
“I may keep you,” he said.
“Please, do not, Master,” she begged.
“Who, slave,” asked Ortog, “was second to you, when you were free?”
“Lady Virginia Serena,” said Delia, “of the lesser Serenii, of Telnar.”
“Then I may keep both of you,” he said, “that you may compete for my favor.”
“Have mercy, Master,” she said.
“It is pleasant to own slaves,” he said. “Who do you think would be my favorite, amongst you two?”
“Doubtless we would both try to be pleasing to our Master.”
“The whip will see to it,” he said. “And then, later, when you are aroused, aroused as slaves, the whip of your needs.”
“Surely not!” she said.
“It will be pleasant, to see you naked on your belly, begging for a caress.”
“How could such a thing be?” she said.
“Wait until you are longer in a collar,” he said.
She put her head down, trembling.
“Why is it,” she whispered, “that one who was once high amongst the Drisriaks, a captain or chieftain, even a king perhaps, stooped to raid a small compound on the Turning Serpent?”
“Even a man of great wealth,” he said, “may pick up a coin found on the street, and I am not of great wealth. The Ortungen have fallen far. I have men to feed, and ships to fuel. Remnants of scattered followers are to be regathered. The banner of the Ortungen must be once more unfurled.”
“And gold is needed,” said Delia.
“Of course,” he said, “and even copper, and silver.”
“I see,” she said.
“But the costless acquisition of one hundred and fifty two slaves, Telnarian slaves,” he said, “young and lovely slaves, formerly of significant station, is scarcely a negligible coin to be picked up on the street. I am paid to acquire them and, once they are acquired, I may distribute and sell them as I please.”
“Treating us as properties,” she said, “as loot, and plunder!”
“Women are properties,” he said, “loot, and plunder. It is the way of nature. They belong to men, kneeling, collared, their lips to our boots. Surely you have suspected this.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“It is true,” thought Cornhair. “We are slaves.”
“May I speak?” asked Cornhair.
“Yes,” said Ortog.
“When I was put into the arena,” said Cornhair, “the noble free women, in their cruelty, promised that if I could climb from the arena, I would be spared and sold in some nice market in Telnar.”
“So?” said Ortog.
“May I not then be sold in such a market,” asked Cornhair, “a nice market, one which might be frequented by men of modest means, in the capital, in Telnar?”
“You will be sold when, where, and how I wish,” said Ortog.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“How helplessly female I am,” she thought. “How helplessly female are slaves! Yet I would not have it otherwise, for I am a slave. How disturbed and outraged, and bewildered, and frightened, I was, as a free woman, when such thoughts, so frequent, telling, and persistent, intruded into my thoughts and dreams! But now I am collared, and content.”
“Master,” said Delia.
“Yes?” he said.
“What is it to be a slave?”
“Tonight, in your chains,” he said, “you will learn.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
Chapter Thirty
“These are the darkest of days,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “The empire is doomed.”
“I will not have it so,” said Julian, striking his fist on the rude plank table, in the training camp.
“The fleets of Abrogastes loom,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “The ships of the empire, what few with scarce fuel remain, are inert in their steel concealments. Worlds prepare to welcome barbarian lords.”
“Telnaria stands,” said Julian.
“And muchly alone,” said Tuvo. “What say you, dear Ottonius?”
“I know little of what is going on,” said Otto. “I know the sword, the bow, the noble, declared foe. I know little of politics, or secret wars.”
“The comitates have withdrawn,” said Tuvo.
“Some remain,” said Otto.
“I remain, my king,” said young Vandar, who had been the first, long ago, in a simple hall, to accept meat, meat cut from the hero’s portion by a giant, blond stranger, one who had brought the pelt of a white vi-cat to a hall of Otungs.
“I, too,” said two others, Ulrich, who had conducted the stranger to the hall, and Citherix, who had been bold enough to challenge a king.
“We, as well,” said Astubux and Axel, who had known Otto since Varna, where he had ascended to the chieftainship of the Wolfungs.
“The tents are empty, the camps abandoned,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“I feared it would be so,” muttered Julian.
“How could men withdraw from kings in honor?” asked Otto.
“In the name of a higher honor,” said Julian.
“It is the medallion and chain, once held by Genserix,” said Vandar. “It is the talisman of the Vandal Nation, what unifies the Vandal Nation, what unifies the Otungs, the Darisi, the Haakons, the Basungs, and the Wolfungs. It is tradition that the tribes will follow he who holds the talisman.”
“Why then,” asked Otto, “have you, my friends, not also departed?”
“Once,” said Astubux, “there was no tradition.”
“If a pig wore the medallion and chain, if it were slung about his neck,” said Citherix, “I would not then follow a pig.”
“Many would,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“One follows men,” said Axel, “not workages of crafted metal.”
“I feared this would occur,” said Julian. “Long ago, in investigating the antecedents of dear Ottonius, I journeyed to a remote festung high amongst the crags of the Barrionuevo Range, the festung of Sim Giadini.”
“I was raised in the festung village,” said Otto.
“There I learned that an infant, retrieved from the mud and snow, from the debris of a march of prisoners, one suckled by a dog, had been entrusted to the brothers of Sim Giadini, in particular, to a salamanderine, Brother Benjamin. With that infant had been found the medallion and chain.”
“We may conjecture then,” said Ulrich, “that after the death of Genserix, the medallion and chain, if it is the true medallion and chain, was concealed, probably by his queen, Elsa, who was said to be near the time of giving birth. We may further conjecture that she, a prisoner, gave birth during the march, in which she, as many others, perished.”
“The child, as I had it from Brother Benjamin, was brought to the festung by a Herul warrior, named Hunlaki,” said Julian.
“Why,” asked Otto, “would a Herul warrior have any interest in a human child?”
“I do not know,” said Julian. “But Heruls seldom act without reason. In any event, Brother Benjamin guarded the medallion and chain for many years.”
“The festung was destroyed by imperial ships,” said Otto, bitterly.
“But the medallion and chain, the talisman, was not found,” said Julian.
“It may have been destroyed,” said Otto.<
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“Possibly,” said Julian, “but it, it seems, or some surrogate, was delivered to Drisriaks.”
“Perhaps there is no such thing,” said Axel.
“I saw it, in the cell of Brother Benjamin,” said Julian.
“The medallion and chain is a Vandal thing,” said Ulrich. “Why should it have been delivered to the Alemanni, to Drisriaks?”
“No Otung would do that,” said Vandar.
“No loyal Otung,” said Citherix.
“The point,” said Julian, “is to join the barbarian nations for a common onslaught against the empire.”
“One which could not be withstood,” said Otto.
“One which must be withstood,” said Julian, angrily.
“And so perished your plan, noble friend,” said Tuvo to Julian, “of enlisting barbarians to defend the empire against barbarians.”
“This outcome might have been envisaged,” said Otto. “Barbarians have more in common with one another than with men of the empire.”
“Not Vandals and Alemanni,” said Ulrich. “They are blood enemies.”
“Many have doubted the wisdom, friends,” said Tuvo, “of settling barbarians on imperial worlds, of arming them, of training them in the arts of war.”
“There was no alternative,” said Julian.
“Surely they would think soon of gold and worlds, rather than acres and a mercenary’s fee,” said Otto.
“There was no alternative,” said Julian.
“In any event,” said Citherix, “given the medallion and chain, Vandals and Alemanni now enleague themselves.”
“And the empire trembles,” said Axel, “doomed, happily, to be felled by the sword of barbaritas.”
“No,” said Julian. “Telnaria stands.”
“For how long?” asked Axel.
“I do not think Abrogastes is much mixed in this brew,” said Otto. “I read him as proud and powerful, a true king of the Drisriaks. His way is the ax and challenge, not tricks, not poison, not whispers.”
“Who, then?” said Julian.
“Another, I think,” said Otto.
“But Drisriak,” said Julian. “The medallion and chain is in the counting house of the Drisriaks.”
“One high,” said Otto, “perhaps Ingeld, perhaps Hrothgar.”
“This business is independent of Abrogastes?” asked Julian.
“I think so,” said Otto.
“I still do not understand,” said Ulrich, “how Vandals and Alemanni could sit at the same table. They are blood enemies.”
“To feast on the riches of the empire,” said Tuvo.
“Two can lift a weight which might not be borne by one,” said Axel.
“And what,” asked Otto, “when the feast is done, when the weight need no longer be borne?”
“Then,” said Ulrich, “knives will be once more unsheathed.”
“I know little or nothing of the medallion and chain,” said Otto, “though I now understand its importance. Perhaps this was understood, as well, even long ago, by Brother Benjamin. Why, then, would he, a creature of peace, a gentle creature, a seeker of holiness, relinquish the talisman, and its power, to either warlike Vandals or Alemanni?”
“I do not think he did,” said Julian. “I think it was stolen, and the festung soon destroyed, to conceal the matter.”
“The matter had naught to do with heresy?” said Otto.
“Very little, I suspect,” said Julian. “The first project is power, the controlling of worlds. Heresy may then be extirpated at one’s leisure.”
“I did not even know it existed,” said Otto.
“It had become much a thing of legend,” said Julian.
“But now,” said Tuvo, “it appears, as if from nowhere, and in the hands of Drisriaks.”
“It is not just the Drisriaks and the Vandals,” said Julian. “Tribes, peoples, and worlds are affected, as well. Many look with envy on the empire, and, seeing the Vandals and the Drisriaks joined, will flock to surprising standards, that they, too, may hurry to so golden a trough.”
“And, in the light of the talisman,” said Tuvo, “the empire is lost.”
“No,” said Julian.
“How, no?” asked Tuvo.
“I have seen the talisman,” said Julian.
“So, dear friend?” said Tuvo.
“I have a plan,” said Julian.
Chapter Thirty-One
“How kind of you to visit me in my humble quarters,” purred Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar.
“I thought it unwise to decline your invitation,” said Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol.
“You may kneel, and kiss my ring,” said Sidonicus.
“I think not,” said Iaachus.
“As you wish,” said Sidonicus. “You were somewhat late. Did you have difficulty negotiating the streets?”
“They are dangerous,” said Iaachus. “The riots.”
“Civil disturbances are most regrettable,” said the exarch.
“Perhaps you might resist the temptation of fomenting them,” said the Arbiter of Protocol.
“I assure you,” said Sidonicus, “I know nothing of them.”
“The temple of Orak, father of the gods, has been burned,” said Iaachus.
“A false god, of course,” said Sidonicus.
“A large and beautiful building,” said Iaachus. “Similarly, shrines, temples, and chapels have been rifled, offerings stolen, images defaced; devotees beaten; scroll houses have been forced, and scrolls torn apart, taken outside, and burned.”
“What is needful,” said Sidonicus, “is contained in the scrolls of Floon, in the holy books of Floon, in the canon. If what is in such scroll houses duplicates what is in the canon it is superfluous; if it contradicts what is in the canon, it is pernicious, and should be destroyed.”
“Statues have been pulled down, broken, and defiled,” said Iaachus, “those of Umba, Andrak, Foebus, and many others, even that of Kragon, the god of war.”
“We of the conversion of Floon,” said Sidonicus, “are gentle folk, lovers of peace, and holiness.”
“Two priests of Orak were killed in the streets,” said Iaachus, “torn apart, cut to pieces.”
“Better they had been converted,” said Sidonicus.
“What do you want?” asked Iaachus.
“Peace and holiness,” said Sidonicus.
“Worlds have fallen,” said Iaachus.
“Would you care for kana?” asked Sidonicus.
“We have called men to arms,” said Iaachus. “Old men, boys, beg for weapons. But many men decline service. They despair. They wait. Cowardice is hailed as patriotism, treason as service to the empire. Generals are threatened. Admirals have no ships. Aristocrats wallow in their luxuries, commoners hide, foundering in their comforts. Thousands of your Floonians not in the streets gather to sing hymns, will not touch a weapon.”
“Do not be surprised,” said Sidonicus. “Floon was a prophet of peace, of holy substance, indeed, identical with that of Karch, but different.”
“What do you want?” asked Iaachus, again.
“What we will have,” said Sidonicus. “The empire.”
“I think your private quarters,” said Iaachus, “are less humble than one would suppose for a ministrant, the drapes, the silken hangings, the silver and gold vessels, the golden candelabra, the paintings, the objects of art, the rich carpets, from Beyira II, if I am not mistaken, the giant replica, in gold, it seems, of a torture rack, covering a wall.”
“I pay no attention to such things personally,” said Sidonicus, “but I find them useful in impressing secular visitors.”
“Of a given station?” asked Iaachus.
“Certainly,” said Sidonicus, “lesser men expect simpler arrangements.”
“I
am impressed,” said Iaachus.
“I expected you would be,” said the exarch.
“I see there is no tortured figure of Floon, portrayed in gold, on that rack on the wall,” said Iaachus. “I gather that is because when the current was turned on there would soon be little left but scraps of flesh clinging to the heated metal.”
“No,” said Sidonicus. “It has to do with the many species.”
“Floon was an Ogg,” said Iaachus.
“Strictly, in a sense,” said Sidonicus, “but we must remember that he was identical with Karch, as well as different. Thus, we think it best for every species to think of Floon as being of their own species. In this way it is easier to spread his holy teachings.”
“You are astute,” said Iaachus.
“The faith is astute,” said Sidonicus.
“You want the empire?” said Iaachus.
“And will have it,” said Sidonicus.
“You know my reputation?” said Iaachus.
“Of course,” said Sidonicus. “A master of intrigue, a subtle and unscrupulous monster of duplicity, an almost invisible mover of men and shaper of policies, such things.”
“And yet,” said Iaachus, “I could not even bring myself to think in your terms, let alone act in them, to lie, to trap minds, to promulgate superstition, to incite cruelty and violence, masquerading as right and justice.”
“Where the koos is concerned,” said Sidonicus, “one must not vacillate or compromise.”
“There is nothing in the teachings of Floon to condone or legitimize what you are doing,” said Iaachus. “He eschewed institutions. He preached simplicity. He seemed to love all things, rational creatures, irrational creatures, stars, moons, pebbles, weeds, all things, living and dead.”
“His teachings must be properly understood, of course,” said Sidonicus. “Also, there is unfolding revelation.”
“And who unfolds it?” asked Iaachus.
“Qualified ministrants,” said Sidonicus, “after prayer and fasting.”
“And who qualifies these qualified ministrants?”
“Other qualified ministrants.”
“And who qualifies them?” asked Iaachus.