“Back on your knees, homely, despicable slave,” said Urta.
“Yes, Master,” said Viviana, again kneeling, but with agitation.
‘Yes, Master’ is the common response of a slave to an instruction or command, unless the slave is owned by a woman, in which case the common response is ‘Yes, Mistress’. Consider the female slave. She speaks the word ‘Master’ frequently, and understands that it is appropriately spoken. Such small things enhance and deepen her awareness of her bondage. The common verbal formula, for example, reminds her that she is a slave, a property, and the awareness that she is owned and at the complete mercy of her master stimulates her sexually. She knows she has no choice, and she does not desire a choice. Most female slaves are easily aroused. They cannot help it; they are slaves. Many, in the vicinity of their masters, are in an almost constant state of readiness. To the slave even small things, such as cooking, dusting, laundering, sewing, ironing and folding clothes, serving at the table, pouring wine, and such, can be a sexual experience, it being done as a slave.
Viviana did not regard herself as homely, though, indeed, she was now unkempt, unwashed, and clad in no more than a brief filthy rag. As a free woman she had regarded herself as quite beautiful, and she well knew how a woman’s beauty was enhanced manyfold by bondage. Is that not why free women so envied and hated slaves? A free woman may be beautiful; a slave is beautiful.
“Master has been gone for hours,” said Viviana.
“Do not concern yourself,” said Urta.
“Something has happened, clearly, Master,” said Viviana, her small hands clutching her neck chain. “Please tell me! I am a slave! I am helpless! I know nothing!”
“You need know nothing,” said Urta, drawing a street tunic over his head, the removed livery of the temple guard at his feet.
“I heard bells,” she said. “What is their meaning? But yet the streets seem quiet. Perhaps they are empty. What has occurred?”
“Nothing,” said Urta. “But I choose to leave the city.”
“I heard a horse race by,” said Viviana.
“Some rider,” said Urta.
“Master hastens,” said Viviana. “Has he resources?”
“Enough,” said Urta.
“I, too, heard, far off, dogs, the baying of hounds.”
“Doubtless wild dogs,” said Urta, “slipped in through an unguarded gate.”
“Why should a gate be unguarded?” she asked.
Urta looked down at the discarded livery of the temple guard. “I will burn this garmenture outside, somewhere outside,” he said. “There are fires enough, here and there. It would not do for it to be found here.”
“I do not know the livery,” she said.
“You need not know it,” said Urta.
“It is satin, and fine,” she said. “Why should it be put aside, why should it be done away with?”
“It is dark now,” said Urta. “It could not have come soon enough for me. I must be on my way.”
“I hear the dogs,” said Viviana. “They are closer.”
Urta paused for a moment, listening. “This far within the city,” he said, “they must be domestic dogs. There is nothing to fear from domestic dogs. One waves them away. One speaks, sharply. They withdraw, snarling, or flee.”
“Am I to be left behind?” asked Viviana.
Urta removed a knife from his belt.
“I am worthless, dead,” said Viviana.
Urta replaced the knife in his belt.
“I will take you with me,” he said. “I can sell you. I should be able to get a darin or two for your sleek hide, even as it is.”
“Had I been better rested and better fed, and beaten less often,” she said, “your profit might be greater.”
Her face was lashed to the side as Urta slapped her, sharply, on the left cheek.
“Forgive me for having been displeasing, Master,” she said, tears in her eyes, her cheek burning. “How stupid you are, slave,” she thought to herself. “Do you still think you are a free woman? Do you not yet know you are a slave?”
“Do not be afraid,” said Urta. “The marks, the residue, of the whippings will soon disappear. Combed, brushed, washed, and suitably tunicked, you might not be a displeasing item, exhibited with other items, on a chain. Put your hands behind you, with your wrists crossed.”
“Yes, Master,” whispered Viviana.
Her wrists were then tied behind her back. Following this, Urta put a leash on her neck. He then freed her of the chain and ring, dropping the ring collar and chain to the floor. “On your feet, beast,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Viviana, rising.
“Stand straight,” he said. “You are a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” said Viviana. “Are we returning later to the city?” she asked.
“I do not know, I do not think so,” said Urta.
Urta then gathered up the discarded livery, and wound it, turned so that its colors could not be seen, about his waist. He then slung a small bag of his belongings, gathered from the side, apparently earlier prepared, over his shoulder, which action surprised Viviana, for slaves are commonly used to port a master’s belongings, if within their strength. Many Masters would be embarrassed to personally transport such an object, if a slave, a lovely beast of burden, so to speak, were at hand. “For some reason,” she thought, “he wishes to retain that bag himself. Perhaps it contains darins. It seems to have been prepared earlier. Why would that have been? Did my Master anticipate the possibility, however remote or unlikely, of this departure from the city? Is he afraid I might be taken from him, and the bag, as well, were it tied about me? My Master is clever. What is going on in the city? Little it seems, but I suspect much.”
Urta then, the livery about his waist and the small bag over his shoulder, the leash of his slave in his left hand, exited the apartment, descended the stairs, opened the portal at the foot of the stairs, surveyed the street in both directions, and then left the building.
They had moved only some blocks, keeping to the side of the street, when her Master, Urta, stopped.
“The streets are deserted,” said Viviana.
“Not entirely,” said Urta, looking about. To be sure, a furtive figure, little more than a shadow, was occasionally sensed, usually on the other side of the street.
“There is a refuse fire,” said Urta. “I dared not leave the livery in the apartment, lest it be traced to me.”
“I do not understand,” said Viviana.
“To wear it could be death,” said Urta.
There were two men standing near the fire, who drew back as Urta neared.
“That is a good-looking slave,” said one of the men, from the darkness.
Viviana, briefly tunicked, bound and on her leash, had been illuminated in the shifting light of the fire.
She realized, suddenly, vividly, as another fact of her bondage, that she, as a property, could be stolen, as any other property.
“Stand back,” said Urta. “I have a knife.”
Urta dropped the leash.
Viviana felt it dangle against her body.
She remained in place.
With his left hand Urta loosened the livery from about his waist and cast it into the fire.
“The livery of the temple guard,” said one of the men.
“So that is the nature of the livery,” thought Viviana. “I did not even know there was a temple guard. Why should he discard it?” Viviana, however, said nothing, nor asked a question. Other men were present, and she knew she had not asked permission to speak.
“Burn it,” said the other man.
Viviana, puzzled, watched the livery burning in the flames. “Why,” she wondered, “would anyone burn so seemingly new, and fine, a livery, and one apparently pertaining to the temple itself?”
“What have you in
the small bag about your shoulder?” asked the first of the two men in the shadows.
“And why is it not borne by the slave?” asked the other.
Urta drew his knife and backed away from the fire.
Viviana kept behind him.
The two men remained standing, back in the shadows.
Urta replaced the knife in his belt, retrieved Viviana’s leash, and, leading her, continued on his way.
“I think we are in the Varl district, indeed, on Varl Street itself,” thought Viviana. “Surely this seems an unlikely, an inauspicious, route to choose, to leave the city. It gives access only to lesser gates, obscure gates, minor gates.”
“I hear the dogs, Master,” said Viviana.
The baying did seem closer.
“They are going down Varl,” said Urta. “We shall turn aside and let them pass us, continuing on their way.”
Viviana stumbled, jerked on the leash to the side, as Urta turned into a side street. After a few blocks Urta stopped.
“I hear the dogs,” said Viviana, “I think they are still behind us.”
“It is a coincidence,” said Urta. Then he turned left. “This is Circumspection Street,” he said. “It runs parallel to Varl.”
Viviana knew of Varl Street, for who did not know of Varl Street? It is a well-known thoroughfare in Telnar. She, however, raised in the palace and concerned with little for years but her appearance, jewelry, clothing, and amusements had little concerned herself with the streets and districts of Telnar. She had never heard of Circumspection Street.
“Hurry,” said Urta, hastening forward.
Viviana, leashed, had no option but to comply.
“Can Master but untie my hands,” she begged.
It is not easy to hurry when one’s hands are tied behind one.
In a bit Urta stopped.
“I no longer hear the dogs,” he said.
“Nor I,” said Viviana.
“They have continued past,” said Urta.
“I do hear footsteps, Master,” said Viviana.
“There is light ahead,” said Urta, “a hanging lantern.”
Such lanterns are not that uncommon. Some shopkeepers and householders illuminate their gates and portals. This is particularly the case in poorer districts where public light tends to be meager or nonexistent.
“Something moves, Master,” whispered Viviana.
“To the light,” said Urta, drawing his knife.
Darkness is the friend of villainy, Viviana had heard, as light is its foe.
“Hold, small friend,” said a voice.
“We would renew our acquaintance,” said another voice, soothingly.
Viviana could not see the faces, but she recognized the voices, those of the two men earlier encountered near the refuse fire.
“The streets are dangerous,” said the first voice. “After you left, we shared our concern. We feared for your safety.”
“We will afford you protection,” said the second voice. “We will escort you.”
“Stay back,” said Urta. “Keep your distance. I may be small, but I am armed, and I am Otung.”
“Do not be afraid,” said the first voice.
“We are your friends,” said the second. “Let us be of assistance.”
Urta, knife now drawn, backed across the street, to stand beneath the light. He looked about, wildly, at closed portals, at that behind him, and those to his left, and right.
“What do you carry in the small bag at your shoulder?” asked the first voice. “Why is it not borne by the slave?”
“In the filthy thing beside you, in tattered rags,” said the second voice, “I think I see the promise of a comely slave, one a man might enjoy having at his feet. Perhaps you do not know how to keep a slave and get the most, and best, from her.”
The two men then separated, by some seven or eight feet.
Viviana saw that each carried a stout club.
Urta dropped Viviana’s leash.
She remained much where she had been, backing against the wall behind her.
“Give us the bag about your shoulder and the slave,” said the first man.
“We will keep them safe for you,” said the second.
“Stand back,” said Urta.
“We mean you no harm,” said the first man.
“Put down the knife,” said the second man.
“Perhaps you would spare me?” said Urta.
“Surely,” said the first man, who seemed to be first amongst the two.
“Indeed,” said the second.
“Do you think I am a fool?” said Urta. “If I disarm myself I die. If I am spared, I might live to recognize you and bring you to the river galleys. If I am spared, I might have you traced through the slave or the contents of my small satchel, in which you seem so interested. I do not think you would risk such things.”
The two men looked at one another.
“I see you are not a fool,” said the first, “save in going out in the night with valuables, say, jewels or darins, and a bound slave.”
“I am Otung,” said Urta. “At least one of you will die!”
“I think not,” said the first man.
Viviana pressed back, harder, against the wall behind her.
The two men then were tensed, and bent over. Each now held his club in two hands. So held, a fierce and mighty blow could be struck. Viviana realized, clearly, as must Urta, as well, that the clubs could reach him before his knife could reach either of them.
“Hold!” said the first man, suddenly, and he and his fellow, startled, stepped back, paces, turning uneasily toward the darkness, trying to see into it.
“There is something there, I hear it,” said the first man.
“Yes,” said the second.
There was a snuffling noise, and a sound of scratching on pavement, and then a growl, darkly menacing, and then a second growl, even more menacing than the first.
“See the size of them,” said the second man, backing away to the side.
Two immense forms emerged from the darkness.
“You see,” cried Urta, suddenly. “I am not such a fool! These are my dogs, my guardians. See the collars, domestic beasts, fierce and terrible, mine! Examine the collars, if you dare, and find my name! These are mine. They are trained to kill, at a word. Flee, lest I set them upon you!”
Both of the brigands began to back away, further, and to the side. Then they withdrew, to a post yards away, where they could scarcely be seen.
“Run, run, save yourselves!” cried Urta.
At this point, from behind the heavy, closed portal, over which the lantern hung, a voice was heard. “What is going on there?” it said. “Who are you? Go away!”
“Open, open!” cried Urta, backing against the door.
The two dogs were crouched down, their eyes fixed on Urta. Their nostrils were flared. One could sense the beating of massive hearts within the barrels of their furred chests, trembling with excitement.
“Open, open!” cried Urta, turning and pounding on the door, and then, an instant later, turned to face again the two dogs, which had inched closer.
“They are not wild dogs, Master!” said Viviana. “See the collars. They are domestic dogs, trained to obey and fear men! Order them away! Frighten them! Frown upon them! Gesture them gone! Speak sharply to them! Send them crawling, or running, frightened, back to their kennels.”
Urta’s knife seemed small in the face of the two fanged, gigantic brutes tensed before him.
Without turning about, Urta hissed back, desperately, over his shoulder, “Open, open, now, now, riches, riches for you, gems, rings, darins, gold darins, if you let me in! Let me in. Let me in!”
The door opened a crack and Urta tried to force his way through, backing against it, but it
was held firm.
“The slave first,” said the voice. “I saw her through the window. Did you not hear the shutters? She will have value. I do not know what else you have. You must buy your entrance here.”
“I have a hundred times, or more, her value with me,” whispered Urta, urgently.
“I do not know that,” said the voice. “I have seen the slave. She has value. So, she first. Thus I guarantee myself something of value.”
“Into the domicile,” hissed Urta.
“Yes, Master,” said Viviana, moving behind Urta, her back to the building, slipping through the narrow aperture. In an instant Urta, thrusting the knife in his belt, had followed her inside. No sooner had he done so than the householder slammed the door shut, and the two dogs leapt against the stout wood, snarling, and scratching.
The householder thrust two bolts in place.
Viviana shrank back in the room and Urta stood near the door, breathing heavily.
The light in the room was furnished by a single candle on a nearby table, to the right as one would enter.
“I heard the dogs, from afar,” said the householder. “The crying out came closer and closer, and then was silent.”
“It has to do,” said Urta, “with the ancestry of the wolf. They bay and howl on the scent. It is a token of pack excitement. The calling summons other members of the pack, ever more members, ever more excited, ever more fleet. It keeps the pack together. When several follow a scent, the chance of losing it are very small. If the quarry is large and dangerous, a pack is more likely to bring it down. The baying may also flush new prey out, frightened, laying down new roads of scent.”
“But then there was silence,” said the householder.
“Prior to closing and attack,” said Urta. “What point noise then?”
“Perhaps you are wanted by the city guard?” said the householder.
“Yes,” said Urta, “that is it!”
“And the two fellows outside are city guards?” said the householder, ironically.
“No,” said Urta, “rogues, brigands.”
“Those beasts,” said the householder, “are not the hunting dogs of the city guard. They are massive, things of a different breed, much larger and fiercer. The guard, bold as they be, would fear them. They would be reluctant to handle them, even to be near them.”
The Emperor Page 59