by John Norman
The subordinate, though in the absence of Samos, thinking to please him, sold me to Tellius for only fifteen pieces of gold, which price he had paid. I was thus, in effect, in part, a gift to the house of Bosk from the house of Samos. The house of Bosk and the house of Samos, it seemed, stood on good terms, the one with the other. Both Samos and Bosk, it seems, were members of the Council of Captains, the sovereign power in Port Kar.
I liked the house of Bosk, which was much fortified, spacious and clean. I was not badly treated, though I was forced to do my work perfectly. My master, Bosk, a large man, very strong, did not use me. His woman was the striking, beautiful Telima, from the marshes, a true Gorean beauty, before whom I felt myself only an Earth woman and a slave. There were other beauties in the house: slender, dark-haired Midice, the woman of a captain, Tab; large, blond-haired Thura, the woman of the great peasant, master of the bow, Thurnock; and short, dark-eyed Ula, woman of silent, strong Clitus, once a fisherman of the isle of Cos. Too, there was a young, beautiful girl, named Vina, the woman of a slender, strong youth, a seaman, whose name was Henrius, said to be a master of the sword. There was, too, a free dancing girl, a beauty with high cheekbones, named Sandra, who much pleased herself with the men of Bosk, and earned much moneys in the doing of it. She had been taught to read by another girl, also free, of the Scribes, a thin, brilliant girl, whose name was Luma, who handled much of the intricate business of the great house. And, too, of course, there were many lovely slaves. I was somewhat uneasy. Only too obviously Bosk had an eye for beauty. But he did not use me. His affections, and his touch, were for Telima. How superb she must have been, to have held him among such girls. A Gorean girl, who has a first-rate man, and wishes to keep him, fights for him. There are generally other girls, collared girls, only too eager to take her place.
"Hurry with the wine!" cried Tellius, from the kitchen, looking after me.
Then he disappeared in the kitchen.
I took the packet of poison from my rep-cloth kitchen tunic, and dissolved it in the wine. I had been told there was enough there to bring a hundred men to an excruciating death. I swirled the wine, and discarded the packet.
It was ready.
"Wine!" I heard from the hall.
I hurried forward, running toward the table. I would serve none but Bosk, he first and he alone. I did not wish more blood on my head.
I stopped halfway to the table. The feasters were watching me.
Rask of Treve must live!
I had recalled how Haakon of Skjern had laughed over his captive.
I asked myself, would he, Haakon, such a mortal enemy, release Rask of Treve, even did I keep my bargain?
I feared he would not, and yet what choice had I. I must trust them. I had no choice.
I did not wish to poison anyone. I knew nothing of such work. I had not been a good person, but I was not a murderess. Yet I must kill.
I remembered, briefly, irrelevantly, that my mother had once poisoned my small dog, which had ruined one of her slippers. I had loved the tiny animal, which had played with me, and had given me the affection, the love, which my parents had denied me, or had been too busy to bestow. It had died in the basement, in the darkness behind the furnace, where it had fled, howling and whimpering, biting at me when I, a hysterical, weeping child, had tried to touch it and hold it. Tears sprang into my eyes.
"Elinor," said Bosk, at the head of the table. "I want wine." He was one of the few men, or women, on Gor who spoke my name as it had been spoken on Earth.
I slowly approached him.
"Wine!" called Thurnock.
I did not go to the peasant.
"Wine!" cried Tab, the captain.
I did not go to him.
I went to Bosk, of Port Kar. I would pour the wine. Then I would be seized, and, doubtless by nightfall, tortured and impaled.
He held forth the goblet. The eyes of Telima were upon me. I could not look her in the eyes.
I poured the wine.
"I am of Treve," Rask of Treve had told me, in the warehouse, where he stood bound to the wall. "Do not stain my honor."
I wept.
"What is wrong, Elinor?" asked Bosk.
"I am all right, Master," I told him.
"I am of Treve," had said Rask of Treve. "Do not stain my honor."
I hated then men, and their wars, and their cruelties, and their frivolous honors. It was we, their women, who suffered in their madness. No, Rask of Treve would not purchase his life for the price I had agreed to pay, but the decision was not his, but mine, mine, and I loved him, and could not let him die!
"Do not stain my honor," he had said.
Bosk of Port Kar lifted the cup to his lips.
I put forth my hand. "Do not drink it, Master," I said. "It is poisoned."
I put my head down in my hands. There were shouts, of fury, of anger, at the table, goblets spilled and men and women leaped to their feet.
I felt Thurnock, the peasant, with his great belt, pinning my arms to my sides and I was thrown to the tiles of the great hall.
"Torture her!" I heard cry.
"Impalement!" I heard cry.
The door to the hall burst open, and in, wild-eyed, ran a man with short-cropped, white hair, with earrings.
"It is Samos!" I heard cry.
"I have just made landfall," he cried. "I have learned that a woman, without my knowledge, has been entered into this house. Beware!"
He saw me, my arms belted to my sides, kneeling on the tiles.
Tellius ran forward, the kitchen master. His face was white. He held a drawn sword.
Bosk poured the wine forth on the table, slowly. The vessel of wine I had dropped, and its contents now trickled among the tiles.
"Return to your feast," said Bosk to the table. Then he said, "Tab, Thurnock, Clitus, Henrius, Samos, I would be pleased if you would join me in my chambers." I saw Telima held a knife. I had little doubt she could cut my throat, and might swiftly do so. "Thurnock, unbind the slave," requested Bosk. He did so. I stood up. "Elinor," said Bosk, "we must speak." He then held his arm to Telima, that she might accompany him. I, numbly, followed them to his chambers.
* * * *
That night men swiftly left the house of Bosk. I had told them all that I knew. I expected to be tortured and impaled.
When I had spoken Bosk had said to me, "Go to the kitchen, for there is work for you there."
Numbly I had returned to the kitchen, where Tellius, himself astonished, gave me my work. That night, with double chains, he fastened me to the wall.
"We could not save Rask of Treve," said Bosk to me the next day.
I put down my head. I had known it would be so.
My master, Bosk, was smiling. "He had already escaped," he said.
I looked at him, wild-eyed.
"Those of Treve," he said, "are worthy foes."
I looked at him, trembling. I put forth my hand.
"He had broken free," said Bosk. "When we arrived, he was gone."
"The others?" I said.
"We found three bodies," said Bosk, Merchant of Port Kar. "One, with an empty scabbard, was identified as that of Haakon of Skjern. Another, that of a small man, was not identified. The third body was strange, that of a large, and, I fear, most unpleasant beast."
I put down my head, sobbing hysterically.
"They were cut to pieces," said Bosk. "The heads were mounted on stakes beside the canal. The sign of Treve was cut into each of the stakes."
I fell to my knees, sobbing and laughing.
"Those of Treve," mused Bosk, as though he might have known them as enemies, "are worthy foes."
"What of me?" I looked up.
"I am letting it be known in the camp of Terence of Treve, a mercenary, that there is, in my house, a wench, whose name is Elinor."
"Rask of Treve no longer wants me. He sold me," I said.
Bosk shrugged. "I am informed by Samos, who keeps spies, that Rask of Treve came free to Port Kar, and alon
e, where he was captured." He looked at me. "What might it have been that he sought?"
"I do not know," I whispered.
"It is said," said Bosk of Port Kar, "that he sought a slave, whose name was Elinor."
"That cannot be," I said, "for when I was brought to Port Kar, Rask of Treve was already captive."
"It could easily be," said he called Bosk, "for it requires only that some rumor be spread, say, in Ar, or elsewhere, that you are in this city, a rumor which well might, by means of spies, soon find its way to the camp of Rask of Treve. And surely it would be preferable, to the plans of some, my enemies, that you not be in this city when Rask of Treve arrives, lest they fail to capture him and he finds you, and carries you away." He looked at me. "Were you in a place where they could have you when they wished, and yet not seem to own you, nor risk identifying themselves with you prematurely, lest others take note?"
"For months," I said, "I served as a slave in a paga tavern."
"They may even have seen you sold," said Bosk. "It was the Curulean, was it not?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"A most public block," he said. Then he looked at me, a bit sadly. "I once saw a most beautiful woman sold from that block."
"What was her name?" I asked.
"Vella," he said. "Her name was Vella."
I looked down.
"It is my speculation," said Bosk, "that only when Rask of Treve fell captive were you then picked up and brought to Port Kar, where you might be confronted with him."
"Rask of Treve," I said, "sold me. He does not want me."
Bosk shrugged. "Go to the kitchen," he said, "there is work for you there."
I went to the kitchen, and put myself at the disposition of Tellius. He had wanted to leave the employ of Bosk of Port Kar, so stricken had he been that he had ignorantly purchased me, and that I had nearly brought about the downfall of the house, but Bosk would not hear of it, and bade him remain. "Where shall I find another kitchen master your equal?" he had asked. Tellius remained in the house. He would not, however, allow me to prepare or serve food. He watched me closely. At night he would double chain me.
I sang at my work, for I knew that Rask of Treve lived. Further, those who had sought to employ me as a tool to their dark purposes had been destroyed. I knew that he did not want me for he had sold me, but I was content in the knowledge that he, whom I loved, lived. I did not believe that my master, Bosk, was correct in his conjectures that the warrior of Treve had come to Port Kar to find me, for he had sold me. His informants were mistaken, or confused. I tried, from time to time, to put Rask of Treve from my mind, but I could not do so. Sometimes, at night, the other girls would waken me, and scold me, for I had disturbed them, crying his name in my sleep. Rask of Treve did not want me. But I wanted him, with all of me and my weeping heart. But he lived. I could not be unhappy. I could be lonely, and hunger for his touch, his mouth, his words, his hand on mine, but I knew he lived, so I could not be truly sad. How could I be sad when somewhere he was proud and alive, and free, doubtless once again bold and violent, fighting, raiding, feasting with his cup companions and his beautiful slaves.
"Sell me, Master," I once begged Bosk, for I did not wish to remain in the house where I had so nearly committed so great a crime. I wished to go where I might not be known, where I would be only another collared girl, another wench in bondage, anonymous in her submission and degradation.
"You have work in the kitchen," had said Bosk of Port Kar.
I had returned to the kitchen.
* * * *
It is time now for me to conclude this narrative.
I have written it at the command of my master, Bosk, of Port Kar, of the Merchants, it seems, but, I suspect, once of the Warriors. I do not understand all of what I have written, in the sense of knowing its implications, or what knowledge others, better informed, may draw from it. But I have written down much, and, I think, honestly. My master has commanded that it be so written. As a Gorean slave girl I dare not disobey, and, in this case, I would not care, also, to do so. Further, he has commanded me to speak in this my feelings, perhaps, in his kindness, thinking it would be well for me to do so. I have tried to comply.
I am happier now, than I have been, though I still beg, upon occasion, that I might be sold from this house. I have learned that Rask of Treve did indeed come to Port Kar to find me, and this has given me indescribable joy, though it is mingled now with great bitterness, and sadness, for I shall never again be his.
On the piazza, before the Hall of the Council of Captains, Rask of Treve confronted Bosk of Port Kar, demanding that I be surrendered to him. Bosk, I am told, set my price at twenty pieces of gold, that he might, as a merchant, take his profit on me. But Rask of Treve does not buy women, for he is of Treve. My price could have been an arrow point or a copper tarn disk, but his answer would have been the same. He takes women. He does not buy them. But I fear I may not be taken from Bosk of Port Kar. He is said himself to be a master swordsman, much feared, and his house is strong, and there are men here, some hundreds, who pledge their lives and their blades to him. This house has withstood a siege of thousands, within the last two years, in the time of the warrings of the Ubars and the Council of Captains, and the great engagement between the fleet of Port Kar and that of Tyros and Cos, on the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, 10,120 Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. And surely Rask, a captain of Treve, cannot bring the tarn cavalries of Treve to distant Port Kar, for a mere slave girl, and, too, such action would mean long and bloody war. I am, unfortunately, safe in this house. It is my home, and my prison. When Rask of Treve demanded that I be given to him, Bosk, my master, first sword in Port Kar, drew his own blade and, for answer, drew on the tiles of the piazza a sign, that of the city of Ko-ro-ba. Rask of Treve, cloak swirling, turned and strode away.
I am now, by order of Bosk, again permitted to serve in the great hall. But, at night, Tellius, still, keeps me double chained. He is a good kitchen master, and loves his captain, Bosk of Port Kar. I do not object to his precautions.
I am now finished with this narrative. Each night I must return to the kitchen, by the nineteenth hour, to be chained. Before that time it is my wont to wander the delta wall of the house of Bosk. I look out upon the marshes, which are in the light of the three moons of Gor, very beautiful.
I remember Rask of Treve.
18
The Epilogue of Bosk of Port Kar
Thid is now Bosk of Port Kar, who speaks.
I wish to add a small note to this manuscript, which I shall have transmitted to the Sardar.
It is long since I have served Priest-Kings. I would be free of their service. Samos often speaks with me, but I have remained adamant. Even so, in the arsenal, Tersites, the half-blind, mad shipwright, builds a strange ship, to sail beyond the world's end. I wish to be free, and to be left alone. I am now rich. I am now respected. I have much for which a man might wish, the beautiful Telima, considerable wealth, a great house, wines and allegiances, and before me, gleaming Thassa, the Sea. I wish to be free of Priest-Kings, and Others. I want no longer any part of their dark games. Let the world be saved without me, for I have done my work, and want now only peace. But yet the Others have not forgotten me. They know me, and my whereabouts, and have tried to slay me. I endanger all those with whom I am in contact. What should I do? What can I do? My old sword, the blade carried even as long ago as the siege of Ar, hangs still in my chambers, in its worn scabbard. I am not eager to take it up again.
And I have now learned, from the narrative of the girl, Elinor, that Talena, once my companion, may well be in the northern forests. I have heard, too, that the girls of Verna, chief of the panther girls, were freed in Ar, surreptitiously, and are believed to have escaped northward. In this I think I see the hand of Rask of Treve, or perhaps even of Verna, a most unusual woman, herself. I have spoken to Telima. Sometimes she comes with me, to the great keep, which once we defended, and we look sometimes toward Thassa, the Sea, and I l
ook sometimes towards the northern forests. Marlenus of Ar prepares an expedition to enter the forests, to recapture Verna and punish her for her insolence. It is not unknown to him, for rumors have been spread, that she, too, holds captive in those forests the girl Talena, his daughter. It is said he is shamed that she has been a slave, and that he intends to free her, and keep her sequestered in Ar, that her degradation not be publicly exhibited. How could she, a Ubar's daughter, hold up her head, when once she has worn the collar of a warrior of Treve.
"Hunt for her," has said Telima. "Perhaps you still love her."
"I love you," I told Telima.
"Find her," said Telima. "Bring her here as slave and choose between us. If you wish, we will fight with knives in the marshes."
"She was once my companion," I told Telima.
"The companionship is gone," said Telima. "More than a year has passed," she pointed out, "and you have not, together, repledged it."
"That is true," I admitted. By Gorean law the companionship, to be binding, must, together, be annually renewed, pledged afresh with the wines of love.
"And," said Telima, "both of you were once enslaved, and that, in itself, dissolves the companionship. Slaves cannot stand in companionship."
I looked at her angrily.
"You have not forgotten the delta of the Vosk?" she asked. Telima was not pleasing in her jealousy.
"No," I said, "I have not." I could never forget the delta of the Vosk, and my degradation. I knew that I had once betrayed my codes. I knew that I was one who had once chosen ignominious slavery over the freedom of honorable death.
"Forgive me, my Ubar," had said Telima.
"I do," I said.
I looked toward the northern forests. It had been so many years. I recalled her, Talena. She had been a dream in my heart, a memory, an ideal of a youthful love, never forgotten, glowing still, always remembered. I remembered her as I had seen her, in the swamp forest, south of Ar, with Nar the spider, and in the Ka-la-na grove, where I had freed her from the chains of a slave, only to put mine upon her; and in the caravan of Mintar, of the Merchants, in her collar, mine, and slave tunic, with Kazrak, my sword brother; and her dancing in my tent; and she upon the lofty cylinder of justice, in Ar, threatened with impalement, and as she had been, beautiful and loving, in the hours of our Free Companionship in Ko-ro-ba, before I had awakened again, stiff, bewildered, in the mountains of New Hampshire. I had never forgotten her. I could not.