by John Norman
It seemed then that the men forgot about us.
And it is well-known that kajirae are curious.
Much of the material cargo was being put to shore. Several men were in the water, being handed boxes, sacks, and bales, and some sealed vessels, even craters and amphorae. Some of the larger boxes were cast overboard, and, thrust, were floated to shore. Two large boxes, which had been lashed down on deck, and covered with greased canvas, were lowered over the side on ropes, with great care, to several men. I had no idea what the content of these boxes might be.
“Ai!” I cried, in misery, lashed at the side of the neck by a switch. He had come up behind me, from having brought a small barrel to shore.
“Are you not to be in position, your eyes forward?” he inquired.
“Yes, Master!” I said. “Forgive me, Master!”
I had twisted about, just a little, from time to time, to watch the men.
“Ha!” he said. “And you two, your eyes are now forward!”
“Yes, Master!” they said. Then they cried out, “Forgive me, Master!” I heard their cries, to my right, as the switch struck twice.
I was not the only one, it seemed, who had been curious.
The side of my neck stung. I had been reminded that a lapse from position, however slight, is not acceptable.
I was grateful, of course, that the men had not seen fit to lash us.
Looking ahead, I saw a figure emerging from the forest, in the green which I would come later to recognize as that of the foresters.
He lifted his hand, and said, “Tal,” and approached us. He conferred, briefly, with the chief of our armsmen. I had the sense that signs and countersigns might have been exchanged. The newcomer seemed particularly interested in the two large boxes which had been lowered carefully on ropes over the ship’s side, and then carried to shore. He then came before us, and examined us, one by one. “That one is a barbarian,” he was told, while I knelt as beautifully as I could before him. I was careful not to meet his eyes. Some masters do not allow their girls to meet their eyes. “No matter,” he said. “They all sweat and squeak the same.” He then drew back, and passed his eye over us once more. “Good,” he said. I could sense the relief which went through the chain. Certainly I felt it. We wish desperately to be found pleasing by men. It can be fearful for us if we are not.
Off in the forest we heard the roar of a beast.
We looked at one another, frightened.
Then, to my surprise, we were freed of the collars and chain. “You may stand,” we were told. We then stood in the surf, the water washing about our ankles. I held my arms about myself, as I was cold.
The collars and chain were then carried back to the ship. The mariners were busying themselves, apparently for departure. Oars emerged from the oar ports. The yard was being raised. The bow of the ship was turning about. I wondered why the ship had not been beached. One gathered that the captain and his officers were uneasy in this place. I suspected they had made more than one journey north. The collars and chains, doubtless, on a return trip, would grace new occupants, new beasts, such as I.
“Approach,” we were told, and, gratefully, we then stood on the beach, beside the disembarked cargo of the small vessel.
“Be in line, in order of descending height,” he said.
We so arranged ourselves.
We were then, from the back to the front, being put in a rope coffle, the rope to be knotted about our necks, as it had been when we had exited the holding area in our port of departure. We were not being blindfolded. I supposed one part of the beach and one part of the forest was not much different from other parts. Our hands were not being tied behind us. I soon discovered why.
Then the rope was knotted about my neck, and taken forward, to the next girl. I was then, again, a part of a coffle. Coffles are sometimes spoken of as “the slaver’s necklace.” I hoped I would be an attractive bead on such a necklace. It is a slave’s hope that men will find her pleasing. Much depends on it. Too, I found that I wanted to be found pleasing to men, and a slave, the slave I was.
“You are at the edge of the great forest,” we were told. “It is roamed by beasts.”
In the distance, we again heard a roar, and shuddered.
“That is a forest panther,” he said.
It was perhaps the same beast, or one responding to it. I supposed such beasts somehow adjudicated territory amongst themselves.
“Men,” said the newcomer, addressing the armsmen. “We will trek to a place called Tarncamp. Most of you will work and train there. Some may go east, to another camp. Its name you need not now know.”
“Work?” asked an armsman.
“Heavy labor, in the forest,” said the newcomer. “Felling trees, shaping and smoothing timbers, transporting them to the east, such things.”
“My tool is the sword,” said the armsman.
“It will find its work soon enough,” said the newcomer.
“I decline such service,” said the armsman.
“You are far from Brundisium,” said the newcomer.
The ship was departing. It was now more than a hundred yards from shore. I saw no sign of the second ship. I did not know what had become of it. Considering that the coast is generally kept in view, it seemed unlikely it would have been lost at sea; considering how long it had been with us it seemed unlikely it would have encountered difficulties of which we would have been unaware; and now, considering our position, and how far north we were, it seemed unlikely it would have fallen afoul of a corsair; the “sleen of the sea” would find little to feed upon in waters so lonely and remote.
“I shall await another ship,” said the armsman.
“You would be put to death as a deserter,” said the newcomer.
“One need only follow the coast south,” he said.
“You would be dead within ten yards,” said the newcomer.
The armsman looked warily toward the trees.
“Yes,” said the newcomer, “there are bowmen in the forest.”
At this point there was another roar in the forest, but this one seemed mighty, as though it might have torn leaves from the trees.
“That is no forest panther!” said a man.
“No,” said the newcomer, “it is a larl.”
“Larls are not this far north,” said a man.
“They do not range so,” said another.
“It is a trained beast, brought north,” said the newcomer. “There are others, as well. It will accompany us to Tarncamp. Tarncamp has its established perimeter, marked by wands. One must not, without authorization, pass beyond the wands. Yesterday two deserters were torn to pieces.”
“You have deserters?” said a man.
“Occasionally,” said the newcomer.
“What manner of service is this?” inquired the reluctant armsman.
“One which is unusually well paid,” said the newcomer. “Did not each of you receive the equivalent in copper tarsks of a silver stater of Brundisium?”
There was assent to this amongst the men.
“Be of good cheer,” said the newcomer. “In time, you will receive the opportunity to wash your blade in the blood of foes.”
“Of course,” said a fellow, “we are to train here, secretly, and then sweep south!”
“But why so far north?” asked a man, uneasily.
The newcomer did not respond.
I turned about and looked west, out to sea.
I did not see the second ship.
There must have been a signal from the forest, a particular signal, I thought, to bring us to shore here. It then occurred to me that there might have been another signal, a different signal, possibly, to bring the second ship to the shore, or would be such a signal. In this way, if nothing else, armsmen could not convene with others until Tarncamp was reached, until they were within the wands. I knew little of larls. Certainly I had never seen one. I did know they were beasts of prey, apparently large beasts of prey. I had seen,
in the training house, a sleen, a restless, vicious, agile, six-legged, carnivorous, sinuous, snake-like mammal. It is apparently an extraordinary tracker. In the wild, it commonly burrows. Trained sleen are used for a large number of purposes, one of which was made clear to us, particularly to those of us who were barbarians being trained, the hunting of fugitive slaves.
The newcomer turned about and lifted his arm, toward the forest.
I heard the snap of a whip coming from the forest. It is a sound well known to, and much feared by, the female slave. The coffle stirred, apprehensively.
“Ah!” said more than one man.
A line of slaves, perhaps twenty, with ropes and poles, emerged from the forest. They were not coffled. And they were, I was pleased to note, tunicked. It is said that a free woman might perish of shame if placed in a slave tunic, but, to a slave, such a garment, which she knows need not be accorded to her, may be a treasure, more precious to her than some assemblage of robes and veils to a free woman. Indeed, amongst slaves a tunic, in its way, constitutes a symbol of status. Certainly tunicked slaves commonly look down upon naked slaves. Whereas a slave might prefer to be naked before her master, that she might know herself the more his slave, almost any slave wishes to be clothed in public. To be sent naked about one’s errands, one’s shopping and such, is usually regarded as an instruction, if the slave is new, or, if she is not, as a sign that she is out of favor with her master, perhaps having failed to be fully pleasing in some way. In many ways may a slave be praised or rewarded, punished or disciplined. Among these ways clothing or its lack, as the nature of bonds, food, quarters, and such, may figure.
I suppose I am vain, but I never objected to the slave tunic. I thrill to see myself in it, displayed for perusal, exhibited as a slave. I think I have an excellent figure for such a scrap of cloth, such a mockery of a garment, my legs and such, though perhaps I am a little slender. But I do not think the men mind. I think I would rather be naked at the feet of my master, but, in public, I delight in the tunic. Perhaps free women would switch me across the calves, but I would still be pleased. Indeed, I do not think they would strike me, if they were not envious of me. Perhaps they, too, would like to be so exhibited, so proudly and shamelessly, for the perusal of men.
I suppose that many women, on my old world, were uncertain as to their desirability. That is probably to be expected, on such a world. I know I was. But then I found myself brought to Gor. I knew then that in the opinion of some men, at least, and those dealers in, and connoisseurs of, women, I was desirable. They bring us here to sell us. How desirable I am I do not know, but I know I must have met at least some basic criteria, criteria for marketability. I would hate for men to kill for me, but it pleases me that they would pay for me. It is nice to know that one has some value, if only a handful of copper coins. Free women may be priceless, but, too, I suspect some would not bring a tarsk-bit. Many Goreans believe that all women are natural slaves. I do not know if that is true or not, for who knows all women, but I know that I am a natural slave. I cannot be fulfilled without the collar. I belong at a master’s feet. I want to love and serve, choicelessly, in sweet abasement. We hope to be well treated. But we will be treated as the master sees fit, for we are slaves.
Are we so different from free women?
I do not know.
Surely the culture marks great differences between us. The free woman is a person, a citizen, and may possess a Home Stone; we are animals and properties, marked and collared as such, and we lack Home Stones, for such are denied to beasts. And surely our clothing, when we are permitted clothing, contrasts with that of free women, as a revealing tunic, or camisk, differs from colorful swirls of fine robes and veils. It is sometimes said that the free woman dresses to please herself, whereas the slave is dressed to please her master, and this is true, but, I think, overly simple. For example, if the free woman were to dress as a slave, she might soon be collared, and if the master were to dress his slave as a free woman, he would be jeopardizing her life. Custom and tradition, and sometimes law, are involved in these matters. The free woman may dress to please herself, but, too, it seems she is well advised to please herself by conforming, and strictly, to a variety of canons, canons of taste, custom, convention, and sometimes of law. In some respects, societally, she is less free than the slave. The culture does deem it important, and free women insist upon this, that a clear distinction be drawn between the free woman and the slave. The most obvious way to mark this distinction publicly and conveniently is the collar, or its absence, and garmenture, say, the robes of concealment as against a tunic, or camisk. One supposes that the slave might be dressed in a drab, form-concealing, shapeless sack, but men will not have it so. They are proud of their slaves, and wish to see them, and display them. If one had a beautiful kaiila, would one throw a blanket over it? So the brief tunic is a common slave garment. Men will have it so. Then, as might be expected, free women denounce the tunic as a shameful garment, and attempt, in terms of it, to shame its occupant. This is sometimes effective, for a time, with a new slave, but, sooner or later, the slave, at least when no free women are present, comes to revel in the lightness and freedom of such a garment, and its flattering betrayal of her beauty, as opposed to the hobbling impediments of cumbersome robes and veils, however resplendent, well-layered, and colorful. An additional point might be mentioned, relevant to slave garmenture, particularly with respect to its revealing nature, aside from the preferences of men, which is the supposed protection it affords to free women. The notion here seems to be that a roving tarnsman, a raider, a slaver, a girl hunter, and such, given the choice between a prey of obvious interest, say, a scantily clad slave girl, and one of an unknown quality, say, a free woman in the robes of concealment, given the risks involved, and such, is more likely to drop the slave loop about the slave than her exalted free sister. Who, it is said, would wish to risk his life for a tarsk? On the other hand, there is little doubt that the capture of a free woman, given the care with which they are guarded, the glory of capturing one, and such, is usually considered an estimable coup. A common test for a young tarnsman is to steal a free woman from an enemy city, bring her home, brand and collar her, and have her serve and dance before his family and friends at his victory feast. And the first wine at the feast, following her public licking and kissing of his whip, before which time no one may eat or drink, will be served to him by his new slave. Too, of course, one may always hope that the prey, when brought to the camp and stripped, may prove a prize. Most slaves, of course, were once free women, free insofar as a woman may be regarded as free, as not yet collared.
“Behold these slaves,” said the newcomer, gesturing to the tunicked slaves recently emerged from the forest. “Are they not of interest?”
Only too obviously were they of interest, judging from the responses of the men.
“Such, and many others,” said the newcomer, “serve in Tarncamp. They exist for your service and pleasure. You may buy them, or rent them, or visit them in one or another of the slave houses. The Pani, who are your employers, are generous with such meaningless baubles.”
Some of the men smote their left shoulders in approbation.
“And,” he said, “you know of the changes in Ar. Indeed, I am sure we owe the presence of some of you here to such changes.”
Several of the men looked uneasily at one another.
“We all know of defeat and flight,” he said, “the sorry fate of the occupational forces, of the rising of the men of Ar, of screaming crowds, diversely armed, of fires, of the decimation and disruption of troops, the desertion of officers, the stranding of units, of frequent withdrawals under fire, the confused retreats of mercenary prides, the breaking apart and scattering of free companies, of men, hungry and disorganized, hunted down and slaughtered like urts in the field.”
This account ignited protest, and an angry muttering, amongst some of the men, perhaps mercenaries, and perhaps some regulars, lost from their units, unable to rejoin t
hem. Tears coursed down the cheeks of more than one man.
“Well,” said the newcomer, “you doubtless know as well of the proscription lists and the flight, where possible, of hundreds of traitors and collaborators from Glorious Ar. Many fled toward the coast, to arrive at length, as many soldiers, as well, haggard and starving, destitute, in Brundisium. Indeed, some of you here may have been amongst such unfortunate, needful wretches, then only scattered refugees.”
Some fellows exchanged glances.
“But if so, as you are here, if you are men, welcome, and rejoice, for it is your good fortune, as that of your fellows, armsmen or not, to have sold your swords north. Riches and glory await you!”
This aroused the attention of the men, all of the men, visibly.
“But many lovely free women of Ar,” he said, “profiteers, traitresses, collaborators, conspirators, betrayers of their Home Stones, fleeing, taken in hand, had their hair cropped and were collared.”
There was assent amongst the men, and laughter.
“And many of the most beautiful of these,” he said, “will kneel to you in Tarncamp, and fear only that you will not find them pleasing.”
“Of high caste?” asked a fellow.
“Many,” said the newcomer, “for what women, if not of high caste, would be in a position to secure coin and power by serving the enemy, to reveal secrets, to supply information, to corner, manage, and horde goods, to wheedle concessions and arrange clandestine sources of supply and private markets, to profit from the occupation?”
I supposed there would always be such, in any city.
Women of lower caste could do little more than consort with the enemy. From what I had heard there were few of the lower castes on the proscription lists. Perhaps they were less important, or less visible, or would be less readily denounced, being less hated. Or perhaps they had less to offer the enemy, and thus were of less interest to them. Or perhaps they were stronger than their betters, more willing to suffer and wait, and endure.
“And so,” said the newcomer, “women who once would not have consented to speak to you through the curtains of their palanquins, women who would have scorned you in Ar, who held themselves so superior, who would have regarded you as less than the dust beneath their slippers, now, if sufficiently beautiful, naked and collared, will carry buckets of hot water to your baths.”