Savages of Gor

by John Norman

  Words, heated and proud, were exchanged between the two men. Grunt's resolve to conciliate and pacify the savages seemed, in the heat of the moment, to have been abandoned. Then he was thrown backward. Two of the Kaiila drew their knives. I tensed. Grunt, however, had the good sense not to charge them. Suddenly, even in his anger, he realized he might be killed.

  The young warrior then spoke to the girl at the paws of his kaiila.

  "Quick," said Pimples, "stand up. Stand straight. Put your hands at your sides. Press your hands to your thighs. Put your head up. Whatever happens, do not resist."

  Quickly the red-haired girl obeyed.

  The young savage threw a beaded collar to one of the warriors near the girl.

  He approached the girl.

  Grunt, at this point, in an excited medley of Dust Leg, Kaiila and Gorean, distraught and angry, entered again into remonstrance with the young warrior.

  "Kaiila," I said to Grunt. "Kaiila!"

  Grunt then shook his head, gathering his thoughts, and addressed himself, clearly and calmly, in Kaiila, to the youth.

  But the young man, clearly, the lance grasped in his hand, high on the lofty kaiila, in his breechclout and paint, was not moved.

  The more mature warrior, then, he who was of the Yellow-Kaiila Riders, moved his beast forward. He, too, spoke to the young man. The young man shook his head, angrily. The Yellow-Kaiila Rider then said something to Grunt, and then pulled back his beast, retiring again to the background. I saw that he was not pleased, but he gave little sign of it. It was not seemly, I gathered, for one such as he to enter into dispute with a younger warrior, one of another society and who had fewer coups than himself. Too, it was the young man, and not he, who was Blotanhunka, war-party leader, of this group of All Comrades.

  The young man then said something to his fellow near the red-haired girl. Then he gestured to the helpless female, standing naked and straight before him, her head up, her hands pressed tightly to her thighs.

  Grunt and I watched as the young man's collar was tied on her throat. She was collared.

  Grunt's fists were clenched, futilely.

  The red-haired girl looked at her new master in awe. He was tall, and strong, and savagely handsome. Her entire body seemed transfused with fear, and emotion and excitement. It was such a brute who owned her. Too, she realized that tension had been involved in her claimancy. In spite of countervailing considerations, perhaps serious ones, he had decided that it would be he, and no other, who would own her. She knew then that she, a mere slave, was the object of strong desire.

  "I do not like it," said Grunt. "It will mean trouble."

  "Perhaps," I said.

  The young man regarded his new slave, pleasurably, approvingly. She blushed hotly under his inspection, but did not flinch nor turn her eyes from his. Then his eyes grew stern, and she shrank back. She saw then that she could be only his slave, and that she would be uncompromisingly mastered. But even this, I saw, pleased her.

  "You have one slim chance for life," said Pimples. "That is to serve him, in all things, and to be pleasing to him, fully, and in all ways."

  "I will," she whispered. "I will."

  Then the eyes of the young master and the new slave again met. This time, again unable to meet his gaze, she lowered her head. She was very beautiful, her head bowed before her master.

  She trembled.

  I saw that she was as excited by, and enamored of, her master, as he of her.

  "Do not simply stand there, you little fool," said Pimples. "Kneel down before him, and put your head to the grass."

  Quickly the red-haired girl obeyed.

  I looked at her, kneeling before her master. Doubtless she would be worked hard and used much. She would not be in any doubt as to her slavery, either in his camp or in his lodge.

  The young man said something.

  "Get up," said Pimples. "Go to him. You may kiss his foot and ankle."

  The red-haired girl got up and went to the young warrior. He looked very splendid in his paint and feathers, with the lance, astride the kaiila. She pressed her lips to his moccasin and then to his ankle, kissing him softly. Then she looked up at him, and backed away, his, stripped save for the beaded collar knotted at her throat.

  "You have been highly honored," said Pimples to the red-haired girl. "Although you are only a white slave, already you have been permitted to put your lips to his body."

  The young man then lowered his lance, until the long point of narrow, tapering, bluish flint was but inches from her bared breasts. He gestured at her with the lance. "Winyela," he said.

  "You have been named," said Pimples. "Put down your head. Put your fingers to your breasts. Say, 'Ho, Itancanka, Winyela'."

  The red-haired girl did this. She then lifted her head again, to her master.

  "Winyela," he said.

  "Winyela," she repeated.

  He then turned his attention elsewhere, to the trade goods, mostly Grunt's, through which two of his warriors had been rummaging. Hatchets, mirrors, knives and cloths, and such, were now much scattered about, on the grass. He urged his kaiila to the place. No longer, it seemed, was he concerned with the slave. Such concern might seem out of place in a lofty Blotanhunka. Too, the girl must understand that she is nothing.

  "I have been named," said the red-haired girl.

  "Yes, Winyela," said Pimples.

  I smiled to myself. At last the red-haired girl had a name.

  "It is a beautiful name," said the red-haired girl.

  "It means 'Female Animal'," said Pimples.

  "Oh," said the red-haired girl, taken aback.

  "It is quite a good name, considering that you are a slave," said Pimples. "Female slaves are often given names such as Wasna, Grease, or Cespu, Scab or Wart, until they prove themselves sufficiently pleasing to have earned a better. I myself was called Wasnapohdi, which means 'Pimples'."

  "You are still called 'Pimples'," said the red-haired girl.

  "Apparently I have not yet earned a better," smiled Pimples.

  "Winyela," said the red-haired girl. "It is a beautiful sound."

  "Do not forget its meaning," said Pimples. "She-animal. Female animal."

  "No," said the red-haired girl.

  "And see that you prove to be a perfect she-animal to him, obedient, shameless and devoted, in all things."

  "A slave," said the girl.

  "Yes," said Pimples.

  "Do you think he would let me be less," she asked, smiling, timidly, "such a man?"

  "No," said Pimples. "I, too, was once slave amongst the Kaiila. I know such men. They will accept nothing less than abject, perfect service from a woman."

  "Even if he would permit me less," said the red-haired girl, "I would not want, even of my own free will, to give him less."

  I envied the young warrior his lovely, red-haired slave, Winyela. What man, truly, honestly, red or white, would not? But perhaps one must have had a slave, or least once in one's life, to understand this.

  "Look at the happy, shameless slave," I said. "She may have been born for that collar."

  "Perhaps," said Grunt.

  "It may be just as well that your remonstrances proved ineffective."

  "She was meant for Mahpiyasapa, Black Clouds," said Grunt. "That lad and Mahpiyasapa are both of the Isbu Band. There is sure to be trouble. Too, I am not getting paid for her."

  "That is true," I granted him. "What did the Yellow-Kaiila Rider say to you," I asked, "after he had spoken to the youth, before he had returned to his place?"

  "That the youth was within his rights," said Grunt, "that he could claim her, under the circumstances, by right of slave capture."

  "Which he did?" I asked.

  "Of course," said Grunt. "Would you not have done the same?"

  "Perhaps," I smiled.

  "At any rate, it is done now," said Grunt. "She is in his collar."

  That was true. The collar had now been tied on her neck. She was now, completely, the y
oung man's property.

  I looked at her. I saw that she was prepared to serve him well.

  I noted, suddenly, looking about, that one of the two warriors who had been busying himself in the trade goods was now reaching for a certain bundle on my own kaiila. It was that in which, rolled, was the story hide and, also, the translator I had brought from Port Kar, that acquired from Kog and Sardak, the Kurii, in the abandoned tarn complex, in the delta.

  "Do not," said Grunt to me.

  But I was at the side of the kaiila and, firmly, I took the hand of the warrior from the bundle, and put it to the side. He looked at me, startled.

  Our hands darted to our knife sheaths.

  The lance of the young warrior interposed itself between us. We stepped apart.

  I pointed to the goods on my pack kaiila. "Mine!" I said, in Gorean. Too, I jerked my thumb toward my body. This, in sign, signifies "I," "Me," or "Mine," depending on the context.

  "Howo, Akihoka," said the young man to the fellow squared off against me, he whose hand I had taken from the packing on the kaiila. "Howo, Keglezela," said he then to the other fellow. He then slowly brought his kaiila about and walked it, slowly, to where the red youth, Cuwignaka, Woman's Dress, whom I had freed from the stakes, clung, supporting himself, to the Kaiila lance. He had donned the white dress of his own accord. He had shortened it earlier, and torn it at the side, to permit himself more freedom of movement in it. The lad seemed weak, clinging to the lance. He had not, however, in the presence of the other savages, deigned to eat or drink. They must be aware, I supposed, of this gesture on his part. They would doubtless respect that. He, in spite of his garb, was showing them that he, in this at least, could be Kaiila. The two fellows, Akihoka and Keglezela, followed the young warrior. I adjusted the packing ropes on the kaiila, securing the goods firmly in place. It interested me that the young warrior had interposed his will as he had. In this, for some reason, he had protected me. I did not know him, however. I had never seen him before. It made no sense to me that he had acted as he had. I was puzzled. Why had he done this?

  The young warrior had now ridden his kaiila about until he faced Woman's Dress. I noted that his men, too, took up positions either at his sides, in lines, or rather behind him. They were drawn up, a few feet from Woman's Dress, fanned out, almost as if readying themselves for the charge. Woman's Dress looked up at them, still holding to the lance, that he not fall. He showed not the least fear before him. I went to stand near Woman's Dress. Grunt, too, was near to us. Winyela and Pimples stood to one side.

  The young warrior, very clearly, began to speak. This language, to those unfamiliar with it, seems fraught with unfamiliar phonemes and intonation contours. There are many husky and guttural sounds in it, rasping and sibilant. It is very fluent and expressive. Sometimes it seems almost as though it were exploding into sound, particularly when the speaker speaks rapidly or is excited.

  "'Who has freed you?'," translated Grunt. "'I am free. It does not matter.'"

  The young warrior spoke rapidly to Woman's Dress who, boldly, and in an almost fiery fashion, responded to him. It seemed to me incongruous that Woman's Dress, weakened, in the remains of the dress of a white female, should carry on so stoutly and resolutely with the young warrior. Both, of course, were Kaiila. I wondered if both knew one another, from somewhere before. Woman's Dress, I saw, was a man.

  "What is going on?" I asked Grunt.

  "The young fellow wants to know who freed him, and Woman's Dress is protecting you."

  "I freed him," I said to the young warrior, stepping forward. "Translate that," I told Grunt.

  "I do not think that would be in your best interest," said Grunt.

  "Translate it," I said. Reluctantly, Grunt complied. The young warrior regarded me.

  "He is not surprised, of course," said Grunt. "It is what he would have suspected."

  I nodded. I would surely have been the prime suspect in this matter. I was obviously not one familiar with the Barrens. I could speak only a smattering of Dust Leg and Kaiila. Presumably, then, it would have been I who, in foolishness, or not knowing any better, would have had the temerity to cut the thongs.

  "Canka," said the young warrior, striking himself on the chest with his fist. "Akicita hemaca. Isbu hemaca. Kaiila hemaca!"

  "'I am Canka, Fire-Steel,'" said Grunt. "I am a warrior. I am of the Little Stones. I am of the Kaiila.'"

  "Tal," said I, "I am Tarl Cabot."

  "Wopeton," said Grunt, pointing to me. "Hou, Hou, Kola." Then he turned to me. "Your name would be meaningless to them," he said. "I have called you 'Wopeton,' or 'Trader' or 'Merchant'. That may serve as a name for you, unless you want another. I have also conveyed your greetings."

  "I understand," I said.

  In the following I will give the gist of the conversation that then ensued. Understand that Grunt, or Woman's Dress, upon occasion, acted as interpreter. Understand, too, that more than this was said. Certain points only are here conveyed. There were additional exchanges which took place between Canka and Cuwignaka, between Fire-Steel and Woman's Dress.

  "It is as I thought," said Canka to me, "it was you who freed this callow prisoner."

  "He has survived, and he is strong," I said. "He, like yourself, is Kaiila. Respect him."

  "He was the slave of white men."

  "Now he is free," I said.

  "He would not carry arms," said Canka. "He would not take the warpath."

  "I had no quarrel with the Fleer," said Cuwignaka.

  "We put him in the dress of a woman and called him Cuwignaka," said Canka.

  "I had no quarrel with the Fleer," said Cuwignaka.

  "You shamed the Isbu," said Canka.

  "I had no quarrel with the Fleer," said Cuwignaka.

  "When again we went against the Fleer we gave him the opportunity to join us, the right to wear the breechclout and be a man. Again he refused. We then bound him in his woman's dress and sold him to the Dust Legs."

  "I had no quarrel with the Fleer," said Cuwignaka.

  "The Kaiila have a quarrel with the Fleer, and you are Kaiila," said Canka.

  "The Fleer have not injured me," said Cuwignaka.

  "Your grandfather was killed by Fleer," said Canka.

  "And we, too, killed Fleer," said Cuwignaka.

  "How is it that you have dared to return to the Barrens?" asked Canka.

  "He was brought," I said. "The white soldiers brought him. He could not help it."

  "They brought me," said Cuwignaka, "but I would have returned anyway."

  "Why?" demanded Canka.

  "Because I am Kaiila," said Cuwignaka, "no less than you!"

  "Do you think you are a man?" asked Canka.

  "I am a man," said Cuwignaka.

  "You do not wear the breechclout," said Canka.

  "It is not permitted to me," said Cuwignaka.

  "Because you are a woman," said Canka.

  "I am not a woman," said Cuwignaka.

  "If you return to camp," said Canka, "you will live as a woman. You will wear the dress of a woman and do the work of a woman. You will scrape hides and cook. You will gather kailiauk chips for the fires. You will tend lodges. You will please warriors."

  "I will not please warriors," said Cuwignaka.

  "I think that I will give you as a female slave to Akihoka," said Canka.

  "I will not please warriors," said Cuwignaka.

  "That is the first duty of a woman," said Canka, "to obey men, and be pleasing to them."

  "I am not a woman," said Cuwignaka.

  "You do not wear the breechclout," said Canka. "And these others, too, do not," he said, surveying Grunt and myself.

  "A yard or two of cloth," I said, "does not determine manhood in my country."

  "In his country, and in mine," said Grunt, "one might wear the breechclout and not be a man, and one might be a man and not wear it."

  "That is apparently not the way of the Barrens," I said. "Here, in your country, it seems all
that matters is whether a certain garment is worn. If that is the case, in your country, manhood is cheap, costing no more than the price of a strip of cloth."

  "That is not true!" said Canka.

  "Be careful," said Grunt to me. "Be careful, my friend."

  "The breechclout does not make manhood," said Canka. "It is only a sign of manhood. That is why we do not permit those to wear it who are not men."

  "Cuwignaka is a man," I said, "and you do not permit him to wear it."

  "It is fortunate for you that you are not a warrior," said Canka.

  "Akicita hemaca!" I said angrily, in his own language, striking myself on the chest. "I am a warrior!"

  "Be careful," said Grunt. "Do not put yourself within the coup system."

  Canka sat back on the kaiila. "I do not know if you are a warrior or not," he said. "But it is perhaps true. You did free Cuwignaka. You are thus, at least, a brave man. You have the respect of Canka."

  I was puzzled. I had not expected this attitude on his part.

  "Was it you," I asked the young warrior, "who staked him out?"

  "It was Kaiila," said Canka, carefully.

  "It was Hci, with his fellows of the Sleen Soldiers, of the Isbu, the son of Mahpiyasapa, civil chieftain of the Isbu, who did it," said Cuwignaka.

  "It was not Canka, then, and the All Comrades, who did it?" I said.

  "No," said Cuwignaka. "But it was Canka, and Hci, with the All Comrades and Sleen Soldiers, who first put me in the dress of a woman and later bound me in that dress and took me to the country of the Dust Legs, there selling me as a slave. That was on the decision of the council of the Isbu, presided over by Mahpiyasapa."

  "Canka," I said to Cuwignaka, in Gorean, "does not seem to be displeased that you have been freed."

  "No," said Cuwignaka.

  "You wear the dress of a woman," said Canka to Cuwignaka, suddenly, angrily. He said this, personally, emotionally. It was as though he, somehow, found this personally shameful.