Fighting Slave of Gor

by John Norman

  "We proceeded from my villa to my house in Venna," continued the Lady Florence, speaking lightly with the Lady Melpomene.

  "I, too, have a house in Venna," she said.

  "I did not know, with the state of your finances, that you had managed to retain it," said the Lady Florence. Venna is a small, exclusive resort city, some two hundred pasangs north of Ar. It is noted for its baths and its tharlarion races.

  "Do you come often to shop in Ar?" asked the Lady Melpomene.

  "Twice yearly," said the Lady Florence.

  "I come four times yearly," said the Lady Melpomene.

  "I see," said the Lady Florence, sweetly.

  "I can afford to," said the Lady Melpomene.

  "Do not permit me to detain you from your shopping," said the Lady Florence.

  "I would not stay too long in Ar," said the Lady Melpomene.

  "I do not think there will be trouble," said the Lady Florence.

  "There was talk in the baths at Vonda," said the Lady Melpomene. "It is feared there will be an attack by Ar. Already troops have skirmished south of the Olni."

  "Men are barbarians," said the Lady Florence. "They are always fighting."

  "If hostilities should break out," said the Lady Melpomene, "it might not be well to be a woman of Vonda caught in this city."

  "I do not think there will be trouble," said the Lady Florence.

  "You may risk a steel collar if you wish," said the Lady Melpomene. "I am leaving Ar tonight."

  "We are leaving in the morning," said the Lady Florence.

  "Excellent," said the Lady Melpomene. "Perhaps I shall see you in Venna."

  "Perhaps," said the Lady Florence.

  "And perhaps you will let me enjoy your slave," said the Lady Melpomene.

  "Perhaps—for a fee," said the Lady Florence, coldly.

  "A fee?" asked the Lady Melpomene.

  "Sixteen tarsks," said the Lady Florence. "The pitiful price which you could not afford to pay for him."

  Sixteen tarsks was actually a high price to pay for a male silk slave. Most would go from four to six tarsks.

  "I wish you well," said the Lady Melpomene.

  "I wish you well," said the Lady Florence.

  The Lady Melpomene then clapped her hands. "Proceed!" she called to the draft slaves, those bearing upon their shoulders the poles of her palanquin.

  In a moment or two they had proceeded down the street.

  "What a hateful woman," said the Lady Florence. "What a pretender she is! How I despise her! Her fortunes are ruined. She is almost penniless. If she does retain a house in Venna she is sure to lose it soon. How bold she is, even to dare to speak with me. She is probably in Ar trying to negotiate a loan, or sell the house in Venna, if indeed she still owns it. Even the palanquin and slaves are rented! She does not fool me! How I hate her! I hate her! Did you see how sweetly she spoke to me? But she hates me, too. Our families have been enemies for generations."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  "She even bid against me for you," said the Lady Florence. "Would a friend have done that?"

  "I do not know, Mistress," I said.

  "No," said the Lady Florence.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  "And she had the nerve to ask for your use," said the Lady Florence. "I will share you only with those women who please me."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. It is a common Gorean hospitality to offer the use of one's slaves to guests, if they should find them attractive. The Lady Florence of Vonda, she to whom I belonged, could give or assign me, as any slave she owned, to whomsoever she pleased. She had, however, at least thus far, kept me for herself. Sometimes when there were guests at her villa southwest of Vonda I was kept locked in my kennel.

  "This way, Jason," she said. "I wish to purchase veil pins at the shop of Publius. Then I wish to proceed to the avenue of the Central Cylinder, to examine the silks in the shop of Philebus."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. I proceeded down the street in the direction indicated, leading the tharlarion by its reins. Small saddle tharlarion are generally managed by snout reins. The huge war tharlarion are commonly guided by voice signals and the blows of spears on the face and neck. Draft tharlarion are harnessed, and can be managed either by men, or usually boys, who walk beside them, or by reins and whips, controlled by drivers, men mounted in drawn wagons.

  We passed a woman in the street, a woman of Ar, followed by a silk slave. He looked at me. I suppose he was wondering what I had cost.

  A slave girl passed, a short-legged beauty, clad in a gray rag, chewing on a larma fruit. She spit against the wall as I passed.

  "Do not mind her, Jason," said the Lady Florence.

  "No, Mistress," I said. But I wished I could have gotten my hands on her.

  "Such girls are unrefined," she said.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. But the girl had had good ankles.

  "Stop here, Jason," she said.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  * * * *

  "You will tether the tharlarion, Jason," said the Lady Florence.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  "When you have finished with that," she said, "you will return here, and wait for me."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  The sun was high now, and it was past noon. We were stopped now before the shop of Philebus, which specializes in Turian silk. This shop is located on the great avenue of the Central Cylinder, which is more than four hundred feet wide, an avenue used in triumphs, dominated by the Central Cylinder of Ar itself, which stood at one end of it. There are many trees planted at the sides of this avenue, and there are frequent fountains. It is a very beautiful, and impressive, avenue. I was pleased to look upon it. Shops on this avenue, of course, if only because of the rents, are extremely expensive.

  She glanced to the looped chain at the side of her saddle.

  "Does Mistress wish to chain Jason, her slave?" I asked. If she wished this I would fetch her the chain, when I had tethered the tharlarion. There were slave rings, a foot or so from the sidewalk, in the front wall of the shop of Philebus. Such rings are common in public places on Gor. A slave girl, sitting, her hands bound before her body with cord, by a shortened neck-leash, was chained at one of these rings. At another, also sitting, fastened there by a two-loop fitting, running to a collar ring, was a silk slave.

  "No, Jason," she said. "You may drink from the spillings of the fountain while I am inside."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. "Thank you, Mistress."

  The fountain had two levels, a great bowl and, lower, near the walk level, a shallow bowl. From this shallow bowl slaves might drink.

  The Lady Florence looked up at me. I could not read her expression. "Perhaps you will like what I will buy," she said.

  "I am certain that I will, Mistress," I said. I was not lying. She had, I had learned, exquisite taste.

  She swiftly turned and went into the shadowed, cool recesses of the shop.

  "She did not chain you," said the male silk slave to me.

  "No," I said.

  "What did you cost?" he asked.

  "Sixteen tarsks," I said.

  "That is not much," he said, puzzled.

  "Of silver," I said.

  "Liar," he said.

  I shrugged.

  I led the tharlarion into a small, sanded, sunny area near the shop of Philebus, looping its reins twice about a tharlarion ring there. As I tethered it, it could reach water, from a run from the nearby fountain. These tharlarion rings are quite similar to slave rings. Indeed, the only real difference between them is their function, the one being used to tether tharlarion and the other slaves. They have this in common, of course, that they are both animal rings.

  I looked at the tharlarion.

  It stood there, placidly. It slid a transparent membrane upward, covering its eye, as a broad-winged insect crawled on its lid. The insect fluttered away. The Lady Florence owned many tharlarion. Her stables were among the most extensive and finest
of any owned by a citizen of Vonda.

  I returned to the area before the shop of Philebus.

  I glanced again at the male silk slave sitting on the walk, fastened at the ring.

  "Liar," he said. I think he was angry that he, and not I, had been chained. I looked away from him. The broad avenue was beautiful, with its width, its paving and fountains, the buildings, the trees, the central cylinder in the distance. It was in that cylinder, as I understood it, that were housed many of the bureaus and agencies of Ar, many of the departments important to the functioning of the state; in it, too, met various councils; in it, too, were the private compartments of the Ubar of Ar, a man called Marlenus.

  I leaned against the wall of the shop of Philebus. Most Gorean shops do not have windows. Many are open to the street, or have counters which are open to the street. These shops are usually shuttered or barred at night. Certain of the shops, usually those containing more precious goods, such as that of Philebus, are entered through a narrow door. Not unoften, inside, there is an open court, with awnings at the sides, under which goods are displayed. There was, in the shop of Philebus, such a court at the back, whence goods might be taken to be viewed in natural light, should the customer wish.

  I looked, idly, at the people on the avenue. It was not excessively crowded on this day of the week, nor at this hour; yet there were ample numbers of shoppers and passers-by. Here and there there were borne palanquins, as richer individuals were carried about their business. Some light, two-wheeled carriages passed, drawn by tharlarion. I saw, too, more than one bosk wagon, drawn by gigantic, shaggy, wickedly horned bosk. Their hoofs were polished; their horns were hung with beads. One of these wagons had a cover of blue and yellow canvas, buckled shut with broad straps. From within I heard the laughter of slave girls. A man followed the wagon, walking behind it, with a whip. In such a wagon the girls are commonly chained by the ankles to a metal bar which runs down the center of the wagon bed. I saw a girl lifting up the canvas a bit, and peeping out. I wondered if she were pretty. She belonged to someone. Then the canvas was pulled down, quickly. All the girls might be whipped, I supposed, for such a transgression. They were slaves.

  I glanced to the slave girl who was, by the shortened neck-leash, chained at one of the rings in front of the shop of Philebus. Her small wrists were secured before her body with cord, fastened with cunning knots. The cord, I supposed, had been woven about a core of wire. The knots were under the left wrist, to make it more difficult to reach them with the teeth.

  She looked at me.

  She wore a light, gray tunic, brief. I considered the lines of her thighs and calves.

  "I am for free men," she said, angrily. "I am not for the likes of you, Slave."

  "Do you yield well in their arms, Slave?" I asked her.

  She looked away, biting her lip.

  I examined her body. It was exciting and attractive. I would not have minded owning her.

  "I expect you yield well indeed, Slave," I said to her.

  She flushed crimson, from head to toe, at the ring. I saw that my speculation had been correct. I smiled to myself. Her shoulders shook with a sob.

  I went to the fountain, which was only a few yards away, and, getting down on my hands and knees, putting my head down, from the lower bowl, from which slaves and animals might drink, satisfied my thirst.

  I then returned to the shop of Philebus, to continue to wait for my mistress.

  I looked up, hearing tarn drums in the sky. A squadron of Ar's tarn cavalry, the stroke of their wings synchronized with the beat of the drum, passed by, overhead. There must have been some forty birds and riders. The formation seemed large to be a patrol.

  I watched the robes of free women, passing in the street, the wagons, the now increasing throngs, the palanquins of rich men, some with lovely, briefly tunicked slaves chained behind them, attached to the palanquins, an affectation of display.

  My mistress was long in the shop. I assumed I would have many packages to bear.

  I then saw a kaiila pass. It was lofty, stately, fanged and silken. I had heard of such beasts, but this was the first one I had seen. It was yellow, with flowing hair. Its rider was mounted in a high, purple saddle, with knives in saddle sheaths. He bore a long, willowy black lance. A net of linked chain, unhooked, dangled beside his helmet. His eyes bore the epicanthic fold. He was, I gathered, of one of the Wagon Peoples, most likely the Tuchuks. His face, colorfully scarred, was marked in the rude heraldry of those distant, savage riders.

  "Slave," said a woman's voice.

  Immediately I knelt, head down. I saw the sandals and robes of a free woman before me.

  "Where is the shop of Tabron, who is the worker of silver?" she asked.

  "I do not know, Mistress," I said. "I am not of this city. Forgive me, Mistress."

  "Ignorant beast," she said.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. Then, with a turn of her robes, she had gone on.

  I got again to my feet, and leaned against the wall of the shop of Philebus. I felt the collar at my throat, of sturdy steel. It was enameled white. In it, incised, in tiny, dark cursive letters, in a feminine-type script, was a message in Gorean. It read, I had been told, 'I am the property of the Lady Florence of Vonda.' The lock on the back of the collar had a double bolt, the double bolt, however, responding to a single key. I was barefoot. The tunic my mistress had given me was of white silk.

  I stood straighter then, by the wall, for I now heard the counting of a cadence. Passing now in the street before me, in ranks of four, was a column of men. The four files, as I counted that nearest to me, were fifty deep. The men wore scarlet tunics. Behind their left shoulders were round shields. On their heads were scarlet caps, with yellow tassels. Behind their left shoulder, over the shields, there hung steel helmets. Sheathed swords, short, were slung at their left shoulders. On their right shoulders they bore spears, with long, bronze, tapering blades. Their feet wore heavy, thick-soled sandals, which, almost like boots, with swirling leather, rose high about their calves. The sound of these bootlike sandals on the stones of the street was clear and regular. Behind the right shoulder, slung on the shaft of the spears, were light packs. I gathered the men were leaving the city. The Gorean infantryman usually marches light. Military supply posts, walled, occur at intervals on major roads. Indeed, one of the apparent anomalies of Gor is the quality and linearity of certain roads, which are carefully kept in repair, roads which often, seemingly paradoxically, pass through sparsely populated territories. The nature of these roads and their quality seems peculiar until one examines maps on which they occur. It then becomes clear that most of them lead toward borders and frontiers. They are then, in effect, military highways. This becomes clearer, too, when it is recognized that most of the supply posts occur at forty pasang intervals. Forty pasangs is an average day's march for a Gorean infantryman. I wondered why the troops were leaving the city. Too, such troops, as I understood it, usually departed from a city in the early morning, primarily, I supposed, that a normal day's march might be completed. I watched the troops disappearing down the street. They had been led by two officers, also afoot. The column had been flanked, too, by two other officers, presumably of lesser rank. The column's tread had been even. The unison had been unpretentious but, in its way, stirring and dramatic. One felt that what was passing was not at that moment simply a collection of men, an aggregate of diverse individuals, but a unit. This, I take it, was a tribute to the training of such men. At the head of the column, behind the officers, but a pace or two before the rightermost man in the first rank, there marched a fellow who bore a standard on which was mounted an image of a silver tarn. Many such standards are over a century old. The Gorean soldier is commonly a professional soldier, usually of the caste of Warriors. In a sense, given the cruel selections undergone by his forebears, he has been bred to his work. In his blood there is the spear and war.

  The column had now disappeared. When departing from main roads such troops can be followed
by bosk wagons or tharlarion wagons, bearing supplies. Too, by tarn, they can be supplied from the air. It should also be mentioned that it is not unusual nor impractical for such troops, which are usually in fairly small numbers, to live off the game-rich Gorean countryside. Levies, too, within certain territories, can be imposed on villages for their provisioning. Mobility and surprise are often features of Gorean warfare. Much of it is more akin to the raid than to the siege or the open conflict of large bodies of men over large areas. It would be extremely unusual, for example, for a Gorean city to have more than five thousand men in the field in a given time.