"Probably no more than three," I said. "Did you enjoy the fellow who played the wicked, conniving Gnieus Lelius?"
"Of course," said Marcus. "I had not realized thitherto that even a demented sleen could be so wicked."
"You just did not have your mind on the drama," I said.
"That is perhaps true," said Marcus, perking up.
"You just did not realize that Phoebe could be so fetching, completely concealed," I said.
"But underneath the sheet naked," Marcus reminded me.
"You could not wait to get her home," I said.
"Perhaps," he said.
No sooner had he had Phoebe inside the door to our room in the insula than he had torn the sheet and veil from her and flung her on her belly to the straw-filled mat, then leaping upon her with a cry of joy.
"Do you think others knew she was naked?" he asked.
"From their glances, and expressions, I think a free woman or two suspected it," I said. One had sneered "Slave!" to Phoebe, to which Phoebe had put down her head, saying "Yes, Mistress." There had been little difficulty, of course, in folks knowing that Phoebe was a slave, given, for example, that her primary covering was a sheet and that her feet were bared. Too, during intermissions Marcus knelt her at his feet, with her head down.
"Let them crawl naked before a man, fearing his whip," said Marcus.
"Free women?" I said.
"Well," said Marcus, irritably, "collar them first."
"I would hope so," I said.
To be sure, it is pleasant to have free women in such a predicament. It helps them to understand that fate which is to be shortly theirs.
"I do not like Milo," said Marcus.
"You are just angry because he is such a handsome fellow," I said.
"The drama was a poor one," said Marcus.
"Not at all," I said.
"It was a waste of money," said Marcus.
"Phoebe liked it," I said.
"What does she know?" asked Marcus.
"She is a highly intelligent, well-educated woman," I said.
"A slave," he said.
"Now," I said. Many Goreans enjoy owning highly intelligent, well-educated women. It is pleasant to have them at your feet, yours, begging, eager to please you, knowing, too, that if they do not, they will be punished. To be sure, thousands of sorts of women make excellent slaves, each in their different ways.
It had cost three full copper tarsks for our admission to the pageant, and one of those was for Phoebe. The first performance of the pageant, several days ago, had been attended by Talena, the Ubara. I had not been able to obtain admission ostraka for that performance, as it was apparently restricted. I had lingered by her path to the theater, with others in a crowd, but I had been able to see only her palanquin, its curtains drawn, borne not by slaves but by stout fellows apparently of the staff of the Central Cylinder. The palanquin, too, was surrounded by guardsmen, either of Ar or Cos. It interested me that the Ubara, so popular in the city, presumably, should require so much security. Behind the palanquin, on tharlarion, side by side, had ridden Seremides, formerly high general of Ar, now, in peacetime, first minister to her majesty, the Ubara, and Myron, the polemarkos of Temos. Seremides, to be sure, now as captain, high captain, retained command of the palace guard, the Taurentians. There were probably some twenty-five hundred of these fellows in the city. I had not seen Talena when she had left the palanquin, for she had done so within the theater's outer concourse, hidden from the street. That she now wore the garments of Cos I had heard, but I had not seen her in them.
We could now hear the flute music quite clearly.
"There!" I said, startled.
I had not realized that so much had been done since my last visit to this area.
I hurried forward, to the Wall Road.
A gigantic breach, over four hundred yards in width, had been made in the wall. The bottom of the breach was still some forty or fifty feet high. The edges of it tapered up to the height of the wall on each side, in this area, some hundred to a hundred and twenty feet Gorean above the pavement. The breach swarmed with human beings. Stone after stone was being tumbled down from the walls, to the outside of the city. These, I had heard, on the other side, were being lifted to wagons and carted away. On the walls were not only men of Ar, and male youths, but women and girls, as well.
I stood on the Wall Road, back near Harness Street. Here I was about a hundred feet back from the wall. In moment or two Marcus was again beside me, and Phoebe behind him, on his left. The girl normally heels a right-handed master on the left, that she not encumber the movements of the weapon hand.
"Much progress has been made since last we came here," I said.
"About the walls, here and there, thousands apply themselves," he said.
This was not the only breach in the walls, of course, but it was that which was nearest to our lodgings. Here some hundreds, at least, were laboring. Others, of course, on the other side of the wall, would be gathering up tumbled stone, loading it and removing it from the area. The walls of Ar, in effect, had become a quarry. This would, I suppose, depress the market for stone in various cities, perhaps even as far away as Venna. There were many uses for such stone, but most had to do with materials for building, paving and fill. Much of the stone would be pounded into gravel by prisoners and slaves far from the city. This gravel was used mainly for bedding primary roads and paving secondary roads. There were, at present, nineteen such breaches about the city. These breaches, multiplying the avenues of possible assault on the city, were not randomly located. They were set at tactically optimum sites for such assaults and distributed in such a manner as to require the maximum dispersal of defensive forces. The pursued objective, of course, was to multiply and join breaches, until the razing of the walls of Ar was complete.
"Although I hate Ar," said Marcus, "this sight fills me with sorrow."
"You hate not Ar," I said, "but those who betrayed her, and Ar's Station."
"I despise Ar, and those of Ar," he said.
"Very well," I said.
We continued to regard the work on the walls.
Here and there upon the walls, among those working, were silked flute girls, sometimes sitting cross-legged on flat stones, rather even with or even below the heads of workers, sometimes perched cross-legged on large stones, above the heads of workers, sometimes moving about among the workers, sometimes strolling, playing, at other times turning and dancing. Some were also on the lower level, even on the Wall Road.
"Many of the flute girls seem pretty," said Marcus.
"Yes," I said. To be sure, we were rather far from them.
"It is a joke of Lurius of Jad, I gather," said Marcus, "that the walls of Ar should be torn down to the music of flute girls."
"I would think so," I said.
"What an extreme insult," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"You will note," he said, "that many of the girls sit cross-legged."
"Yes," I said.
"They should be beaten," he said.
"Yes," I said.
On Gor men sit cross-legged, not women. The Gorean female, whether free or slave, whether of low caste or high caste, kneels. This posture on the part of a woman, aping that of men, is a provocation. I had seen panther girls in the north, in their desire to repudiate their own nature, and in their envy of men, adopt such a posture. To be sure, such women, reduced to slavery, quickly learn to kneel and usually, considering their new status, with their knees widely apart. The cross-legged posture of several of the flute girls was undoubtedly an insolence, intended as a further insult to the citizens of Ar.
"Why is it that the men do not punish them?" asked Marcus.
"I do not know," I said.
"Perhaps they are afraid to," he said.
"I think rather it has to do with the new day in Ar, and the new understandings."
"What do you mean?" he said.
"Officially," I said, "the music of the flute girls i
s supposed to make the work more pleasant."
"Who believes that?" asked Marcus.
"Many may pretend to, or even manage to convince themselves of it," I said.
"What of the provocative posture?" asked Marcus. "Surely the insult of that is clear enough to anyone."
"It is supposedly a time of freedom," I said. "Thus, why should a good fellow of Ar object if a flute girl sits in a given fashion? Is not everyone to be permitted anything?"
"No," said Marcus, "freedom is for the free. Others are to be kept in line, and exactly so. Society depends on divisions and order, each element stabilized perfectly in its harmonious relationship with all others."
"You do not believe, then," I asked, "that everyone is the same, or must be supposed to be such, despite all evidence to the contrary, and that society thrives best as a disordered struggle?"
Marcus looked at me, startled.
"No," I said. "I see that you do not."
"Do you believe such?" he asked.
"No," I said. "Not any more."
We returned our attention to the wall.
"They work cheerfully, and with a will," said Marcus, in disgust.
"It is said that even numbers of the High Council, as a token, have come to the wall, loosened a stone, and tumbled it down."
"Thus do they demonstrate their loyalty to the state," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"The state of Cos," he said, angrily.
"Many high-caste youths, on the other hand, work side by side with low-caste fellows, dismantling the wall."
"They are levied?" asked Marcus.
"Not the higher castes," I said.
"They volunteer?" he asked.
"Like many of these others," I said.
"Incredible," said he.
"Youth is idealistic," I said.
"Idealistic?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Youth is good-hearted and well-intentioned, and is seldom troubled with the awarenesses and critical acumen that are likely to come, perhaps lamentably, but surely importantly, and worthily, with experience. The infant touches the pretty flame, and is burned. He does not make this mistake twice. The fanatic is likely to leap blissfully into flames and expect himself and society to be transmuted into gold. Those who have witnessed the stinking ashes of such misjudgments are likely to be more patient with the craftsmanship of nature, with the slowly evolved ecologies of knowledge, of logic, of articulation, of civilization and reality."
"Sometimes it is hard to understand you," said Marcus.
"I am sorry," I said. There were madnesses with which Marcus would be unfamiliar.
"Look at those fools on the wall," said Marcus. "Why are they doing this? Why do they do what they do?"
I smiled to myself. He little understood idealisms of this sort, those of naive, short-sighted political abstractions. His idealism had more to do with Home Stones, and codes, and honor. And in the typical Gorean manner it was less spoken of than lived.
"They are told that this is a right and noble work," I said, "that it is a way of making amends, of atoning for the faults of their city, that it is in the interests of brotherhood, peace, and such."
"Exposing themselves to the blades of strangers?" he asked.
"Perhaps Cos will protect them," I said.
"And who will protect them from Cos?" he asked.
"Who needs protection from friends?" I asked.
"They were not at Ar's Station," he said. "They were not in the delta."
"Idealism comes easiest to those who have seen least of the world," I said.
"They are fools," said Marcus.
"Not all youths are fools," I said.
He regarded me.
"You are rather young yourself," I said.
"Anyone who cannot detect the insanity of dismantling their own defenses is a fool," said Marcus, "whether they are a young fool or an old one."
"Some are prepared to do such things as a proof of their good will, of their sincerity," I said.
"Incredible," he said.
"But many youths," I said, "as others, recognize the absurdity of such things."
"But, it seems, not all."
"No," I said. "Some find rebellion in a posturing new conformity. Some ignorantly and sanctimoniously devote themselves to uncriticized abstractions; some strive merely to please their fellows; some, more ambitious, with their eye on power, seek to equal, or even outdo, their peers in lunacy; let civilization be inverted, if only they will then be on top; some, more verbal, seek guidance in obsolete, failed, meretricious phantoms, ever strangers to reality and truth; and many, obsessed with the conviction of their own virtue, are willing to sacrifice a viable world to a fantasy. That is quite common. But there are many possibilities, many motivations, many explanations. Untested, rootless madness is restless and inventive. What is there to constrain it except eventually the hideous consequences of its own success, with all the horror that that entails. We never knew, we never meant this, they cry. We are blameless, we meant well! What these individuals seem to have in common, other than an interesting certitude as to their own moral superiority, a feature they share with all fanatics, is an inability, or an unwillingness, to understand the nature of men and history. What are men like, truly; what is the world like, truly? It would be helpful if they looked into such matters, and gave them thought. They see only what they think is before their eyes and adamantly refuse to consider either the general impact of their views or their inevitable spawn in the future, stagnation, imprisonment, mediocrity, misery, poverty and death."
"I do not understand you," said Marcus.
"Forgive me, my friend," I said. "I fear I was thinking of another time, and another place."
"Perhaps Gnieus Lelius was such a youth," said Marcus.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Perhaps he may reconsider his position, in his cage," said Marcus.
"He has undoubtedly already done so," I said.
"Much good it will do him now," said Marcus.
"Look," I said, "the children."
We saw some children to one side, on the city side of the Wall Road. They had put up a small wall of stones, and they were now pushing it down.
On the wall, in the trough of the breach, we saw four men rolling a heavy stone toward the field side of the wall. A flute girl was parodying, or accompanying, their efforts on the flute, the instrument seeming to strain with them, and then, when they rolled the stone down, she played a skirl of descending notes on the flute, and, spinning about, danced away. The men laughed.
"I have seen enough," said Marcus.
There was suddenly near us, startling us, another skirl of notes on a flute, the common double flute. A flute girl, come apparently from the wall side of the Wall Road, danced tauntingly near us, to our right, and, with the flute, while playing, gestured toward the wall, as though encouraging us to join the others in their labor. I, and Marcus, I am sure, were angry. Not only had we been startled by the sudden, intrusive noise, which the girl must have understood would have been the case, but we resented the insinuation that we might be such as would of our own will join the work on the wall. Did she think we were of Ar, that we were of the conquered, the pacified, the confused and fooled, the verbally manipulated, the innocuous, the predictable, the tamed? She was an exciting brunet, in a short tunic of diaphanous silk. She was slender, and was probably kept on a carefully supervised diet by her master or trainer. Her dark eyes shone with amusement. She pranced before us, playing. She waved the flute again toward the wall.
We regarded her.
She again gestured, playing, toward the wall.
I had little doubt that she assumed from our appearance in this area that we were of Ar.
We did not move.
A gesture of annoyance crossed her lovely features. She played more determinedly, as though we might not understand her intent.
Still we did not move.
Then, angrily, she spun about, dancing, to return to her former po
st near the wall side of the Wall Road. She was attractive, even insolently so, at the moment, in the diaphanous silk.
"You have not been given permission to withdraw," I said, evenly.
She turned about, angrily, holding the flute.
"You are armed," she suddenly said, perhaps then for the first time really noting this homely fact.
"We are not of Ar," I said.
"Oh," she said, standing her ground, trembling a little.
"Are you accustomed to standing in the presence of free men?" I asked.
"I will kneel if it will please you," she said.
"If you not kneel," I said, "it is possible that I may be displeased."
She regarded me.
"Kneel," I said.
Swiftly she knelt.
I walked over to her and, taking her by the hair, twisting it, she crying out, turned her about and threw her to her belly on the Wall Road.
She sobbed in anger.
Marcus and I crouched near her.
"Oh!" she said.
"She is not in the iron belt," said Marcus.
"That is a further insult to those of Ar," I said, "that they would put unbelted flute girls amongst them."
"Yes," growled Marcus.
The tone of his voice, I am sure, did nothing to set our fair prisoner at ease. Flute girls, incidentally, when hired from their master, to entertain and serve at parties, are commonly unbelted, that for the convenience of the guests.
"She is not unattractive," I said.
"Oh!" she said, as I pulled her silk muchly away, tucking it then in and about the slender girdle of silken cord at her waist.
"No," said Marcus. "She is not unattractive."
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.
"You have been an insolent slave," I said.
"No," she said. "No!"
"You have not been pleasing," I said.
"You do not own me!" she said. "You are not my master!"
"The discipline of a slave," I said, "may be attended to by any free person, otherwise she might do much what she wished, provided only her master did not learn of it." The legal principle was clear, and had been upheld in several courts, in several cities, including Ar.
I then stood.
"Lash her," I said to Marcus.
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