by John Norman
“In moments,” said another man, “each hastened to submit.”
Submission may be rendered in a number of ways. The most important thing is that the submission is clear. A common posture of submission is to kneel, lower the head, and extend the arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding. Often a phrase, or formula, is employed, as well, often as simple as “I submit,” “I am yours,” “Do with me as you will,” or such. If one is of the Warriors the codes then require one to either slay the captive or accept the submission. Almost invariably the submission is accepted, as women on Gor are accounted a form of wealth, at least once they are collared. I know of only one exception to this almost invariable acceptance of a submission. A woman submitted and then, later, betrayed the submission, and stabbed he to whom she had submitted. The next time she submitted her head was cut off. It might be noted that the submission, in itself, strictly, does not entail bondage, but captivity. Nonetheless it is almost invariably followed by the captive’s enslavement. A woman who submits expects the collar to follow.
“Each then,” said a fellow, “divested herself of her robes, stepped from them, declared herself slave, and hurried to Torgus, who knotted a length of a coarse, common rope about her neck.”
“We made certain each was block naked,” said a fellow.
“Some had foolishly neglected, or forgotten, to remove their sandals or slippers,” explained another fellow.
“They were suitably cuffed?” I said.
“Yes,” said a man.
This was acceptable, as they were then slaves.
Those were probably the first blows they had ever felt.
“‘We are lost,’ we thought,” said a man. “For the men of Ar were at the door itself.”
“‘We are fee fighters,’ Torgus told us, ‘in no uniform. The men outside will not know we are not of Ar. Ar is a great city. Who knows all her citizens? Throw open the door, cry out “For Glorious Ar,” in suitable accents, and drag our prizes into the street. Given the length of their hair the men of Ar will assume these are free women, captured, in accord with the proscription lists. Cry out that we are conducting them to the impaling poles.’”
“You are clever,” I said to Torgus. “I gather that the ruse was successful.”
“For a time,” said the large fellow, Torgus.
“Until it became clear we might be fleeing the city,” said another.
“This aroused suspicion, and, forced to speak, the foreignness of the accents of some of us, for not all were skilled in the intonations of Ar, unsheathed the swords of men of Ar.”
“There was then fierce blade work,” said a fellow.
“The slaves lay naked on the ground, on their bellies, covering their heads, moaning, shrieking, while steel flashed about them.”
I nodded. They would await the outcome of the fierce altercation. They would affect its outcome no more than tethered kaiila.
They must wait to learn their fate, which would by determined by men.
“Many were trod upon,” said a man, “and sparks stung their backs.”
“Here, though, in the vicinity of the pomerium,” said a man, “we were not overmatched as in the city, and we were fee fighters, and mere citizens were opposed to us.”
“We lost men, and so, too, did they, and more, but we cut our way clear to the rubble of the dismantled wall.”
“Those opposed to us knew themselves outskilled and drew back, to summon reinforcements.”
“We then struggled over the rubble, dragging the slaves with us, and were soon beyond the pomerium,” said a man. “The camp of Myron had been overrun, but Cosian regulars, abetted by Tyrian contingents, and some allies, had regrouped and, well disciplined, and orderly, in their squares, had already begun the withdrawal northwest to Torcodino, and would from there march to the great port of Brundisium, where would await them ships of Tyros and Cos.”
“We, and hundreds of fugitives, with loot, and baggage, and slaves, attached ourselves to these units, and clung to the perimeters of their camps,” said one of the fellows on the beach.
“We lost no time shortening the hair of our detestable traitresses,” said a man, “to a length suitable to their new condition, that of slave. We would not want reconnoitering tarnsmen, flighted from Ar, to suspect that they might be refugees from the proscription lists, lest determined efforts be made to recover them.”
I supposed the women had no objection to this, despite the shearing of their beloved tresses being in its way a badge of degradation and servitude.
Surely it was better to be shorn of those treasured tresses than be betrayed by them into the hands of vengeful citizens.
And better, surely, the degradations of collars and their fair lips pressed to the feet of masters than the slow, lingering death of the impaling pole.
The three paga slaves had little to fear, of course, for their brands would protect them.
They were attractive, domestic animals.
Yet they, too, would be eager to escape Ar, for its Home Stone had once been their own.
Too, they were now different from what they had been, quite different, for they had known the touch of masters.
“It was a terrible march,” said a fellow. “We were afflicted from the air, arrowed by avenging tarnsmen. Sometimes small groups attacked the margins of our march. We knew not whether they were allied with Ar, or merely seeking spoil, or trying to curry favor with great Marlenus.”
“We must deal with brigands and thieves, within our own camps,” said another. “There were many desertions.”
“Bosk, and verr, and tarsks, were driven from our path,” said a man. “Fields were burned. Wells were filled in. There was little to eat or drink. They opened and closed the veins of kaiila, draining their blood into flasks. A single urt cost as much as a silver tarsk.”
“At last we reached Torcodino,” said a man, “and found safety within her walls.”
“It was there,” said a man, “that we put iron on the necks of our sluts.”
“They then well knew themselves slave,” said a man.
“Ten days later we accompanied the march to Brundisium,” said a man. “The regulars of Tyros and Cos, and their officers and slaves, were soon embarked, and gladly, with songs of joy, for their home islands, but it fared differently with many of us, the gathered mercenaries who had served the island ubarates.”
“The port police would not permit us within the walls of Brundisium,” said a man. “Refugees were unwelcome. They brought nothing to the city, there was no work for them, they were dangerous, they would be expensive to feed.”
“By heralds we were warned away from the walls,” said a man.
“‘Scatter! Begone!’ we were told,” said a man.
“Rumors had it that our slaughter was planned,” said another.
“It was at that time,” said a fellow, “that the strange men contacted us.”
“Of course,” I said.
I did not understand them, of course, but they would suppose this was all familiar to me. Strange men, at least, would be men, not, say, Kurii. That they spoke of them as “strange” interested me. How would they be strange? In demeanor, in language, in dress? I gathered, whatever might be the case, that they were men of a sort to which they were unaccustomed, men of a sort with which they were unfamiliar.
“Some hundreds of us were then soon within the walls of Brundisium,” said a fellow, “and were conducted to the wharves, thence, over several days, to be embarked on various ships, toward points unknown.”
“As here,” I said.
“It seems so,” said a man, looking about the beach, after the departing vessel, then to the looming forest.
“The ships would depart at intervals,” I said.
“Hirings and charterings took time,” said a fellow.
“I trust,” I said, “in the meantime you were comfortably housed.”
“In mariners’ billets,” said a fellow.
“The strange men w
ere generous,” said another. “Each of us received, in copper tarsks, the equivalent of a silver stater of Brundisium.”
“They were generous, indeed,” I said.
“We had several nights to enjoy the taverns,” said a fellow.
“What of your slaves?” I asked.
“We chained them in the basement of one of the billets,” said a man.
“Apparently you could take them with you,” I said.
“Yes,” said he, who was called Torgus. “We were told that uses might always be found for such.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said. I glanced at the slaves, in position, the iron on their necks, the water swirling about their knees. They were soft, pathetic, and fearful. They were helpless. They were owned.
I wondered if Pertinax might have felt sorry for them. But that would have been absurd, for they were slaves. One might as well have felt sorry for a kaiila or tarsk.
A slave is not to be coddled, but mastered.
Yes, I thought, uses might always be found for such. Indeed, wherever there were strong men, uses might be found for such.
They were slaves.
“I have heard that Brundisium is plentifully supplied with paga taverns,” I said.
“Indeed!” agreed a fellow.
This was only to be expected, of course, in a port city, frequented with mariners, merchants, diverse transients, and such.
“One of the best is the tavern of Hendow,” said a fellow.
“It is on Dock Street,” said another.
I had heard of it. It was famed for the beauty of its slaves and the quality of its dancers.
“The slaves there vie with one another for permission to approach your table,” said a fellow. “They all want to serve you paga.”
“That is not unusual in a paga tavern,” I said.
“No,” said a fellow.
Sometimes the paga slaves are knelt at a wall, and one indicates his choice, she whom he will permit to serve him.
“And in the alcoves they whimper in their chains,” said a fellow, “begging to be permitted to bring you the most exquisite and prolonged of kajira delights.”
“Their master, Hendow, is a monster,” laughed a fellow. “It is little wonder his slaves strive with all their softness and beauty to well serve his customers. Woe to the girl who does not please a client of severe, massive Hendow.”
“Yes,” said a fellow, “perhaps at first they fear Hendow, but, shortly, in your arms, they are no more than slaves.”
I felt sorry for the men of Earth, so many of whom had never held a slave in their arms.
How different they would be, I thought, if they knew the mastery.
Who could do with a free woman, I wondered, who had once tasted slave?
It is no wonder free women hate their embonded sisters, and treat them with such contempt and cruelty.
“I think,” said Torgus, “we ought not to remain too long on the beach.”
“Certainly not,” I said.
“I have the countersign,” he said. “I await the sign.”
“It is not yet time,” I said.
“I think it is time,” he said.
“Who are you?” suddenly asked a fellow.
“Give us the sign,” said another.
“A ship arrived yesterday,” I said.
“Our ship is the last,” said Torgus.
“The sign, I have,” I said, “is ‘Tarns aflight‘.”
“I have no countersign for that,” said Torgus, very quietly.
“The countersign,” I said, “from yesterday’s ship, was ‘from Ar‘.”
“That is not the sign I was to expect, nor to answer with my countersign.”
“I suspect there is a misunderstanding,” I said.
I noted I was being ringed with fellows, but space was left, in which weapons might be drawn. Torgus stepped back, to put a few feet between us.
“He must be our contact,” said a fellow. “How else would he be here, to meet us?”
“We were warned of strangers,” said Torgus.
” Tarns aflight,” I said.
” From Ar, from Ar,” volunteered a fellow, hopefully.
“Yes,” I said, cheerfully, “’from Ar‘.”
I saw the hand of Torgus, and that of several others, move to the hilts of weapons. Their scabbards, on the whole, as mine, were at the left hip, suspended there on a shoulder strap. This is common if conflict is not imminent. If it is, the scabbard is often hung loosely at the left shoulder, where, the blade drawn, it may be instantly discarded. A hand in a shoulder strap, in grappling, for example, may serve to hold an enemy in place for, say, the thrust of a knife.
I did not draw my weapon, nor did any of the others.
Clearly they were undecided as to what to do.
“Your slaves are attractive,” I said. “What do you want for them?”
“They have already been purchased, by our employers,” said Torgus. “We are merely delivering them.”
Several of the girls looked startled at this intelligence. It seems they had not realized they had been sold.
“The sign,” said Torgus, “the sign.”
“Certainly,” I said, looking about. I detected a movement in the forest. “My superior will supply it. Mine was apparently for the ship yesterday. There seems to have been some confusion.”
“Apparently,” said Torgus.
“Wait a bit,” I said. “He will be here.”
“Are you not to guide us?” asked a fellow.
“No, my superior,” I said.
“How long must we wait?” said Torgus, glancing about. The beach was apparently more open than was to his liking.
I was sure that this ship would be met, and I must endeavor to keep things as they were, and hope that the contact would reveal himself shortly, and the sooner the better. Torgus was tolerant, but he was suspicious, and he was not a fool.
“How long?” asked Torgus.
“Not long,” I said. “A few Ehn, perhaps a bit more.”
I had seen a movement within the forest and, given the remoteness of the area, I was sure it must be connected with the new arrivals.
After a time, Torgus said, “We have waited long enough.”
“Wait a little more,” said one of his men, the fellow whom I had earlier conjectured might not have ill worn the scarlet.
Torgus shrugged. It seemed he attended this man, and respected him.
“I shall enter the forest,” I said, “and seek out my superior.”
“Remain where you are,” said Torgus.
“Very well,” I said. I thought I might be able to bring down two or three, but then I would have expected to be cut down.
If Cos and Tyros had paid these men good coin for their work in Ar, as I supposed they had, they would be skilled. I recalled how they had, as related to me, cut their way through several fellows of Ar to reach the pomerium, from whence they, together doubtless with other remnants of garrisons which had managed to escape the city, had joined in the general retreat from Ar.
“He is a spy,” said a fellow. “Kill him.”
Torgus drew his weapon.
“We do not know he is a spy,” said the fellow who might once have worn the scarlet.
“He is a spy,” said Torgus.
“If so,” said the fellow, “better to hold him, to bind him, and keep him for questioning.”
“Yes,” said Torgus, “that is best.”
“Who will bring the rope?” I asked.
I stood within the ring.
“He has drawn!” said a fellow.
“I did not see it,” said another.
“He is of the Warriors,” said a man.
Those of the scarlet are trained in such a draw. One does not indicate that one will draw. One does not glance at the hilt. One does not tense. One’s attention seems elsewhere, and the eyes of others will follow. The hand is not noticed. It is, I suppose, in a way similar to a magician’s sleight of hand. And the
n, surprisingly one notes that the weapon is free.
“Ho!” cried a voice, from the edge of the forest.
I had been right.
I could see some fellows amongst the trees.
Attention was then directed upon the newcomers. I stepped back, a little, amongst the fellows on the beach. The new arrivals might have noticed the semblance of a dispute on the sand, but such things might be common amongst fee fighters, rough men, fierce, and dangerous, undisciplined. Such men often adjudicate disagreements with steel. I was not in the scarlet. I might be, for all the newcomers knew, another of the fellows whom they had come to meet. How, at least for a few moments, would they know otherwise?
I sheathed my blade.
“I would leave, if I were you,” said the fellow next to me, who had drifted back with me. It was he whom I had thought might once have been of the Warriors. I supposed he might have murdered a man, or betrayed a Home Stone, some such thing. It seemed strange to me that he should be with these other fellows.
“My thanks,” I said.
But I did not move.
His accent seemed Cosian.
Mine he could probably not place.
Port Kar, of course, was at war with Cos, but that does not mean one had to keep it constantly in mind. There is a time to kill, a time to play kaissa, a time to share paga, a time to do business, a time to exchange slaves, and so on. As warriors are not politicians, their truces are frequent, their salutations genuine.
Besides, he might not be of Cos.
Many of the islands to the west had similar accents.
I moved forward a little.
One of the newcomers, he in advance of his cohorts, stepped forward, and lifted his hand, addressing Torgus, who had come forward, to meet him.
“Tal,” he said.
Torgus returned this greeting.
There might have been twenty fellows with the newcomer. Behind them, back in the trees, I saw seven or eight briefly tunicked slaves. Some carried poles, with coiled ropes. Such poles could be used for portering, the baggage fastened to them by the ropes. Sometimes captured panther girls, small bands of which occasionally roamed hundreds of pasangs to the south, were slung from such poles. They were bound, hand and feet, by their captors, to the poles, as might have been slain or captured panthers, the beasts from which they derive their name. They are fastened to the poles in such a way that they dangle, swinging, from them, their bellies to the pole, their backs to the ground. The poles are carried by female slaves, a great insult to the panther girl for they despise female slaves. And she does not know, of course, to what fate she is being carried. When they are returned to civilization, the captured panther girls, most of whom suffer from repressed sexuality, are stripped, branded, and collared, and taught their womanhood. They sell well, and some men seek them out, in the taverns. Wonders, it is said, may be wrought in such women by a switch, and a master’s hand. Supposedly they make superb slaves. And once the slave fires have been ignited in their bellies, they are, of course, as helpless, and needful, as any other slave.