by John Norman
Needle trees, of which there were none here, are usually used for masts. They are a softer wood, and, less rigid, more flexible, are more inclined to bend with the wind and the yard, and so, under certain conditions, violent conditions, less likely to snap. Too, the wood is lighter and this is useful in the raising and lowering of masts. The yards, too, as would be supposed, are commonly of needle wood. Needle trees, too, come to maturity more rapidly than Tur trees, and may thus be the sooner and the more frequently harvested.
“Rehood your slave,” I said to Pertinax.
I was attending to this chore with Cecily.
Constantina jerked angrily, futilely, at her bound wrists and cast Pertinax a look of fury, which seemed to dare him to comply with my instruction.
“Now,” I said to Pertinax.
“Do you think it is necessary?” he asked.
“Do it,” I said.
“Very well,” he said.
Constantina’s angry features disappeared within the folds of the hood.
“Oh!” she said.
Pertinax had jerked the strings on the hood against the back of her neck, and had then knotted them snugly under her chin. She then knew herself nicely hooded. I think Pertinax enjoyed that. I thought there might be a man in him, somewhere. Indeed, I suspected he might now be ready to learn how to handle a slave leash, and I supposed that he would not be displeased to have Constantina on such a leash, a slave leash. Too, to get the girls across the ditch, it would help not to have them on a common leash.
So I cut the leash at the center, so that we had, in effect, two leashes. I then put Cecily over my shoulder, her head to the rear, as a slave is carried.
I was pleased to see Pertinax draw Constantina to him, on the leash.
I think she was surprised.
Perhaps she thought it was I.
When a girl is hooded it is hard for her to know who has her leash.
For example, a girl might be taken out, hooded, leashed, by one fellow, and, later, certain arrangements having previously taken place, arrangements unknown to her, she may, when she is knelt and unhooded, find herself, on her leash, looking up into the eyes of a stranger.
She has been sold.
To be sure, I supposed that Pertinax might at present be still somewhat diffident about leash-mastering a female.
Doubtless there was still much of Earth in him.
He could learn, of course.
I supposed a woman could usually tell, even in a hood, from the way the leash was used, whether or not she was in the custody of one accustomed to the leashing and handling of a woman.
When a woman is put through slave paces she is not unoften on a leash. Sometimes masters have contests with their girls in such a fashion. The winning girl often receives a sweet, the loser, often, two or three strokes of the switch, to encourage her to do better next time.
It is not unusual to leash a slave, for tethering her, for taking her on a walk, and such.
Slaves, on the leashes of their masters, are a common sight in the high cities, in the streets, on the bridges, and so on.
On a leash, a slave is nicely displayed.
“The signs continue,” I said. “We will enter the reserve.”
Pertinax made ready to lift Constantina in his arms.
“Do you think she is a free woman?” I inquired.
He looked at me, puzzled.
“See how I carry Cecily,” I said.
She was over my left shoulder, her head to the rear.
A slave is not likely to be accorded the dignities appropriate to a free woman. The free woman is to be carried, if carried at all, gently, respectfully, nestled in one’s arms. For example, one may not wish her to risk soiling the hem of her rich robes, or the brocade of her slippers. Sometimes a free woman will wait, before, say, a rivulet or puddle, even a small one, to be carried to safety by some lucky fellow. The manner of carrying the slave is usually quite different. She is carried as property, as though she might be no more than produce, and her head is to the rear so that, even were she not hooded, she cannot see where she is being carried. That is for the master to know, for the slave to learn. And so, in this way, even in such a small way, even in such a trivial way, we discover yet another way in which a distinction may be drawn between the slave and the free woman. In the manner of small fordings and such the slave will usually wade after the master, the water perhaps to her knees. Free women, of course, may own female slaves, whom they often treat with great cruelty. For example, if a female slave, owned by a free woman, dares to look at a male, she may be whipped. And it is not unusual, in these small fordings, and such, of which we spoke, for the free woman to put her slave into the mire, and use her body as a bridge, in this way protecting her garments and the daintiness of her feet and ankles.
In a moment then Pertinax had scooped up the Lady Constantina and had her over his shoulder, her head to the rear.
In this position even an unbound free woman is helpless.
I had seen more than one so carried, captured in war. She can do little but scream and pound her small fists futilely on a fellow’s back, squirm, kick her legs, and such.
I then, with some difficulty, descended into the ditch, and, then, on the other side, slowly, step by carefully placed step, made my way to the level. I was followed, momentarily, by Pertinax. Some dirt slipped, but he was then at my side. The declivity, though deep, was not steep. The ditch was not intended for defense. It was primarily a boundary, but it did, too, discourage the entry of animals into the reserve.
We put the girls on their feet, safely away from the edge of the ditch, into which they might have had a nasty tumble.
“There is the next sign,” said Pertinax, pointing.
“Yes,” I said.
I went to the nearest wand, and held up the green ribbon, which was dangling from it. I held it in two hands. As I had supposed, there was printing on the ribbon.
“Can you read this?” I asked Pertinax.
“Not well,” he said. “What does it say?”
“It is a simple legend,” I said. “It says ‘These are the trees of Port Kar.’”
“This is the reserve of Port Kar then,” he said.
“One of them,” I said. “These seem to be Tur trees, all Tur trees.”
I went to one of the trees a few yards back and to the left. It was tagged. It wore the badge of Port Kar.
“This beauty,” I said, looking upward, “has been marked. It is selected, marked for the arsenal, for the yard of Cleomenes.” I supposed it would be harvested in the fall, when it would have finished its season’s growth. The time of year, now, as nearly as I could tell, from the vegetation, was late summer. I hoped our business in the area could be finished before the onset of winter. Winters can be quite bitter in the northern forests. The yard of Cleomenes was one of the yards under the aegis of the arsenal of Port Kar, of which yards there were several.
I looked ahead, and some yards to the right, deeper into the reserve, where another sign, in its yellow, indicated our route.
“Let us continue our journey,” I said.
Pertinax offered me Constantina’s leash.
“Lead your own slave,” I said.
I moved ahead, with Cecily.
I heard Constantina gasp, as she was jerked forward.
We had been entered into the reserve now for perhaps the better part of an Ahn when the signs we had been following assiduously could no longer be detected.
I examined the last sign, the one beyond which we noted no other sign. It was clear, and, as yet, showed no sign of fading. It seemed unlikely then that the next sign, if there had been one, would have become undetectable.
“I think this is the last of the signs,” I said.
“No!” said Pertinax, alarmed.
“They seem not to continue,” I said.
“They must!” insisted Pertinax.
We looked about. Each sign had been reasonably obvious from the vantage point of the prec
eding sign. This pattern, however, clearly, no longer held.
“I do not understand,” said Pertinax, obviously concerned.
“What is wrong!” demanded Constantina.
“Was your slave given permission to speak?” I asked.
“She has a standing permission to speak,” said Pertinax, uneasily.
“Surely not when hooded,” I said.
“Oh?” said Pertinax.
“No,” I said.
“May I speak?” said Constantina, quickly.
Pertinax looked at me, and I nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
“Something is wrong!” she said. “What is going on? What is wrong?”
I smiled.
Women are so much at one’s mercy, so helpless, when bound, and hooded.
I went behind her and took her by the upper arms and held her. “Nothing is wrong,” I told her. “And, besides, curiosity is not becoming in a kajira.”
“Something is wrong, is it not?” asked Pertinax.
“I do not think so,” I said.
“What are we to do?” he asked.
“Wait,” I said.
“We have long trekked,” he said. “It will soon be dark.”
“We have some food, a bota of water,” I said.
“It is dangerous here,” he said. “There may be animals.”
“That is possible,” I said, “but I do not think there is much to fear in the reserve. The oddity of the ditch discourages the entrance of animals, and, as there is little grazing here, there would be few herbivores, and there being few herbivores, there will be few carnivores. Too, the human is unfamiliar prey to most carnivores, the panther, the sleen, the larl, and such. They will certainly attack humans, and humans are surely within their prey range, but, given a choice, they will usually choose prey to which they are accustomed, wild tarsk, wild verr, tabuk, and such.”
“There are no larls this far north,” said Pertinax.
“Yesterday, on the beach,” I said, “I heard one.”
Pertinax paled.
“We are probably too far north for panthers,” I said. “One is more likely to encounter them in the forests to the south.”
“Good,” said Pertinax.
“Unless, of course, some range this far north, but that is unusual. There should, however, be sleen about.”
I recalled one had been in the vicinity of Pertinax’s hut, when Constantina, who had annoyed me, had been put outside, gagged and bound, hands tied behind her, feet crossed, pulled up, and fastened closely to her hands, on the leaves.
It is an unpleasant tie.
I hoped she had found it instructive.
The common sleen burrows, and would have its den below the frost line. To be sure it is an adaptive, successful life form. In the vicinity of the Red Hunters, there are snow sleen. In certain waters, there are sea sleen, and so on.
“I wish I had a rifle,” said Pertinax.
“It is better that you do not,” I said. “If you possessed such a weapon, you would be in violation of the weapon laws of Priest-Kings, and liable to the flame death.”
“Surely there would be an inquiry, a trial, or such,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“At least you have a sword, a knife,” he said.
“Such tools would be of little help against large predators,” I said. “A spear would be better, or, if one had time, time for several arrows, the great bow.”
“I do not like this,” said Pertinax.
“Nor I,” I said. “Let us unhood the slaves. They know they are in the reserve. Thus, no security will be compromised.”
Both girls were then freed of their hoods.
I then sat them down, facing one another. We left the leashes on their necks.
“What are you doing?” asked Pertinax.
“I am tying their ankles together,” I said. “Now let us eat. We can feed them later.”
After Pertinax and I had fed, I went to Cecily, and knelt down, and she leaned forward, her hands tied behind her. I had some bread for her. She looked at me. I extended my hand. She kissed it, and licked it, the hand of her master. I then, bit by bit, fed her by hand, and then, when I thought she had had enough, I gave her of the bota. I then stood up, my shapely beast having been fed and watered.
“What of me?” demanded Constantina.
“What is done with you is up to your master,” I said. “Surely you know that, slave.”
“Untie me,” she said to Pertinax.
“Do not,” I said.
“I am hungry!” she said.
“Then you will take food from your master’s hand,” I said.
“Never!” she said.
“Then you will go hungry,” I said.
She tried to rise, but, as her feet, crossed, were bound to those of Cecily, crossed, she fell, and heavily, to her side. She struggled again, then, to her seated position. She realized then she could not rise.
Constantina cast me a look of fury, but, I fear, it was a mild thing compared to that with which she regaled Pertinax, who looked hastily away.
It was then an Ahn later.
Night, by then, was well fallen.
“I am hungry,” said Constantina. “Please feed me.”
“Are you ready to take food from your master’s hand?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said, angrily.
Pertinax, obligingly, approached her, and knelt down beside her.
“Not yet,” I told him. “You may beg to be fed,” I informed Constantina.
“I beg to be fed,” she said.
“Have you not forgotten something?” I asked.
“- Master,” she said.
Pertinax leaned forward.
“Not yet,” I told him. Then I addressed myself to the Lady Constantina. “You should be grateful that your master consents to feed you,” I told her.
She looked at me, angrily.
“Extend your hand to your slave,” I said to Pertinax. “Good,” I said, as he had done so. “Now,” I said to the Lady Constantina, “lick, and kiss, his hand, softly, tenderly, gratefully.”
“Ai!” said Pertinax.
I gathered that the Lady Constantina must, indeed, be very hungry.
“You may now feed the slave,” I informed Pertinax.
I thought this little exercise would do the proud Lady Constantina a world of good.
Certainly, now, she would better understand, even as a free woman, how she was in the power of men, should men choose to exercise their power.
Later, we separated the slaves, and tied the leash of each about a tree. We left their hands bound, but we untied their ankles.
I looked down at the Lady Constantina.
She lay on her side, looking up at me.
I glanced at her legs, and then I asked her, “Have you had slave wine?”
“What is slave wine?” she asked.
“It prevents conception,” I said. “Slaves are not to breed randomly. Their crossings are to be decided by masters.”
“I have not had slave wine!” she said.
“A pity,” I said.
“But I have had what I was told,” she said, “was the wine of ‘the noble free woman’.”
“Strange,” I said, “as you are a slave.”
“You know I am not a slave!” she whispered.
“Ah, yes,” I said, “sometimes, when I look at your legs, I forget.”
“Beast!” she hissed.
“As you have had ‘the wine of the noble free woman,’” I said, “it does not much matter. The substances, save in the pleasantness of their imbibings, are equivalent. Indeed, both have as their active ingredient sip root.”
“Do not touch me!” she said.
“I have no intention of doing so,” I said.
“I am a virgin!” she said.
“That surprises me,” I said.
“Why do you smile?” she asked.
“It is nothing,” I said. In some markets virgins sold w
ell. That always seemed to me a bit strange. In any event, virgin slaves were rare.
“You think I am not attractive?” she asked.
“As a free woman of Earth,” I said, “I would think you are quite attractive.”
“I am!” she said.
“You are vain?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” she said, “but legitimately so. My beauty is obvious. It is a matter of fact.”
“I see,” I said.
“I am beautiful,” she said. “I am extremely beautiful!”
“For a free woman of Earth,” I said. “But you have not yet even been opened.”
“‘Opened’?” she said.
“For the pleasures of men,” I said.
“I see,” she said, icily.
“But more importantly,” I said, “you have not yet been awakened, softened, and sensitized. Your body is not yet a sheet of awareness. Are you even aware of the feel, the exact feel, consider it now, of the straps on your wrists?”
She shuddered.
“There are horizons, and vistas, of your sex,” I said, “sensations, feelings, hopes, apprehensions, awarenesses, fears, anticipations, yearnings, longings, of which you are totally unaware. You have not yet begun to learn yourself. You are still a stranger to nature, to yourself, and the world. You do not yet know who you are, or what you are.”
“I know very well who I am, and what I am,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It is only in the collar that women learn themselves. It is only in the collar that the flower of their sex opens, one by one, its vulnerable petals. It is only in the collar that a woman comes to her true happiness, and true beauty.”
“Kneeling before a man,” she said, angrily, “her lips pressed to his feet!”
“Certainly,” I said. “Can you not conceive of yourself so?”
“Yes,” she said, “in terror of my life.”
“Yes,” I said, “it often begins so.”
“Leave me,” she said.
“What do you think of Pertinax?” I asked.
“He is a despicable weakling,” she said.
I then left her, as she had requested. A Gorean male, commonly, complies with the wishes of a free woman.
They are, after all, free.
I turned about, and went to Pertinax. “Take the first watch,” I said.
I then went and lay down near Cecily.