Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt

by Players of Gor [lit]

  would remain, of course, exactly where she was. The chain on her ankle would see

  to that. How beautiful they are in collars. I then slipped from the tent.

  page 180

  8 I Make Myself Useful to Boots Tarsk-Bit; I Will Also Show Him What I Have

  Found in the Woods

  “Release us!” demanded Boots Tarsk-Bit, on his knees, near the campfire, his

  arms roped to his sides.

  The leader of the brigands, a bearded fellow, with a cloth wrapped about this

  head, lashed him across the mouth with the back of his hand. This was

  inappropriate as Boots was a free person.

  “Your conduct,” sputtered Boots, “is deplorable. I am Boots Tarsk-Bit, actor,

  promoter and entrepreneur. Doubtless you have heard of me. I am not a slave. I

  demand to be treated with civility and courtesy.”

  “Shall I cut his throat?” asked one of the brigands, taking Boots by the hair

  and pulling his head back.

  “Not yet,” said the leader of the brigands.

  “Where are the keys to the ankle rings of your tent sluts?” inquired the leader

  of the brigands.

  Boots grunted as his head was jerked farther back. The blade of the fellow’s

  knife pressed against his throat.

  “You had only to ask,” said Boots.

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  “Where are they?” asked the leader of the brigands.

  “On a nail, inside of the door of my wagon, the large wagon with the red roof,

  on the left,” said Boots.

  “Bring the two tent sluts here, bound, to the edge of the fire,” said the leader

  of the brigands. “We shall then see if they are worth keeping or should be left

  here, with the others.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” asked Boots.

  I saw two of the brigands exchange glances, grinning at one another. I saw

  another fellow start toward Boots’s wagon, presumably to fetch the keys to

  Bina’s and Rowena’s ankle rings. I gathered if they were found sufficiently

  beautiful, or sufficiently desirable, they might be spared. It is in the

  modality of slavery, on the terms of masters, that females historically have

  sought, and sometimes have been granted, at least provisionally, their survival.

  “Do you call this money?” asked the leader of the brigands, shaking the coin

  kettle under Boots’s nose.

  “Why, yes,” said Boots, looking into the kettle.

  The leader of the brigands again struck him.

  “There is scarcely a silver tarsk here,” snarled the leader of the brigands.

  “I agree,” said Boots. “It is a piteous sum, not even worth taking. Leave it, if

  you wish.” He then shrank back, but the chief of the brigands lowered his hand,

  angrily.

  The fellow who had gone to fetch the girls no2 returned. He had the two girls

  with him. The hands of each, by a cord knotted about their waist, were tied

  before their bodies. He drew them after him, in leading position, each bent

  over, by the hair. He then twisted them about and flung them to their backs in

  the dirt, by the fire. The leader of the brigands then took a flaming brand from

  the fire and holding it over the girls passed it back and forth, over their

  bodies, scanning them, examining them in the dancing light. He tossed the brand

  back into the flames. “We will keep them,” he said.

  The girls shuddered with relief. They had been found acceptable.

  “Tie them,” said the leader of the brigands, “kneeling, left ankle to right

  ankle, right ankle to left ankle.”

  In a moment this was done. They were knelt, back to back. Two cords are used.

  One cord fastens the first girl’s left ankle to the other girl’s right ankle,

  the same cord looped tight about both ankles, binding them closely together. The

  other cord, similarly, fastens her right ankle to the other’s left ankle. It is

  a lovely, efficient tie, fastening both girls helplessly in a posture of

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  submission. In this tie they will not leap to their feet and flee away. They

  will remain, waiting, where they have been placed.

  “What moneys are there here?” demanded the chief of the brigands of Boots.

  Boots was silent.

  The chief of the brigands looked down, near the fire. There the other male

  members of Boots’s company lay on their stomachs, bound, sly, agile Chino,

  simple Lecchio, Petrucchio, the tall, doleful “captain,” and Publius Andronicus,

  supposedly the most famous actor in the company, saving perhaps the incredible

  Boots Tarsk-Bit himself. I had not yet, as a matter of fact, seen Publius

  Andronicus act. I supposed that he was capable of doing so. He was quite

  impressive, in a ponderous way, rather like a mountain range, in figure and

  visage. He also had a deep bass voice, which, when he wished, he could make boom

  like thunder. Boots was quite impressed with him. He was apparently holding

  himself in reserve for major leads, such as those of tragic statesmen, tormented

  poets, confused ubars, and such. I thought that perhaps he was in the wrong

  company. AT any rate it did not seem that the repertory of Boots’s company, as I

  was familiar with it at least, was richly or unusually endowed with roles of

  such a nature. Too, bound, still hooded, the player, he called the “monster,”

  lay with the others.

  “Take what you want,” said Boots. “Then be gone.”

  “That one,” said the chief of the brigands, indicating Chino, “kill him.”

  “No!” cried Boots. “Hold! You cannot be serious! Such an act would desecrate the

  theater! That is the finest Chino on all Gor!”

  “I do not like the idea either,” said Chino, “on independent grounds.”

  “If only I had my sword!” cried Petrucchio. I really doubted that Petrucchio’s

  huge, clumsy wooden sword, no more than a comic theatrical prop really, would be

  likely to turn the tide of battle. Still his courage I found admirable.

  “Cut his throat,” said the leader of the brigands.

  “No,” said Boots. “In my wagon, in the right-hand corner of the tray in my trunk

  there is a knotted sock which contains coins and there are some coins, too,

  thrust in the toe of a slipper at the side of the trunk.”

  “Fetch them,” said the leader of the brigands.

  The fellow who had seized Chino thrust him back to the dirt. he then made his

  way to Boots’s wagon.

  “What else?” demanded the leader of the brigands.

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  “I know of little else that might be of value to you,” said Boots. “You may look

  about and take what you like. I cannot speak for the others.”

  “Where is Bort?” asked the leader of the brigands.

  “He was keeping watch, at the road,” said one of the men.

  “We have them now,” said the leader of the brigands. “We have called the guards

  in. Where is he?”

  “Doubtless he will be in in a moment,” said one of the men. He was mistaken.

  “
Bort! Bort!” called a fellow.

  I had counted, all told, counting the leader, seven brigands. It is important,

  for obvious reasons, to be as clear as possible on such matters.

  “Bort!” the man called out, again, more loudly.

  I had mad the acquaintance of Bort, briefly, near the road. He had not had a

  great deal of time, however, to savor the relationship. His attention had been

  distracted by a tiny sound, the sound of a falling pebble, to one side. I had

  then approached him from the opposite direction.

  “Bort!” called out the man.

  The brigands were now six in number. They did not realize this, as yet.

  “Where is he?” said one of the men.

  “Sleeping at his post,” said a man.

  “Lost,” said another.

  “Let him go,” said a fellow. “There will be more loot for us that way.”

  “Go find him,” said the leader of the brigands.

  Interestingly enough, only one man, he who had been calling Bort, came forth to

  locate him.

  “Bort?” he inquired, warily, peering into the darkness. “Is that you?” I killed

  him. “No,” I said.

  I then circled the camp, approaching from the other side of the wagons. The

  leader of the brigands, and one other fellow, were near the prisoners. The

  others were rummaging through the wagons and goods. They were intent on ly on

  their loot. I caught one from behind and dragged him back into the darkness. I

  left him there. I used the same quiva I had on the other two.

  “Titus!” called one of the brigands, emerging from a wagon, pausing on the steps

  at the rear. “See what I have found!” He brandished a large inlaid cup. I had

  seen such cups before. “Titus!” he called. “Titus?”

  “Where is Crassius?” called the leader of the brigands to him. “Is he with you?”

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  “No,” said the man. “Has he not yet returned?”

  “No,” said the leader.

  The man lowered his arm with the cup.

  “He should be back with Bort by now,” said the man on the wagon steps.

  “Bort!” called the leader into the darkness. “Crassius!” He then turned about.

  “Titus!” he called. “Titus!” He regarded the fellow with him. “I do not like

  it,” he said.

  “What is wrong?” asked another fellow, emerging form one of the wagons.

  “Bort is missing,” said the leader. “Crassius had not yet returned. We have

  called Titus. He does not respond.”

  The men looked about themselves, apprehensively.

  “Sleen,” said one of the men.

  It is true that sleen sometimes make kills swiftly and silently.

  “It could be a panther come from the woods, or a strayed larl,” said one of the

  men. This was less likely than a sleen attack. Though panthers and larls can be

  extremely dangerous to men they will usually attack men only if they are

  disturbed or other prey is not available. Sleen, which ten to be fine hunters

  and splendid trackers, which are swiftly moving, aggressive, serpentine,

  generally nocturnal animals, particularly in the wild state, are less fastidious

  about their eating habits.

  “It could be urts,” said a man. “It is near the time of the year for their

  movements.” Certain species of urts migrate twice a year. At such times,

  annually, it is usually necessary only to avoid them. People usually remain

  indoors when pack is in their vicinity. There is little danger from these

  migrations unless one finds oneself in their direct path. The urt, on the whole,

  most species of which are quite small, large enough to be lifted in one hand,

  does not pose much direct threat to human beings. Then can destroy Sa-Tarna

  fields and force their way into granaries. Similarly urts of the sort which live

  on garbage cast into the canals will often, unhesitantly, attack swimmers.

  Certain forms of large, domesticated urt, incidentally, should be excepted from

  these remarks. They are especially bred for attacking and killing. Such

  animals, however, are inferior to sleen for such purposes. They also lack the

  tracking capabilities of the sleen. Similarly they lack its intelligence. There

  was at least one good additional reason, incidentally, for supposing that

  whatever might be perplexing the brigands was not urts. The urts do not make

  their kills neatly and silently. They normally attack in a pack. It is usually a

  messy business. There is usually much blood and screaming.

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  “Gather in what you can,” said the leader of the brigands. “Then we will be on

  our way.” He looked about himself. Then he threw some more wood on the fire. The

  fire, of course, would be useful in keeping sleen at bay. It also, from my point

  of view, was useful in illuminating the camp area.

  The two men at the rear doors of the wagons, on the steps, looked across at one

  another.

  “Get busy,” said the leader.

  “You are near the fire,” said one of the men on the wagons.

  “We have enough,” said the other.

  “Cowards,” said the brigand near their chief, near the fire.

  “Let us be on our way,” said the first fellow, holding the cup in his hand.

  “Do you dispute me?” asked the leader.

  The fellow put down the cup. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. I was

  pleased that the cup had been put down. I would not have wanted it to be

  dropped.

  “Perhaps you are right,” said the leader. “Come here, by the fire.”

  The fellow descended from the steps of the wagon, warily.

  “You are right,” said the leader. “We have enough.”

  “Good,” said the fellow.

  “Fetch the cup,” said the leader.

  As soon as the man turned about, however, the leader leaped toward him, seized

  him from behind, his arm locked about his throat, and plunged a dagger, to the

  hilt, into his back.

  “Teibar!” cried the other fellow on the steps.

  The leader, his knife bloody, whirled to face him. “Do you gainsay me on this?”

  he asked.

  “No, no!” said the other fellow, quickly.

  “Put leashes on the females,” said the leader, straightening up, “and then untie

  their legs, to make it possible for them to move.” This is common Gorean

  practice, to place one bond before removing another.

  “You shall be led as befits slaves, as befits animals, as chattels,” said the

  leader to the girls.

  “Yes, Master,” said Rowena.

  “Yes, Master,” said pretty Bina.

  “What of the wagons and the men?” asked the fellow who was near the leader.

  “We will burn the wagons,” said the leader. “We will cut the throats of the

  men.”

  “Excellent,” said his fellow.

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  “Fetch the cup,” said the leader of the fellow who had now descended from the

  steps of the wagon
.

  “I do not want it,” said the fellow, shakily, looking at his fallen fellow, near

  the fire.

  “Coward,” laughed the leader. he then moved past the fellow, proceeding toward

  the wagon.

  The leader had not noticed, it seemed, that although the fellow’s voice had

  surely suggested uncertainty and fear, his hand had been perfectly steady. The

  fellow’s draw was swift and smooth. The leader had barely time to turn, taking

  the blade, descending, diagonally across the neck. He fell away from the blade,

  his head awry. The girls screamed. The assailant turned to face the other

  brigand.

  “Do not strike!” cried the other brigand.

  Momentarily the assailant hesitated. For an instant he was indecisive. He had

  not considered matters, it seemed, beyond the slaying of the leader. That had

  perhaps been short-sighted on his part. Surely the other man should have been

  included, in one way or another, in his original plan. Obviously he was going to

  be there, after the original blow. Obviously, in some fashion, he would have to

  be dealt with or related to. At any rate he had hesitated for a moment. Such

  dalliance can be costly. The other fellow now had his own blade free of its

  sheath.

  “Let us not fight,” said the fellow who had just drawn his blade. “I am with

  you! There is enough loot for two.”

  I now revised my estimate of the intelligence of the fellow who had struck down

  the leader. It seemed reasonably clear, from the voice and attitude of the

  fellow who had just drawn his weapon, that he was clearly alarmed. I did not

  think he was acting in this matter. At any rate it seemed to me that his fear

  was genuine.

  “Sheath your sword,” said the fellow who had struck the leader.

  “Sheath yours,” invited he who had been with the leader.

  It was now my assessment of the situation that he who had struck the leader had

  been confident of his capacity to deal with the other fellow. It was thus,

  apparently, that he had been willing to postpone, for a moment or so, at least,

  his decision as to how to deal with him. He was now, it seemed, considering it.

  “Let us not quarrel,” urged the fellow who had been the confidant of the leader.

  “There may be sleen about.”