Assassin of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Phyllis made an angry noise.

  “Poor little White Silk slave,” said another Red Silk Girl passing between the tables.

  Phyllis clenched her fists, crying out in rage.

  Ho-Sorl regarded her. “You are rather fat,” he said.

  That was an appraisal I surely did not agree with.

  “I’m glad I’m going to be sold,” cried Phyllis. “It will take me from the sight of you! You black-haired, scarred—tarsk!” There were tears in her eyes. “I hate you!” she screamed. “I hate you!”

  “You are all cruel!” cried Virginia Kent, who was standing now a bit behind Ho-Tu.

  The room was extremely silent for a moment.

  Then, angrily, Virginia Kent picked up Ho-Tu’s bowl of gruel and, turning it completely upside down, dumped it suddenly on his head.

  “Kajuralia,” she said.

  Relius nearly leaped up, horror on his face.

  Ho-Tu sat there with the porridge bowl on his head, the gruel streaming down his face.

  Once again there was an extremely still moment in the room.

  Suddenly I felt a large quantity of fluid, wine, surely at least half a pitcher, being poured slowly over my head. I began to sputter and blink. “Kajuralia, Master,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, walking regally away.

  Now Ho-Tu was laughing so hard that his eyes were watering. He took the bowl from his bald head and wiped his face with his forearm. Then he began to pound the table with his fists. Then everyone in the room, amazed at the audacity of the slave girl, to so affront one of the black caste, after a moment, began to roar with amusement, even the slave girls. I think so rich a treat they had never expected on Kajuralia. I maintained a straight face, and tried to frown convincingly, finding myself the butt of their laughter. I saw that even Cernus had now looked up from his board and was roaring with laughter, the first time I had ever seen such amusement in the person of the Master of the House of Cernus. Then, to my horror, I saw Elizabeth, her back straight, her step determined, walk straight to Cernus and then, slowly, as his mouth flew open and he seemed scarcely to understand what was occurring, pour the rest of the contents of the vessel of Ka-la-na directly on his head.

  “Kajuralia,” said Elizabeth to him, turning away.

  Ho-Tu then, to my great relief, rose to his feet, lifting both hands. “Kajuralia, Ubar!” he cried.

  Then all at the tables, and even the slaves who served, stood and lifted their hands, laughing, saluting Cernus. “Kajuralia, Ubar!” they cried. And I, too, though the words nearly stuck in my throat, so acclaimed Cernus. “Kajuralia, Ubar!” I cried.

  The face of Cernus relaxed, and he leaned back. And then, to my relief, he, Ubar of Ar, smiled, and then he, too, began to laugh.

  Then the slave girls about the table began to go wild, throwing things and where possible pouring liquids on the heads of the guards and members of the staff, who, leaping up, seized them when they could catch them, kissing them, holding them, making them cry out with delight. And more than one was thrown to the love furs under the slave rings at the wall. Revel filled the hall of the House of Cernus. I made sure I got my hands on Elizabeth Cardwell, though she dodged well and was a swift wench, and taking her in my arms carried her to one side. She looked up at me.

  “You did well,” I said.

  “It was a close one,” she said.

  “Closer than I like,” I admitted.

  “You have captured me,” she said.

  I kissed her. “You will be free tomorrow night,” I said.

  “I’m happy,” she said.

  “Was it you,” I asked, “who salted the gruel of Ho-Tu?”

  “It is possible,” she admitted.

  “Tonight,” I said, “will be the last night together in our compartment.”

  She laughed. “Last night was,” she informed me. “Tonight I am to be sent to the Waiting Cells, where girls are kept who will be sent to the market tomorrow.”

  I groaned.

  “It is easier than rounding them up all over the House,” she pointed out.

  “I suppose so,” I said.

  “Between the tenth and the fourteenth Ahn,” she pointed out, “we can be examined nude in the cages.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “It is sometimes difficult to make an appraisal from the high tiers,” she said.

  Beyond us, as though in a world apart, we could hear the laughter and shrieks of the men and girls sporting in the hall, celebrating Kajuralia.

  “Are you frightened?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “It should be quite thrilling,” she said, “the lights, the sawdust, being so utterly naked, the men bidding for you.”

  “You are a little mad fool,” I told her.

  “Every girl,” she said, “should be sold at least once in her life.”

  “You are utterly, utterly mad,” I told her, kissing her again.

  “I wonder what I’ll bring,” she mused.

  “Probably two copper tarn disks,” I said.

  “I hope I will be purchased by a handsome master,” she said.

  I kissed her irritably to silence.

  We heard the voice of Ho-Tu booming in the hall. “It is past the eighteenth bar,” he called. “Slaves to cells!”

  There were cries of disappointment from both men and women in the hall.

  I kept kissing Elizabeth. “Slaves to cells,” she mumbled. When I released her she lifted her head to me, standing on her toes, and kissed me on the nose. “Perhaps,” she said, “I will see you even tomorrow night.”

  I doubted it, but it was possible. I assumed the agent of Priest-Kings, who would purchase the girls, might be eager to take them to the Sardar, or perhaps to Ko-ro-ba. Yet again he might wait, and perhaps I could learn of her whereabouts in the city before she took flight, and see her once more. After the work of Caprus and myself was finished I would be able to join her, probably in Ko-ro-ba, for a time, before we arranged to return her to Earth; I assumed, naturally, she would wish to return to her native planet. Gor is harsh and cruel. And surely no woman bred to the civilities and courtesies of Earth would care to remain on a world so barbaric, a world perhaps beautiful but yet threatening and perilous, a world in which a woman is seldom permitted to be other than a woman, a world in which even the exalted Free Companion sleeps upon a couch with a slave ring set at its foot.

  She kissed me one last time and turned about and ran off. She would spend the night in the Waiting Cells, and, at dawn, with hundreds of others, be sent as slave cargo to the pens of the Curulean.

  “You there, Slaves,” called Ho-Tu, “to your cells!”

  He was speaking to Virginia Kent, and to Lana, who had both lingered in the vicinity of Relius, who was finishing a cup of wine.

  “You there, little White Silker,” said Ho-Tu, “who are so adept with the porridge bowl, hasten to the Waiting Cells. You will need your sleep. You are to ascend the block tomorrow. You must make a good showing for the House of Cernus.”

  Virginia choked back a tear. “Yes, Master,” she said.

  Lana laughed and went to Relius, taking his arm, looking at Virginia. “Tomorrow, White Silker,” she said, “you will be sold but Lana will still be in the House of Cernus.” She looked at Relius, snuggling up to him, kissing him on the side of the neck. “If Lana is permitted to leave the House tomorrow,” she wheedled the guard, “Lana wants to wear the leash of Relius.”

  Virginia stood there, helpless, her fists clenched, fighting back tears.

  “What is your name?” demanded Ho-Tu of the Red Silk Girl.

  “Lana,” she said, “if it pleases Master.”

  “Lana,” said Ho-Tu, “you will indeed leave the House tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Master,” said Lana, looking up then at Relius.

  “Now, Lana,” said Ho-Tu, “go to the Waiting Cells.”

  She spun about. “The Waitin
g Cells!” she cried.

  “Yes,” said Ho-Tu, “you will be sold tomorrow on the Love Feast.”

  “No!” she cried. “No!”

  Virginia laughed and clapped her hands with joy.

  “No!” cried Lana.

  “To the Waiting Cells, Slave!” commanded Ho-Tu. He slapped the slave goad that hung at his belt.

  Terror came into the eyes of the girl. She threw one wild look at Relius and then, as Ho-Tu removed the slave goad from his belt, she ran weeping from the room.

  Virginia Kent dropped to her knees before Ho-Tu, in the position of the Pleasure Slave, and lowered her head. “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  He shook her head with his heavy hand. “You are a brave little wench,” he said. “And you are very dangerous with a bowl of porridge.”

  She dropped her head even more.

  “Hurry, Slave!” barked Ho-Tu. “To the Waiting Cells!”

  Virginia Kent, who had taught classics and ancient history in a college on Earth, leaped to her feet and, barefoot, a slave girl, raced from the room, hurrying to the Waiting Cells, whence at dawn, with others, she would be sent to the Curulean, where, in the evening, she would, with Elizabeth and Phyllis, ascend the block, her purchased flesh, like theirs, to bring gold to the House of Cernus.

  Ho-Tu looked after her and grinned. “A very brave little wench,” he muttered.

  “And dangerous with a bowl of porridge,” I reminded him.

  “Yes,” said he, “that is true.”

  I looked about the room. Now only guards and members of the staff remained in the room. I supposed I might as well return to my compartment. I would miss Elizabeth.

  Suddenly two guards entered the room, thrusting a woman before them.

  I saw Ho-Tu look up and turn white. His hand moved to the hook knife at his belt.

  The woman stumbled to the place before the table of Cernus, where she stood. A bit of scarlet cord had been knotted about her waist, into which was thrust a long rectangle of red silk; her hair had been unbound; her wrists were braceleted behind her back; the key hung on a string about her neck; the slave bells were still locked on her left ankle, but her finery was gone; no longer did the slave goad dangle from her wrist.

  “Kajuralia, Sura,” said Cernus to the woman.

  “Kajuralia, Master,” said she bitterly.

  Ho-Tu spoke. “Let her return to her compartment,” said he. “Sura has served us well. She is the finest trainer in Ar.”

  “She will be reminded,” said Cernus, “that she is only a slave.”

  “I beg your favor,” cried Ho-Tu.

  “It is denied,” said Cernus. “Let the gambling begin.”

  A number of men crowded between the tables then and some dice, inked knucklebones of the verr, were soon rattling in a metal goblet. Sura knelt before the table of Cernus, her head down. One of her guards snapped a slave leash on her collar. The leash key was on a tiny loop of wire. The guard twisted this wire about the red-enameled steel of her collar. Behind her the men began crying out, watching the tumbling of the knucklebones on the stones of the floor. I understood to some extent what was taking place. It was merely another of the turnabouts of Kajuralia, but in it was perhaps more; Sura’s pride and her position in the House, though she was slave, had been resented by many of the men and staff; perhaps even Cernus felt she had overstepped herself; surely he seemed pleased that she would now be humbled, now used as a common Red Silk Girl.

  “I use her first!” cried one man.

  Then there were more shouts and the men continued to gamble. I had not understood until then that the beautiful, proud Sura would, in order of the gambling, serve each of the men in that room.

  I looked to Ho-Tu. To my astonishment there were tears in his fierce, dark eyes. His hand was on the hilt of the hook knife.

  I looked to Sura. She was kneeling on the stones, bent over, her head down, the hair falling forward, clad only in the bit of red silk, her wrists braceleted behind her back. I saw her shoulders move, and, startled, realized that she wept.

  I then moved into the center of the gambling men and, not speaking, as they looked up, angry at the intrusion, I took the metal goblet containing the knucklebones from the man who held it.

  Bitterly, yet not daring to object, he surrendered it.

  I looked from face to face, and then I shook the knucklebones and scattered them, the four of them, on the stones at my feet.

  It had been a low cast, not high. Several of the men laughed with relief. But then my sword was out of the sheath and delicately, turning each bone with the tip of the blade, I placed the side marked with the highest number on each of the bones facing the ceiling.

  The men looked on angrily. One or two of them muttered in rage. On their knees from the gambling, they looked up at me, in fury.

  “I will use her,” I said. “And I alone will use her.”

  “No!” cried a guard, springing to his feet.

  I looked at him and he stepped back, turned, and angrily left the room.

  “Dispute her with me who will,” I said.

  Angrily the men rose to their feet and, muttering, dispersed.

  I turned to face Cernus. He smiled and expansively lifted his hand. “If none dispute you,” said he, “she is surely yours.” He laughed and grinned down at Sura. “Kajuralia, Slave,” said he.

  “Kajuralia, Master,” said Sura, whispering.

  I spoke harshly to Sura. “Lead me to your quarters, Slave.”

  She struggled to her feet, the leash dangling from her collar. I did not pick up the leash and she moved past me, tears in her eyes, leaving the room, the sound of bells marking her movements. But she did not walk as a trained Pleasure Slave. She walked numbly, her head down, a defeated woman. I heard Cernus laugh. “I have heard,” jeered Cernus, “that the Killer knows well how to use slaves!”

  Sura stopped at that moment, and put her head back, though she did not turn to face him, and then she hurried through the door.

  “Killer,” I heard.

  I turned to face Ho-Tu. His hand was still on the hook knife.

  “She is not a common slave,” he said.

  “Then,” said I, “I shall expect from her uncommon pleasures,” and turned and left.

  Sura preceded me through the halls of the House of Cernus, and then we passed through her training room, and entered her own quarters where we stopped. As she stood in the room I took the key on its string from about her neck and removed the bracelets. I threw them with the key to one side of the room; then I unlocked the slave leash and threw it, with its key, also to the side of the room.

  She stood there, rubbing her wrists a bit. There were red marks on them. The bracelets need not have been fastened so tightly. She looked at me with hatred. I turned about to examine the room. There were several chests there, doubtless containing silks, cosmetics, jewelry; there were also rich furs, on which I gathered she slept; in one corner there leaned a six-stringed kalika, long-necked, with its hemispheric sound box; I knew she played the instrument; on one wall, some feet away, hanging over a hook, I saw her slave goad.

  I looked at her. She had not moved, though she now no longer rubbed her wrists. I could still see the red circles on them. Her black hair was quite marvelous, long and unbound, falling as it did over her shoulders; her eyes were dark and deeply beautiful; her body, as the slave masters had intended, was tormentingly magnificent; the features of her face and lips showed to my eye, which had become more discerning in the past several months, the breeding lines of the House of Cernus.

  I turned away again, wondering if there might be some Ka-la-na or perhaps even paga, though I doubted the latter, hidden away in the room. I began to rummage through one of the chests, and then another. Still she had not moved.

  I came to another chest. “Please do not open that chest,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” said I, thinking that in this one must be the beverage I sought, flinging up the lid.

  “Please!�
�� she cried out.

  This must be the one, I thought to myself. I poked around in the chest but I could find nothing, so far, but tangles of beads and jewelry, some silks. Sura certainly had a great deal of such things. That I was forced to admit. Were they her own, she would have been the envy of many of the free women of Ar.

  “Do not look further!” she cried.

  “Be silent, slave,” said I, poking about, and then I saw in the bottom of the chest, almost colorless, ragged, not more than a foot high nor a few ounces heavy, a small worn, tattered doll, dressed in faded Robes of Concealment, of a sort little girls might play with on the bridges or in the corridors of cylinders, dressing it or singing to it.

  “What is this?” I asked in amusement, lifting it up and turning to face Sura.

  With a cry of rage the Pleasure Slave ran past me and tore the slave goad from the wall, flicked it to on. I saw the dial rotate to the end of the red band, to the Kill Point. The tip of the goad, almost instantly, seemed incandescent. I could not even look directly upon it.

  “Die!” she screamed, hurling herself toward me, striking with the goad.

  I dropped the doll, spun and managed to catch her wrist as she struck downward with the burning goad. She screamed out in frustration, weeping. My hand closed on her wrist and she cried out in pain, the goad falling to the floor, rolling. I hurled her some feet across the room and retrieved the goad; it had stopped rolling and now, burning, had begun to sink through the stone. I rotated the dial back to its minimal charge and then flicked it off.

  I let the goad, on its leather strap, dangle from my left wrist and then I went to the doll and picked it up. I approached Sura, who backed against the wall, closing her eyes, turning her head to one side.

  “Here,” I said. I handed her the doll.

  She reached out and took it.

  “I am sorry,” I said.

  She stood there, looking at me, holding the doll.

  I walked away from her and then took the slave goad from my wrist and hung it up again on its hook, where she might take it again if she wished.

  “I am sorry,” said I, “Sura.” I looked upon her. “I was looking for Ka-la-na.”

  She looked at me, bewildered.