by John Norman
“Please, let me go,” she said. “It will mean the collar for me.”
“Do you recall what you said to me,” I asked, “shortly before I turned you about?”
“No,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yes, yes!” she said.
“Say it, again,” I told her.
“Please,” she begged.
“Say it,” I said.
“I’m hot and I’m pretty,” she stammered. “Try me,” she said. She swallowed hard.
“Very well,” I said.
I drew her to me by the ankles.
“Please let me go,” she said. “It will mean the collar for me. Oh, oh.”
Then in moments she moaned and wept.
I forced her to yield well, to the very limits of the free woman. Then I was finished with her.
She looked up at me. “Have I pleased you?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“Yes,” I said.
“Let me go,” she said.
I took her ankles, crossed and tied them. Then I threw her beside the man, her head to his feet. I tied her neck to his feet, and her feet to his neck. They would wait, thus, for the guardsmen.
“They will banish him and collar me,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
I knelt down on one knee beside her. I took a tarsk bit from my pouch, and thrust it in her mouth. She was a free woman. Since I had no intent of enslaving her myself, it seemed fit that I should pay her for her use. She had asked, as I recalled, for a tarsk bit. Had I intended to keep her, I might have simply raped her, and then put the collar on her. A slave has no recourse.
I rose to my feet, and, shouldering my sea bag, whistling, continued on toward the pier of the Red Urt, where Ulafi’s ship, the Palms of Schendi, was moored.
I soon hurried my steps, for an alarm bar had begun to ring.
I heard steps running behind me, too, and I turned about. A black seaman ran past me, he, too, heading toward the wharves. I followed him toward the pier of the Red Urt.
4. I Recapture An Escaped Slave; I Book Passage On A Ship For Schendi
“How long has she been missing?” I asked.
“Over an Ahn,” said a man. “But only now have they rung the bar.”
We stood in the vicinity of the high desk of the wharf praetor.
“There seemed no reason to ring it earlier,” said the man. “It was thought she would be soon picked up, by guardsmen, or the crew of the Palms of Schendi.”
“She was to be shipped on that craft?” I asked.
“Yes,” said the man. “I suppose now her feet must be cut off.”
“Is it her first attempt to escape?” asked another man.
“I do not know,” said another.
“Why is there this bother about an escaped slave,” demanded a man, his clothing torn and blood at his ear. “I have been robbed! What are you doing about this?”
“Be patient,” said the wharf praetor. “We know the pair. We have been searching for them for weeks.” The praetor handed a sheet of paper to one of his guardsmen. People were gathered around. Another guardsman stopped ringing the alarm bar. It hung from a projection on a pole, the pole fixed upright on the roof of a nearby warehouse.
“Be on the watch for an escaped female slave,” called the guardsman. “She is blond-haired and blue-eyed. She is barbarian. When last seen she was naked.”
I did not think it would take them long to apprehend her. She was a fool to try to escape. There was no escape for such as she. Yet she was unmarked and uncollared. It might not prove easy to retake her immediately.
“How did she escape?” I asked a fellow.
“Vart’s man,” said he, “delivered her to the wharf, where he knelt her among the cargo to be loaded on the Palms of Schendi. He obtained his receipt for her and then left.”
“He did not leave her tied, hand and foot, among the bales and crates for loading?” I asked.
“No,” said the man. “But who, either Vart’s man, or those of the Palms of Schendi, would have thought it necessary?”
I nodded. There was reason in what he said. Inwardly I smiled. She had simply left the loading area, when no one was watching, simply slipping away. Had she been less ignorant of Gor she would not have dared to escape. She did not yet fully understand that she was a slave girl. She did not yet understand that escape was not permitted to such as she.
“Return the girl to the praetor’s station on this pier,” said the guardsman.
“What of those who robbed me!” cried the fellow with the torn clothing and the blood behind his ear.
“You are not the first,” said the praetor, looking down at him from the high desk. “They stand under a general warrant.”
“Who robbed you?” I asked the man.
“I think there were two,” said the man. “There was a dark-haired she-urt in a brown tunic. I was struck from behind. Apparently there is a male confederate.”
“She approached you, engaging your attention,” I asked, “and then you, when diverted, were struck from behind?”
“Yes,” said the fellow, sourly.
“I saw two individuals, who may be your friends,” I said, “on the north walkway of the Rim canal, leading to the vicinity of this very pier.”
“We shall send two guardsmen to investigate,” said the praetor. “Thank you, Citizen, for this information.”
“They will be gone now,” said the man with the blood behind his ear.
“Perhaps not,” I said.
The praetor dispatched a pair of guardsmen, who moved swiftly toward the Rim canal.
“Be on the watch for an escaped female slave,” repeated the guardsman with the paper. He spoke loudly, calling out, over the crowd. I heard him adding to the available information. New data had been furnished to him from a wharf runner, who had her sales information in hand, brought from the records of the house of Vart. This included, however, little more than her measurements and the sizes of the collar, and wrist and ankle rings that would well fit her.
I went over to the edge of the pier, some hundred yards or so away, to where the Palms of Schendi, was moored. Longshoremen, bales and crates on their shoulders, were filling her hold. They were being supervised by the second officer. It was now grayishly light, a few Ehn past dawn. I could not yet see the golden rim of Tor-tu-Gor, Light Upon the Home Stone, rising in the east over the city.
“Are you bound for Schendi?” I called to the officer.
“Yes,” said he, looking up from his lading list.
“I would take passage with you,” I said.
“We do not carry passengers,” said he.
“I can pay as much as a silver tarsk,” I said. It did not seem well to suggest that I could afford more. If worse came to worse I could book passage on another vessel. It would not be wise to hire a ship, for this would surely provoke suspicion. Similarly, it would not be wise to take one of my own ships, say, the Dorna or the Tesephone, south. They might be recognized. Gorean seamen recognize ships with the same ease that they recognize faces. This is common, of course, among seamen anywhere.
“We do not carry passengers,” said the second officer.
I shrugged, and turned away. I would prefer, of course, to have passage on this ship, for it would be on this ship that the girl, when apprehended, would be transported. I did not wish to risk losing track of her.
I looked up to the stern castle of’ the Palms of Schendi. There I saw her captain, Ulafi, engaged in conversation with one whom I took to be the first officer. They did not look at me.
I stood there for a few moments, regarding the lines of the Palms of Schendi. She was a medium-class round ship, with a keel-to-beam ratio of about six to one; that of the long ship is usually about eight to one. She had ten oars to a side, two rudders, and two, permanent, lateen-rigged masts. Most Gorean ships were double ruddered. The masts of round ships are usually permanently fixed; those of long ships, usually single-masted, are removed before
battle; most Gorean ships are lateen-rigged; this permits sailing closer to the wind. The long, triangular sail, incidentally, is very beautiful.
I turned away from the ship. I did not wish to be observed looking at it too closely. I wore the garb of the metal workers.
According to the tide tables the first tide would be full at six Ehn past the seventh Ahn.
I wondered if Ulafi would sail without the blond-haired barbarian. I did not think so. I hoped that he had not put out a silver tarsk for her simply because she had struck his fancy. That would indeed be infuriating. I was certain that he would wait until she was regained. If he missed the tide, however, I did not think he would be pleased.
There seemed to be something going on now at the post of the wharf praetor, so I returned to that area.
“It is she!” said the fellow in the torn tunic with the blood behind his ear, pointing at the small, dark-haired girl. She stood before the high desk of the praetor, her wrists tied be-hind her back. Beside her, his hands, too, bound behind him, stood the fellow who had been her accomplice. They were fastened together by the neck, by a guardsman’s neck strap. The girl, interestingly, was stripped, the brief, brown tunic having been taken from her. I had not removed it. I had only thrust it up, over her hips. It did not seem likely to me that the guardsman, either, would have removed it, as she was, I presumed, a free woman. Yet it was gone, and she was naked.
“We found them both trussed like vulos,” laughed a guardsman.
“Who could do such a thing?” asked a man.
“It was not guardsmen,” said a guardsman. “We would have brought them in.”
“It seems they picked the wrong fellow to waylay,” said a man.
“It is she,” said the fellow with the blood behind his ear. “She is the one who diverted me, while her fellow, he, I suppose, struck me.” He pointed then to the man.
The girl shook her head; negatively. It seemed she wanted to speak.
“What do you have in your mouth, Girl?” asked the praetor.
One of the guardsmen opened her mouth, not gently, and retrieved the coin, a rather large one, a tarsk bit. Ten such coins make a copper tarsk. A hundred copper tarsks make a silver tarsk.
The praetor placed the coin on his desk, the surface of which was some seven feet high, below the low, solid wooden bar The height of the praetor’s desk, he on the high stool behind it, permits him to see a goodly way up and down the wharves. Also, of course, one standing before the desk must look up to see the praetor, which, psychologically, tends to induce a feeling of fear for the power of the law. The wooden bar before the desk’s front edge makes it impossible to see what evidence or papers the praetor has at his disposal as he considers your case. Thus, you do not know for certain how much he knows. Similarly, you cannot tell what he writes on your papers.
“Give me back my coin!” said the girl.
“Be silent,” said a guardsman.
“She is the one who cooperated in the attack upon you?” asked the praetor, indicating the bound girl.
“Yes,” said the man with blood behind his ear.
“No!” cried the girl. “I have never seen him before in my life!”
“I see,” said the praetor. He apparently was not unfamiliar with the girl.
“Ha!” snorted the man who had accused her.
“How did you come to be helpless and tied beside the canal?” inquired the praetor.
The girl looked about, wildly. “We were set upon by brigands, robbed, and left tied,” she said.
There was laughter.
“You must believe me,” she said. “I am a free woman!”
“Examine the pouch of the man,” said the praetor.
It was opened by a guardsman, who sifted his hands through coins.
The girl looked, startled, at the pouch. She had apparently not understood that it had contained as much as it did. Her small hands pulled futilely, angrily, at the binding fiber which restrained them.
“It seems that the fellow who robbed you,” smiled the praetor, “neglected to take your pouch.”
The bound man said nothing. He glared sullenly downward.
“He also left you a tarsk bit,” said the praetor, to the girl.
“It was all I could save,” she said, lamely.
There was more laughter.
“I was not robbed,” said the bound man. “But I was unaccountably, from behind, struck down. I was then tied to this little she-urt. Her guilt is well known, I gather, on the wharves. Clearly enemies have intended to unjustly link me to her guilt.”
“Turgus!” she cried.
“I have never seen her before in my life,” he said.
“Turgus!” she cried. “No, Turgus!”
“Did you see me strike you?” asked the fellow who had been addressed as Turgus.
“No,” said the fellow who had been struck. “No, I did not.”
“It was not I,” said the bound man. “Unbind me,” said he then to the praetor. “Set me free, for I am innocent. It is clear I am the victim of a plot.”
“He told me what to do!” she said. “He told me what to do!”
“Who are you, you little slut?” asked the bound man. “It is obvious,” he said, to the praetor, “that this she-urt, whoever she is, wishes to implicate me in her guilt, that it will go easier on her.”
“I assure you,” smiled the praetor, “it will not go easier on her.”
“My thanks, Officer,” said the man.
The girl, crying out with rage, tried to kick at the man tied beside her. A guardsman struck her on the right thigh with the butt of his spear and she cried out in pain.
“If you should attempt to do that again, my dear,” said the praetor, “your ankles will be tied, and you will hear the rest of the proceedings while lying on your belly before the tribunal.”
“Yes, Officer,” she said.
“What is your name?” asked the praetor of the girl.
“Sasi,” she said.
“Lady Sasi?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, “I am free!
There was laughter. She looked about, angrily, bound, I did not think she would need be worried much longer about her freedom.
“Usually,” smiled the praetor, “a free woman wears mere than binding fiber and a neck strap.”
“My gown was taken, when I was tied,” she said. “It was torn from me.”
“Who took it,” asked the praetor, “a casual male, curious to see your body?”
“A girl took it,” she cried, angrily, “a blond girl. She was naked. Then she took my garment. Then I was naked! Find her, if you wish to be busy with matters of the law! I was the victim of theft! It was stolen from me, my garment! You should be hunting her, the little thief, not holding me here. I am an honest citizen!”
There was more laughter.
“May I be freed, my officer?” asked the bound man. “A mistake has been made.”
The praetor turned to two guardsmen. “Go to where you found these two tied,” he said. “I think our missing slave will be found in the garment of the she-urt.”
Two guardsmen left immediately. I thought the praetor’s conjecture was a sound one. On the other hand, obviously, the girl would not be likely to linger in the place where she had stolen the she-urt’s brief, miserable rag. Still, perhaps her trail could be found in that area.
“I demand justice,” said the girl.
“You will receive it, Lady Sasi,” said the praetor.
She turned white.
“At least she will not have to be stripped for the iron,” said a fellow near me, grinning.
The girl moaned.
The praetor then addressed himself to the fellow who had the dried blood caked behind his left ear. It was dried in his hair, too, on the left side of his head.
“Is this female, identified as the Lady Sasi, she who detained you, when you were attacked?” asked the praetor.
“It is she,” he said.
“I never
saw him before,” she wept.
“It is she,” he repeated.
“I only wanted to beg a tarsk bit,” she said. “I did not know he was going to strike you.”
“Why did you not warn him of the man’s approach behind him?” asked the praetor.
“I didn’t see the man approaching,” she said, desperately.
“But you said you didn’t know he was going to strike him,” said the praetor. ‘Therefore, you must have seen him.”
“Please let me go,” she said.
“I was not seen to strike the man,” said the fellow whom the girl had identified as Turgus. “I claim innocence. There is no evidence against me. Do what you will with the little slut. But set me free.”
The girl put down her head, miserably. “Please let me go,” she begged.
“I was robbed of a golden tarn,” said the fellow with the blood at the side of his head.
“There is a golden tarn in the pouch,” said a guardsman.
“On the golden tarn taken from me,” said the man, “I had scratched my initials, Ba-Ta Shu, Bem Shandar, and, on the reverse of the coin, the drum of Tabor.”
The guardsman lifted the coin to the praetor. “It is so,” said the praetor.
The bound man, suddenly, irrationally, struggled. He tried to throw off his bonds. The girl cried out in misery, jerked choking from her feet. Then two guardsmen held the fellow by the arms. “He is strong,” said one of the guardsmen. The girl, gasping, regained her feet. Then she stood again neck-linked to him, beside him, his fellow prisoner.
“The coin was planted in my pouch,” he said. “It is a plot!”
“You are an urt, Turgus,” she said to him, “an urt!”
“It is you who are the she-urt!” he snarled.