by John Norman
“You have both been caught,” said the praetor, beginning to fill out some papers. “We have been looking for you both for a long time.”
“I am innocent,” said the bound man.
“How do you refer to yourself?” asked the praetor.
“Turgus,” he said.
The praetor entered that name in the papers. He then signed the papers.
He looked down at Turgus. “How did you come to be tied?” he asked.
“Several men set upon me,” he said. “I was struck from behind. I was subdued.”
“It does not appear that you were struck from behind,” smiled the praetor.
The face of Turgus was not a pretty sight, as I had dashed it into the stones, and had then struck the side of his head against the nearby wall.
“Is the binding fiber on their wrists from their original bonds, as you found them?” asked the praetor of one of the guardsmen.
“It is,” he said.
“Examine the knots,” said the praetor.
“They are capture knots,” said the guardsman, smiling.
“You made a poor choice of one to detain, my friends,” said the praetor.
They looked at one another, miserably. Their paths had crossed that of a warrior.
They now stood bound before the praetor.
“Turgus, of Port Kar,” said the praetor, “in virtue of what we have here today established, and in virtue of the general warrant outstanding upon you, you are sentenced to banishment. If you are found within the limits of the city after sunset this day you will be impaled.”
The face of Turgus was impassive.
“Free him,” he said.
Turgus was cut free, and turned about, moving through the crowd. He thrust men aside.
Suddenly he saw me. His face turned white, and he spun about, and fled.
I saw one of the black seamen, the one who had passed me on the north walkway of the Rim canal, when I had been descending toward the pier, looking at me, curiously.
The girl looked up at the praetor. The neck strap, now that Turgus was freed of it, looped gracefully up to her throat, held in the hand of a guardsman. Her small wrists were still bound behind her back.
She seemed very small and helpless before the high desk.
“Please let me go,” she said. “I will be good.”
“The Lady Sasi, of Port Kar,” said the praetor, “in virtue of what we have here today established, and in virtue of the general warrant outstanding upon her, must come under sentence.”
“Please, my officer,” she begged.
“I am now going to sentence you,” he said.
“Please,” she cried, “Sentence me only to a penal brothel!”
“The penal brothel is too good for you,” said the praetor.
“Show me mercy,” she begged.
“You will be shown no mercy,” he said.
She looked up at him, with horror.
“You are sentenced to slavery,” he said.
“No, no!” she screamed.
One of the guards cuffed her across the mouth, snapping her head back.
There were tears in her eyes and blood at her lip.
“Were you given permission to speak?” asked the praetor.
“No, no,” she wept, stammering. “Forgive me—Master.”
“Let her be taken to the nearest metal shop and branded,” said the praetor. “Then let her be placed on sale outside the shop for five Ehn, to be sold to the first buyer for the cost of her branding. If she is not sold in five Ehn then take her to the public market shelves and chain her there, taking the best offer which equals or exceeds the cost of her branding.”
The girl looked up at the praetor. The strap, in the hand of the guardsman, grew taut at her throat.
“This tarsk bit,” said the praetor, lifting the coin which had been taken from her mouth earlier, “is now confiscated, and becomes the property of the port.” This was appropriate. Slaves own nothing. It is, rather, they who are owned.
The girl, the new slave, was then dragged stumbling away from the tribunal.
I noted that Ulafi, captain of the Palms of Schendi, and his first officer, were now standing near me in the crowd. They were looking at me.
I made my way toward them.
“I would book passage on the Palms of Schendi,” I told them.
“You are not a metal worker,” said Ulafi to me, quietly.
I shrugged. “I would book passage,” I said.
“We do not carry passengers,” he said. Then he, and his first officer, turned away. I watched them go.
The praetor was now conversing with the fellow, Bem Shandar, from Tabor. Papers were being filled in; these had to do with the claims Bem Shandar was making to recover his stolen money.
“Captain!” I called to Ulafi.
He turned. The crowd was dispersing.
“I could pay a silver tarsk for passage,” I told him.
“You seem desperate to leave Port Kar,” said he.
“Perhaps,” I told him.
“We do not carry passengers,” said he. He turned away. His first officer followed him.
I went to a guardsman, near the praetor station. “What efforts are being mace to recover the lost slave?” I asked.
“Are you with the Palms of Schendi?” he asked.
“I hope to book passage on that ship,” I said. “I fear the captain will delay his departure until she is recovered.” I was sure this was the case.
“We are conducting a search,” said the guardsman.
“She may be wearing the garment of a she-urt,” I said.
“That is known to us, Citizen,” said he.
“I myself,” said a nearby guardsman, “stopped a girl answering the description, one in the torn rag of a she-urt, but when I forced her to reveal her thighs, she was unmarked.”
“Where did you find such a girl?” I asked.
“Near the Spice Pier;” he said.
“My thanks, Guardsman,” said I.
It seemed to me that the blond girl might well consider various strategies for eluding capture. I did not think she would be likely to flee east along the canal walkways, for these were relatively narrow and, on them, between the buildings and the canal, she might be easily trapped. Also, though this would not figure in her thinking, she could, on the north, east and south, be trapped against the delta walls or at the marsh gates. I did not think it likely she would risk stealing a boat. Even if she could handle a small craft, which I doubted, for she was an Earth girl, probably from an urban area, the risk of discovery would be too great. Also, though she did not know it, a she-urt in a boat would surely provoke instant suspicion. Where would such a girl obtain a boat, if she had not stolen it. Too, it would, given the construction of the buildings of Port Kar, be difficult to attain the roof of one from the outside of the building. I did not think she would try to gain admittance to a building. She would probably then, in my opinion, try to find her way to markets or stay about the wharves. The markets were, for the most part, save the wharf markets, deeper in the city. I did not think she would reach them, or know how to find them. She was then, probably, in the vicinity of the wharves. Here she would, presumably, attempt to conceal herself. She might hide in various ways. Obvious ways of hiding would be to conceal herself among the boxes and bales at the wharves, to creep into a crate, or barrel, or to cover herself with sheets of sail canvas or with heavy coils of mooring rope. Guardsmen, I was certain, would examine such possibilities systematically. Too, a she-urt found in such a place, it not being night, would surely be viewed as a girl in hiding. She would presumably then be tied and taken to the praetor. Perhaps she is wanted for something.
I was now in the vicinity of the Spice Pier.
I did not think my quarry would elect an obvious way of hiding, one in which she, if found, would be immediately exposed as a fugitive. She was doubtless highly intelligent. She had been chosen as a Kur agent.
I seized a dark-hai
red she-urt by the arm. “Let me go,” she screamed. “I have done nothing!”
“Where do the she-urts band?” I asked.
“Let me go!” she cried.
I shook her. “Oh, oh,” she cried.
I then stopped shaking her. I held her by the arms, her toes barely touching the ground. She was then quiet, looking up at me. Her eyes were frightened. I saw she was ready to be obedient.
“There are some girls behind the paga taverns, on the northern shore of the Ribbon’s alley,” she said.
I released her and she sank to her knees, gasping.
The Ribbon is one of Port Kar’s better-known canals. A narrower canal, somewhat south of it is called the Ribbon’s alley. It was a bit past dawn and the paga taverns backing on the smaller canal would be throwing out their garbage from the preceding night. She-urts sometimes gather at such places for their pick of the remnants of feasts.
It would be less than an Ahn until the fullness of the tide. I quickly crossed two bridges, leading over canals, each joining the sea. Then I walked eastward, and took a left and a right, and crossed another small bridge. I was then on the northern shore of the Ribbon’s alley. The Ribbon’s alley, like most small canals, and many of the larger canals, does not join the sea directly but only by means of linkages with other canals. The larger canals in Port Kar, incidentally, have few bridges, and those they have are commonly swing bridges, which may be floated back against the canal’s side. This makes it possible for merchant ships, round ships, with permanently fixed masts, to move within the city, and, from the military point of view, makes it possible to block canals and also, when drawn back, isolate given areas of the city by the canals which function then as moats. The swing bridges are normally fastened back, except from the eighth to the tenth Ahn and from the fifteenth to the seventeenth Ahn. Most families in Port Kar own their own boats. These boats are generally shallow-drafted, narrow and single-oared, the one oar being used to both propel and guide the boat. Even children use these boats. There are, of course, a variety of types of craft in the canals, ranging from ramships harbored in the courts of captains to the coracles of the poor, like leather tubs, propelled by the thrusting of a pole. Along the sides of the major canals there are commonly hundreds of boats moored. These are usually covered at night.
I saw her with several other girls, behind the rear court of the Silver Collar. They were fishing through wire trash containers. These had been left outside until, later, when the girls had finished with them, when the residues would be thrown into the canals. It was not an act of pure kindness on the part of the attendants at the paga tavern that the garbage had not been flung directly into the canals.
I looked at the girls. They were all comely. There were seven of them there, not including the one in whom I was interested. They wore rags of various sorts and colors; they had good legs; they were all barefoot.
I saw the blond-haired barbarian standing back. She, apparently, was repulsed by the garbage. She did not wish to touch it. The other girls paid her no attention.
Except for her failure to exhibit interest in the garbage she might have been only one she-urt among the others. She was as pretty, and as dirty, as the rest.
Suddenly she saw me. For an instant I saw she was frightened. Then she doubtless reassured herself that I could not know her. She was, after all, only another she-urt. Her thighs were unmarked.
She went then, as not noticing me, to the basket of garbage. She tried to saunter as a she-urt. Steeling herself she thrust her hand into the fresh, wet garbage. She looked up at me. She saw I was still watching her. In her hand there was a half of a yellow Gorean pear, the remains of a half moon of verr cheese imbedded in it. She, watching me, lifted it toward her mouth. I did not think it would taste badly. I saw she was ready to vomit.
Suddenly her wrist was seized by the girl, a tall, lovely girl, some four inches taller than she, in a brief white rag, who stood with her at the basket. “Who are you?” demanded the girl in the white rag. “You are not one with us.” She took the pear from her, with the verr cheese in it. “You have not laid with the paga attendants for your garbage,” she said. “Get out!” Any woman, even a free woman, if she is hungry enough, will do anything. The paga attendants knew this. “Get out!” said the girl in the white rag.
Not unrelieved, though I do not think she understood much of what was said to her, the blond barbarian backed away. She reacted then, despite herself, with momentary horror, as the girl in the white rag bit thoughtlessly into the pear with verr cheese. Then, remembering herself, she tried to look disappointed. “Get out,” said the girl in the white rag. “This is our territory.” The other girls now, too, belligerently, began to gather around. “Get out,” said the girl in the white rag, “or we will tie you and throw you into the canal.”
The blond-haired barbarian backed away, not challenging them. The girls then returned to the garbage. The blond-haired girl looked at me. She did not know which way to go. She did not wish to pass me, but yet, on the other hand, she did not wish to leave a vicinity where the she-urts were common.
The buildings were on one side, the canal on the other. Then she began to walk toward me, to pass me. She tried to walk as a she-urt. She came closer and closer. She tried not to look at me. Then when she was quite close to me, she looked into my eyes. Then she looked down. I think she was not used to seeing how Gorean men looked at women, at least slaves and low women, such as she-urts, assessing them for the furs and the collar. Then she looked boldly up at me, brazenly, trying to pretend to be bored and casual. Then she tossed her head and walked past me. I watched her walk past me. Yes, I thought, she would make a good slave.
I began to follow her, some twenty or thirty feet behind her. Surely this made her nervous, for she was clearly aware of my continued nearness. Surely she must have suspected, and fearfully, that I knew who she was. But she could not know this for certain.
Behind us we heard two girls squabbling over garbage, contesting desirable scraps from the wire basket.
I would let her continue on her way. She was going in the direction which I would take her.
In a few moments, beside one of the canals leading down to the wharves, in the vicinity of the Spice Pier, we came on four she-urts. They were on their bellies beside the canal, fishing for garbage.
The blond-haired girl joined them. Her legs and ankles were very nice.
I knew she was intensely aware of my presence. Boldly she reached out into the water and picked up the edible rind of a larma. She looked at me. Then she bit into it, and then, tiny bite by tiny bite, she forced herself to chew and eat it. She swallowed the last bit of it. I had wanted her to eat garbage out of the canal. It would help her to learn that she was no longer on Earth.
I would now capture her. I wished Ulafi, if possible, to sail with the tide.
I busied myself in the sea bag and, not obviously, drew forth a small strip of binding fiber; then I drew the bag shut by its cords.
The girl had risen to her feet and, looking at me, and tossing her head, turned away.
I caught up with her quickly, took her by the back of the neck and, shoving, thrust her, stumbling, running obliquely, against the wall to my right. I tossed the sea bag to her left. As I had thrown her to the wall it would be most natural for her to bolt to the left. She stumbled over the sea bag and half fell. Then I had her left ankle in my left hand and her right ankle in my right hand. I dragged her back, towards me, on her belly. I then knelt across her body and jerked her small hands behind her. I tied them there.
A small fist struck me. “Let her go!” cried a girl. I felt hands scratching at me. Small fists pounded at me. The four girls who had been fishing for garbage in the canal leaped upon me. “Let her go!” cried one. “You can’t simply take us!” cried another. “We are free! Free!” cried another.
I stood up, throwing them off me. I cuffed two back and two others crouched, ready to leap again to attack.
I stood over the blon
d girl, one leg on each side of her, She lay on her belly, her hands tied behind her.
Another girl leaped toward me and I struck her to one side with the back of my hand. She reeled away and sank to her knees, looking at me. I think she had never been struck that hard before. Her hand was at her mouth, blood between the fingers.
The other girl who, too, had been ready to attack, backed now uneasily away. She did not wish to come within reach of my arm.
“Let her go!” said the leader of the four girls. “You can’t just take us! We are free! Free!”
“We will call a guardsman!” cried another.
I grinned. How delightful are women. How weak they are. How fit they are to be made slaves.
“I am sorry I struck you as hard as I did,” I told the girl I had last struck. “I lost my patience,” I said. “I am sorry.” She, after all, was not a slave. She was a free woman. Slaves, of course, may be struck as long and as hard as one wishes. The girl between my feet, a slave, would learn that.
“Free her,” said the leader of the girls, pointing to the blond-haired barbarian helpless between my feet.
“You cannot just take her,” said another girl. “She is a free woman.”
“Do not fret your heads about her, my pretty’ little she-urts,” I said. “She is not a free woman. She is an unmarked slave, escaped from Ulafi of Schendi.”
“Is it true?” asked the leader of the she-urts.
“Yes,” I said. “Follow me, if you will, to the praetor station, where this fact may be made clear to you.”
“Are you a slave?” asked the leader of the girls to the girl between my feet.
“She does not speak Gorean,” I said, “or much of it. I do not think she understands you.”
The girl between my feet was crying.
“If she is a slave,” said one of the girls, “she had best learn Gorean quickly.”
I thought that was true.
“I hope for your sake,” said the leader of the she-urts to the girl, “that you are not a slave.” Then she said to the other girls, “Find pieces of rope.”
“Are we going to the praetor station?” asked one of the girls, uneasily.