by John Norman
“I thought you might be lying,” I said.
“I was not,” she said.
“A slave should be branded,” I said. “It is an explicit recommendation of Merchant Law.”
“My master is too kind to brand me,” she said.
“It is not a matter of kindness,” I said. “It is simply something to be done with a slave, routinely.”
“Well, I am not branded,” she said, turning to look at me, angrily.
“You are sure you are a slave?” I asked.
“— Certainly,” she said. “If you look closely, perhaps you can see that I am in a collar!”
“Do you like your collar?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she said. “It is humiliating, degrading, and hateful.”
“Is it uncomfortable?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“Most slave girls love their collars,” I said. “Many would not trade them for the world.”
“I see,” she said.
“They are certificates of their attractiveness, that they are of interest to men, that they have been found worth collaring.”
“I see,” she said.
“Collar!” I snapped.
“What?” she said.
She had not lifted her head, exposing her throat and the encircling collar.
I approached her and examined the collar. “This collar is not engraved,” I said. “Should it not identify you as the property of Pertinax, of Port Kar?”
“It is a plain collar,” she said.
“Doubtless it is locked,” I said.
“Certainly,” she said. “I am a slave.”
I turned the collar, and tested the lock, and then turned it, again, so that the lock was at the back of the neck.
“You see!” she sniffed.
That she seemed so calm about this convinced me that she had access to the key, that either it would be within the hut, or, perhaps, more likely, on her person. It seemed clear to me, from what I had seen of her relationship with Pertinax, her supposed master, he would not have it.
I was reasonably certain she would be terrified if the key were not in her own possession.
In the hut, it might be available to others.
I supposed, then, that the key would be about her person, somewhere.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“Here,” I said, “at the hem.”
“Do not!” she wept, trying to pull away.
It was a moment’s work, with the point of my knife, to free the key, which I then held before her.
She averted her head, in misery.
I wondered if she knew the penalties to which a Gorean slave might be subject, for such a crime.
I supposed not.
“Come back!” she cried.
I had turned about and walked down, toward the shore, and stood there, my ankles in the lapping water.
“No!” she begged.
I spun the key far out into the waves.
“No, no!” she called.
I then returned to where I had left her.
“The collar is locked!” she said. “I cannot take it off!”
“That is common with female slaves,” I said.
“You do not understand!” she hissed.
“What do I not understand?” I asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” she said, sullenly.
“Do not fear,” I said. “With proper tools the collar may be easily removed. Any metal worker, with the proper tools, could manage the business without difficulty.”
“Beast!” she said.
“How does it feel to be collared, truly collared?” I asked.
“I hate you!” she said.
“Now that you are truly collared,” I said, “I think certain other adjustments would be in order.”
“Stop!” she said.
But, tied, as she was, she could not deter my work, and I carefully, without being extreme, or excessive, in the matter, shortened the skirt of her tunic in such a way that it would be more typical in length for that of a Gorean slave girl.
“Beast, monster!” she hissed.
“I do not think Pertinax will mind,” I said. “And if he wishes to shorten it further, to make it truly ‘slave short,’ or ‘slave delightful,’ he is free to do so.”
“Do you not understand!” she exclaimed. “If someone sees me like this, they will take me for a slave!”
“You are a slave, are you not?” I asked.
“— Yes, yes,” she whispered.
“And I did not slit the skirt at the left thigh,” I said, “so Goreans will assume it is branded. If it were discerned that it lacked the brand, they would doubtless soon see that the oversight, one scarcely pardonable, was remedied.”
In her distress I do not think she even understood what I was saying.
I then fastened my hands at the neckline of the tunic.
“No,” she said. “No!”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I am not a slave!” she said. “I am a free woman!”
“Perhaps you are a slave and do not even know you are a slave,” I said.
“No, no!” she said. “I am free, free!”
I did not remove my hands from the neckline of the tunic.
“Speak!” I said.
“I was hired!” she said.
“You and Pertinax,” I said.
“Yes!” she said.
“To whom are you in fee?” I inquired.
“Men,” she said, “anonymous. I was approached on Earth, and it was I who recruited he whom you know as Pertinax.”
“Your Gorean is acceptable,” I said.
“We were given weeks of intensive training on Earth,” she said, “and more on Gor.”
“Continue,” I said.
“I was given a retainer of one hundred thousand dollars,” she said, “and so, too, was Pertinax, and we are to receive one million dollars each at the accomplishment of our mission.”
“The deposit was seemingly made to a given bank, one selectively chosen, and you were furnished with what appeared to be documentation of this,” I said. “But I am confident the money was never in actuality deposited.”
She regarded me, wildly.
“To be sure,” I said, “you were doubtless given funds, which led you to believe the business was in earnest.”
“More than five thousand dollars,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I shall collect the rest when I am returned to Earth,” she said.
“Of course,” I said.
“I shall return to Earth shall I not?” she said.
“You are on Gor, girl,” I said, “and on Gor you will remain.”
“No,” she said. “No!”
“And there will be others,” I said, “as greedy, and foolish, as you.”
Wide were her eyes.
“You are, doubtless unknowingly, a minion of a life form known as Kurii,” I said. “Kurii, however one views them, have a sense of honor, a sense of what is appropriate, of what is proper. I assure you they have little respect for traitresses.”
“I do not believe you!” she said.
“As you wish,” I said.
“What would be my fate?” she asked.
“You are nicely faced, and figured,” I said.
“No!” she said.
“It would amuse Kurii,” I said, “that you would sell for a handful of coins.”
“You are trying to frighten me,” she said.
“You were not to be trusted,” I said. “Why should you expect that others were to be trusted?”
“I will not be frightened!” she insisted.
“When the iron is put to your thigh,” I said, “you will know what you are.”
“No!” she said.
“Then you will finally be worth something. Someone will get some good out of you.”
“No!” she said.
“Continue to improve your Gorean,” I said. “You may be well
whipped for errors.”
“Let me go!” she said.
“But we have not finished our chat,” I said.
“Release me,” she said. “What if someone should see me as I am?”
“What is your role here?” I asked.
“Surely you do not expect me to speak,” she said.
“As you wish,” I said.
My hands tightened at the neckline of her garment.
“Do not!” she said. “You are of the warriors. You have codes. I am free, a free woman! I am not to be touched! I am to be treated with respect and dignity! I am not a slave! I am a free woman!”
I removed my hands from her garment, and stepped back.
“Now untie me,” she said.
I left her bound.
She did have nice legs. Such women put a strain on the codes.
“I think,” I said, “that you are indeed a free woman, but, you must remember, you are one of Earth, not Gor. There is a considerable difference. For example, you have no Home Stone.”
“What is a Home Stone?” she said.
“Surely you have heard of them,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “but I do not understand them.”
“I am not surprised,” I said.
She pulled at the bonds.
“Do not look at me like that!” she said.
“Do you not know how appealing to a man is the sight of a bound woman?” I asked. “Masters not unoften bind their slaves and order them to squirm. The slave then is well reminded of her dependency and helplessness. And the master, for his part, now knows the slave is wholly his, prostrate at his mercy, and he finds this pleasant, and stimulating. Too, the woman is aroused, as well, and knowing herself helpless, and wholly in the master’s power, is soon beside herself with readiness. This has much to do with dominance/submissive ratios, which are pervasive in nature. Too, much can be accomplished along these lines by merely dressing the woman as one pleases, and seeing to her obedience and service. The master/slave relationship is extensive and complex. It is not all a matter of putting the slave to one’s pleasure, though, to be sure, without that it is nothing.”
She then stood very still.
“Yes,” I said. “Women such as you strain the codes.”
“I am free,” she said. “Free!”
“Yes,” I said, “you are a free woman, but one of Earth. You do not have the status of a Gorean free woman. Compared to a Gorean free woman, sheltered by her Home Stone, secure within her walls, complacent in the unquestioned arrogance of her station, the women of Earth do not even understand what it is to be free. The Gorean free woman is glorious in her freedom. The free women of Earth are no more than the sort of women that Gorean slavers think nothing of enslaving. They see the women of Earth not as free women, but only as slaves who have not yet been put in their collars.”
“I am a woman of Earth!” she said.
“Precisely,” I said.
“Monster!” she said.
“But it is true,” I said, “that you are a free woman of Earth, at least as far as those women can be free, and thus that my codes, though the matter is controversial, much depending on interpretations, do suffice to give me pause.”
“Excellent,” she said. “Now release me.”
“But you have not yet explained your role here,” I said, “nor that of Pertinax.”
“Nor is it my intention to do so,” she said.
“Very well,” I said.
“Untie me,” she said.
I turned about, and looked out to sea. I was now sure of it. What had been hitherto no more than a dot on the horizon, perhaps no more than a sea bird resting on the waves, even sleeping, as they do, was now clearly, though still small, and far off, a sail.
“There is a ship,” I said, shading my eyes.
“There have been such ships,” she said, straining her eyes, pulling against her bonds, looking outward, toward the horizon.
“One came in yesterday,” I said, “from which were disembarked, following the surmises of Pertinax, your subordinate, and not master, bandits, brigands, or such.”
“Untie me! Untie me, swiftly!” she begged.
I wondered if an agent, or agents, of Priest-Kings might be aboard that vessel, now so far off, now seeming so tiny.
“Untie me, now!” she cried.
“As you are a free woman,” I said, “even though one of Earth, I have treated you with some circumspection. In the codes such matters are gray, for it is commonly supposed that a Home Stone would be shared. If you were a slave, of course, whether of Earth or not, the matter would not even come up. Too, as you may not understand, even a Gorean free woman is expected to show a fellow respect, as another free person. If she insults him, belittles him, ridicules him, or treats him in any way which he deems improper or unbecoming, sometimes even to the glance, depending on the fellow, she is considered as having put away the armor of her status, and may be dealt with as the male sees fit. This is particularly the case if there is no shared Home Stone. Other situations are also regarded as ones in which the woman has voluntarily, or inadvertently, divested herself of the social and cultural mantles usually sufficient to protect her freedom and honor, such as walking the high bridges at night, undertaking dangerous expeditions or voyages, traversing lonely areas of a city, entering into a paga tavern, and so on.”
“There is a ship there!” she said. “I can see it clearly!”
“Yes,” I said.
“Can they see us?” she asked, desperately.
“Perhaps,” I said. “They may have a glass of the Builders.”
“If they see me here,” she cried, “half naked, bound, collared, what will they do with me?”
“Put you on a chain, of course,” I said.
“But I am free!” she said.
“Perhaps for the better part of an Ahn, or so,” I said.
“I am free,” she said. “Your codes! Your codes! You must protect me!”
“My codes do not require that,” I said.
“You would not leave me here as I am!” she cried.
“You are mistaken,” I said. “That is precisely what I will do.”
I then turned away, to withdraw into the forest.
“Wait!” she begged. “Wait!”
I turned to face her.
“I will speak, I will speak!” she cried.
“As you will,” I said.
“Untie me!” she cried. “Let us hide! They can see us here. They may have already seen us here.”
“Possibly,” I said.
“Untie me!” she begged, wildly.
“Speak first,” I said.
“We were brought here, Pertinax and I, by a disk craft, and told to wait for you,” she wept. “We were to encounter you, and show you hospitality, and then conduct you into the forest, to a rendezvous. Pertinax knows the place. He has been there. The trail is marked.”
“What sort of rendezvous,” I asked, “with whom, and to what purpose?”
“I know little,” she said, “save that they would enlist your services.”
“My services are not easily enlisted,” I said.
“They will have a hold over you,” she said. “A woman.”
“What woman?” I asked.
“I do not know!” she cried.
“I understand little of this,” I said.
“It has to do with tarns, and a ship, a great ship,” she said.
“What woman?” I asked. “What woman?”
“I do not know,” she said.
I untied her hands and she pulled away from the tree, weeping, and fled back some yards into the forest. There I saw her stop for a moment and tear wildly, hysterically, at her collar. She could not, of course, remove it. It was nicely on her, a typical Gorean collar of the higher latitudes, sturdy, flat, close-fitting. She tried to jerk down the hem of the shortened tunic, on both sides, but it sprang upward again. She then cried out in misery, and disappeared into the trees, presumably to wa
rn Pertinax.
Presumably he would see her differently now, given the alterations to her tunic. And he would note, too, from its shortening, and the ragged lower edges, that the key was no longer in its place.
Yes, I thought, he would doubtless see her differently now.
And doubtless she would be well aware that she would now be being seen differently.
To be sure, I did not think she had anything to fear from Pertinax. It would be quite different, of course with a Gorean male.
I then turned to note the ship, now something like a hundred yards off shore.
It was a round ship, more deeply keeled, more broadly beamed, than the long ship.
It would not beach.
A longboat was being put in the water.
It had four rowers and a helmsman, and one individual forward.
The individual forward, I supposed, would be he for whom I had been waiting, the agent of Priest-Kings.
I suspected that Constantina would by now be at the hut, begging, perhaps on her knees, in her desperation, and as she was now clothed, Pertinax to flee.
To be sure, it mattered little to me that she might observe the arrival of the newcomer.
Chapter Five
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IS RENEWED;
A NEW SHIP ARRIVES, AND DISCHARGES PASSENGERS AND CARGO;
I OBTAIN CONSIDERABLE INTELLIGENCE, BUT NOT ENOUGH
He waded ashore.
The longboat did not beach.
“You?” I said.
“From the time of the Five Ubars, in Port Kar,” he said.
“Before the ascendancy of the Council of Captains,” I said.
“It has been a long time,” he said.
“Do not approach too closely,” I said.
“I am unarmed,” he said, opening his hands and holding them to the sides. “But others are not.”
I did not unsheathe my weapon.
Two of the oarsmen from the longboat were in the water to their waists, and each held a crossbow, with a quarrel readied in the guide.
The other two oarsmen, oars outboard, and the helmsman, his hand on the tiller, nursed the boat, keeping it, as it was turned, muchly parallel to the shore. It could be easily swung about.
“Sullius Maximus,” I said.
“Officer to Chenbar, of Kasra, Ubar of Tyros,” he said.
“Traitor to Port Kar,” I said. “Mixer of poisons.”
He bowed, humbly.
“You recall,” he said, smiling.