by John Norman
“What are you now?” I asked.
“Three slaves,” said Melete.
I regarded her.
“Three slaves—Master,” she said.
“Master,” said Iantha.
“Master,” said Philomena.
I gestured to the table.
“Masters,” said the three.
“It may be difficult for you, in the beginning,” I said, “to use words such as ‘Master’ and ‘Masters’, ‘Mistress’ and ‘Mistresses’, but soon you will use them easily and aptly, thoughtlessly and naturally, thinking nothing of it, for there is a great difference between the owned and the unowned, the collared and the uncollared, and you are the owned and collared.”
Too, of course, using expressions such as ‘Master’ and ‘Mistress’ to the free is not only appropriate, but deepens, confirms, and reinforces the slave’s sense of herself as slave, which she now is. Later, as the slave learns her collar, she comes to accept, welcome, celebrate, and treasure her subservience and submission, her new and exciting way of being, her new reality. Owned and dominated, possessed and commanded, now a mere property, subject to purchase, bargaining, and sale, she finds herself as she should be, and wants to be.
I then went to the three goblets left on the table, each of which had been before one of the three women, each of which contained the small measure of fluid which had been poured into it by Lais. I poured the contents of these three goblets into my own goblet, and added more from the bottle, the sight of which had so dismayed our three guests. I then, calmly, drained the goblet.
The three slaves looked up me, aghast.
“I decided, some days ago,” I said, “after a certain incident at the Fair of the Farther Islands, that it was dangerous to keep the original contents of such a bottle about. They might have been imbibed inadvertently, or thoughtlessly, or possibly unknowingly, by someone unaware of their nature, perhaps even a thief, soon to discover that what he stole was no more than his own death. Accordingly I disposed of the original contents, had the bottle thrice cleansed, and filled it with an innocent, modest ka-la-na.”
“You tricked us!” hissed Melete.
I regarded her.
“You tricked us, Master,” she whispered.
“Clitus,” I said, “thong the wrists of these slaves behind them, and then put them on a single rope, with three loops, each loop circled and knotted about the neck of one of them, Melete first, then Iantha, and then Philomena. Then take them to our camp. Irons are already heating and collars have been prepared.”
Clitus kept the slaves on their knees while securing them according to my instructions. In this way a frightened slave is less likely to leap up and try to run.
“On your feet, worthless slaves,” said Clitus.
The three slaves rose to their feet.
“Shall I strip them?” asked Clitus.
The slaves exchanged sudden glances of dismay and terror.
“No,” I said, “that can come later.”
Melete threw me a look of anger. She would soon learn that that indulgence can be a cause for discipline. Slaves are not free women.
“Hold,” I said. “Are not names such as ‘Melete’, ‘Iantha’, and ‘Philomena’ too fine for slaves?”
“Surely,” said a man.
“Then,” said I, pointing to Melete, “you are now ‘Margot’.” I then pointed to Iantha. “You are now ‘Millicent’,” I said. I then indicated Philomena. “And you,” I said, “are now ‘Courtney’.”
“What sort of names are those?” asked the man.
“Earth-girl names,” I said.
“Slave names,” said the man.
“Please do not name us so,” said Margot.
“It is done,” I said.
On Gor, Earth-girl names are regarded as slave names, much as Earth girls are regarded as actual or potential slaves. The slave, of course, being an animal, has no name in her own right. Her name is at the discretion of the Master. Sometimes a natively Gorean slave girl is given an Earth-girl name to further reduce and demean her. Sometimes it is done as a punishment. Giving our three new slaves Earth-girl names, I thought, would let them know how we regarded them, and help them to understand all the more quickly that they were no longer free women. A slave, incidentally, is almost always given a new name. This helps her to understand that her life has changed radically and completely, and that she is no longer who, and what, she was. She is now a slave, only a slave.
“Back on your knees,” I said.
They then knelt again before me, thonged and neck-roped.
It is on their knees that slaves commonly acknowledge their new names.
“What is your name?” I asked Margot.
“‘Margot’, Master,” she said.
“What is your name?” I asked Millicent.
“‘Millicent’, Master,” she said.
“What is your name?” I asked Courtney.
“‘Courtney’, Master,” she said, tears in her eye.
“You may now take these slaves to our camp,” I said, “where they will be stripped, branded, and collared.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Clitus. He then shook the rope, startling the slaves. “Get up, two-legged tarsks, meaningless sluts, chain garbage,” he said.
The slaves struggled to their feet.
“Hold,” I called to Clitus, as he was leading the slaves from the room.
“Hold,” said Clitus to his small coffle.
“Margot, Millicent, and Courtney,” I said, “you are lovely little beasts.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Margot, uncertainly.
“And I am sure,” I said, “you will appear even lovelier when the impediments of garmenture no longer obscure our perusal.”
The women trembled. Well they knew that slaves, as animals, had no right to clothing.
“And if not,” I said, “diet and exercise will quickly remedy the situation.”
Slaves, of course, may be fed and exercised, trimmed and trained, as other animals. They are seldom brought to the block, for example, if not in prime condition. Gorean buyers tend to be particular about such matters.
“Before your clothing is removed,” I said, “and before you keep your appointment with the searing iron, and before your new collars are locked on your necks, I would like to express my appreciation for your concern for my welfare, and that of my crews, expressed earlier, after supper. It is true that our two ships, one of merely twenty oars, are grossly overmatched by the seven ships of the corsair fleet. Ela, we cannot help that. What are the odds of survival? Slim, surely. Yes, certainly you are well aware of the perils and hazards we face. Indeed, it seems highly likely, thinking of the matter from a wagering standpoint, that our ships will be boarded or rammed, or burned and sunk, and that we may perish to a man, disappearing without a trace. Yet, too, you acknowledged the glory, if futile glory, of our endeavor, our ‘worthy, noble task’, as one of you put it. Such admiration, even encouragement, touches us deeply.”
“Master?” asked Margot, uncertainly.
“But be of good cheer, lovely cargo,” I said. “Do not think that we would be so tragically unfair and grossly remiss as not to permit you some share in our splendid endeavor. You shall not be left behind. You will accompany us on our brave, if unwise, foolish, and ill-fared course.”
“No, no!” screamed Margot.
“Sell us!” begged Millicent. “Do not take us with you!”
“Mercy, Masters!” begged Courtney. “Leave us here!”
“I have had a sturdy slave ring fixed in the main deck of the Tesephone,” I said. “To that, exposed to the sun and weather, the three of you, naked, as befits slaves, will be chained.”
“No!” screamed Margot.
“What if the ship burns?” wept Millicent.
“Then,
” I said, “you will burn with the ship.”
“What if the ship sinks?” asked Courtney.
“Then,” I said, “chained, you will go down with the ship.”
“Mercy!” wept Margot.
“Think on those ships, and mariners, you lured into traps,” I said.
“Mercy, mercy!” wept the slaves.
“Think, too, of this from the point of the crew,” I said, “men weary from the oar and starved for the sluts of the taverns. Think how pleasant it will be for them to look upon you, shapely, well-curved collar meat, chained helplessly, close at hand, delectable and convenient, ready for use.”
The slaves tried to throw themselves to their knees, pleading, a common placatory behavior for slaves, but Clitus, rudely, by means of their neck-rope, kept them on their feet.
“Take them away,” I said.
They looked wildly behind them, distraught, Margot, Millicent, and Courtney, three slaves, as they were led away.
Chapter Thirty
We Observe the Enemy
I motioned down, with the flat of my hand, from the crest of the hill to which I had crawled, where I lay on my belly.
Thurnock, Clitus, and Aktis crouched down, and then joined me, prone, just below the crest.
“Seven ships,” I said.
“The whole fleet,” said Aktis.
“Offshore,” said Thurnock.
“I see they have learned something,” said Clitus. “No more beached ships, inadequately guarded.”
“How do you make the numbers?” I asked Thurnock.
“Some twelve hundred ashore,” said Thurnock.
“Then some three hundred or so aboard,” I said.
Our best estimates of the enemy’s strength, given the increase in ships, and the manning of the earlier fleet, was in the neighborhood of fifteen hundred. This conjecture seemed plausibly corroborated by remarks overheard in Sybaris by the former Melete, Iantha, and Philomena, which remarks, fearing for their lives, they were kind enough to share with us. We, on the other hand, had brought two hundred and fifty men from Port Kar, most of whom were with us, saving some posted as spies in Sybaris; some left at the ruins of Nicosia, in the hope that, following the fair, more peasants would seek arms and direction; and some at the Cove of Harpalos, our de facto headquarters. These latter men would receive the reports of spies, and, should the Cove of Harpalos be seized by the enemy, signal us from high crags before we returned to port, possibly proceeding into a trap.
“With that many men,” said Clitus, “they might attack a town, say Mytilene, Naxos, or Pylos. They might threaten even Sybaris.”
“We are far outnumbered,” said Thurnock.
“But,” I said, “they do not know that.”
“They will learn it soon enough,” said Thurnock, “in open battle.”
“Thus,” I said, “there will be no open battle.”
“What then?” said Thurnock.
“Harassments, divisions, pretended flights, traps, ambushes, raids,” I said. “Smaller forces, under special circumstances, can rout larger forces.”
“Luring them into treacherous terrain,” said Thurnock, “as in the debacle of Ar in the Vosk’s Delta?”
“Or leading them into the Tahari, where water is precious and scarce, or into canyoned areas where passes are narrow, easily blocked, and can be fired on from cover,” said Clitus.
“Such things,” I said. “But, too, in many instances a smaller force, cleverly applied, can outnumber a larger force. Suppose the smaller force applied one hundred men where the enemy has applied, or can apply, only fifty. In that special situation or selected incident, the smaller force outnumbers the larger force two to one. Consider then the multiplication of such situations or incidents.”
“Consider, too,” said Thurnock, “the rate of fire. The great bow can fire several arrows in the time the crossbow can fire one or two. Thus, one man with the great bow could outmatch four or five with the crossbow.”
“Our advantage at the moment,” I said, “is that the enemy does not know our strength.”
“And might fear it to be greater than it is,” said Thurnock.
“Yes,” I said, “and there are various techniques for concealing our numbers and making them seem larger than they are in actuality.”
“A number of bowmen changing their places of fire,” said Thurnock, “the enemy being likely to assume, naturally enough, that each place of fire means a bowman still at that place.”
“I have in mind, too,” I said, “an interesting tactic used more than once, though faraway.”
“What is that?” asked Thurnock.
“That of terrifying the enemy by actually showing them our forces,” I said.
“It seems that would hearten them,” said Thurnock.
“That is the last thing we should do,” said Clitus.
“We shall see,” I said. “But, my friends, we must first convince the enemy that we exist. Thus, I suggest that we think about making our way now to the vicinity of the fine village of Zeuxis.”
“Aktis,” said Clitus, “you have made it clear, I trust, to the villagers that Zeuxis must be sacrificed.”
“Many do not believe they are in danger,” said Aktis. “But, as a precaution, Zeuxis has been evacuated and its Home Stone concealed.”
“They would not believe even Xanthos, from the village of Seleukos, which was last burned by the corsairs?” asked Clitus.
“No,” said Aktis.
“A woeful pity,” said Thurnock.
After we had left the Cove of Harpalos, we had visited the ruins of the village of Seleukos, where we had taken Xanthos, the son of the headman Seleukos, and some twenty of his fellows aboard, to whom he had introduced the great bow.
We had hoped that Peasants would listen to Peasants.
“They are preparing for their march,” said Clitus, beside me, peering over the crest of the hill.
“Then,” I said, “to Zeuxis.”
Chapter Thirty-One
What Occurred in the Vicinity of the Village of Zeuxis
One supposes that the quiet of the village of Zeuxis, on Daphna, must have been disconcerting to the enemy. They had approached it, this group, some four hundred we conjectured, cautiously, as inconspicuously as possible, and had then, say, a hundred yards from the gate, crouching down in the grass, waited for the signal of attack, and then the rushing forward, the shouting, and the brandishing of weapons. The gate, with its two leaves, was open, but this was not unusual, given the time of day, about noon, the tenth Ahn. What was unusual was the lack of activity in, and around, the enclosure.
“Soon,” I said. “Soon.”
“One fellow removes his helmet, straps it to his side, and puts on some sort of wig,” said Aktis.
“What color is it?” asked Clitus.
“An outrageous reddish color,” said Aktis.
“I do not care for that,” I said.
“It does not even look real,” said Aktis.
“It is not real,” said Thurnock.
“It is bright, loud, and grotesque,” said Aktis.
“I am not pleased,” I said.
“Be calm, Captain,” said Thurnock.
“They would never have seen the real hair of Bosk of Port Kar,” said Clitus.
“I trust that my hair, before I dyed it, was not so,” I said. Often, particularly in my childhood, I had had to reprove peers for critical, even uncomplimentary, remarks on my hair. These aesthetic discussions had often resulted in bruises and bloody noses.
“Not at all,” said Clitus.
“Or not so blatantly,” said Thurnock.
“So that is our Bosk of Port Kar?” said Clitus.
“Their Bosk of Port Kar,” said Thurnock.
At that point there was a quick
, shrill, piercing blast on a whistle and the corsairs, shouting, leapt up from the grass and, led by the figure in the red wig, stormed toward the opened gate.
Shortly thereafter they had entered the palisade, where they found not an armed resistance nor startled, terrified villagers, intimidated villagers, but nothing, only crowded, dry empty huts, stripped even of pots and pans. Within we heard consternation, cries of disappointment, bewilderment, and rage.
I stood up and called to my men, hidden in the grass. “Close the gate! Brush! Flames! Fire arrows!”
Some twenty fellows rushed to the gate and pulled it shut, tying the two, in-swinging leaves together, and another twenty hurried to the closed gate with thick bundles of brush, grass, and straw which they piled before the tethered gate. At the same time, small fires were lit in clay pans and arrows, the heads of which were wrapped in oil-soaked cloth, were ignited and fired into the village, which shortly thereafter roared with flames, the heat of which jarred the air and carried even to our positions surrounding the village. Not a moment after the gate had been tied shut and the first arrows fell looping down into the thatched roofs of the huts, the corsairs were hacking at the ropes binding the gates closed. But no sooner had they freed the leaves of the gate and swung them inward than the brush, dried grass and straw which had been heaped up in the threshold was fiercely burning, creating a wall of fire behind which we could scarcely mark dark, moving figures. As the village had been carefully emptied of water before its evacuation the corsairs began to scoop up dirt in their helmets and cast it on the fire. Through the flames into the village flew arrows, several of which found targets in the figures trying to extinguish the flames. Within the village we could hear screams of rage, terror, and pain. I had placed archers about the village, and some corsairs, trying to climb over the palisade to escape the flames, were detained by arrows and soon several bodies were wedged lifelessly between the pointed palings, and some lay outside the palisade, inert, bristling with feathered shafts. A few Ehn later the flames at the gate, from the bundles of brush, grass, and straw, had lessened. One could now wade plunging through the smoke and diminished flames. “Be ready!” I called to a platoon of archers now stationed before the gate, and two groups of swordsmen, one group to the right of the opening and the other to the left of the opening. I conjectured that the first to flee through the gate would meet arrows, and that the corsairs would then draw back, if typically commanded, and arrange a sudden assault en masse to close the gap between themselves and the archers. This meant they would rush forth. It was then that the swordsmen on each side of the gate, waiting, were to strike into the unsuspecting, unprotected flanks of the enemy. Within a few Ihn, the corsairs, met with arrows from the front and swords from the sides, withdrew into the village and swung shut the seared leaves of the gate, closing themselves inside, where the blackened huts had now mostly collapsed and the flames were subsiding. Bodies of corsairs littered the open space within and outside the gate.