Magicians of Gor (37 page)

“And, too, interestingly,” he said, “it seems that some of those lads who were

“Cosians” now wander about under quite different colors, not affecting beards

and hair styles reminiscent of those once associated with veterans, hirsute and

shabby, returned from the delta.”

“I have heard that, too,” I said.

I could recall when I had first come to Ar months ago that these veterans had

not been welcome in the city. In spite of the hardships they had endured and the

risks they had taken on behalf of Ar, both for the Home Stone and city, they had

been held in contempt. They had been insulted, spat upon, ridiculed, and

despised. Emotions which might better have been spent on the enemy were

ventilated on one’s own brothers. Some had scorned them as embarrassments and

failures, as defeated men and fools, tricked, humiliated and decimated in the

north, me who had dared to return to Glorious Ar without the crown of victory.

Better, said some, that they should have died in the marshes or remained in the

north then return home in defeat and disgrace. But those who said that had

perhaps not themselves been in the delta, or even held weapons. Others, adopting

(pg. 214) the political ruses of Cos, had scorned them as little better than

criminals, and as purveyors of imperialism, as though the ambitions of Cos were

not the equal of those of Ar. Many of these men were confused and bitter. Was it

for this that they had done their duty, was if for this that they had faced the

delta, the tracklessness, the tharlarion, the insects, the hunger, the arrows of

rencers, the blades of Cos?

“Some of these lads, former, “Cosians” and others,” I said, “are apparently

little better, still, than vandals, but, others, interestingly, it is rumored,

track troop movements, shadow Cosian patrols and record the rounds of watchmen,

reporting to the Delta Brigade.”

“If so,” said he, “that is a dangerous game for boys. I do not think Cos, in

spite of their youth, will hesitate to impale them or have them at the ends of

ropes.”

“Others set themselves to different tasks,” I said, “such as the supervision and

protection of their own neighborhoods.”

“A hopeful sign,” said he, “if Ar, if only in her youth, should once again begin

to look after herself.”

“There is the Delta Brigade,” I said.

“We are not of Ar,” he said.

“But others, whosoever they may be, must be,” I said.

“That cannot long continue.”

“No,” I said.

“And it she who holds the sword,” he said.

“Gross Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, and many of his ministers,” I said, “are

doubtless in favor of wielding it. Until now they have doubtless been restrained

only by the general effectiveness of their political warfare, the policies of

spreading guilt, confusion and self-doubt in the enemy, pretending to be not the

foe but the concerned friend and ally.”

“Let those beware,” smiled Marcus, “who are invited to dine with the sleen.”

“There is a crowd ahead,” I said, “at the public boards.”

“They seem angry,” he said.

“Let us see what is afoot,” I said, and together we hurried forward, toward the

boards.

14
   
In the Vicinity of the Public Boards

Before the boards, rather in a circle before them, there was a crowd. Whereas,

there may have been unwelcome information on the boards, the immediate attention

of the crowd was not at this moment upon them.

“Here is the insolent slut!” cried a fellow.

We pushed in, toward the center of the circle.

“Make way,” I said. “Guardsmen! Guardsmen!”

Men cried out with anger, but drew back.

Marcus and I had our armbands, those of auxiliary guardsman, a band of red

beneath one of blue, Ar under the supervision of Cos.

“Cosian sleen,” I heard. But the fellow did not make himself prominent.

“One side!” I said.

I glimpsed the face of a girl, white and frightened, in the center of the crowd.

She was standing, being held by two fellows, on wrist in the care of each.

To one side, quite close, there knelt four other girls, three in tunics of the

wool of the bounding hurt, one in silk.

“Guardsmen!” I repeated, angrily, and forced myself forward.

The face of the standing, captive girl manifested sudden relief.

“Would you not know?” said one of the men, disgustedly.

One of the kneeling girls, too, cried out with joy.

“We are saved!” said another.

“What is going on here?” I demanded, not pleasantly.

“First the curfew,” grumbled a fellow to another.

“Now this!” exclaimed another.

I resolved I must learn more of what was on the boards. Marcus could read them

much more rapidly than I.

“Release me,” said the standing girl, angrily. The two fellows who had seized

her wrists let them go, and she rubbed her wrists, as though to push away even

the memory of their grip.

“Greetings and welcome, noble guardsmen of Cos!” said she, delightedly. “I think

you have arrived in time!”

The other four girls made as though to rise, righteously, but a glance from

Marcus put them back instantly on their knees. This, I think, was not noticed by

the girl who was standing, who was, I take it, a sort of leader amongst them.

“What is the difficulty?” I asked.

“We caught her drinking from the top bowl of the fountain,” said one, pointing

to a nearby fountain.

“You are not kneeling,” I said to the girl in the center.

“I am a woman,” she said, “why should I kneel?”

This seemed to me a strange response. I would have supposed it an excellent

reason to kneel, being in the presence of men, if one were a woman. If she were

a free woman, of course, fitting or not, there would be no legal proprieties

involved. A free woman, as long as she remains free, can stand to the fullness

of her short, graceful height before men.

“What is your status?” I asked.

“Slave,” she said, tossing her lovely head, her hair swirling.

To be sure, my question was somewhat rhetorical, as her neck was appropriately

banded.

I considered her.

She met my eyes for a moment, and then, angrily, looked away.

She was rather modestly garbed, I thought, her tunic coming to her knees. Too,

it was not belted. This was presumably to conceal her figure. On the other hand,

I conjectured that beneath that garment, woven of the wool of the bounding hurt,

her figure might not be without interest. She wore no makeup. She had been given

sandals. I considered her mien. I did not doubt but what she had a weak master.

“As you are slave,” I asked, “how is it that you are not kneeling?”

“A strange question,” she said, “coming from a guardsman of Cos.”

“Yes,” said a man, angrily.

“Tell me of your master,” I said.

“He is liberated,” she said, “and of the times! He knows my worth!”

“You would not be insolent in Cos, or Anango, or Venna!” said a man.

“I am in Ar!” she laughed. “Cos’ Ar!”

“Hold!” I said angrily to the men, holding them back.

“Let her be punished,” said a fellow.

“No!” she laughed. “You do not dare touch me now! There are guardsmen of Cos

present! I am safe!”

Inwardly I smiled, wondering what her attitude might be, had she found herself

anywhere but where she was, and in the presence of the power of Cos, in the form

of Marcus and (pg. 217) myself. What if she had found herself, for example, tied

with wire in an alcove in Brundisium, almost concealed in ropes on a submission

mat in the Tahari, wearing a body cage in Tyros, bound to the wheel in the land

of the Wagon Peoples, shackled on a sales platform in Victoria, fearing the

auctioneer’s whip, or prone and chained on one of the swift ships of the black

slavers of Schendi?

“Is it true that you have drunk from the higher bowl of the fountain?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“How is it that you have done such a thing?” I asked. Slaves, of course, like

other animals, are expected to drink from the lower level of a fountain, and,

generally, on all fours.

“My master permits such things!” she said. “He is noble and kind!”

“A weakling and a fool,” said a man. “I know him.”

“And he celebrates them! He grabs me modestly! He accords me sandals! He

respects me!”

There was laughter.

“He accords me an allowance, and my own hours, and my own room!” she said.

“And does he require your permission before he puts you to use?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said.

There was a reaction of amazement from the men present.

“And does he receive this permission when he wishes it?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” she laughed.

“I can well imagine his anxiety,” I said, “as to whether or not it will be

granted.”

She laughed. “Glory to Cos!” she said.

But neither Marcus nor myself, nor any other there, echoed this sentiment.

“You are not always in the mood,” I said.

“Of course not,” she said.

“Sometimes you are weary,” I conjectured, “or are afflicted with a headache?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “But I do not need an excuse!”

“I see,” I said.

“Sometimes,” she said, “I deny him, to win my way, to punish him, to teach him a

lesson.” She laughed, and threw a meaningful look at the other girls kneeling

near her. One or two of them looked up at her, smiling.

“I understand,” I said. “Does your master trouble you often in this regard.”

“Not so much now,” she said, angrily.

“You are aware that he can sell you,” I said.

“He would not dare to do so,” she said.

“But you know he has this legal power?”

“In a sense,” she said.

“In the fullest of senses,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, drawing back a little.

“And you know that he can do with you as he pleases?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Do you forget the proposed laws of respect!” she said.

“They were never enacted,” I said.

“They should have been!” she said.

There was an angry mutter in the crowd.

“My master,” she said, “is a kind, liberated, noble, enlightened master! He

accepts such laws, or laws much like them, as much as if they had been

proclaimed by the councils and promulgated by the Ubara herself!”

“The actual words of the Ubara,” I said, “or at least as reported on the boards,

where to the effect that slave girls should be obedient and try to please their

masters.”

“It is well,” said a man,” or Ar would have gone up in flames.”

“I do not know of such things,” she said.

“Are you pleased with your master?’ I asked.

“He is noble, and kind, and liberated and enlightened,” she said.

“You seem deprived, and unfulfilled.”

“I?”

“Yes,” I said. “Are you content and happy?”

“Of course!” she said, angrily.

“How long have you been a slave?” I asked.

“Two months,” she said.

“How came it about?” I asked.

“I was taken in the suburbs,” she said, “by mercenaries, collected with others.

The levy was unannounced.”

I nodded. There had been many such, the soldiers appearing (pg. 219) with their

ropes, often late at night, bursting into houses, bringing their catches forth,

in various states of undress and night wear, to the waiting wagons.

“You have had only one master?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He was one who had sought my hand in the free companionship

but whose renewed suits I had consistently scorned.”

“And now you are his slave?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Or he is yours,” laughed a fellow.

“If you say so,” she said.

Again anger coursed about the circle.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Lady Filomela,” she said, “of Ar.”

“You are a slave,” I said.

“Filomela, then,” she said, “of Ar.”

“Of Ar?” I asked.

“Simply Filomela then,” she said, angrily.

“And you may be given any name your master pleases,” I said.

“Yes!” she said, angrily.

“Why are you not happy?” I asked.

“I am happy!” she cried.

“I see,” I said.

“I am going now,” she said.

“Really?” I said.

She turned about, to leave, but the men did not move to let her pass. Then she

turned about, again, to face me.

“May I go now?” she asked.

“Come here,” I said.

She regarded me.

“Now,” I said.

She did not move.

I snapped my fingers.

She hurried angrily to stand before me. She was now close to me, and I had good

feelings, feelings of energy, possessiveness and manhood, good feelings,

powerful feelings, at her closeness, and she, on her part, looked up at me, and

then, looking quickly away, trembled a little. Then she blushed. There was some

laughter.

“You sense in yourself slave feelings?” I asked.

“No!” she said.

“Turn about, and keep your hands at your sides,” I said.

With two hands I brushed her hair forward, putting it before her shoulders. I

then checked her collar. It was a standard (pg. 220) collar, of a sort familiar

in the north, flat, narrow, light, sturdy, close-fitting. I did not bother

reading the engraving on the collar, as it would be of no interest, her master

being a weakling. The collar was closed at the back of her neck with a small,

heavy lock. This is common. It was attractive on her, as such things are on any