Magicians of Gor (75 page)

“Am I to be whipped?” she asked, suddenly.

“No,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“At least not at the moment,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“It is nothing,” I said.

“Do not fret, Master,” she said. “Even if you are not Milos, you are both

strong, handsome, attractive men. Too, there is something different and special

in you, something distinguishing you from many other men. It is the mastery.

Women sense in men such as you, or can come suddenly to sense in men such as

you, sometimes to their terror, their masters, and this makes you unbelievingly

exciting and attractive to them. This puts you beyond compare with other men.

Women then wish to kneel before you and serve you, to please you and love you.

And that has nothing to do with the regularity or smoothness of one’s features,

which may characterize even weaklings.”

“All men are masters,” I said.

“I do not know,” she said. “But that is what the woman desires, her master.”

“Why were you on the couch when I entered the room?” I asked.

“He put me there,” she said.

“Very well,” I said. One might have expected her to have been put to the floor,

on furs, at the foot of the couch, as she was a slave.

“The slave is returning,” said Marcus.

“Of course,” I said.

Lavinia gasped with relief. I recalled that she had been ready to die for him.

Too, I recalled he had, to the best of his ability, attempted to shelter her

from the blows of the irate Appanius. These things I found of interest. To be

sure, I did not think I would encourage dalliance among my slaves. It might be

interesting, of course, to keep them within sight of one another but in

anguished separation.

In a few moments Milo had washed in the back and returned to kneel in the front

room.

“Put your head down and extend your left wrist,” I said to him.

(pg. 441) He did so, and I locked a silver slave bracelet, resembling the one he

had previously worn, on his left wrist. On this bracelet, in fine, tiny

lettering, were the words, “I belong to Tarl of Port Kar.”

I then threw him a common tunic, one of the things I had brought with me. “Put

it on,” I told him.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

“What time do you think it to be?” I asked Marcus.

“It must be near the seventh Ahn,” he said.

“The magistrates should arrive any moment,” I said.

“Presumably they will come to the back,” he said.

“I would think so,” I said. Surely they would have been here often enough in the

past. Too, it did not seem likely they would wish to be seen entering by the

street door. They would be, as far as they knew, keeping their appointment with

Appanius and his men. When they arrived, of course, they would discover that a

change of plans had occurred, and that it would not be Appanius for whom they

would render their services, but another.

“Are you looking at the female slave again?” I asked the male slave.

“Forgive me, Master,” he said.

“Keep your head down,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

“I will explain to you in a moment what I wish you to do,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

“In the meantime,” I said to Marcus, “let us readjust this net.”

“Did you bring the bracelets, with linked shackles?” asked Marcus.

“Of course,” I said.

26
   
A Free Woman; A Female Slave

“You may assist me with my wrap,” she informed the handsome slave. “Your hand

trembles,” she smiled.

In the back room I tracked these matters by means of one of the observation

portals. One of the two magistrates, he who was senior, Tolmar, of the second

Octavii, an important gens (pg. 442) but one independent of the well-known

Octavii, sometimes spoken of simply as the Octavii, or sometimes as the first

Octavii, deputy commissioner in the records office, much of which had been

destroyed in a recent fire, was at the other portal. His colleague, Venlisius, a

bright young man who was now, by adoption, a scion of the Toratti, was with him.

Venlisius was in the same office. He was records officer, or archon of records,

for the Metallan district, in which we were located. Both magistrates wore their

robes, and fillets, of office. They also carried their wands of office, which, I

suspect, from the look of them, and despite the weapons laws of Cos, contained

concealed blades. I was pleased to hope that these fellows were such as to put

the laws of Ar before the ordinances of Cos. I had requested that they dismiss

their attendant guardsmen, which they had done. I did not anticipate that they

would be needed. Whatever force, if any, might be required could be supplied by

Marcus and myself. Similarly it seemed that Marcus and I could handle any other

matters of the sort in which they might customarily have been utilized. Too,

certain matters might prove sensitive, and I saw fit to limit the number and

nature of witnesses.

“Must I remove my own wrap?” she inquired.

“No, no, Mistress!” said the male slave.

“Mistress?” she said. “It seems you have learned deference.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said. He knelt quickly, trembling, his head down.

“It is not like you,” she said.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” he said.

“But I find it charming,” she said. “And you look well, my dear Milo, on your

knees.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he said.

“But I do not understand this new deference,” she said.

“What but deference,” said he, “could be in order, before one such as you?”

“I think we shall get along very well,” she said.

He was silent, kneeling before her, bent at the waist. He kept his head down. He

trembled. I did not really blame him.

“It is as though, suddenly, it had been recalled to you, that you are a slave,”

she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

I was pleased that his back had not been opened by the staff of Appanius. It

would not have done, at all, if stripes of blood had appeared on the back of his

tunic, soaked through.

“Interesting,” she said.

“Before you,” he said, “what man could not be a slave?”

(pg. 443) “Flatterer!” she chided.

I smiled to myself. He had a nimble, flattering tongue. He was able in his work.

Doubtless he had been of great value to Appanius, in many ways. Then I smiled

grimly to myself. How susceptible was the chit to his blandishments. How little

she understood of herself. Before what man, I wondered, should she not be a

slave? Indeed, before any man, she, and other women, should be slaves.”

“My wrap!” she said, irritably.

He leaped to his feet and delicately, courteously, removed her outer cloak, with

its hood. She had been well covered in it, from head to toe. He put this on a

peg to one side.

“Your guards are without?” he asked.

“I have come alone,” she said. “Surely you do not think me a fool?”

“No,” he said.

She brushed back the light inner hood and unhooked the collar of her robe.

“You will never believe the difficulty I had in escaping from the Central

Cylinder!” she said. “It is almost as though I were a prisoner there. Seremides

is so careful! His spies are everywhere. Who knows who they are, or which of

them is watching you at any given time? Whom can I trust? It is hard to leave

without an escort of a company of guardsmen. What do they fear, I wonder. The

people love me.”

“You are too glorious and marvelous to risk,” said Milo.

“Alas,” she said, “sometimes I myself grow weary of the preciousness and dignity

of my person. It seems it has always been thus. Long ago when I was a girl it

was the same, and then, in my time of troubles, after the misunderstanding with

my dear father, Marlenus, I was sequestered, and then, later, now that the war

has been concluded to the mutual benefit of Ar and Cos, with victory for us

both, thanks to the mercies of Cos, and the noble Lurius of Jad, and we have

become allies with our former enemies, now our dearest of friends, the Cosians,

it seems the same again.”

“Mistress is Ubara,” said he. “Simply order them to desist from their

attentions.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

The handsome slave regarded her, puzzled.

“But I eluded the guards,” she said. “It was not really too difficult. They are

men, and stupid.”

“How did Mistress outwit them?” asked the slave.

“As you will note,” she said, “I wore a common street cloak (pg. 444) and hood,

secured for the occasion. A departure was arranged for a putative maid,

supposedly one of my retinue, on personal business, and it was as such a one

that I was passed through the guards.”

“Mistress is to be praised for her discretion and cleverness,” he said.

“Who will remove the veil of a free woman?” she laughed.

“Who, indeed?” inquired the slave, awed.

“And few,” she laughed, “are even aware of the features of the Ubara!”

“True, wonderous Mistress,” he said.

She laughed.

“How grateful and humbled I am,” said he, “that I, only a slave, at three

suppers, was permitted to look upon them.”

“You dared to look upon me?” she asked.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” he cried. “I had thought that perhaps it was for that

reason that Mistress had lowered her veil.”

“It was warm, those evenings,” she said.

“Of course, Mistress!” he said.

“But, to be sure,” she said, “I did fear that looking upon me, you might fall

under my spell.”

She then, gracefully, reached to the pins at the left side of the veil and

unpinned it. A moment later she had lowered it, gracefully.

“Aii!” said he, softly. “What man could not fall under the spell of such a

beauty?”

“Think you so?” she laughed, delighted.

“Yes!” he said. “Surely Mistress is the most beautiful woman on all Gor!”

I glanced down at Lavinia. She was kneeling on the floor, to my left. I thought

her lip trembled, and a tear formed in her eye.

“I feel like a slave girl,” said the free woman, “running about, sneaking here

and there, to keep a rendezvous.”

Milo gasped. I conjecture he had just considered how exciting the female might

be, if she were truly a slave, slave clad, slave collared, and such.

The Ubara looked at herself, in the mirror at the far end of the room.

“Sometimes I envy the meaningless property tarts,” she said, “running about much

as they please, here and there, in all their freedom, in their short skirts and

collars. Sometimes I think that they have more freedom than I, that I, a free

woman, indeed, one who is Ubara of Ar, am more slave than slave.”

“Do not even think so!” said Milo.

(pg. 445) “It is true,” she said, dismally.

The male slave was silent.

The Ubara continued to regard herself in the mirror. I wondered how she saw

herself, really, in that reflection. Did she see herself in the mirror as she

now seemed, moody, and attired as befitted a woman of high caste, or did she see

herself there otherwise, perhaps in a ta-teera or tunic, as men might choose to

keep her.

“If I were a slave,” she said, “and I were here, what do you think would be done

with me?”

“Mistress is not a slave!” cried Milo, aghast.

“But, if I were?” she asked.

“And you were caught?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“Mistress would be severely punished,” he said.

“Even though I am so beautiful?” she asked, skeptically.

“Especially so!” said he.

“Oh?” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” he assured her.

“Interesting,” she said.

“But Mistress is not a slave!” he said.

“Lashed?” she asked.

“The least that might be done to Mistress,” he said, “would surely be that she

would be stripped, and tied, and lashed. Too, she might be bound, and subjected

to the bastinado.”

The free woman shuddered.

“And I do not think that Mistress would err in such a fashion again,” he said.

“Perhaps not,” she said.

I glanced over at Tolnar, at the other observation portal. He looked over at me,

and I returned my attention to the portal.

The Ubara, moving very little, was still regarding herself in the mirror.

She seemed moody.

“Mistress?” asked the male slave.

“You do find me attractive, do you not?” she asked.

“Of course, Mistress!” he said.

“And do you not think other men might do so likewise?” she asked.

“Certainly, Mistress!” he said.

“Some think me the most beautiful woman in all Ar,” she said.

“You are surely,” said he, “the most beautiful woman on all Gor!”

Near me Lavinia put down her head. A tear fell to the floor.

(pg. 446) “And I am Ubara!” said the free woman.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the slave.

“A Ubara, too,” she said, “is a woman, and I have a woman’s needs.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said the slave.

The Ubara then, bit by bit, piece by piece, looking at herself from time to time

in the mirror, the slave standing back, removed her outer garments. When she had

stepped forth from her slippers, she stood before the mirror, barefoot, in a

one-piece white, silken wraparound sliplike garment. It came slightly above her

knees. She then unpinned the dark wealth of her hair, and shook her head, and

then, with both hands, lifted it, and then swept it back, behind her shoulders.