Marauders of Gor (17 page)

           
"Look up at me," said the smith.

           
The slender, blond girl, tears in her eyes, looked up at him.

           
He opened the hinged collar of black iron, about a half inch in height. He put it about her throat. It also contained a welded ring, suitable for the attachment of a chain.

           
"Put your head beside the anvil," he said.

           
He took her hair and threw it forward, and thrust her
 
neck against the left side of the anvil. Over the anvil lay the joining ends of the two pieces of the collar. The inside of the collar was separated by a quarter of an inch from her neck. I saw the fine hairs on the back of her neck. On one part of the collar are two, small, flat, thick rings. On the other is a slngle such ring. These rings, when the wings of the collar are joined, are aligned, those on one wing on top and bottom, that on the other in the center. They fit closely together, one on top of the other. The holes in each, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter, too, of course, are perfectly aligned. The smith, with his thumb, forcibly, pushed a metal rivet through the three holes. The rivet fits snugly.

           
"Do not move your head, Bond-maid," said the smith.

           
Then, with great blows of the iron hammer, he riveted the iron collar about her throat. A man then pulled her by the hair from the anvil and threw her to one side. She lay there weeping, a naked bondmaid, marked and collared.

           
"Next," called out the Forkbeard.

           
Weeping, another girl was flung over the branding log.

           
In the end only Aelgifu was left.

           
The Forkbeard, with the heel of his boot on the
 
ground, drew a bond-maid circle. She looked at it. Then, to the laughter of the men, her head high, lifting her skirt, she stepped to the circle, and stood, facing him, within it.

           
"Remove your clothing, my pretty one," said Ivar Forkbeard. She reached behind the back of her neck and unbuttoned the dress of black velvet, and then drew it over her head. She stood then before us in a chemise of fine silk. This, too, she drew over her head, and threw to the ground. She then stood there, statuesque, proudly.

           
Ivar licked his lips. Several of his men cried out with pleasure, others struck their left shoulders with the palms of their right hand. Two, who were armed with shield and spear, smote the spear blade on the wooden shield.

           
"Will she not be a tasty morsel indeed?" Ivar asked his men.

           
The men cheered, and struck their shoulders, and again, the spear blades smote upon the shields. Fear entered the eyes of the proud Aelgifu.

           
"Run to the iron, wench," suddenly commanded Ivar Forkbeard, harshly. Moaning, Aelgifu ran from the circle to the branding log, and was thrown over it, belly down. In a moment the iron had bitten her. Her scream brought
 
laughter from some of the other bond-maids. She was then thrust to the anvil and thrown to her knees beside it:

           
I saw the young, broad-shouldered thrall, who had been standing to one side, go to the slender blond girl. He lifted her to her feet.

           
"I see, Thyri," said he, "that you are now a woman whose belly lies beneath the sword."

           
"Wulfstan," she said.

           
"I am called Tarsk here," he said.

           
He fingered the collar on her throat. "The proud Thyri," he said, "a bond-maid!" He smiled. "You refused my suit," said he. "Do you recall?"

           
She said nothing.

           
"You were too good for me," he said. He laughed. "Now," said he, "doubtless you would crawl on your belly to any man who would free you."

           
She looked at him angrily.

           
"Would you not?" he asked.

           
"Yes, Wulfstan," she said. "I would!"

           
He held her by the collar. "But you will not be freed Thyri," he said. "You will continue to wear this. You are a bond-maid."

           
She looked down.

           
"It pleases me," said he, "to see you here." He stepped back from her. She lifted her eyes, angrily, to look upon him. "A brand," said he, "improves a woman. It improves you Thyri. Your collar, too, the iron on your neck, it against the softness of your body, is quite becoming."

           
"Thank you, Wulfstan," said she.

           
"Women," said he, "belong in collars."

           
Her eyes flashed.

           
"Sometimes," said he, "to discipline a bond-maid, she is hurled naked among the thralls." He smiled. "Do not fear. Should this be done to you I, in my turn, shall use you well Bond-maid. Quite well."

           
She shrank back from him.

           
The last blows of the smith's hamrner rang out and Aelgifu, by the hair, was pulled from the anvil, wearing a collar of black iron.

           
"Hurry, bond-maids!" cried Ivar Forkbeard. "Hurry, lazy girls! There is a feast to be prepared!"

           
The bond-maids, Thyri and Aelgifu among them, fled, like a frightened herd of tabuk, across the short, turflike green grass, to the gate of the palisade, to be put to work.

           
Ivar Forkbeard roared with laughter, his head back. On his lap, naked, cuddling, sat she who had been Aelgifu, her arrns about his neck, her lips to the side of his head; her name had now been changed; the new name of the daughter of Gurt, Administrator of Kassau, was Pudding. On his other side, stripped, her collar of black iron at her throat, her arms about his waist, rubbing herself against his belt, was the bond-maid Gunnhild.

           
I held the large drinking horn of the north. "There is no way for this to stand upright," I said to him, puzzled.

           
He threw back his head again, and roared once more with laughter.

           
"If you cannot drain it," he said, "give it to another!"

           
I threw back my head and drained the horn.

           
"Splendid!" cried the Forkbeard.

           
I handed the horn to Thyri, who, in her collar, naked, between two of the benches, knelt at my feet.

           
"Yes, Jarl," said she, and ran to fill it, from the great vat. How marvelously beauhful is a naked, collared woman.

           
"Your hall," said I to the Forkbeard, "is scarcely what had expected."

           
I had learned, much to my instruction, that my conception of the northern halls left much to be desired. Indeed the true hall, lofty, high-beamed, built of logs and boards, with its benches and high-seat pillars, its carvings and hangings, its long fires, its suspended kettles, was actually quite rare, and, generally, only the richest of the Jarls possessed such. The hall of Ivar Forkbeard, I learned, to my surprise, was of a type much more common. Upon reflection, however, it seemed to me not so strange that this should be so, in a bleak country, one in which many of the trees, too would be stunted and wind-twisted. In Torvaldsland, fine tlmber
 
is at a premium. Too, what fine lumber there is, is often
 
marked and hoarded for the use of shipwrights If a man of Torvaldsland must choose between his hall and his ship, it is the ship which, invariably, wins his choice. Furthermore, of course, were it not for goods won by his ship or ships, it would be unlikely that he would have the means to build a hall and house within it his men

           
"Here, Jarl," said Thyri, again handing me the horn. It was filled with the mead of Torvaldsland, brewed from fermented honey, thick and sweet

           
The hall of Ivar
 
Forkbeard was a longhouse. It was about one hundred and twenty feet Gorean in length. Its walls formed of turf and stone, were curved and thick, some eight feet or more in thickness. It is oriented north and south. Thls reduces its exposure to the north wind, which is partlcularly important in the Torvaldsland winter. A fire, in a rounded pit, was in its center. It consisted, for the most part, of a single, long room, which served for living, and eating and sleeping. At one end was a cooking compartment, separated from the rest of the house by a partition of wood. The roof was about six feet in height, which meant that most of those within, if male, were forced to bend over as they moved about. The long room, besides being low, is dark. Too, there is usually lingering smoke in it. Ventilation is supplied, as it is generally in Torvaldsland, by narrow holes in the roof. The center of the hall, down its length, is dug out about a foot below the ground level. In the long center are set the tables and benches. Also, in the center, down its length are two long rows of posts, each post separated from the next by about seven feet, which support the roof. At the edges of the hall, at ground level, is a dirt floor, on which furs are spread. Stones mark sections off into sleeping quarters. Thus, in a sense, the hall proper is about a foot below ground level, and the sleeping level, on each side, is at the ground level, where the walls begin. The sleeping levels, which also can accommodate a man'sgear, though some keep it at the foot of the level, are about eight feet in length. The hall proper, the center of the hall, is about twelve feet in width.

           
The two bond-maids, stripped, too, like the others, for the feast, Pretty Ankles and Pouting Lips, struggled down the length of the smoky, dark hall, a spitted, roasted tarsk on their shoulders. They were slapped by the men, hurrying them along. They laughed with pleasure. Their shoulders were protected from the heat of the metal spit by rolls of leather. The roasted tarsk was flung before us on the table. With his belt knife, thrusting Pudding and Gunnhild back, Ivar Forkbeard addressed himself to the cutting of the meat. He threw pieces down the length of the table.
 
I heard men laughing. Too, from the darkness behind me, and more than forty feet away, on the raised level, I heard the screams of a raped bond-maid. She was one of the new girls. I had seen her being dragged by the hair to the raised platform. Her screams were screams of pleasure.

           
"Well," said Ivar Forkbeard to me, "I am an outlaw."

           
"I did not know that," I said.

           
"That is one reason," said he, "that my hall is not of wood."

           
"I see," I said. "But you have at least a palisade," I said.

           
He threw me a piece of meat.
 
He cut two small pieces, and thrust them in the mouths of Pudding and Gunnhild.
 
They ate obediently, his pets.

           
"The palisade," he said, "is low, and the cracks are filled with daub."

           
I tore a piece of meat from what Ivar had thrown me and held it to Thyri. She smiled at me. She was trying to learn how to please a man. "Thank you, my Jarl," she said. She took the meat, delicately, in her teeth. I grinned, and she looked down, frightened. She knew that soon she might be taught, truly, how to please men.

           
"You are rich," I said, "and have many men. Surely you could have a hall of wood, if you wished."

           
"Why did you come to Torvaldsland?" suddenly asked Ivar Forkbeard.

           
"On a work of vengeance," I told him. "I hunt one of the Kurii."

           
"They are dangerous," said Ivar Forkbeard.

           
I shrugged.

           
"One has struck here," said Ottar, suddenly.

           
Ivar looked at him.

           
"Last month," said Ottar, "a verr
 
was taken."

           
I knew then that it could not be the one of the Kurii I sought.

           
"We hunted him, but failed to find him," said Ottar.

           
"Doubtless he has left the district," said Ivar.

           
"Do the beasts often bother you?" I asked.

           
"No," said Ivar. "They seldom hunt this far to the south." "They are rational," I told him. "They have a language." "That is known to me," said Ivar.

           
I did not tell Ivar that those he knew as Kurii, or the beasts, were actually specimens of an alien race, that they, or those in their ships, were locked in war with PriestKings for the domination of two worlds, Gor and the Earth. In these battles, unknown to most men, even of Gor, from time to time, ships of the Kurii had been shattered and fallen to the surface. It was the practice of Priest-Kings to destroy the wrecks of such ships but, usually, at least, they did not attempt to hunt and exterminate survivors. If the marooned Kurii abided by the weapon and technology laws of Priest-Kings, they, like men, another life form, were perrmitted to survive. The Kurii I knew were beasts of fierce, terrible instincts, who regarded humans, and other beasts, as food. Blood, as to the shark, was an agitant to their systems. They were extremely powerful, and highly intelligent, though their intellectual capacities, like those of humans, were far below those of Priest-Kings. Fond of killing, and technologically advanced, they were, in their way, worthy adversaries of Priest-Kings. Most lived in ships, the steel wolves of space, their instincts bridled, to some extent, by Ship Loyalty, Ship Law. It was thought that their own world had been destroyed. This seemed plausible, when one considered their ferocity and greed, and what might be its implementation in virtue of an advanced technology. Their own world destroyed, the Kurii now wished another.