Plunder of Gor (66 page)

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel, “but let me add to the saying, that those tracks that lead out may be awash with the blood of the larl.”

“I advise, most strenuously, that we decline the invitation,” said Kurik.

“It is accepted,” said Lord Grendel.

“Why?” asked Kurik.

“Surtak has honor,” said Lord Grendel. “He is not Lord Agamemnon. Lord Agamemnon would propose a truce, or amnesty, and then slaughter those who would be so foolish as to avail themselves of it. He is honorable only when it suits his convenience. Lord Agamemnon sees honor only as a weapon by means of which to control, deceive, trick, and manipulate others. I do not read Surtak as Lord Agamemnon. He is not Lord Agamemnon.”

“Perhaps Lord Agamemnon is about,” said Kurik.

“I do not think so,” said Lord Grendel.

“Why?” asked Kurik.

“The hiatus,” said Lord Grendel.

“You said,” said Kurik, “you feared you knew why Lord Agamemnon had withdrawn, why he was no longer in Ar.”

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “But I may be wrong. I want to be wrong. Let us hope that I am wrong.”

“What is it you fear?” asked Kurik. “You seem harrowed by your suspicions.”

“I dare not speak,” said Lord Grendel. “The prospect is too fearful.”

“I do not understand,” said Kurik.

“It is a frightful, terrible thing,” said Lord Grendel.

“What?” asked Kurik.

“I think it best not to speak of it,” said Lord Grendel.

“I do not think it was wise, dear Grendel,” said the Lady Bina, “to have accepted the invitation.”

“We had no choice, dear lady,” said Lord Grendel. “The matter must be finished somehow. We are vulnerable. We do not wish to live in hiding, in fear. In peace all are victors, in war, only one, if that. One must have this business done, one way or another.”

“And it will be done, one way or another?” said Kurik.

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel, “near the fourteenth Ahn, four days from now, a pasang or so from the Viktel Aria.”

“You place great confidence in the honor of Surtak,” said Kurik.

“I do,” said Lord Grendel.

“Then what is there to fear?” asked Kurik.

“Only that the invitation did not come from Surtak,” said Lord Grendel.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“Welcome, noble friends,” called out Decius Albus, hurrying forward, under the shading latticework through which the afternoon sun stroked the laden tables with a melody of light and shade. Certain streets in Ar, in certain districts, are similarly sheltered from the sun, though with vines clinging to the latticework, and then, usually, here and there, there are stands of fruits and vegetables lining the walls. I was familiar with one such street, the Street of Dinas, near the theater of Elbar, for I had shopped there. Frequently assignations take place in such streets, which, in their way, constitute lovely, extended bowers, half lit even in the noonday sun. Some, such as the Street of Dinas, are fragrant with flowers.

“Noble Albus,” said Lord Grendel, in intelligible Gorean.

“Noble Albus,” said my master.

By one of the tables, heaped with viands and blossoms, I beheld a Kur, in festive harness. It quickly turned away.

I was tunicked, and well scrubbed, brushed, and combed. I stood, lithe, supple, and graceful. I was not a free woman. I was collared. On Gor, as I had not on Earth, I had discovered the joy of being honestly and freely what I was. How different we were from men, and how wonderful! And how marvelous and wonderful were men, so different from us! How they were, unreduced and uncrippled, our rightful owners, our masters! I had not become a true woman until I had been put in a man's collar. I could almost pity free women. How little they had, how much they missed! The tunic was brief, even for a slave tunic, for my master liked me in such tunics. After all, I was an animal, so why should I not be displayed as one? Why should he not, if he wished, display an animal he owned? Were the men of Earth not proud of their dogs?

“Help yourselves from the tables,” said Decius Albus. “Eat well, drink freely.”

“Where is the noble Surtak?” inquired Lord Grendel.

“He is detained,” said Decius Albus. “He will be here shortly. In the meantime, feast, enjoy yourselves. Here and there you will note, placed on the ground, near or below the tables, bowls of slave gruel, and slaves may join the feast, feeding there, feeding, of course, as slaves.”

“The noble Albus is most thoughtful,” said my master.

“I must now attend to my other guests,” said Decius Albus.

“Surely,” said Kurik.

“Entertainment will be afforded later,” said Decius Albus.

“We shall look forward to it,” said Kurik.

There were several men about the tables, under the latticework. I recognized some of the men, from the Commerce Court, one of several receiving chambers, I had gathered, in that palace known as the House of a Hundred Corridors, when my master had been introduced under the name of Tenrik of Siba, a representative of a Lord Grendel, a trade envoy from Mytilene, a supposed city located somewhere in the Farther Islands. What rendered me more apprehensive was the positioning of several guards, clearly armed, with spear and sword, about the fringes of the sheltered area. The day was hot, one of those days in which a free woman, if not for modesty, might envy a slave her tunic. The house itself could be seen in the distance.

“Surtak should be here,” said Lord Grendel.

“He is not,” said Kurik, looking about.

I was hobbled.

This had been done shortly after we had descended from the closed wagon, closed to conceal the presence of Lord Grendel, which wagon Kurik had rented to carry us to the feast.

“Hold!” had called a guard, the leader of some five guards. “Descend, to be conducted to the feast.” From the wagon, we could see what must be the feasting area, an open, sideless, shaded, temporary structure, hung with banners, ribbons, and garlands, ahead and to the left. The house was beyond that, and to the right. “No weapons are permitted at the feast,” we were informed. “Of course,” had said Kurik. We had then descended from the wagon. Neither he nor Lord Grendel, given the nature of the event, had come armed. Two of the guards then examined the wagon, determining that it was empty. “Your wagon will be placed with the others,” we were told, “and your beast will be stalled and fed.”

“It seems we are not the only guests,” said Kurik.

“The slave is to be hobbled,” said he who seemed to be first amongst the guards.

“Why?” asked Kurik.

“She is a slave,” said the guard.

“We are outside the walls of Ar,” said another.

“She might helplessly run in terror, at the sight of some of our guests,” said another.

“I see,” said Kurik.

The clasps were put on my ankles, the bar between. All of these answers, I supposed, had their point. One needs no justification for binding, roping, chaining, hobbling, or in any other way restraining a slave. She is a slave. Such things convince her of her bondage, and deepen her sense of being owned, of being a helpless property. These things make her a better slave, and more wholly a slave. It is part of what it is to be a slave. Too, of course, it excites men to see her so, and excites the slave in being so, knowing herself vulnerable and helpless, at the mercy of a master. With respect to the walls of Ar, those walls not only preclude the convenient entry of an intruder but lock within, and protect, valuables, amongst which are slaves. The same wall that keeps an intruder without keeps a slave within. For example, unescorted slaves are not allowed to exit the city. Whereas, given the collaring, clothing, and marking of a girl, the closely knit nature of the society, the acceptance and approval of bondage in the culture, and the culture's unquestioned support of, and enforcement of, the rigors of the institution of bondage, there is no escape for the Gorean slave girl, escapes are occasionally attempted, either from ignorance or desperation. The best that might be hoped for would be to fall into the chains of a different master who, realizing she was a runaway, would be likely to be far more cruel to her than her former master. Indeed, there are even fugitive brands, and it is not in the best interest of a girl to have one put in her body. Thus, outside the walls, where escape might seem more likely to the uninformed or naive, it is not unusual for a girl to be hobbled, chained to a wagon, or such. Thirdly, most Gorean slave girls have never seen a Kur, and do not even know they exist. Thus, it is quite possible that the first sight of such a creature might precipitate flight, as from a larl or sleen. Hobbling, obviously, militates against a girl's acting freely from some hysterical response. I recalled that the Lady Bina had made certain that Paula's ankles had been bound before she was given her first glimpse of Lord Grendel. I recalled how shaken she had been following that occasion.

“Would that I had even a knife,” had said Kurik.

“No,” had said Lord Grendel, softly. “Even so small a thing might insult our host, Surtak.”

“It is a risk I would be prepared to take,” said Kurik.

“More than one Ubar has been slain by a knife thrust at a feast,” said Lord Grendel, “the knife sometimes wielded even by a slave. Why else do you think that slaves at such a feast are to serve with two hands on a goblet, or platter, their hands thusly in plain sight?”

“I find it hard to believe that a slave would strike such a blow,” said Kurik.

“To be sure,” said Lord Grendel, “it is usually a free woman masquerading as a slave, expecting to be spirited away once the blow is struck.”

“Amidst feasters, and guards?” asked Kurik.

“If her blow is successful, she dies, of course, following lengthy tortures. If it is not successful, she becomes the slave of the Ubar.”

“You will please follow me, to the feast,” said one of the guards.

“Master!” I said, plaintively.

It is easy to stand gracefully, and such, in hobbles, but it is not at all easy to move in them. One can move only in short, awkward steps, and the slightest miscalculation, or haste, may plunge one to the ground. But one can move, of course. Thus, in a night camp, even a hobbled girl is likely to be chained to a tree, or, by the neck, to the foot of her master.

“Master,” I breathed, delighted, swept into his arms. I was not even put over his left shoulder, my head to the rear, as a slave is usually carried. In this way she is reminded she is property, and cannot see toward what she is being borne.

“Master carries me as though I might be free,” I said.

“Scarcely,” he said, “you are tunicked, and this way you are closer to me, and I can see more of you.”

I put my head back, against his shoulder.

“You are heavier,” he said. “I think I shall cut down on your gruel.”

“It is the hobbles!” I said.

In a short time we had come to the feasting area, under the latticework, and I had been restored to my feet, and Decius Albus had approached us, to welcome us to the feast.

“Surtak should be here,” had said Lord Grendel.

“He is not,” had said Kurik, looking about.

“I sense we are being observed,” said Lord Grendel.

“It is not unlikely,” said Kurik.

“Doubtless Surtak will appear shortly,” said Lord Grendel.

“Doubtless,” said Kurik.

“Behave in a natural manner,” said Lord Grendel. “Smile. Be at ease. Take food and drink only from what is publicly available, and from locations where you see others doing so. Decline whatever might be offered to you.”

“Decius Albus spoke of entertainment,” said Kurik.

“You are Gorean,” said Lord Grendel. “What do you conjecture?”

“If it were night, indoors,” said Kurik, “I would suppose any number of things, depending on the house, music, the kalika and czehar, the aulus and tabor, acrobats, jugglers, flute girls, eaters of fire, the reading of poetry, the chanting of histories, professional tellers of stories, the singing and dancing of slaves, many things.”

“And if it is outdoors, and day?” inquired Lord Grendel.

“I do not know,” said Kurik.

“I would think contests, games,” said Lord Grendel.

“I fear so,” said Kurik.

“Have you noticed something unusual here?” asked Lord Grendel.

“Only what is not seen,” said Kurik.

“Precisely,” said Lord Grendel. “Although the occasion is putatively festive, and the banqueting bower is open, and easily accessible, there are no slaves about.”

“We are outside the walls of Ar,” said Kurik.

“Even hobbled slaves,” said Lord Grendel. “Besides, country slaves, the slaves of villas, of country houses, the slaves of peasants, are seldom restrained, except at night.”

“By the tables, sometimes below the tables,” said Kurik, “there are bowls of gruel.”

“But no slaves,” said Lord Grendel.

“Then,” said Kurik, “the slaves have been removed.”

“Or were never here,” said Lord Grendel, “the bowls intended to suggest otherwise.”

“I am uneasy,” said Kurik.

My master was jostled, as a fellow in the yellow of the Builders made his way by. “How clumsy I was,” said the fellow. “Please, forgive me.”

“It did not occur,” said Kurik, smiling. Kurik then spoke softly to Lord Grendel. “He determined,” he said to Lord Grendel, “that I was not armed.”

“We must not arouse suspicion,” said Lord Grendel.

“Do not neglect the black wine, flavored with Turian sugars,” said a fellow in merchant robes, nearby.

He poured himself a tiny cup of the beverage. Black wine tends to be expensive. Its presence at the feast in more than one vessel bespoke the affluence of Decius Albus. Some Goreans have never tasted the beverage.

“I approve your slave,” said the fellow with the cup of black wine. “Is she not hungry?”

“I would expect,” said Kurik, “that by now she is quite hungry.”

“You have her in the presence of food, and yet deny her permission to eat,” said the fellow. “Excellent. You keep her under strict discipline. I do the same with my sleen. Keeping a slave under strict discipline makes her more responsive, more helpless in her chains, more pleading for the least caress.”

“It escaped my mind,” said Kurik. “I forgot. It has been some time now. Thank you for calling the matter to my attention.”

“You suppose her to be quite hungry?” said the fellow.

“Yes, by now,” said Kurik.

“She does not ask to be fed?” he asked.

“She knows better than that,” said Kurik.

“The whip?” he said.

“Of course,” said Kurik. He then turned his head to me. “You may feed, Phyllis,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Appropriately,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I went to all fours, put down my head, and began to feed. I must not, of course, use my hands. There are a thousand ways in which a girl's knowledge of her bondage may be forced into every cell of her body. A girl's food bowl and water bowl are often kept on the floor of the kitchen, in a corner, sometimes in the vicinity of the master's couch. Many a girl has fed so, the master standing over her, with his whip. Later, he may not even be present, or he might be to one side, scarcely noticing, perhaps reading.

“How charming a collar slut looks while thusly feeding,” said the fellow.

“Indeed,” said Kurik.

How far I was, I again thought, from the office on my former world!

Few young women, I supposed, expected to be carried to another world, and made a slave. And then they find themselves on the auction block, their bare feet in the sawdust, a collar on their neck, under the light of torches, being bid upon!

Kurik, of course, seldom forgot, or neglected, my feeding. I did know enough, of course, not to ask to be fed. The typical Gorean master takes excellent care of his slave. He sees to it that she is sheltered and well rested, and has a nutritious diet. He may occasionally limit her food, in the interests of her health and beauty. More annoyingly, he may impose exercises upon her, usually to reduce a bit of weight or improve a curve. All in all, vital and flourishing, she is usually in far better condition than the typical free woman who, lacking a master, is likely to gain weight, grow careless, and become slovenly. When a free woman is captured and stripped, it is usually obvious what must be done to make her more worthy of the honor of a slave block. Too, it must be remembered that the slave is a possession, and that men tend to be concerned with, proud of, and, I suspect, despite their usual protestations, fond of their possessions. Too, obviously an investment is involved.