Prize of Gor (58 page)

“Is your Home Stone the Home Stone of Ar?” inquired Portus, suddenly, fiercely, of Selius Arconious.

“Of course,” said Selius Arconious, puzzled.

“What is going on?” asked Tersius Major, coming from the dark ice pantry, where slabs of meat are stored on blocks of ice, covered with sawdust.

“The shop of Bonto has been burned,” said Portus. “Bonto has been seized.”

“But why?” asked Tersius Major. “Did he not pay his taxes? Did he not show deference to a Cosian?”

“They are sweeping the city,” said Fel Doron. “They are arresting, and burning, almost as though on whim. Madness has infected the Cosian sleen. They seek the Delta Brigade!”

“There is no such thing,” said Selius Arconious. “The Delta Brigade is a myth.”

Portus, Fel Doron and Tersius Major exchanged glances.

“It exists,” said Portus, “but it is ineffective, and dilatory, and we must act independently.”

A tarn, one of several in the nearby caged areas, screamed, and snapped its wings.

Ellen understood little of what was going on. She was in an opened, empty cage, nearby, on her knees, with a bucket of water, and a brush, scrubbing, cleaning, the flooring there. She could look back through the stout bars and see and hear the men. She was naked as that was most convenient for the work which she was doing.

“Action at this time is premature,” said Tersius Major.

“What is different now? What has precipitated the actions of the Cosians?” asked Portus.

“One does not know,” said Fel Doron, wildly. “It is rumored something has occurred in the palace.”

“Look into the streets!” said Portus to Tersius Major.

Tersius hurried to the platform outside the huge entry portal to the loft, and, in moments, called back. “There is commotion below. Much running about, shouting.”

“It is said that Myron,
Polemarkos
of Temos, has entered the city,” said Fel Doron.

Myron, the
polemarkos
, was the commander of the Cosian, and mercenary, forces in the city. His own camp lay outside the gates. It was said he was a cousin to Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos.

“What is the concern below?” called Portus to Tersius, on the platform.

“I can make nothing out,” said Tersius.

“Talena will address the population from the Central Cylinder,” said Selius Arconious. “She will calm the people.”

“Talena!” cried Portus, angrily.

“Our Ubara,” said Selius Arconious.

“False Ubara!” cried Portus, in fury.

“Portus!” called Tersius, from outside the exterior entrance. “Guardsmen, on the bridges! They may be coming here!”

“Why?” asked Selius Arconious.

Portus turned white.

“They are going everywhere!” cried Fel Doron.

“No,” said Portus. “Not everywhere.”

Tersius returned to the interior of the loft.

“Tarns can come and go, and leave the city,” said Portus. “Where there are tarns they will be suspicious. Doubtless all tarn lofts will be investigated.”

“Why?” asked Arconious.

“I think they are coming here,” said Tersius, whispering.

“What does it matter?” asked Arconious. “We have nothing to fear.”

Portus rushed inward, to the loft office, and, in moments, carrying a heavy bundle over his shoulder, from which escaped the sounds of metal, emerged, seized up a tarn goad and, throwing open the latch to the huge cot, the general housing area, that mighty cage, which held several of the gigantic winged monsters, rushed within, shouting, the goad brandished and flashing. The birds drew back from the goad uneasily, angrily, and, against the far wall of that immense cot, that great cage, beneath straw, Portus concealed the mysterious bundle. He then, crying out angrily, and twice defending himself with the goad, returned to the central area, latching the gate behind him. The tarn goad he placed in a wall, behind a loose board. Scarcely had he finished this than there was a rude, insistent pounding at the interior door. Ellen looked to the huge tarn cage, that enormous cot, where Portus had concealed the mysterious bundle. Two of the tarns went to it, and put their beaks down to it, but they then withdrew, as it apparently contained nothing of interest to them.

“Continue with your work,” said Portus to Ellen, and she, dutifully, put down her head, and returned to her scrubbing, the stout bristles of the thick brush damp on the wet floor.

“Ah, Masters, welcome!” said Portus, as he opened the interior door, through which burst several guardsmen, their helmets bearing the yellow crest, their weapons at the ready.

“Who is tarnmaster here?” demanded the leader of the intruders, an officer, a lieutenant, or, perhaps better translated, a subcaptain.

“I, noble Master,” said Portus.

“The rest of you,” said the officer, indicating Fel Doron, Tersius Major and Selius Arconious, “kneel. You are in the presence of soldiers of Cos.”

Fel Doron, Tersius Major, and, lastly, angrily, Selius Arconious, knelt.

“You will show me all records of rentals, hirings, and such, of all comings and goings, of all business in this place to the passage hand before last.”

“Gladly,” said Portus.

“How many tarns have you?” asked the officer.

“Eighteen,” said Portus. “Eleven on the premises.”

“You can account for the others?”

“Of course,” said Portus. He then went toward his office.

The officer turned to his men. “Search this place,” he said. “Search it well.”

Immediately the soldiers began to ransack the loft area, casting saddles and harnesses about, pulling down tarn baskets, emptying boxes, stirring, and probing, thrusting about, beneath straw with their spears. They examined even Ellen’s stall. She heard the point of a spear move her chain, that fastened to the heavy ring in the floor. She was seldom chained there now at night, but the chain was still there, and it could be put again on her neck at any time, and then, if so, she must remain there again, held at the ring, fastened in place by the neck, awaiting the pleasure of men. They even went into the kitchen, and the rooms of Portus Canio and the others, emptying chests, pulling things down from shelves, scattering things about in the pantry, cutting into sacks. They did not, of course, enter the area occupied by the tarns. They did examine the empty cage areas, among them the cage where Ellen, head down, not looking up, her hair forward, scrubbed the boards carefully, lengthwise, as was required, going with their grain. As her hair was forward, she realized that the lock on the back of her collar, a close-fitting, common slave collar, would be visible to the men. She also knew, uneasily, that the sight of a collar on a woman’s neck, locked there, as of course it would be in the case of a slave, tended to be sexually stimulatory to men. After all, it shows that its wearer is a slave, proclaiming her so, manifesting her so, with all that that can mean to a lustful, powerful, domineering, possessive beast, a man.

“What have you found?” asked the officer, emerging from Portus’s office, a sheaf of papers in his hands, doubtless to be examined by others, elsewhere. He wadded these papers, these documents, into a pouch, slung at his side.

“Nothing,” he was told.

“There is a slave there,” said one of the men, indicating Ellen.

The officer turned and regarded Ellen, and she, aware now of his gaze, put aside her brush and, frightened, knelt facing him, her head down, beside the bucket of water. She spread her knees.

“Slut,” hissed Selius Arconious.

Ellen cast him an angry glance. Of course she must kneel with her knees spread! That was the sort of slave she was! She did not wish to be beaten. And had he not, himself, often enough, required exactly this posture of her?

“Belly, and to me, slave,” said the officer.

Ellen went to her belly and, across the wet floor, through the opened gate of the empty cage, across the dry, straw-strewn floor, squirmed to his feet. She then lay before him, prone, her head turned to the right, her elbows bent, the palms of her hands on the floor.

“Do you not know enough to kiss a man’s feet?” she was asked.

Ellen, now no more than a young, enslaved beauty, Earth and her Ph.D. far behind her, kissed his feet, submissively, a docile slave.

“Slut, slut!” chided Selius Arconious.

“What of the tarn cage?” asked the officer. “Has it been searched?”

His men looked at one another. “No,” said one of the men.

“Search it,” said the officer.

“There are tarns there,” said a man.

“Give me a tarn goad,” said the officer to Portus Canio.

Portus made a negligible gesture, as of regret. “There are no tarn goads here,” he said.

The officer regarded him, angrily.

“These are only draft tarns,” said Portus, “slow, clumsy, gentle birds. Of what need would be a goad?”

The officer then went to the cage door and, with two hands, flung up the latch, and, with both hands, swung the gate open a foot. The gates are large, and heavy, and barred, some fourteen to fifteen feet in height, some ten feet in width. A tarn can thus stalk through one, but could not spread its wings and fly through one. Normally they are harnessed in the cage, and then led through the opening. In returning to the loft, from a flight, they are normally unharnessed outside, save for a halter, by means of which they are led within, the halter then being removed. The tarns instantly, alertly, regarded him. At the entrance he hesitated.

“Only cowards fear tarns,” said Portus Canio.

The officer thrust through the gate, but scarcely had he entered the area, a stranger, one unknown to the tarns, than one of the birds flew at him, aggressively, and he sprang back through the narrow opening and the great, yellow, scimitarlike beak snapped on the bars, not a foot from his hand.

“They are so tame?” inquired the officer, irritably, turning to regard Portus Canio.

“I do not know what could be the matter,” said Portus Canio. “Perhaps it is just that they do not know you.”

“It is growing late,” said one of the men. “We have other areas to search.”

“Several,” said another.

“Stand,” snapped the officer, to Ellen, who, instantly, so addressed, a slave, stood.

The officer then, appraisingly, walked about her. He felt her breasts, admiringly. She gasped, softly, reluctantly, stimulated, but she dared not resist or protest. She was a slave. She could be felt and handled as men wished. He lowered his hand to her left hip and she drew back, inadvertently, frightened. He smiled, and drew back his hand.

“Open your mouth,” said the officer.

Ellen opened her mouth, widely, and the officer, putting his fingers to her mouth, held it open, uncomfortably, and looked within. He then released her and she closed her mouth, keeping her head down.

“She is a barbarian,” said Portus.

“I can see that,” said the officer. “Too, she has the barbarian brand on her upper left arm.” That was, as would be supposed, a vaccination mark.

“She is a barbarian,” repeated Portus, disparagingly.

“No matter,” said the officer. “And the little scars on the upper left arm do not, I have found, reduce their value in the markets.”

“She is a poor piece of barbarian slave meat,” said Selius Arconious, from his knees.

“I think she is rather pretty,” said the officer. “I think she would look well, chained by the neck, being marched in a slave coffle. I do not think she would be the worst bead on a slaver’s necklace.”

“A meaningless barbarian,” said Portus.

“Certainly she is meaningless,” said the officer, “as she is a slave, and particularly so, as she is a mere barbarian.”

“She is a low slave, a cheap slave,” said Portus, “good only for the cleaning of cages, the scrubbing of floors, the carrying of water, the replenishing of straw, such things.”

“She is not a draft slave,” said the officer. “She is a slight and beautiful slave. She would be better applied to softer, more feminine labors, the licking of a man’s feet, and such.”

“Surely you can see what a poor slave she is,” said Portus, “how insignificant she is, what poor goods she is.”

“I cannot really see that,” said the officer.

“I have seen toads who are more attractive,” said Selius Arconious.

How hateful you are, Selius Arconious, she thought.

“Toads like this one sell well,” said the officer.

Take that, Selius Arconious, she thought.

“She is plain,” said Selius Arconious.

Not so plain, she thought, not so plain at all!

“Too, be sure, she should be washed, and combed, and brushed,” said the officer.

“A low slave,” said Portus, disparagingly.

“Think of her belled, in a diaphanous thread of slave silk,” said the officer.

“In a paga tavern, in Cos?” asked Portus.

“Why not?” said the officer.

“She is quite homely,” said Selius Arconious.

Not at all, she thought. I have seen myself in the mirror!

“She is young,” said the officer, “but if you think she is homely, I suspect you have serious difficulties with your vision.”

There, Selius Arconious, she thought.

“Surely you cannot find her of the least interest,” said Selius Arconious.

“She has exquisite features and a slight, but beautiful figure,” said the officer.

How men might think, and speak, of her!

But was she not goods?

Ellen was acutely aware of the collar on her neck.

“She is nothing,” said Selius Arconious.

“No,” said the officer. “You are wrong. She is an exquisitely beautiful slave.”

“Absurd,” said Selius Arconious.

Not absurd, she thought. Have you not heard the appraisal? He is an officer. He has doubtless judged many women. Could it be, she asked herself, that I am beautiful, even exquisitely beautiful, if only as a slave is beautiful?

“I confiscate her in the name of Cos,” said the officer.

“No!” cried Selius Arconious, who would have sprung to his feet, save that the butt of a spear, pressing down on his shoulder, kept him in place.

“Please, no, Master!” begged Ellen.

“Were you given permission to speak?” asked the officer.

“No, Master,” said Ellen. “Forgive me, Master!” But the officer had put his left hand in her hair, to hold her in place, and he then lashed her face back and forth, striking her twice, first with the stinging flat of his right hand, then with the slashing back of the right hand. Ellen tasted blood in her mouth. “Forgive me, Master,” she whimpered, her head down. “Please forgive me, Master.”