Rebels of Gor (28 page)

“What of this one?” inquired the Ashigaru.

“Pertinax?” I asked

“I am looking for another,” he said.

“Jane?” I said.

“If she is here,” he said.

His Jane was Gorean, the former Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Gate Towers, of the Serisii, prior to being reduced to bondage. The House of the Serisii was once a major mercantile house in Ar. During the occupation it had collaborated with the occupational forces and engaged in profiteering. It had been substantially extirpated, and its resources seized, following the restoration of Marlenus, Ubar of Ubars.

Pertinax indicated the slave might return to her place at the rear of the pen.

“There might be another here, in which you might be interested,” I said.

“Jane does well at my feet,” he said.

“Perhaps another might do as well,” I said.

The switch of the Ashigaru flicked once more.

The one before us now had long, light brown hair, almost blond. It fell about her body, loosely.

“You know better,” said the Ashigaru.

Frightened, without unclasping her small hands from the back of her neck, she bent down, and then straightened up, tossing the hair behind her shoulders.

I noted no blemish which she might have attempted to conceal. Similarly, as she would not be new to bondage, it seemed unlikely that her indiscretion might be attributed to self-consciousness, or shyness, let alone modesty, which is not permitted to female slaves, no more than to verr and tarsk. More likely it seemed she might have been attempting to provoke attention, curiosity, uncertainty, or puzzlement. Perhaps she hoped to stand a bit longer before us, until she shook her hair back, drawing the curtain away, that we might be dazzled. Sometimes this trick is used by girls in exhibition cages, awaiting their sale in the evening, taking their hair in their hands and lifting it behind their head, which action both reveals her beauty and accentuates it. Still, she, a pen girl, a low slave, a common slave, should have known better.

The Ashigaru pointed her out to one of his fellows. “Five lashes,” he said.

The girl cried out with misery and hurried to her place, at the back of the pen.

I myself would have overlooked the matter. I myself am rather fond of such things, of the tiny stratagems, the tricks and devices, of female slaves. I wonder sometimes if they do not understand how transparent such things are. Do they think men do not understand them? In any event, such things, in my view, make them more delightful, ever more helpless, vulnerable, and ownable. They are, after all, only female slaves, and have only their wit and beauty, and their capacity to appeal to males, to improve their lot. They are wholly dependent on masters, as they should be. How helpless they are, how delightfully helpless. Let them strive then to stimulate, intrigue, and please. Let them exert their wiles, but it is on their necks that the collar is locked. Perhaps one might do her best to encourage a male to bid on her, but she cannot make him do so. She is the slave.

“Behold!” I said.

“Yes!” said Pertinax.

Before him, fallen to her knees, her head to the floor, her hands still clasped behind her head, was a dark-haired slave.

She lifted her head, piteously, hopefully, her lips trembling, tears in her eyes.

“That one,” said Pertinax.

The Ashigaru motioned her to the side, and she leapt up and hurried to wait, beside Cecily.

I was pleased that Jane had had the intelligence to remain absolutely silent. She had not received permission to speak.

“Shall we go?” asked Pertinax.

“Tajima has not yet made a selection,” I said.

“There are no Pani here,” he said.

“Even so,” I said.

“Two will be enough to serve,” he said.

“Wait,” I said. “I am sure there will be one more of interest in this flock of vulos.”

“Not Pani,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“I am sorry,” said the Ashigaru. “But surely each one here is a suitable sex-tarsk.”

“Very much so,” I said.

“You have some reason for dalliance, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

“Perhaps,” I said.

Two more slaves presented themselves, each then dismissed.

Then suddenly a slave rushed to the wooden, polelike bars, and pressed herself against them, as though she might slip through them, or burst them, reaching out, piteously, to Pertinax.

“Gregory,” she cried, “Gregory! Gregory White! Do you not recognize me! I am Margaret! Margaret Wentworth! Do you not remember the office, the firm? We were colleagues on Earth! We came to Gor together! Help me, free me!”

But Pertinax had stepped back, that her fingers might not have touched him.

“We were colleagues,” she said. “We are both from Earth! See what lamentable fate has befallen me! Why did you not come to see me in the stables at Tarncamp? Why did you not rescue me, and free me! Do you not understand? I have been marked! I am such as may be collared!”

Pertinax was silent.

“Do you not see what has been done to me? Take me out of this terrible place! Take me out of this pen! It is a pen! A pen! Take me out of this pen! It is a pen for slaves, for slaves! Do you not know what is done with us here, what is expected of us, what we must do! Do you not understand the dirt, the filth, the darkness, the long days in the fields, the arduous labors, the digging, the carrying of sacks of dirt on our backs, the being yoked, the carrying buckets of water, the switches of the overseers!”

I put my hand on the wrist of the Ashigaru, for I feared he was ready to switch her extended arms and hands, reaching through the bars.

“You love me, Gregory,” she said. “You know you do! You have loved me from the first moment you saw me! I will let you hold me! I will let you kiss me! Choose me, free me!”

“You were worthless on Earth,” he said. “And you are worthless now.”

“You want me!” she cried. “A woman can tell!”

“Kneel,” he said.

In consternation, she slipped to her knees, confused.

“I am Pertinax,” he said. “I am a free man.”

“You wish to play this game,” she said, “as before, when we pretended to be master and slave, to conceal our identities, and that you were my employee?”

“This is no game,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “I understand.”

“No, you do not,” he said. “This is no game.”

I saw fear in her eyes.

“You cannot be serious,” she said.

“Let us move on to the next girl,” said the Ashigaru.

“No, no, no!” she cried. “Choose, choose me!” she said to Pertinax.
 

But he merely looked down upon her. I could see the marks of the wooden bars on her body where she had pressed herself closely against them.

“Choose me, Gregory,” she said. “Please, Gregory, choose me!”

His eyes were stern.

“Please,” she said, “please, Master. Please choose me, Master.”

“I have a slave,” he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide in disbelief and fear.

“Next girl,” said the Ashigaru.

“Wait,” I said. “Tajima, select her.”

“She is not Pani,” he said.

“No matter,” I said.

“Very well,” he said. “That one.”

The Ashigaru motioned her to the side, where she joined Cecily and Jane. As Saru, the former Miss Margaret Wentworth, knew my slave was Cecily; she viewed Jane with coldness, a chill which was clearly returned by Jane, who would not have been unaware of the scene at the bars.

“She spoke without permission,” said the Ashigaru to Tajima. “How many lashes would you prefer?”

“How many are customary?” asked Tajima.

“Five,” said the Ashigaru.

“I shall leave the matter to my fellow,” said Tajima, turning to Pertinax.

“Ten lashes,” said Pertinax.

“Ten,” said Tajima.

“Good,” said the Ashigaru, and turned to his fellow. “Ten,” he said.

“Ten,” said the other.

“Let us leave,” said Tajima. “I am not particularly fastidious, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, but this place does smell.”

“True,” I said.

We then left the large shed which housed the pens. I trusted we would have an opportunity to wash before supper. Certainly it would take time to prepare the slaves.

Chapter Twenty

Supper in the Palace of Lord Yamada

“My thanks, noble lord,” said Pertinax to Lord Yamada.

“It is nothing,” said Lord Yamada.

Tajima turned to the side, and bowed politely from where he sat, cross-legged, at the long, low table. We all sat on the same side of the table, side by side, where we might look out the large opened portal before us, the screens removed, onto the moonlit garden.

Both Pertinax and Tajima now had slung about their necks chains of gold.

“Such trinkets, such trifles,” said Lord Yamada, “are but tiny tokens of my esteem, and of the wealth of the House of Yamada. They are but a small and unworthy anticipation of treasures to come.”

Lord Akio sat to my right. Pertinax was to my left. Tajima sat to the immediate right of Lord Yamada, as seemed fitting, as he was not only a high officer but Pani. Sumomo, in beautiful silks, a daughter of the shogun, knelt between Tajima and Pertinax. I had been startled to see Sumomo at the table. By now I feared she might have been nailed naked to one of the palace gates. I had gathered, earlier, from Lord Yamada that, in his view, she had failed him, even to the point of placing certain plans in jeopardy. I had gathered that her lapse had taken place on the outer parapet of the Holding of Temmu, where she had been detected casting a message, beribboned to facilitate its detection and retrieval, as Tajima had later confirmed my earlier speculation, to a confederate below. Tajima had witnessed this and inferred, naturally enough, that this was done on behalf of Lord Nishida, to whom she was supposedly contracted. One did suppose that her indiscretion would eventually be brought to the attention of Lord Nishida which intelligence, assuming him loyal to Lord Temmu, would terminate her usefulness in his quarters, as a spy. Similarly, one supposed that there was a possibility that this development might bring suspicion on Daichi, given her occasional interactions with, or meetings with, the reader of bones and shells. I suspected that the matter might not be as serious as Lord Yamada feared, and might require little more than some rearrangement of his plans, the ensconcement of a new spy, a fresh, suitable revelation for Daichi to find in his bones and shells, and such, but, as I knew the shogun, his displeasure was not too lightly brooked. He had determined to destroy Sumomo as a failed agent. As he had told me, he had many daughters. Sumomo herself seemed utterly unaware that she might be in danger. This evening Lord Yamada bestowed on her all the attention, interest, friendliness, and kindness of a loving father. One could scarcely conceive a more enviable model of paternal solicitude. I feared she had not the least awareness of the darkness which lay in his heart. I do not even think she even realized why she had been recalled to the palace. I suspected she did not know that her compromising action had been observed. Perhaps she had been recalled in view of new plans, perhaps to be utilized differently, or more importantly. If she had had trepidations at her return to the palace, they seemed to have been assuaged. Lord Yamada, I was sure, had taken great pains to dispel them. But I could not understand her presence at the table. Perhaps it was twofold, first, that her beauty and charm would add luster to the evening; and, second, that the categorical reversal of her fortune, perhaps suddenly manifested, would be found instructive by the guests, as they would then better understand the consequences of having failed the shogun. But, too, it may have been much simpler. Perhaps it simply pleased the shogun, who was reputed to have a fondness for jests. I had heard that more than one individual had been summoned to the palace, thinking to be honored and rewarded, and had perished miserably in the straw jacket.

Three slaves attended on the tables, mostly head down, that they might not meet the eyes of free persons. Their service, as was appropriate for Gorean slaves, was graceful, deferential, efficient, silent, and unobtrusive. They would kneel to receive their dishes or vessels from the table of the kitchen master, the serving table, toward the back and right of the room, rise, approach the guests’ table, kneel, and, their arms extended, their head down between their extended arms, place the dish or vessel, held in two hands, on the table; they would then rise and back away, that they might not turn their back on a free person without permission, and then, sensing they were dismissed, they would return to the vicinity of the serving table, near which they would kneel. They had apparently all been warned, for, though each was a pleasure slave, they knelt in the modest, charming position of what, on the continent, would be referred to as the position of the tower slave, their knees closely together. I did not doubt but what this was because a free woman was to be present, Sumomo. Their backs were straight and the palms of their hands were down, on their thighs. Even kneeling so, so modestly, I found them fetching. Certainly Cecily, Saru, and Jane were three beauties. They were excellent picks from the pen. Putting aside the manner of kneeling, which was suitably decorous, given the occasion, they were, at least, appropriately garmented. Clearly their garmenture had been determined by men. Each was clad identically, and, I was pleased to see, as what she was, a slave.