Rebels of Gor (93 page)

“No,” I said.

“Because you are a man of Earth,” she said.

“No,” I said, “because I have no wish to subject a helpless, vulnerable animal to so fearful a fate. It is ugly. It seems to me not fitting.”

“An animal?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You see me as an animal?” she said.

“It is what you are,” I said. Surely she knew that though not all animals were slaves, all slaves were animals.

I pointed to my feet.

She rose hurriedly to her feet, hurried to me, and knelt before me, her head down.

Her lips pressed against my sea boots, her wrists braceleted behind her, and I saw the moist imprints on the leather, again and again, and the moist streaks on them, from the caresses of her tongue.

“You are far from the throne of Ar,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Hurry, hurry, Commander!” cried the mariner.

I drew the slave forcibly to her feet, and thrust her, stumbling, into the keeping of the mariner.

“Bring her aboard,” I said.

The slave cried out with joy.

“This woman is a high slave, is she not?” asked the mariner.

“No,” I said. “She is a low slave, a common slave.”

“What shall be done with her?”

“Once she is on board,” I said, “remove her clothing, completely, and then chain her below, with other low slaves, in the foulest of your slave holds.”

“Yes, Commander!” said the mariner.

“You cannot have that done to me,” she said. “You are a man of Earth!”

“I have learned Gor,” I said. “I am of Gor.”

“No!” she said.

“What is a man of Earth?” I asked.

“A pathetic weakling,” she said, “shallow, manipulable, and eager to please, the puppet of a pathological, unnatural culture, a patriot of self-betrayal, one who prides himself on treason to his own blood, the creature of what he is told, one who will not think, one who will not raise his eyes to the stars, nor listen to the beating of his own heart.”

“Perhaps it is not so,” I said.

“There are no Goreans on Earth!” she said.

“You are mistaken,” I said. “There are many. Indeed, in the heart of every male, there is a Gorean, even if only a secret, concealed Gorean. Do you think men are so willing to relinquish manhood, or so stupid as to submit like dumb animals to their impoverishment, belling, and slaughter? Even the mighty larl can be brought down by a swarm of squealing urts, but this does not prove the superiority of the urt to the larl, to the lonely, proud hunter, content in his mountain vastnesses, prowling about, alert and soft-footed, in remote wildernesses.”

She looked behind herself, wildly, as the mariner, his hand on her upper right arm, half dragged her to the gangplank.

I thought of Cecily, waiting in my cabin. When she heard my footstep she would place the switch, crosswise, between her teeth, and await my entry.

One could grow fond of Cecily.

I would then gently remove the switch from between her teeth, and lay it aside.

To be sure, the slave, however much desired and cherished, grateful for the kindness of the master, that she will be kept, as she wishes, in helpless bondage, and joyful in her submission, is not to be allowed to forget that she is a slave, and only that. Accordingly the bindings, blindfoldings, gaggings, occasional strokes, and such, which remind her of her condition, that she is a female and owned, that she is a woman, and her master’s slave. These things, for she is a slave, and desires to be a slave, confirms her bondage, and reassures her, that she is truly what she is, and desires to be, her master’s slave.

I looked up to the rail of the
River Dragon
. Licinius Lysias was at the rail, looking down. He lifted the small box of bones and shells and shook it, and then pointed to the slave, being half dragged up the gangplank. “I see you, too, have a souvenir of the World’s End,” he said.

I waved to him, and hurried to the gangplank.

I had no sooner crossed it than the mariners drew it inboard.

The ropes were cast off from the mooring cleats by docksmen, and were being drawn aboard the
River Dragon
by mariners.

I saw the wharf, water risen almost to the planks, begin to slip to the side.

Looking up, I saw the battened sails being raised, and opened to the wind.

The slave, still in the grip of the mariner, had not yet been conducted below.

“What are you going to do with me?” she said.

“Sell you in Brundisium,” I said.

“No!” she said.

“With other slaves,” I said.

“No, no!” she said.

“If I were you,” I said, “I would be reticent about revealing my antecedents, or former history.”

“You cannot sell me!” she said.

“Do not fear,” I said. “Given your veiling, and half-veiling, in your rare public appearances, few will know the former Ubara of Ar by sight. Further, I do not think it is likely that anyone is likely to recognize the former Ubara of Ar in one girl amongst others, vended one after another, in a cheap market in Brundisium.”

“A cheap market?” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “that pleases me. But, too, in such a market you would be less likely to be recognized.”

“But low men,” she said, “patronize such markets.”

“Rejoice,” I said, “in such a market you might prove a genuine bargain.”

“Beast!” she said.

“Perhaps you would prefer the Curulean, in Ar,” I said.

“But who will buy me?” she said.

“He who bids the highest,” I said.

“In such markets,” she said, “girls go for copper!”

“I know,” I said.

“You are amused!” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Tarsk!” she said.

“Doubtless, in time,” I said, “you will have dozens of sales, dozens of collars, and dozens of masters.”

“I hate you,” she said.

I turned to the mariner in whose charge was the slave. “Strip her,” I said, “and see that she is chained with other slaves, in the foulest of the slave holds.”

“She is a low slave then, truly,” said the mariner.

“Yes,” I said, “a low slave, a very low slave.”

The slave then, looking behind her, over her shoulder, her small wrists braceleted behind her, was dragged from my sight.

It occurred to me that she had been, from time to time, insufficiently respectful of a free man, but I effected nothing critical. She would soon learn slave deference, and her new lot in life.

I turned back to the rail. The wharf was slipping sway. I could hear the sails moving in the wind. I looked up from the wharf to the lofty holding of the shogun, Lord Temmu. Clouds were about the graceful roof of the castle. I saw a tarn aflight. I then turned my attention to the east, and the vast, swelling billows of Thassa, extending before me to the horizon.

I thought of astute, patient, brilliant Lord Nishida, of swaying, ponderous Lord Okimoto, poet, and master of calligraphy, and Lord Temmu, his narrow, covetous eyes to the south, and the dominions of Lord Yamada. Haruki would be tending his garden. I thought, too, of bold, young Tajima, so bright, and earnest, and of a slave, Nezumi. And I thought, too, of a short, thickly bodied, homely man, in whose hands a sword could sing, and part a grain of rice on a human forehead.

Thassa lay ahead, and, far off, the continent.

The World’s End was now behind me.