Rogue of Gor (11 page)

The sitting man again drank.

"If he knew you as I do," said the standing man, "you would now be dead."

The sitting man looked into the goblet, now empty, on the table. His hands clutched it. His fingers were white. His eyes seemed empty. His cheeks, unshaven, were pale and hollow.

"Paga!" called the standing man. "Paga!" A blond girl, nude, with a string of pearls wound about her steel collar, ran to the table and, from the bronze vessel, on its strap, about her shoulder, poured paga into the goblet before the seated man. The fellow who stood by the table, scarcely noticing the girl, placed a tarsk bit in her mouth, and she fled back to the counter where, under the eye of a paga attendant, she spit the coin into a copper bowl. There seemed to me something familiar about the girl, but I could not place it.

"Drink, Callimachus," said the standing man. "Drink."

The seated man, unsteadily, lifted the paga to his lips.

Then he who had stood by the table turned about and left. I backed away from the table.

"The fellow who threatened me," I said to Tasdron, the proprietor of the tavern, "he called Kliomenes. Who is he?"

"He is Kliomenes, the pirate, lieutenant to Policrates," said Tasdron.

"And the other," I asked, "he who was standing by the table, speaking to the man who saved me?"

"His captain," said Tasdron, "Policrates himself."

I swallowed, hard.

"You are fortunate to be alive," said Tasdron. "I think per. haps you should leave Victoria."

"At what time do the sales begin in the sales barn of Lysander?" I asked.

"They have already begun," said Tasdron.

Hurriedly I ran to the table where I had left my things. I drew on my clothes and hastily slung my sword over my left shoulder. I picked up my winnings from the fighting. I saw the blond girl, she who had the pearls wrapped about her collar, looking at me. It seemed to me that I had seen her somewhere. I placed my winnings in my pouch, and tied it at my belt. I could not recall if, or where, or when, I might have seen her. She was a not unattractive slave. Then I hurried out the door. I made my way rapidly toward the sales barn of Lysander.

9

WHAT OCCURRED AT THE

SALES BARN OF LYSANDER

“This red-haired beauty," called the auctioneer, "is catch of Captain Thrasymedes. She can play the lute."

There was raucous laughter. "How good is she in the furs?" called a voice.

The girl went for four copper tarsks.

"Have the girls of Kliomenes been sold?" I asked a fellow.

"Yes," said a fellow. I cried out with anguish. "Most," said another.

"Most?" I pressed him.

"Yes," he said, "I think there are others, taken near Lara."

"What am I offered for this blonde?" called the auctioneer.

"Weren't they sold before?" asked the first fellow.

"Not all, I think," said the second man.

I left their sides and pushed through the crowd, making my way nearer the high, round, sawdust-strewn block.

"Watch where you are going, Fellow," snarled a man.

I stopped by the ready cage. Inside, sitting on a wooden bench, behind stout, closely-set bars, miserable, clutching sheets about themselves, some with glazed eyes, sat some ten girls. I clutched the bars, from the outside, looking within. She whom I sought was not there. One girl rose from the bench, her left ankle pulling against the chain and shackle that held her with the others, and dropped the sheet to her waist. "Buy me," she begged, putting her hand toward me. I stepped back. "This is not an exhibition cage," said an attendant, putting his hand on my arm. "You may not loiter here." "Buy me," begged the girl, reaching toward me. I gathered that she, unlike several of the others, apparently, had had masters. "Are these all the items that remain for sale?" I asked the attendant. "No," he said. "Are there girls of Kliomenes who remain to be sold?" I asked, desperately. "I do not know," he said. "I do not have the manifests."

Miserably I turned about and went back to stand with the others, in the vicinity of the block.

The blonde went for six tarsks.

"And here," said the auctioneer, "we have another blonde. This one, like many of the girls now in the ready cage, was free."

There was laughter. "Make her kiss the whip!" called a man.

"Down, Wench, and kiss the whip!" ordered the auctioneer. The girl knelt and kissed the whip. There was more laughter. He then began to put her through slave paces.

There were some two hundred men at the sale. Such sales occur frequently in the various sales barns of Victoria, sometimes running for several nights in a row. The spring and summer are the busiest seasons, for these are the seasons of heaviest river, traffic and, accordingly, the seasons when Pirates, after their raids, are most likely to bring in their loot. Many of the men at the sales barn were professional slavers, from other towns and cities, looking for bargains.

"Sold to Targo, of Ar!" announced the auctioneer. Manacles were then clapped on the blonde and she was dragged from the block.

I was angry, for I did not even know if Miss Henderson was to be sold, or if she had already been sold. If she had been sold she might even now, while I stood about, helplessly, be being transported from Victoria, a slave, anywhere. My fists were clenched. My palms were sweating.

The next two girls, brunettes, were sold to Lucilius, of Tyros. The next four slaves were purchased by a fellow named Publius, who was an agent for a Mintar, of Ar.

I waited, as the bidding grew more heated, and as more men entered the building. Five times the ready cage was emptied and filled, and emptied, as girls, freed of their shackles, were ordered to the block's surface for their vending.

"Do none of these women interest you?" asked a man nearby.

"Many are lovely," I said. Indeed, had I not been waiting desperately, miserably, for she whom I sought I might have been tempted to bid hotly on several of them. To own any one of them would have been a joy and a triumph. The man who has owned a woman or women, knows of what I speak. Perhaps even those who have never owned a woman can sense, dimly, what it might be like. I know of no pleasure comparable to the pleasure of owning a woman fully. It is indescribably delicious; it is glorious; it fills one with joy and power; it exalts and fulfills the blood. It teaches a male, in the thunderous currency of intellect and emotion, what is the true meaning of manhood. Compared to it the gratifications of pretense and denial, the insistence on subverting one's blood and virility in the name of a false manhood conditioned by a demented, antibiological society, are pallid indeed. Let those who can climb mountains climb them; let those who cannot climb them console themselves denying their existence.

"The brunette four sales ago," said the man next to me, "was she not superb?"

"Yes," I said. She had indeed been stunning. In this market, to her indignation, she had gone for only fourteen copper tarsks. She had been sold to an agent of Clark, of Thentis. The next brunette, in my opinion, had been even more stunning. She had gone for a mere fifteen copper tarsks. She had been sold to a Cleanthes of Teletus.

"Sold to Vart, of Port Kar!” called the auctioneer, and a redhead was taken from the platform.

"And here," called the auctioneer, "we have one of the catches of Kliomenes, taken near Lara."

He tore the sheet away from the girl on the block, throwing it to the side.

She wore only her sales collar with her sales disk, on which was written her lot number, wired to the steel.

"A cold, prissy little Earth slut," called the auctioneer, "and yet one not without interest, as you can see." He bent her back, his hand in her hair, exposing the bow of her beauty to the men.

There was a sound of pleasure from the crowd.

"She is already branded," said the auctioneer, "but has served primarily as a display slave, and not a use slave." He then turned her, still keeping his hand in her hair, so that those on his left might better see her. "Accordingly," he said, "she is not yet fully broken to the collar." There was laughter from the crowd. He then turned her so that those on his right might better see her. "In my opinion," said he, "it is now time for this girl to learn the various, uses to which a slave can be put." "Yes!" shouted more than one fellow. He then, as she gasped, bent her back a bit more, turning her again toward her left, so that she was presented exquisitely to the men. "Does she not appear ready for taming and heating?" inquired the auctioneer.

"Yes," shouted several men, "yes!" The girl trembled. She knew she might belong to any one of them.

"What am I bid?" called the auctioneer.

"Two copper tarsks," called a man.

"Four!" cried another.

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"Nine!"

"Eleven!"

"This is an exquisite little slut!" called the auctioneer. He then released her hair. "Stand straight," he ordered the girl. She did so. He walked about the platform, with the whip.

"Twelve!"

"Thirteen!"

"She was beautiful enough to be a display slave,” said the auctioneer.

"Fourteen!" was called out.

"Now you can have her for your own work and use slave!” pointed out the auctioneer.

"Fifteen!" I heard.

"Consider her, surrendered, squirming in your furs!” he said.

"Sixteen!" I heard.

"Do I hear only sixteen tarsks for this exquisite little bargain?" inquired the auctioneer, incredulously.

"Sixteen," repeated the man.

The auctioneer spun to face the girl. "Kneel, and kiss the whip," he ordered her.

Swiftly the girl, frightened, knelt before him. She took the coils of the whip in her small hands and, lowering her head, kissed them.

"On your feet," barked the auctioneer. "I will have a fit price for you."

The girl, terrified, sprang to her feet.

"Put her through her paces!" called a man. "Let us see what she can do!" called another.

The auctioneer shook out the coils of the whip. He then, rapidly, loudly, clearly, in a series of orders, sometimes cracking the whip, commanded the girl, one by one, swiftly, to assume an intricately patterned series of postures and attitudes. Seldom, I think, in so brief a compass, could a woman be displayed so fully as a female. He then cracked his whip and, ordered her to stand straight upon the platform sucking in her gut. She was breathing heavily; there were tears in her eyes; she was trembling; she was covered with sweat and sawdust. He had permitted her no respite or quarter. The buyers now well understood the nature of the goods on which they were bidding.

"Twenty-two tarsks!" called a man.

"'Twenty-three!" called another.

So stunned I was that I had not even entered the bidding. I had never dreamed she could be so beautiful. What fools are the men of Earth, I thought, for the woman on the block was an Earth woman, to let their women off so lightly. What fools they are not to own their women and force them to manifest the true fullness and desirability of their beauty. The woman on the block was an Earth woman. Did she not show, in her own person, how beautiful women of Earth could be. And Yet I knew that on Earth such women commonly languished, their beauty denied its meaning and fulfillment, their beauty not summoned forth, not commanded forth, for the pleasure, the sport and service of strong men.

"Twenty-five tarsks!"

"Twenty-six!"

"Twenty-seven !”

"Twenty-eight!"

"Thirty!"

"Buy her," a voice seemed to say to me. "Buy the slave! Make her yours!" "No, no!" I said, half aloud. "I cannot!" "What did you say?" asked the man next to me. "Nothing, nothing!" I said.

"Thirty-five!" I heard.

"Forty!" I heard

"Forty two!"

I could not even enter the bidding. I could scarcely breathe. My heart was pounding. I had never dreamed she could be so beautiful. It seemed I could not even speak. I could not take my eyes off the girl under the torches, the collar and sales disk at her throat. I was trembling.

"Forty-four!" I heard.

"Forty six!"

I trembled. I had seen Miss Beverly Henderson kiss the whip. I had seen her put through slave paces.

"Forty-seven!" I heard.

"Forty-eight!"

"Fifty!"

Suddenly the girl cried out, startled. Her reflex had been spasmodic, uncontrollable. Then she put her head in her hands, weeping. Her entire body, under the torches, turned a creamy crimson in color.

"Ninety tarsks!" called a man.

The auctioneer stepped back from the girl, the whip in his hand.

"I have ninety tarsks," he called.

"She is not so cold," said the man next to me.

"No," I said, “no.”

"Ninety-two tarsks!" called a man.