Smugglers of Gor (13 page)

I looked at the second ship.

“Let us return to the inn of Tasdron,” said my slave.

“You are fond of its gruel?” I asked.

“I am afraid on the wharves,” she said, “the men, how they look at me.”

“You must accustom yourself to that,” I said. “You are a desirable slave.”

“Sometimes,” she said, “slaves, even free women, disappear from the wharves.”

“You heard that in the tavern,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, uneasily.

“They would be safe enough,” I said, “on a chain somewhere.”

I looked after the first ship. I remembered the slender barbarian. At last I was rid of her. I could now put her from my mind.

The matter was now done.

I unlooped the leash from the neck of my slave, and gave it a jerk, that she might feel it pull at the back of her neck. She looked at me. She was now again the captive of the leash.

The first ship was now near the breakwater.

The matter was over. It must be over. It must be done!

I cried out, angrily.

“Master?” inquired the slave, frightened.

I turned about.

“Master,” she said, “that is not the way to the inn of Tasdron!”

I strode to the second ship.

“Tal,” I said, to he whom I remembered from the tavern. He was near the boarding plank, to the second ship. It was he, Tyrtaios, who had proffered the golden stater.

He turned about. “Tal,” he said.

“Do you still want swords for the north?” I asked.

“Such as yours, yes,” he said.

“I might take ship,” I said.

“I had expected to have you aboard,” he said, “bound and gagged, in the hold.”

“Is my sword so valuable?” I asked.

“You, and your kind,” he said, “may be more valuable than you suspect.”

“Men who ask few questions?” I said.

“Assassins, slavers, and such,” he said, “men who are open to unusual opportunities, who will do much for gold, and ask no questions.”

My slave, as we were stopped, knelt at my thigh, her head down, as was appropriate. The leash looped up to my left hand.

Tyrtaios regarded her. “Your slave is lovely,” he said.

“She is not yet fully trained,” I said.

“Different men train them differently,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“She is from the inn, is she not?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“She seems much different now,” he said.

“She is,” I said.

“Would you like several like her, or better?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” I said. Some men reckon wealth in terms of tarn disks, others kaiila, others bosk, and some in terms of slaves.

“I sent two messengers to recruit you,” he said, “but they failed in their mission.”

“Oh?” I said.

“They were set upon in the darkness,” he said, “pummeled, and robbed, by a dozen assailants.”

“It must be difficult to determine the number in the dark,” I said.

“A great number,” he said.

“Interesting,” I said.

“I offered you a golden stater,” he said.

“I am a two-stater hire,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said.

He drew from his purse two golden staters and, one after the other, placed them in my hand. I placed them in my pouch.

“What is doing in the north?” I said. “Where are you bound?”

He regarded me. His eyes, oddly, reminded me of those of a snake.

“Forgive me,” I said.

“Welcome aboard,” he said.

The voyage to the north, I gather from Brundisium, had taken several days, and for us, kept most of the time in a lower portion of the ship, in darkness, on damp sand, unable even to stand upright, was unspeakably miserable. We were also put in collars and chained together by the neck, seventeen of us. We lived for the moments when the hatch would be opened, and we would be allowed to climb the ladder and emerge on the open deck. There was another ship, like ours, astern. We had several soldiers aboard, as well as mariners. We were too small and weak to be put to the great levers drawn by the oarsmen. The time is kept by a drum. Mostly we proceeded under sail. Several nights the ship was beached and the crew and soldiers went ashore to sleep and cook, and, I suppose, to hunt, take on water, and such. We were kept in the hold. Watches were doubtless kept. If there is an alarm, the ship may be launched in a matter of Ihn. I know this, for a drill was done twice. Each man knows where he is to be, and what he is to do. Perhaps that is why we were not taken ashore. Certainly, given our chaining, there was no possibility that we could have slipped away, perhaps to starve or be eaten in the wild. In some places, farther south, there are women in the forest who do not belong to men. They are free women and hate us, for we belong to men. If they capture us they beat us and sell us. But if they are captured, it is said that they, too, quickly, learn they belong to men. Apparently they sell well.

Once we were brought to the deck, and placed at the rail. There, one by one, our hands were tied behind us. A third ship, low in the water, was abeam, parallel to us.

Our captain had a glass of the Builders and was surveying the third ship. “She flies the pennons of Brundisium,” said one of his officers. “I do not think she is of Brundisium,” said the captain, soberly. “Port Kar?” asked the officer. “I do not know,” said the captain. “Fly the code flags. We shall await the countersign.” Pennons were raised on a halyard. “No response,” said the officer. “She is thinking of closing,” said the captain. “Keep the armsmen out of sight.” “If she closes,” said the officer, “it will be the end of her.” “Yes,” said the captain. “That is the purpose of the slaves,” said the officer, “to lure her in?” “Rather,” said the captain, “to seem to lure her in. That will make them wary. Too, we have a fellow astern, so there would be two ships to one. I think she is merely scouting us.” “It is, then, a corsair,” said the officer. “Yes,” said the captain. “I think so. At least she is not of Brundisium, despite her pennons.” “Do you anticipate an engagement?” asked the officer. “No,” said the captain. We remained, neck-chained, and back-bound, for nearly an Ahn at the rail. Then the strange ship turned away.

At last we reached some point on the northern coast, in the vicinity of the great forests. We were brought to the deck, and then, when the ship had the beach abeam, and was a few yards from shore, we were plunged over the rail, and found ourselves awash in the surf. My head went under water for a moment, and the roaring of the sea thundered in my ears. I was for a moment terrified, and disoriented. But the weight of the chain oriented me, and, struggling, I got my legs under me and, sputtering, coughing, my eyes half blinded with salt water, I stood up. The water was not deep, but it was cold. It came only to my waist. We were waded to the shore and knelt there, in the surf, it washing up about our knees and calves. I shivered, and wiped the water from my eyes. I could see the beach before me, which was a mix of sand and rock. It seemed rough, cold, and forbidding. But beyond it I could see the forest, which seemed lonely and beautiful. There was no one about that I could see, and I wondered how this place, which might be no different from ten thousand others, had been selected for our landfall. There must have been a signal of some sort. Naturally I had no idea where we were, other than on some remote beach, in the north. We were days from our port of departure.

“Position,” called a fellow, himself descending from the ship, splashing, and wading to shore.

So, cold, wet, and shivering, miserable, we went to “position,” kneeling back on our heels, our backs straight, our heads up, looking ahead, our knees spread, as the slaves we were, the palms of our hands down on our thighs.

It seemed then that the men forgot about us.

And it is well-known that kajirae are curious.

Much of the material cargo was being put to shore. Several men were in the water, being handed boxes, sacks, and bales, and some sealed vessels, even
craters
and
amphorae
. Some of the larger boxes were cast overboard, and, thrust, were floated to shore. Two large boxes, which had been lashed down on deck, and covered with greased canvas, were lowered over the side on ropes, with great care, to several men. I had no idea what the content of these boxes might be.

“Ai!” I cried, in misery, lashed at the side of the neck by a switch. He had come up behind me, from having brought a small barrel to shore.

“Are you not to be in position, your eyes forward?” he inquired.

“Yes, Master!” I said. “Forgive me, Master!”

I had twisted about, just a little, from time to time, to watch the men.

“Ha!” he said. “And you two, your eyes are now forward!”

“Yes, Master!” they said. Then they cried out, “Forgive me, Master!” I heard their cries, to my right, as the switch struck twice.

I was not the only one, it seemed, who had been curious.

The side of my neck stung. I had been reminded that a lapse from position, however slight, is not acceptable.

I was grateful, of course, that the men had not seen fit to lash us.

Looking ahead, I saw a figure emerging from the forest, in the green which I would come later to recognize as that of the foresters.

He lifted his hand, and said, “Tal,” and approached us. He conferred, briefly, with the chief of our armsmen. I had the sense that signs and countersigns might have been exchanged. The newcomer seemed particularly interested in the two large boxes which had been lowered carefully on ropes over the ship’s side, and then carried to shore. He then came before us, and examined us, one by one. “That one is a barbarian,” he was told, while I knelt as beautifully as I could before him. I was careful not to meet his eyes. Some masters do not allow their girls to meet their eyes. “No matter,” he said. “They all sweat and squeak the same.” He then drew back, and passed his eye over us once more. “Good,” he said. I could sense the relief which went through the chain. Certainly I felt it. We wish desperately to be found pleasing by men. It can be fearful for us if we are not.

Off in the forest we heard the roar of a beast.

We looked at one another, frightened.

Then, to my surprise, we were freed of the collars and chain. “You may stand,” we were told. We then stood in the surf, the water washing about our ankles. I held my arms about myself, as I was cold.

The collars and chain were then carried back to the ship. The mariners were busying themselves, apparently for departure. Oars emerged from the oar ports. The yard was being raised. The bow of the ship was turning about. I wondered why the ship had not been beached. One gathered that the captain and his officers were uneasy in this place. I suspected they had made more than one journey north. The collars and chains, doubtless, on a return trip, would grace new occupants, new beasts, such as I.

“Approach,” we were told, and, gratefully, we then stood on the beach, beside the disembarked cargo of the small vessel.

“Be in line, in order of descending height,” he said.

We so arranged ourselves.

We were then, from the back to the front, being put in a rope coffle, the rope to be knotted about our necks, as it had been when we had exited the holding area in our port of departure. We were not being blindfolded. I supposed one part of the beach and one part of the forest was not much different from other parts. Our hands were not being tied behind us. I soon discovered why.

Then the rope was knotted about my neck, and taken forward, to the next girl. I was then, again, a part of a coffle. Coffles are sometimes spoken of as “the slaver’s necklace.” I hoped I would be an attractive bead on such a necklace. It is a slave’s hope that men will find her pleasing. Much depends on it. Too, I found that I wanted to be found pleasing to men, and a slave, the slave I was.

“You are at the edge of the great forest,” we were told. “It is roamed by beasts.”

In the distance, we again heard a roar, and shuddered.

“That is a forest panther,” he said.

It was perhaps the same beast, or one responding to it. I supposed such beasts somehow adjudicated territory amongst themselves.

“Men,” said the newcomer, addressing the armsmen. “We will trek to a place called Tarncamp. Most of you will work and train there. Some may go east, to another camp. Its name you need not now know.”

“Work?” asked an armsman.

“Heavy labor, in the forest,” said the newcomer. “Felling trees, shaping and smoothing timbers, transporting them to the east, such things.”

“My tool is the sword,” said the armsman.

“It will find its work soon enough,” said the newcomer.

“I decline such service,” said the armsman.

“You are far from Brundisium,” said the newcomer.

The ship was departing. It was now more than a hundred yards from shore. I saw no sign of the second ship. I did not know what had become of it. Considering that the coast is generally kept in view, it seemed unlikely it would have been lost at sea; considering how long it had been with us it seemed unlikely it would have encountered difficulties of which we would have been unaware; and now, considering our position, and how far north we were, it seemed unlikely it would have fallen afoul of a corsair; the “sleen of the sea” would find little to feed upon in waters so lonely and remote.

“I shall await another ship,” said the armsman.

“You would be put to death as a deserter,” said the newcomer.

“One need only follow the coast south,” he said.

“You would be dead within ten yards,” said the newcomer.

The armsman looked warily toward the trees.

“Yes,” said the newcomer, “there are bowmen in the forest.”

At this point there was another roar in the forest, but this one seemed mighty, as though it might have torn leaves from the trees.

“That is no forest panther!” said a man.

“No,” said the newcomer, “it is a larl.”

“Larls are not this far north,” said a man.

“They do not range so,” said another.

“It is a trained beast, brought north,” said the newcomer. “There are others, as well. It will accompany us to Tarncamp. Tarncamp has its established perimeter, marked by wands. One must not, without authorization, pass beyond the wands. Yesterday two deserters were torn to pieces.”