Smugglers of Gor (25 page)

Shipcamp was much smaller than Tarncamp, but it contained its scattered range of structures, a hundred or more, and these were mostly north of the dock. Only a bit later did I realize the existence of a small, palisaded enclave across the river. I did not know what was housed there. I supposed it had been intentionally separated from the main camp.

Behind me, on my left, was Asperiche. She had learned to heel, appropriately. It had been pleasant to teach her the many aspects of her collar. She was now well aware it was on her, and locked.

“Perhaps,” she said, “Master may now sell me.”

I turned about. I examined my slave, the paga girl, the slim, lovely brunette I had named Asperiche, from her island of origin, she purchased from the tavern in Brundisium. She had been insufficiently deferential twice. Masters do not accept such things. I had spared her one lashing, the first time, perhaps foolishly, but she had later, again, been displeasing, a lapse I saw no reason to accept a second time, and I had arranged that she would be better apprised of the fact that a slave is to strive to be pleasing, invariably so. She had apparently not been long in the collar. I suppose that is why she had been less than pleasing in the first place, and, in the second place, naively thought to avert her discipline. To be sure, many slaves strive to avert their discipline, even those who should know better. The lash, it seems, is unpleasant. Let them then mind their behavior. It is interesting to see them beg, so helpless and so much in your power. How assured, how confident, she had been, so sure of the effect of her beauty. Indeed, it was considerable. Perhaps I should not have spared her the lash the first time. That was possibly a mistake, encouraging her to think she might escape a second time. In any event, I had not succumbed, no more than any master might, to her tearful blandishments, her plaintive wheedling and clever wiles, her smiles, and proffered promises. When these protestations were done, duly noted, and such, I saw to it, to her misery, that she was summarily given the lashing she deserved. After her lashing, she had not only failed to be grateful that I should be concerned that she be improved, but, incredibly, had been resentful, even to asserting that she hated me, as if that would be of interest to anyone. I was, however, annoyed, and, to her horror and dismay, purchased her. She then found herself the property of the very fellow she had been trying to disparage or disconcert. It was his collar she would then wear. Why did I purchase her? First, she was beautiful, very much so. Second, she needed to be taught her collar, a lesson she had not yet learned. And third, a man needs a slave. She would do.

“I do not understand,” I said. “Why should I sell you?”

“I am not stupid, Master,” she said.

“I have never thought so,” I said.

“She must be here,” she said.

“Who?” I asked.

“She whom you seek,” she said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“She for whom you have come to this strange, terrible wilderness.”

“I have come for pay,” I said, “for excellent fee. I have come for adventure. I have come for curiosity.”

“You have come for a slave,” she said.

“I have a slave,” I said.

“I was with you on the dock, day after day, in Brundisium,” she said. “I saw you watch, and wait, and watch again. Only when one coffle was embarked did you take ship.”

“One enjoys seeing beautiful slaves,” I said.

“We speak to one another,” she said. “You much examined Tarncamp. You examined the sheds, the kennels, the cook houses, the slave houses, the stables, the wagon yards. You met incoming parties. You frequented the perimeters. Twice you inquired of a lot number.”

“It seems kajirae are observant,” I said.

“We are often about,” she said. “Little attention is paid to us. We may be unobtrusive, but we are often there. We listen. We talk to one another.”

“Curiosity,” I said, “is unbecoming to a kajira.”

“It seems she whom you seek was not in Tarncamp,” she said. “Thus, if she has not wandered into the forest, to be devoured by the beasts, or has not been fed to sleen, or traded south, or such, she must be here, somewhere.”

“I have no interest in slaves,” I said, “save for those natural to a fellow, their utility, as work and pleasure beasts.”

“Men kill for them,” she said.

“You are all collar sluts,” I said. “There is little to choose from; it is merely one piece of meat or another.”

“We bring different prices,” she said.

“So do verr, tarsks, and kaiila,” I said.

“Some slaves,” she said, “have entangled the hearts of Ubars in their meshes.”

“Even a Ubar,” I said, “may be a fool.”

“Some men have given a city for a slave,” she said.

“One who is mad,” I said, “may buy a paving stone with gold, barter a ship for a stick, a palace for a pebble.”

“Has Master not come north seeking a slave?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Put such foolishness from your head.” It was not clear to me how Asperiche, whom I regarded as an extremely intelligent slave, could utter such vaunted nonsense. It was true I recalled a slave, of course, but I recalled a thousand slaves. That slave might, or might not, be about, but it made no difference to me. My curiosity in the matter was idle, at best, if it existed at all. Asperiche was wrong. It was not possible that I had come north for a slave. One does not care for a slave. They are mere brutes, conveniences, sleek and luscious, to be dealt with as was appropriate for such brutes.

“Still,” said Asperiche.

“Do you wish to be beaten?” I asked, angrily.

“No, Master,” she said, putting her head down.

“Why should I sell you?” I asked. “I could not get a copper tarsk for you, as you are.”

“Forgive me, Master,” she said.

She was covered with mud to the thighs, and her small tunic was spattered with mud. Rain had soaked her hair, and it lay about her head and shoulders, in scattered, bedraggled, unkempt strands.

I stood near one of the halted wagons, which was waiting its turn to try the slope to the valley, beside its rear left axle. Its back was open, and the gate down, and the wagon bed contained a number of packs, including mine. Some fellows were fetching theirs out, with their smaller weapons. Most of the men had not been permitted weapons while on the trail. I, on the other hand, as several others, mostly officers, had been permitted arms. I wore my waist belt, with dagger, and the shoulder belt, with the slung sheath, and
gladius
. Guards, mostly Pani, had policed the journey. I pulled my pack free, from under others. At the rear of the wagon bed was a number of rings with coiled ropes. It was by means of these that slaves had been tied behind the wagon. There were usually three to five behind a wagon. Most others had been fastened in neck coffles, or wrist coffles. The neck coffles were of rope, the wrist coffles of chain. Shortly after reaching this point, to avoid the danger of a slipping or an uncontrolled wagon, the girls tied behind the wagons had been freed, and herded down the slope. Long log kennels and chains would be awaiting them, and the others, just as a variety of barracks and smaller dwellings had been arranged for the men. Designated precursors had seen to such matters, days ago. I myself had been assigned a hut. I supposed this had to do with the intervention of Tyrtaios. I did not know if it would be shared or not. I was confident it would not be shared with Tyrtaios, as he apparently stood high with the Pani. Rather as I had been permitted weapons on the trail, so, too, Asperiche had not been fastened to a wagon, or coffled, like most of the other slaves, but had been permitted to stay with me. In this Tyrtaios, too, might have been involved. I did not know. This arrangement, however, was not that unprecedented with private slaves, slaves owned by individuals. I found myself wondering, not that I was interested, if a particular slave was now a private slave, or, so to speak, a public, or camp, slave, like most. Presumably she would be a public, or camp, slave, as she had been embarked as such.

I, pack in hand, looked down to the Alexandra, lovely, wide and shimmering, in the morning light, to the huge, partially dismantled framework of mighty Tur beams, to the long dock, with its many sheds, and the broad, towering vessel which was moored there, held in place by gently, strained lines, against the current, its lofty bowsprit high, lifted, like the alert head of a living thing, one waiting to be born, one already scenting the faraway sea.

“Doubtless she is here,” said Asperiche.

“Who?” I asked.

“She whom you seek,” she said.

“You are less than presentable,” I said.

“Master?” she said.

“You are filthy,” I said.

“Doubtless there are washing sheds below,” she said, “with tubs and warm water. I will be able to launder my tunic, and iron it, and care for my pelt, and be more pleasing to my master.”

She lifted her head.

“You may look into my eyes,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“You may speak,” I said.

“My need,” she said, “is upon me.”

“Doubtless the need of a free woman,” I said.

“I am not a free woman,” she said. “That is behind me. I can never go back. My need is a thousand times beyond that of a free woman. I am a slave. My need is slave need.”

I looked down upon her.

“A slave would be caressed,” she whispered. “A slave begs to be caressed, begs as a slave.”

“You are very beautiful,” I said.

“More beautiful than another?” she asked.

“Another?” I asked.

“She whom you seek,” she said.

“I seek no other,” I said. “That is unthinkable, absurd.”

“But, if you did?” she said.

“I would suppose,” I said, “that you are more beautiful.”

“But she is different,” she said. “For you she is unlike all others. She is special to you, in a way that others are not, in a way that I am not.”

“Do not speak foolishly,” I said. “Surely you are aware of your interest, of your attractions. Have I not put you to my pleasure often enough?”

“I have been well mastered,” she said.

“So?” I said.

“As might be any slave,” she said.

“So?” I said.

“I do not think I have been owned as might be your slave of slaves, the one you would die to possess. I have not seen in your eyes the unexampled, terrifying predatory lust of the approaching larl, the keen, piercing glance of the tarn. I have not felt myself as owned, as overcome and helpless, as the tabuk doe in the jaws of the larl, the young she-verr clasped in the talons of the tarn. I have not been seized, flung down, and devastated. I have not known the decisive click of the collar lock which informs me that I have been decisively, triumphantly claimed. I have not felt the ropes on me of that master of masters, by whom I would know myself possessed as the most helpless and most desired of slaves is possessed.”

“You speak as a foolish slave,” I said.

“I fear I am not as foolish as Master might wish,” she said.

“The collar looks nice upon your neck,” I said.

“As it might look upon the neck of any slave,” she said.

“Or any woman,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “or any woman.”

She inched closer to me. How bold she was. She had not received permission to do so.

“Doubtless you wish to display your collar,” I said.

“It is Master’s collar, and it is locked on me,” she said.

“Beware,” I said.

“Master looks upon me as a slave may be looked upon,” she said.

It is a way, of course, in which one would not look upon a free woman. That would be highly inappropriate. How terrified might be a free woman, to be so looked upon, to be looked upon as a slave. I wondered if they ever considered such things, what it would be to be so looked upon, to be looked upon as a slave. I trusted not, as they were free. And presumably they would never have that experience, unless they were stripped, and a collar, chains or shackles, was in the offing.

“But
ela
,” she said, “I am not presentable.”

“You are beautiful,” I said.

“I am filthy,” she said.

“Do you think I am fastidious?” I asked.

“Master?” she said.

“It adds to your beauty,” I said.

“Master?” she said. “Oh!”

I then, pack in hand, drew her to the side, away from the trail, between the trees.

I saw him, on the dock! It was he! I was stunned, I was shaken, my knees were weak, I nearly fell. In that instant I could hardly breathe. My hand went to the collar on my neck. I touched the hem of my tunic. I am sure it was he. It was he! He turned about, and I instantly knelt, head down, trembling.

I heard the snap of his fingers, and I knew I must lift my head, that I might be regarded.

I looked up.

I was trembling.

Surely he remembered me. Surely he had not forgotten! He must remember me! He could not have forgotten me!

I was on my knees before him, tunicked and collared.

It was he who had brought me to this, to this strange, different, natural, beautiful, fresh world, much as Earth might once have been, a world of blue skies and white clouds, of wind and rain, of storms and sunlight, of green fields and dark forests, of bracing, uncontaminated air and clean, clear, bright, flowing water, a simple, primitive, rude, unspoiled world, a world on which such as I could be only a slave.

I looked up at him. Tears were in my eyes. My lips were parted. I was at his feet, where I belonged. Surely he must know I loved him, that I was his, his even from another world, his by all the fierce, uncompromising rights of nature. Does a slave not know her master?

Four days before I had been freed of my chain in the slave house, a new slave put in my stead. I was furious with what had been done to me, but my belly had been well heated there. It would be hard to be again as I had been. I must now fight my body, that body to which I now seemed a stranger. How it betrayed me with its health and need, with its eagerness, its responsiveness, its helplessness, and vitality! I must be at war with it! How could I be myself in a collar? And how could I be myself other than in a collar! In my heart I knew I belonged in the collar, but I was determined to deny this reality, determined to fight it desperately, attempting to cling to the last, tattered shreds of my pride! Was I not of Earth? Did I not know, from my world, what a “true woman” was to be? And did I not know how the betrayals of the body and the forswearings of, the treacheries and disloyalties to, our deepest and most real self, these denials and depredations, were to be commended as accomplishments and adornments! To our blood, and to our hearts, we must do treason. But I feared that Gorean men would not permit this, at least if one were a slave. In the hands of a Gorean male what could a woman be but a slave? I must escape! Surely they aroused me well. How helpless I had been in their grasp! How angry I was with myself that I could not but respond as the least and most worthless of slaves! How I had leaped, and moaned, and whimpered, and begged for the least continuance of their touch! But how could this be? Was I not of Earth? And how lonely I was, to my distress, and shame, when, restless, twisting, on my mat, lying in the darkness on my chain, I had been neglected or overlooked. Why had I not rejoiced? I had tried to rejoice, and failed. Offers had been made for me I had learned, six offers. Six! How startled I was to learn this. I, of Earth, was desired, and as a Gorean slave! Naturally I had striven to find this indication of interest, this form of evaluation, distressing and humiliating. I had struggled to be dismayed. Men had wanted to buy me, and as the slave and animal I was. How deplorable, how terrible! But only one girl, I had learned, had received more offers! I did not know who had made the offers, and thus, had one been accepted, I did not know to whose feet, hooded, I would be put. Then, after a time, I had been removed from the slave house. I had been conducted to an assignment shed, from which I would be put to various tasks. As I could not read, the roster was read to me. I laundered, I worked in the kitchens, I carried water, I ran errands, I cleaned huts. I was waiting, each day, hoping to be sent to the edge of the camp, toward the wands, that I might search for roots, pick berries, or gather firewood. I, like the others given such tasks, would not be supervised. I did not understand why this was. They seem to think we will all return to our chains. Are we all so docile, so eager, so enamored of our collars? They did not know me. I was different! I was of Earth! On the day of such an assignment, which would surely be soon, I would seize my opportunity. I would escape. I would never be caught! Why, I wondered, is it said that there is no escape for the Gorean slave girl? Except at night, when we are often chained, it seems escape would be quite easy. If escape is so easy, why do so few girls attempt it? Is it because we know ourselves slaves, and rightfully so?