Smugglers of Gor (32 page)

How I hated he who had brought me to the collar, who had scorned me on the dock! How I had demeaned myself before him, kneeling as though in the presence of my master, as though I, Margaret Alyssa Cameron, of Earth, might be a slave! He had not even recognized me, he who had brought me and others like cattle to this world, to chains and collars!

I hated him. I hated him! And I wanted to kneel before him, and press my lips to his feet. Could I, Margaret Alyssa Cameron, be a slave, his slave? No! No, I cried to myself. Then I realized that name was no longer mine. I was no longer Margaret Alyssa Cameron. I had been a number, 119, and I was now “Laura,” because I had been so named! I felt the collar on my neck. It was there. I was then indeed “Laura,” or whatever masters might choose to name me, should they give me a name. But Laura could run! She could flee! I was not such a fool as to suppose I was not now a slave, for in the perfection of the law it was so, but I could run. Laura could run!

I looked beyond the end of the dock. Somewhere out there, in the forest, within the wands, there would be racks of Tur-Pah.

My legs almost failed me. I feared I might fall. Briefly I feared I might faint. For a moment I was terribly afraid. I had heard more than one slave say she would die of fear, even to think of running. I did not understand this. Surely they knew no more than I of such things. What fools they were, such ignorant barbarians! How stupid they were. I had counted the larls. I had even had the presence of mind to put my blanket into the vat for laundering.

I looked back, again, at the ship.

It was quite different from the other Gorean vessels I had seen, which tended to be numerous, graceful, slender, and beautiful, low in the water, long in keel, and narrow in beam, even the “round ships.” And the vessels of war were like knives in the water, swift, low, multiply oared, and concave prowed, armed with deck engines, rams, and crescent-like blades, which might shear away timbers and oars. Many of those were painted green, that they might be difficult to detect on the billows of Thassa, until, mast down and oar-propelled, it was perhaps too late. How different then was the ship of Tersites. Doubtless it was seaworthy, but it was broad and towering, six-masted, and single-ruddered. It would be like a city at sea, a dangerous, armed city, walled with wood, with sails which might challenge clouds. It seemed less a ship than a fortress, or castle, which might for some mad reason have chosen to disguise itself as a vessel. It could house a small army. Rumors had it that she would seek the World’s End. It was easy to see why even sturdy men, harsh fellows, callous fellows, mercenaries, even seasoned mariners, might flee. Parts of some had been returned to Shipcamp, to be held, guarded, under the paws of sleeping larls, until the beasts might once again awaken, hungry. But clearly, I thought, those fellows had not been wise enough to count larls. And perhaps some had escaped. Fewer, I had gathered, had tried to escape from Shipcamp than Tarncamp. I supposed that most of the disgruntled, those which might be the soonest dismayed, had chosen to cross the wands earlier, in Tarncamp. Too, at Shipcamp, there was the river.

How imposing was the ship of Tersites! But how frightening, too, it was, in its brooding size, its vastness, darkness, and mystery. I would never be put on that ship as a slave, another coffled beast, a shapely article on an inventory! How terrified had been several of my chain sisters even to think of being embarked on such a vessel. But they would be, as the lovely, helpless animals they were! But not I! I would not be so treated. I was different. I was from Earth! So let them be chained in their stalls, or holds, to be carried away as the meaningless goods they were, but not I! I would escape!

I then left the dock. I wanted to run, my heart cried out to run, but I forced myself to move unhurriedly, gracefully. I must be only another girl, another slave girl, about the business of her masters. The ground was soft beneath my bared feet. I soon came to the racks on which Tur-Pah, harvested yesterday, had been left to dry. I looked about, carefully. There were no guards about. I then concealed my basket and darted between the wands.

“Hold!” cried Tyrtaios.

I stopped, angry.

“What is it?” he called. “Where are you going?”

“I have business to attend to,” I informed him.

“Within the camp, I trust,” he said.

“I fear not,” I said.

“You are not to leave Shipcamp,” he said. “It is unauthorized. It is forbidden. None are to leave Shipcamp.”

“We left two nights ago,” I told him. “Do not attempt to stop me.”

“We are associated,” he said. “It is daylight. You will be seen. It will arouse suspicion. Others may investigate. I might be implicated. The business might be jeopardized.”

“There is something to attend to,” I said.

“The departure of the ship is nearly upon us,” he said. “Already bunks, quarters, are assigned. Men will soon board. Slaves from across the river are being readied. Kennel One, here in Shipcamp, may be boarded tonight. The ship could leave tomorrow, or the next day.”

“It is my intention to return in time,” I said.

“My blade could stop you,” he said.

“Why?” I asked. “Might that not arouse suspicion, as well? Might that not provoke curiosity, and perhaps an investigation?”

“Stay,” he said, menacingly.

If the ost could choose a human form I thought it might choose one much like that of Tyrtaios.

“I have no doubt you can redden your blade with my blood,” I said. “I trust you are wise enough not to do so.”

He slammed his blade, half drawn, back into the scabbard.

“You fear to take ship?” he said. “You are going to run?”

“I fear of the edge of the world, the sea beyond the farther islands, the plunging cliff, as much as the next fellow,” I said.

“But no more?” he said.

“I think no more,” I said.

“You are not running?” he said.

“No,” I said, angrily, “I am hunting.”

“There is provender aplenty in the kitchens,” he said, “forest tarsk, long-haired bosk, even tabuk. The Pani hunters provide well.”

“That is not my prey,” I said.

“Ho!” he said, suddenly, delighted. “You have found the fellow you have sought, he who is your debtor, or he who insulted you, he for whom you have ventured this far, even to the northern forests!”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I commend you,” he said. “How noble, how sweet, is the flavor of vengeance.”

I did not respond.

“You encountered him,” he laughed, “and he cried out, and fled!”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Would that I could have witnessed that,” he said. “To see terror on the countenance of one’s prey is an exquisite pleasure.”

“A pleasure, perhaps,” I said, “familiar to those of the dark caste, when the victim first sees the dagger painted on the hunter’s brow.”

“Perhaps,” said Tyrtaios. “I would know nothing of such things.”

“No,” I said.

“Beware the larls!” he said. “They have been released.”

“Already?” I said.

“A slave has fled,” he said, “this morning.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“A barbarian, a little fool,” he said.

“I must be to my hunt,” I said.

“Let him go,” said Tyrtaios. “The larls will find him. You could not improve upon their work.”

“But it would be their work, not mine,” I said.

“Ah,” said Tyrtaios. “You are of the dark caste.”

“No,” I said.

“You are determined?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I do not like it,” he said. “The moorings will soon be cast.”

“Not for days,” I said.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” he said.

“I expect to return soon,” I said.

“Do so,” he said.

“You can understand the urgency of the matter,” I said.

“If it is blade business, yes,” he said. “It is blade business, is it not?”

“I am to the hunt,” I said.

“It is unlikely you can apprehend your quarry before the larls,” he said.

“One must attempt to do so,” I said.

“Return by tomorrow morning,” he said. “Boardings are scheduled. Those reluctant to board will be put to the sword.”

“I understand,” I said.

“When did your quarry depart?” he asked.

“This morning,” I said.

“He will have too long a start on you,” he said.

“The quarry,” I said, “is not swift. It is small. It is likely to tire easily. It will be unacquainted with woodcraft. It may even be lost, it may unwittingly, inadvertently, wander about, even move in a circle.”

“You seek the slave!” he said.

“I have some interest in her,” I said. “Her flanks please me.”

“Let her go,” he said. “By now panthers and sleen, if not the larls, will have her.”

“It is not nightfall,” I said.

The sleen, in the wild, is predominantly nocturnal.

“Her remains, by now, will be the feasting of urts and forest jards,” he said.

“I think,” I said, “she will be safe until dark, unless for the larls.”

“Let her go,” he said, “and buy another, or ten others.”

“She needs to be taught her collar,” I said.

“She should have learned it by now,” he said.

“She ran,” I reminded him.

“When a woman has learned her collar, she fears to crawl from her master’s feet without permission,” he said.

“It is pleasant to have absolute power over a woman,” I said, “to own her, to have her at your feet, naked, collared, trembling and obedient.”

“And you would have this one so?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “she, or another.”

“You know her from Brundisium?” he said.

“Even earlier,” I said.

“Why did you not buy her in Brundisium?” he asked.

“I am fighting the wanting of her,” I said.

“Then have her, and beat her, and tire of her, and sell her,” said Tyrtaios.

“I shall,” I said.

“She is only a slave,” he said.

“I will teach her what it is to be a slave,” I said.

“And then, when she has well learned her collar,” he said, “and is whimpering for your least touch, cast her aside as the meaningless garbage she is.”

“I shall,” I said.

“Do not pursue her,” he said. “The larls are out. Do not be a fool.”

“The day is pleasant,” I said. “I think that I shall stroll in the forest.”

“Rent a sleen,” he said.

“I shall,” I said.

“And you will need rope.” he said, “a good deal of rope.”

“Of course,” I said.

“And a whip,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

I cried out, and pulled away from the thorn shrub, my tunic rent on the right side, at the waist. There was a scratch there, small, the width of two of my fingers, inside the tunic.

It occurred to me that the masters might not be pleased that my tunic was torn. But then, I thought, what difference does that matter now!

I continued on my way.

I had not seen the extended branch. I must be more careful.

My heart was high. I must by now be pasangs beyond the wands. I looked up, through the trees. I thought it might be the eighth Ahn, but was less than sure. Gorean children would be more adept at such estimations than I. They are taught to estimate the time of day by the position of Tor-tu-Gor, Light-Upon-the-Home-Stone, rather as they are taught to recognize fruits and blossoms, trees and flowers, and a thousand small things within their environment, things which children of my world seldom notice, and in which they are seldom interested. I was derived from that world, one in which nature was incidental, unimportant, and neglected. Goreans view themselves as within nature, perhaps as a part of nature; surely, at least, they respect her and love her, and it would never occur to them to scorn and deny her; they live with her, not against her; on the other hand, we commonly view ourselves as outside of nature, and surely, on the whole, if not against her, apart from her. She is alien to us, the home without which we could not live, and is left unnoticed.

I was buoyant.

I thought it must be the eighth Ahn, or approximately so. Midday, when Tor-tu-Gor stands highest in the sky, is the tenth Ahn. In the cities, the tenth Ahn is commonly marked by the ringing of a great bar, or bars, which may be heard from wall to wall. The bars may also mark other Ahn, depending on the city, and may serve as a signal of alarm, of sorrow, of victory, of celebration, and such. Time on Gor is most often kept by water clocks, sand clocks, sun dials, marked candles, and such. Mechanical chronometers exist but they are rare, and expensive. I have also found them confusing to read as their “clockwise movement” is opposite to that which is commonly taken to be “clockwise” on my former world.

I continued on.

Indeed, I sped amongst the trees.

I was joyful!

I was free, I thought, at last, free!

Free!

Then I paused amongst the leaves, the trees, and shade. I stood there, still, small between the trees. I put my hand to my neck. On it was a collar. My left hand strayed to my thigh. Incised there, small, and lovely, but clear, and unmistakable, was a brand. I felt my clothing. How tiny and light it was. It was scarcely there. How free women would scorn and hate me! I was naked, save for a bit of cloth, the scrap of cloth which might be allotted to a slave.

Was I truly free, I asked myself?

Then I thought to myself, no, Margaret, Laura, you are not free, but a slave. I had been duly and legally embonded. All was in order. I was legally, and indisputably, a slave.

And I was thrilled to be such, such as could be owned, and sold, and then I forced such terrible thoughts from my mind.

I knew how I was supposed to want to be, and I tried to want to be that. I must try to be, I thought, as I have been told I should be.

What I was, and what I might want, was immaterial. I did not count; other things counted.

But, I knew, however I might want to think about such things, for better or for worse, I was a slave, in all legality.

But, I told myself, I am an escaped slave!