Smugglers of Gor (66 page)

“Yes,” I said, frightened.

“What do you think the point of all this is,” she asked, “the meaning of such a chaining?”

“I think,” I said, “to instruct me.”

“How so?” she asked.

“To convince me of the futility of escape,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said. “What else?”

“That I may better know myself a slave?” I said.

“Doubtless,” she said. “And, too, does your utter helplessness and complete vulnerability not arouse you?”

I dared not respond.

“But there is more meaning here,” she said, “than you understand, and perhaps more than he who chained you understands.”

“I do not understand, at all,” I said.

“There is no slave in this stockade,” she said, “who is not lovely, who would not be an excellent buy, who would not be a prize to remove from an auction block, and yet you are the only one who is chained.”

“Perhaps they fear I will try to escape,” I said.

“By leaping naked over the palings?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“If that were all,” she said, “a single ankle chain would do. It would hold you in place very nicely, in utter helplessness, while you await the convenience of masters.”

“I cannot understand you,” I said.

“What sorts of things are secured?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“Prizes, treasures, valuables,” she said.

“It seems so,” I said.

“And what is secured with great care,” she asked, “with heaviness and authority, even immoderately?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Something which is important to one,” she said, “something one does not wish to risk losing, something which one wants, something which one desires, something which one refuses to give up, something which one is determined to possess.”

“Surely not!” I said.

“We leave in the early morning,” said Tyrtaios, angrily.

“I understand,” I said.

“Surely you understand the importance of the secret cargo we boarded some nights ago, and disguised in the hold,” he said.

“I understand it is important,” I said, “but I do not understand why it is important, or how it is important.”

“Worlds may hang on its delivery at the World’s End,” he said.

“It seems unlikely to me,” I said, “that the ship, mighty as it may be, will reach the World’s End, if such a place exists. What is such a ship, even so stout and strong, in the merciless grip of Thassa?”

“Doubtless it will be grievously tested,” said Tyrtaios.

“Consider the season,” I said.

“Do you fear to sail with her?” asked Tyrtaios.

“Of course,” I said, “as might any rational individual, understanding what is involved, but I am prepared to do so.”

“You know the risks,” said Tyrtaios.

“Of course,” I said.

“And there are more,” said Tyrtaios.

“I understand,” I said.

“Much may be risked where much is to be gained,” said Tyrtaios.

“I understand,” I said.

“Would you not wish untold wealth, the command of fleets and armies, your choice of women?” he asked. “Do you not want a ubarate, or ubarates? Perhaps you might be given Cos or Tyros, Ar or Turia, a dozen cities?”

“I find this hard to believe,” I said.

Angrily, he drew from his wallet a double tarn of gold, and hurled it against my jacket, where I caught it, and regarded it, incredulously. Many Goreans have never seen such a coin, and some doubt that it exists. “It is yours,” he said, “and it is nothing. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I said.

“I and my principal are displeased with you,” he said.

“How so?” I asked.

“Few know of this, the secret cargo, and those who do are important, so important that they must be relied upon, or eliminated. And you, like an enamored fool, rush into the forest on the track of a meaningless chit, even a barbarian.”

“I thought it would be a pleasant diversion,” I said.

“Seek your diversions less distant,” said Tyrtaios.

“I accompanied Axel of Argentum,” I said.

“He was sent to locate spies,” he said.

“They were located,” I said, “and are unlikely to report their findings, or, in any event, in time for their intelligence to be meaningful.”

“You should have remained in Shipcamp,” he said. “What if the ship had departed? What if you had been killed by beasts in the forest? What if you had been captured by enemies, and tortured, and had revealed the existence of the secret cargo?”

“Fortunately those things did not take place,” I said.

“It is feared,” he said, “that you are unreliable.”

My hand went to the hilt of my blade.

“Do not be stupid,” said Tyrtaios.

“Forgive me,” I said.

“You could have had a dozen quarrels in your back an Ahn after your return to Shipcamp,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“You did a foolish and stupid thing,” he said.

“Obviously,” I said.

“Have I seen the slave?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“She must be very beautiful,” said Tyrtaios.

“Not particularly,” I said.

“I understand you have placed her in the stockade,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“That is reserved for special slaves,” he said.

“She has been breast-marked with her name,” I said. “That will distinguish between her and the special slaves.”

“Why did you take her there?” asked Tyrtaios. “That is a maximum-security facility.”

“She ran away,” I said.

“Why did you not have her fed to sleen?” he asked.

“She is nicely curved,” I said.

“The two major housing areas for kajirae on the ship,” he said, “are on the Kasra and Venna decks. The stockade girls will most likely be housed on the Venna deck, and the more common slaves in the Kasra area.”

“Then she will doubtless be chained in the Kasra area,” I said.

“You pursued her in the forest,” said Tyrtaios.

“I accompanied Axel of Argentum,” I said, “who was dispatched to locate spies, Panther Girls. She was, so to speak, to lead us to them, assuming she might fall to them, a naive barbarian, as a capture slave.”

“Which occurred,” said Tyrtaios.

“Yes,” I said.

“You should have remained in Shipcamp,” he said.

“Forgive me,” I said.

“What is the slave to you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “She is only a slave.”

“She is not yours,” said Tyrtaios. “She is a camp slave, a common camp slave. She was even chained for a time in the slave house.”

“I understand that was the case,” I said.

“She must then be comely,” he said.

“Doubtless some would find her so,” I said.

“What about her belly?” he asked.

“She has little to say about such things,” I said.

“Her needs have been ignited?”

“Quite,” I said.

“If she were not to be sold for three or four days,” he said, “would she be scratching at the sides of her kennel?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you find her of interest?” he asked.

“She is a barbarian,” I said.

“Do you find her of interest?” he asked, again.

“Not particularly,” I said.

“And yet you pursued her into the forest,” he said.

“For the sport of the chase,” I said.

“And you captured her?”

“Yes,” I said, “to the west, near the Alexandra.”

“In returning to Shipcamp,” he said, “did you put her to frequent and rich slave use?”

“Yes,” I said. “There was no other at hand.”

“And did you have her whimpering, and begging, at your feet?”

“Yes,” I said.

“A slave is nothing,” said Tyrtaios.

“True,” I said.

“There is nothing to choose from amongst them,” said Tyrtaios. “One is no better or worse than another. They are animals, goods, properties, objects, beasts,” he said. “They are little different from she-urts, to which they are inferior.”

“True,” I said.

“Yet you pursued her into the forest,” he said.

“For sport,” I said, “for sport.”

“And you have housed her in the stockade.”

“She had run away,” I said.

“Would you like to own her,” he asked, “to have her at your feet, in your collar, helplessly yours, your slave, under your whip?”

“She is a barbarian,” I said.

“We fear,” said Tyrtaios, “that this slave is of some interest to you.”

“No,” I said.

“That she is a distraction, that she may compromise your value to our cause.”

“You need have no fear on that score,” I said.

“The cause is all-important,” said Tyrtaios.

“Certainly,” I said.

“It was not for nothing that we paid you two golden staters,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

“Also,” he said, “you know a great deal, which knowledge is a dangerous burden.”

“I understand,” I said.

“It is rather like carrying a live ost in your hand,” said Tyrtaios.

“You may rely on me,” I said.

“As you are honorable?” asked Tyrtaios.

“No,” I said. “As I am fond of gold, and am reluctant to feel the fangs of an ost in my palm.”

“I think you may easily dispel our uneasiness, and reassure us of your good will, reliability, and fidelity,” said Tyrtaios. “My principal has suggested a simple test to clarify matters.”

“Oh?” I said.

“By means of which you will prove your worthiness, your dependability, your resolve, and loyalty.”

“Speak,” I said.

“Is your dagger sharp?” asked Tyrtaios.

“Yes,” I said.

“And its edge?” he asked.

“It can wound the morning mist,” I said. “It can draw blood from the fog.”

“Good,” said Tyrtaios.

“What is the test?” I asked.

“Before the great ship leaves in the morning,” he said, “before the stockade slaves are boarded, you are to cross the river, enter the stockade, and cut the throat of a certain slave. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said.

It was damp, and chilly, on the plankings. I had slept but little. In the kennel in Shipcamp, we had had blankets. If these slaves were so special, I thought, why are they not better cared for? Is it to impress upon them that they are, however special, only slaves? Even had I a blanket, I could not have well covered myself, chained as I was. I wondered how early it was. The door to the kennel was shut. I thought I could see a sliver of light, lamplight, through the crack, at the bottom of the door. Last night I had heard the two beams dropped into place which sealed it, from the outside. I thought it must be very early.

I heard a girl to my left, somewhere, moan in her sleep.

I had run away. I had been punished, lashed, near the shore of the Alexandra by my captor. I did not know if I were to be further punished, or not, and, if so, how. They tell us little.

I had heard yesterday afternoon that the ready banner had been lowered. The ship, then, must be on the verge of beginning the descent of the Alexandra. The stockade slaves, I supposed, would have to be transported across the river. I supposed a boat, or boats, would be waiting. I had seen various boats on both the north and south side of the river.

“They are coming for us!” I heard, a slave’s voice, frightened, from somewhere in the darkness.

I had heard nothing.

I did see part of the sliver of light blocked, from the outside.

Then, clearly, I heard men outside, and men’s voices. A moment later, one after the other, I heard the two beams outside removed from their brackets.

The door was then swung outward, and I could see four or five men outside, with the guard, who held a lamp, upraised. I heard, too, a rattle of chain.

“Slaves outside!” I heard. “Stand, single file, facing the gate, tallest girl first, in order of height.”

It was not yet dawn.

The order of marshaling was a common one, in which a slave line is organized in terms of height, in descending order. Goreans tend to have a sense of proportion and harmony, of propriety, and beauty. This tendency may be expressed in innumerable ways, from the design of cities to the bright colors of buildings and walls, and porches and pillars, from long garden paths, a pasang in length, characterized by a planned music of scent as well as a scenic melody of blossoms, to the shaping of vases and lamps, from the boss on a shield or a clamp on a kaiila harness to the intricate, subtle carving which might be lavished on the handle of a common tool or a humble wooden spoon.

I was then alone in the kennel. The door had been left open. Outside I could see the lamp, and, in the light and shadows, the men and slaves. The slave who had been gowned was toward the rear of the line.

I watched as the slaves were coffled. Then I learned what had been in one of the two small boxes brought yesterday afternoon to the stockade. The wrists of each slave were drawn behind her, and braceleted. It then, a bit later, became clear what had been the contents of the second small box. It contained slave hoods. One by one the slaves were hooded. How helpless one is in a slave hood, how confused and disoriented, how much at the mercy of the masters!

I saw the gate to the stockade opened. Two men were outside, with torches.

“Prepare to move,” called the guard, the lamp held over his head.

“No, no!” I heard. “Please, Masters! Do not take me away, Masters!”

It was the voice of she who had been gowned. How frightened she sounded. What did she so much fear? Where did she think she might be taken? Presumably to the ship. Possibly elsewhere? What did she think might be done with her? Did she think her fate might be different from that of the others? Was there something special about her? Was she not merely another slave?

“Where are you taking us?” cried a slave.

“They will take us to the ship!” said another.

“The great ship!” said another.

“No!” said another.

“Not to the ship!” cried another slave.

“I do not want to go to the World’s End!” cried a slave.

“Beat us, sell us, take us elsewhere!” begged a slave. “But do not take us to the ship.”