Smugglers of Gor (7 page)

I am familiar with such places as I have brought slaves to them. How they moan and cry out, and sob, when herded down the stairs to the straw, and rings! It is not pleasant to be confined in such a place, for they are often dark, cold, and damp, the straw soiled, the chains heavy. It was to such a place that a particular slave might have been brought.

I did not know.

How pleased they are then to be brought into the light, and the keeping of masters!

As I have mentioned, the agents of the Pani were recruiting. One might have supposed then, under the current circumstances in Brundisium, with the business to the southeast, the accompanying influx of refugees, and such, that the misery in Brundisium, the crowding and hunger, would have been muchly relieved, as men were taken into fee, but, unfortunately, that was only partly the case. For better or for worse, the agents of the Pani had not set up hiring tables, but conducted matters discreetly, if not secretly. They made inquiries, as they could, and seemed to scout men. They frequented the taverns and the lower dock areas, and would approach a prospect, two or three at a time, often in the darkness. Sometimes swords crossed. They seemed most interested in men who had retained their weaponry, and their pride. On the other hand, honor, the allegiance to a Home Stone, the promise of loyalty, and such, did not seem a requirement for the service contemplated. Some prospects they bought from prison for gold, some waiting execution. They seemed particularly interested in strong, agile, savage, dangerous men. I had the impression they were intent to fee men who could handle blades well and ask few questions with respect to their unsheathing. It was my impression that in some respects they were very little particular in their choices. They were not reluctant, it seems, to recruit vagabonds, likely bandits, rogue mercenaries, cutthroats, boasters, liars, gamblers, and thieves. Such men could be kept in line, I was sure, only by paga, gold, the promise of women, and an uncompromised discipline as swift and merciless as the strike of an ost. Accordingly, many who were approached, even when starving, refused to be wooed even by the golden staters of Brundisium when it became clear to them the likely nature of many of their companions. One does not wish to have a foe at one’s back or side. Others declined service when their would-be recruiters refused to reveal to them the length and nature of the service intended, and even its location. Indeed, I think that many, perhaps most, of the recruiters did not know the answers to such questions themselves. It was known that the first leg of their journey would take them north, somewhere north. What might occur there, or thereafter, was unclear. More frighteningly, at least to many, was the level of weapon skills which were being sought. Many potential recruits were put to the test of arms, pitted against one another, only the winner to be accepted. Some men killed more than one man to win their place.

“The cards have been unkind to you,” said a voice.

“That is not unusual, of late,” I said.

“More paga?” she asked.

“He has had enough,” said the voice.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Asperiche,” she said.

“How came you here?” I asked.

“I was taken in my village,” she said, “by raiding corsairs from Port Kar, and later sold south.”

“How much did you bring?” I asked.

“Two silver tarsks,” she said.

“Here?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“When?” I asked.

“The last passage hand,” she said.

“Summon the proprietor’s man, and a whip,” I said.

“Master?” she asked.

“In the current market you would bring no more than thirty-five, copper,” I said.

Trembling, she knelt, tears in her eyes. “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

I motioned her away, impatiently, clumsily.

“Thank you, Master,” she said, and leapt up and fled, with a flash of bells, from the small, round table, at which I sat, cross-legged.

“Are you weak?” asked the voice. “Why did you not have her lashed?”

“Do you think I am weak?” I asked.

He regarded me, for a moment. “No,” he said.

“I am unarmed,” I said.

“But weapons are checked at the door,” he said.

“They are entitled to their vanity,” I said.

I looked after her. The bells were on her left ankle. They were all she wore, other than her collar. It was not a high tavern.

“How did you know she was lying?” he asked.

“The market, the season,” I said.

“It seems you are an excellent judge of such things,” he said.

“Of such things?” I asked.

“The likely price of collar-meat,” he said.

“I am of the Merchants,” I said.

“The Slavers,” he said.

I shrugged.

“The Slavers,” he said.

“Very well, the Slavers,” I said. We regard ourselves as a subcaste of the Merchants. Do we not acquire, and buy, and sell? What difference is there, other than the nature of the goods handled?

“Slavers,” said he, “are cunning, and skilled with weapons.”

“Much like the scarlet caste,” I said.

“Or the black caste,” he said.

“I am not an assassin,” I said. I wondered if he were.

“Slavers must plan, and raid, and seize,” he said. “Often they must fight their way into a house, or pleasure garden, and fight their way free.”

“I have met men on the bridges,” I said. To be sure, there seemed little danger on the ships, the sky ships, save at departure and arrival, leaving or re-entering the atmosphere. There seemed little danger, too, on the slave world. They did not, it seemed, protect their women. Perhaps they did not realize their value.

“You have had too much to drink,” he said.

“You followed me from the gambling house,” I said.

“You lost heavily,” he said. “Perhaps tonight you will feed from the garbage troughs.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Who are you?”

“One who places a golden stater on a table,” he said.

I looked at the small, round, golden disk. The staters of Brundisium are prized on the Streets of Coins in a hundred cities. They constitute one of Ar’s most coveted coinages.

“I am not an assassin,” I said.

“I, and others,” he said, “are seeking blades, armsmen.”

“For the strange men,” I said.

“The Pani,” he said, “yes.”

“Such,” I said, “or most, seem themselves warriors.”

“Additional men, many, are sought,” he said.

“There are many in Brundisium,” I said.

“Not all will do,” he said.

I looked at the coin lying on the table. It was interesting how such small, inert objects could move men, and ships, cavalries, and armies.

“Some men have never seen such a coin,” I said.

“Laborers, common laborers, peasants, verr tenders,” he said. “And this golden friend is not without his fellows,” he said.

“What must I do?” I asked.

“Ships move north,” he said.

“Each day?” I asked.

“One every two or three days,” he said, “sometimes two or more together.”

“For what purpose, to what end?” I asked.

“In time,” said he, “all will become clear.”

“I would have it clear now,” I said.

“The pay is good,” he said, touching the stater lightly, at the edge, as though he might move it toward me.

“Berths are won by the sword, I understand,” I said.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“And if berths were limited?” I asked.

“Then, surely,” he said.

“I am cognizant of the fellows you seek,” I said.

“Men such as you,” he said.

“I have no wish to feel a knife in my back,” I said.

“Such an assailant,” he said, “would be dealt with summarily, and unpleasantly.”

“That would do me little good,” I said.

“Discipline is rigorous,” he said.

“Among such men it must be,” I said.

“Surely,” said he.

“Men such as I?” I asked.

“I fear so,” he said.

It was now too late to make the rendezvous to the west, on Daphne, even were a vessel to leave this night, even had I the wherewithal to book passage. For some reason I had lingered too long in Brundisium. Why was that? But, too, I had voyaged on the sky ships, and more than once. I did not know if I would choose to so voyage again. I would leave it, like much else, to the future. There are many roads. I had taken such service for the pay, but, too, for the difference, the danger, the adventure. Too, for the pleasure of knotting cords on the wrists and ankles of slave fruit, on luscious, bipedalian, barbarian cattle.

But now I was again on Gor, and now, at least for the time, was content. There are many roads.

And surely there were enough Earth women here, if one’s tastes ran in such directions.

I thought of Earth stock, now familiar in Gorean markets.

How exciting, and beautiful, so often, was such stock! To be sure, we, and others, were selective, very selective.

Doubtless that made a difference, a great difference.

How little the men of Earth valued it. Why did they not better protect it? It can be worth a man’s life to try to take a free woman from a Gorean city, even a slave. We strive to protect our free women, and even our properties, our verr, our kaiila, our slaves. Did the men of Earth not prize their females? Did they not realize how attractive, how exciting, how valuable, how wonderful, how desirable, they were? Was that so hard to see?

Then I thought of true free women, our own women.

How different were the women of Earth from them, those of Earth lacking Home Stones, with their brazenly unveiled features, their openly displayed ankles, the pleading silk of their secret lingerie, so fit for slaves. They were not Gorean free women. They belonged on the block, being bidden for. I could not understand why the men of their world did not see this, why they did not realize how valuable their females were, and what might be done with them. Certainly it was clear enough to us. Could they not see what they were, what they needed, what they wanted? Did they not understand them? Why did they deny them the ownership and domination without which they could not be fulfilled, without which they could not be women? Why did they not kneel them, and inform them that they were women, and now, owned, would be treated as such? Did they think they were not women, that they were something else, neuters, sexless creatures, or such, inert cultural contrivances? Did they not realize what it might be, to have one at their feet, collared, owned, trained to their tastes, hoping to be found pleasing?

It is very pleasant.

It is also pleasant, of course, to take a Gorean free woman and teach her the collar, and kindle her slave fires, until she crawls to you, begging, indistinguishable from a barbarian, and then like them, forever then a slave.

They are all women.

There is no real difference.

They are all women.

The golden stater was thrust toward me.

I thrust it back.

“No?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

He replaced the coin in his wallet.

“It is men such as you,” he said, “which we want, and will have.”

“I think not,” I said.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Tyrtaios,” he said.

“I do not know the name,” I said.

“Let it be known that you have refused Tyrtaios,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“It may explain much later,” he said.

“And serve as a lesson to others?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Weapons are at the door,” I said. “Do you wish to meet outside?”

“I wish you well,” he said, and, rising, turned about, and left. I saw two others rise, as well, and follow him through the portal.

A proprietor’s man approached, and lingered by the table, looking toward the portal through which the three men had exited. He did not look at me. He said, softly, “Beware.”

“Paga,” I said.

“I will send a girl,” he said.

“Master,” she said, a moment later, kneeling. It was the same woman, she from Asperiche.

“Knees,” I said.

She widened them, reddening.

Did she not know how to kneel before a man?

“Paga,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, rose, and, with an angry jangle of bells, withdrew.

She seemed to me insufficiently deferential.

She had lied before, and I had not had her lashed.

Did she still think she was a free woman? Had she not yet learned she was a slave?

Lying is permitted to the free woman, not the slave.

I supposed she was the sort of slave who would misinterpret a forbearance as weakness, the sort of slave who would abuse a lenience.

That is unwise on their part, for it is easy enough to remind them of their bondage, fiercely, and with unmistakable clarity.

I thought of another woman, one first seen in a large emporium, on the world Earth. I recalled that she, in the warehouse on Earth, had looked well at my feet, stripped, on her back, as I had turned her, looking up at me, bound hand and foot, clearly ready for processing.

I trusted she would not be so foolish.

If she were, the whip would quickly instruct her in deportment.

Yet vanity in a woman is charming, even endearing. Let them lie about their sales price, the wealth and position of their master, the loftiness of their former station, and such.

But it is quite another thing to be in the least bit displeasing.

It is interesting to see how carefully some, at first, will tread a line, flirting with a master’s patience, practicing a deference akin to insolence, and then to note their dismay when they discover that the line has been moved by the master in such a way that they find themselves clearly on its wrong side, the whip side. Informed that their games are done, they then strive to be wholly pleasing, as the slave they now know themselves to be.

It is so much easier for all concerned then.

Perhaps they merely wished to be taught their collar.

If so, their wish is granted.

The slave is not a free woman. She is a property, a belonging, an animal one owns. One expects total pleasingness from her, deference, and subservience, instant and unquestioning obedience, and, at a word or the snapping of fingers, the provision of ecstatic gratification.