Conspirators of Gor

Chapter Twenty-Two

“You must forgive us,” said Kleomenes, leader of the hunters, to Astrinax. “We had no idea your wagons were in the path of our drive.”

“It is nothing,” said Astrinax. To be sure, his right thigh, beneath his tunic, was bandaged, as it had been gashed by the tusk of a running tarsk in the confusion at the wagons.

Surely the hunters had seemed concerned, even contrite, and had not made their own camp, but dragged, on ropes, through the dust, the bodies of two slain tarsk back to our wagons. They had also assisted in the repair of the wagon tongue.

Grease from the tarsk, on the spit, dripped into the fire, hissing there. Eve and I turned the spit.

Jane carried the bota of paga, hurrying about, as she might be summoned.

How far we were, marked, collared, barefoot, half-naked, from our former world, from the exclusive college, from the elegant, prestigious sorority. I thought the boys who had known us might not have been displeased to see us so. I think they would have been delighted to see us so, and, particularly, to understand the collars were truly on us. Is this not how males want us? But if this was so, why had they not kept us so? Surely they had the power to do so. In any event, on Gor, it would be done with us as men pleased. On Gor, men did as they wished, at least with such as we.

Firelight well illuminated the nearby wagons, and shadows danced on the wood. The evening was, as far as one might suppose, one of innocent merriment. The men sat cross-legged, but a chair, of branches, had been arranged for the Lady Bina. Had she been natively Gorean she would presumably have knelt sedately, in the manner of the free woman, doubtless, here, in such a place, on some mat or blanket. She chatted with the men, her veil casually loose. Lord Grendel, in the domicile, had warned her about irresponsible veiling, but the Lady Bina, as many free women, did much as she pleased. They are, after all, free. Lord Grendel, it seemed, regarded her with almost proprietary attention. Were he not a beast and thus incapable of such emotions one might have supposed he was in love with her. She would lift the veil to drink demurely behind it, her blue eyes sparkling over the cloth. Some women of low caste drink through the veil, which stains the cloth. That seemed to me unrefined. I needed not be concerned with such things, of course, as we must go about face-stripped, as the animals we are. One of the most disconcerting and shocking things that can happen to a free woman is to have her veil taken from her, bearing her features to a public gaze. Slavers, and conquerors, will often tie a free woman’s hands behind her before removing her veil. How helpless she is then, unable to prevent her face-stripping. Sometimes raiders are displeased with what they behold when the veil is torn away. Then it is not unknown for some to leave the woman’s hands tied behind her and to strip her, and tie a sign about her neck, as, for example, “Poor stuff,” “Rejected for bondage,” “Not to be collared,” “I am unworthy of being a slave,” or such. When she is again returned to her robes, and status, rejected and humiliated, woe to any girls whom she might own. The Lady Bina drank not paga, but ka-la-na, with studied delicacy. I think she was more concerned with presenting the image of a Gorean free woman than with the drinking itself. The Lady Bina was an avid pupil of what she took to be cultural proprieties. Certainly she had carefully attended to the instructions of the Lady Delia, the companion of Epicrates, in Ar. She was, incidentally, drinking what you know as a “soft ka-la-na.” In most Gorean houses, I had learned, to my interest, there is a mixing bowl, in which the stronger, or “hard,” ka-la-nas are mixed with water, the proportions determined according to the household, the occasion, the wishes of guests, and such. It would be an orgy indeed to distribute an unmixed hard ka-la-na amongst the supper couches. Normally this would take place only at private parties for high-spirited males, rash, reckless, rowdy fellows, garlanded revelers, the sort of parties at which one might encounter flute girls, slave dancers, and such. Sometimes such parties spill into the streets, resulting in disturbances of the peace, vandalism, and such.

The roast done, Lykos, with a two-edged blade, cut portions which he placed, from the knife, on wooden trenchers borne by myself and Eve. These we delivered to the men, kneeling, head down, between our extended arms.

I made certain to be the first to serve Desmond of Harfax. I thought I knelt well, gracefully, properly, subserviently. My posture and attitude, my entire deportment, as was appropriate, expressed the submissiveness of the slave. What he could not see, of course, was that, inside, I was also submissive. My heart was submissive. I wanted to be submissive. Many women of my old world would have scorned me for this, castigated me for being what I was, myself, would have insisted instead that I share their views and values, would have dictated to me, with terrible social and economic sanctions for noncompliance, would have demanded that I emulate them, and I had tried to do so, despite their obvious wretchedness, their forlorn misery and unhappiness, but I had found such things empty. Rather, I longed to be defeated; I wanted to be conquered and owned; I wanted to have no choice but to obey with perfection; I wanted to be subject to discipline; I wanted to submit; I wanted a master.

Desmond of Harfax took the trencher.

I did not expect to be thanked, of course. I had learned, shortly after my arrival on Gor, that one does not thank a slave. It is what she is for. If she does not serve humbly and well, she may be punished. Indeed, a slave is likely to be frightened, if thanked. Something is different. She does not comprehend it. What does it mean? Is her master, perhaps absently, distractedly, not noticing her, or no longer thinking of her as a slave, as his slave? Is she to be sold? Has she already been sold?

Although I had not expected to be thanked, I had, looking up, hoped to have from him some acknowledgement of my existence, an expression, the hint of a smile, a possible frown, an annoyed gesture, suggesting he was displeased with me, from my behavior in the wagon, a sense that his needs might be upon him, and he would like to have his hands on me, and as what I was, a slave.

But I saw nothing.

He had taken the trencher. It might have been given to him by any slave! Perhaps he was not even aware of who had brought it to him!

What a beast he was! Again I hated him. In the wagon, I had presented myself to him as, in effect, a begging slave, and I had been rejected!

I was sure, from a thousand things, here and there, now and then, large and small, that he found me of slave interest.

I think he wanted this slave.

I think he burned for her.

Why then had he not seized me, and cast me to his feet, and pointed to his boots that I might lie on my belly before him, and cover them, as I wished, with the kisses of a trembling, submitted slave?

Why had he not done so?

What an absurd excuse, honor!

What was honor?

There was blood, steel, and gold, and the might of masters, and the soft flesh of helpless, collared slaves! Where in all this was honor?

What was honor?

“I do think, friend Astrinax,” said Kleomenes, leader of the hunters, “that it would be unwise for you to proceed further into the Voltai.”

Kleomenes, as would be expected, assumed that the leader of our expedition was Astrinax. For example, the Lady Bina deferred to him. And, presumably, he would be unaware of what might lurk in the night, somewhere beyond the light of the fire.

“We thank you,” said Astrinax, “for your concern.”

“Today,” said Kleomenes, “you were fortunate, but the Voltai is dangerous. There are beasts, some quite dangerous. There might be avalanches, suddenly flooding streams, dislodged boulders, tumbling, fallen trees, trails might be lost, faded or washed away. It is even possible gangs of ruffians are about, seeking refuge in the wilderness from the guardsmen of a dozen cities.”

“You are right,” said Astrinax, “we must think of turning back.”

Trachinos looked up, quickly, suspiciously. If we did turn back, there might be little point in delaying the strike of his band, somewhere in the mountains.

Could this whole venture be some meaningless lark, pointless, one without a horde, a concealed treasure, a vein of gold somewhere?

“Why are you in the Voltai?” Kleomenes inquired, pleasantly.

“We are instructed,” said Astrinax, guardedly.

“By whom?” asked Kleomenes.

“Would you care for a game of cards?” asked Desmond of Harfax.

“No,” said Kleomenes, “I do not gamble.”

I was frightened by the sound of that.

“Come now, Kleomenes,” said one of his men, jocularly, “you do cards.”

“Ah, yes,” said Kleomenes, “now and then, but not now.”

Shortly thereafter the Lady Bina, perhaps drowsy from the ka-la-na, had retired.

When I was serving, my ankle was suddenly grasped by Trachinos. I could not move. “Ho, noble Desmond,” said Trachinos, “do you not think this ankle would look well in a pretty anklet?”

“She has trim ankles,” said Desmond. “They shackle well.”

“Would you not like, kajira,” said Trachinos, “to have a pretty anklet? You might then be the envy of your sister slaves.”

I did know such things, an anklet, a bracelet, an armlet, could be prized amongst kajirae.

“It will be done with me,” I said, “as masters please.”

He then released my ankle, and I hurried away.

“Paga!” he called to Jane.

“Yes, Master,” she said, hurrying to him.

The men continued to converse, about many things, things of interest to men, techniques of hunting, the best seasons and terrains, the politics of mighty Ar, the taverns of Venna, the Vennan races, the breeds of tharlarion, the kaiila and slaves they had owned, and such.

Jane, Eve, and I knelt in the background, close enough to be easily summoned, far enough away to be unobtrusive.

I had tried, in my serving, to catch the eye of Master Desmond, to avoid the eye of Master Trachinos.

As the evening wore on one or another of the hunters cast us a glance. I became more and more aware that the Lady Bina had retired.

“Do your girls dance?” asked Kleomenes.

I was startled. I had never thought of dancing, certainly not as a woman might dance before Gorean males.

I wondered what it might be, commanded, to dance before such males, and as a slave.

“Ela,” said Astrinax, woefully, “no. They are all ignorant barbarians.”

“Barbarians?” said Kleomenes.

“They are cheap,” said Astrinax.

“Some barbarians are quite expensive,” said Kleomenes.

“These were cheap,” said Astrinax.

“What of their use?” asked Kleomenes.

“They are owned by the lady,” said Astrinax, “and I fear she has retired.”

“Well,” said Kleomenes, pleasantly, “there are many such vulos in Venna.”

“You are returning to Venna then,” said Astrinax.

“Early,” said Kleomenes, “probably before you rise.”

“What of the meat?” asked Astrinax.

“Some we will put over our saddles,” said Kleomenes, “some we will leave for you. We will break the tusks loose from the jaws. The tusks of Voltai tarsk sell well in Venna.”

“You are professional hunters then,” said Astrinax.

“No,” said Kleomenes, “we hunt for the sport, the chase, the kill.”

“It is a dangerous sport,” said Astrinax.

“So, then,” said Kleomenes, “it races the blood, it sharpens the eye, and is thus, for that, the better sport.”

“And the tusks sell well,” said Trachinos.

“That, too, noble friend,” said Kleomenes.

“Possibly there are even more dangerous sports,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“Possibly,” said Kleomenes.

“I fear it is late,” said Lykos, “and we, too, must depart early.”

“You are proceeding then?” said Kleomenes.

“I think so,” said Astrinax.

“Then we shall wish you well,” said Kleomenes.

“And we, you,” said Astrinax.

“We have,” said Kleomenes, “a rare liqueur of Turia, which we were saving for the night of victory, the celebration of a successful hunt.”

“This night, then?” said Desmond of Harfax.

“Why not?” said Kleomenes.

“What liqueur?” asked Trachinos.

“That of Falnus,” said Kleomenes.

“Aii!” said Trachinos.

“You know the liqueur?” asked Kleomenes.

“I am from Turia,” said Trachinos.

“I understand,” said Master Desmond, “it is known even in Teletus.”

“It is worth a golden tarsk in Ar,” said Trachinos.

At a sign from Kleomenes one of his men left the fire, to seek the vicinity of their packs.

Shortly thereafter he appeared in the firelight bearing a small flask, sealed with golden cord.

The seal was undone, and Kleomenes handed the flask to Astrinax.

“It is your victory, your hunt celebration,” said Master Desmond. “You should drink first.”

“But you are our hosts, and it is our gift to you, to share this rarity with you,” said Kleomenes.

“Nonetheless,” said Desmond of Harfax, politely.

“Very well,” said Kleomenes, and drank from the flask.

“Give it to me,” said Trachinos.

He received the flask.

“Do not drink it all,” warned Astrinax.

The flask was then handed about, amongst the masters, the hunters, and those of our party.

“Ah!” cried Astrinax.

“It is from the house of Falnus,” Kleomenes reminded us. “Raiders of the Wagon Peoples sometimes raid Turian caravans for this, and, of course, Turian women, to be put in the chatka and curla, the kalmak, and a nose ring.”

I understood little of this. I gathered it had to do with a garmenture in which slaves might be kept. I did understand the concept of a nose ring.

“Superb,” said Lykos.

“Quite good,” said Desmond of Harfax.

Even taciturn Akesinos, who had scarcely spoken the entire evening, seemed pleased.

“And you,” said Kleomenes, rising to his feet, stumbling a little, “the three of you, pretty kajirae, put your hands down on your thighs, put your heads back, far, and open your mouths, widely!”

“Master!” we cried, gratefully.

How fortunate we were, how privileged, how generous the master! Many free persons, doubtless, had never tasted a Turian liqueur, not to speak of that of Falnus.

“Enough, enough,” said Kleomenes.

“Thank you, Master!” we breathed.

It was like a sweet, burning drop of liquid fire, flavored with flower herbs and, detectably, tospit and larma.

Warm words of pleasant parting were exchanged, and the hunters withdrew to their camp, and tethered tharlarion.

“I will shackle you for the night,” said Desmond of Harfax.

I tried to press myself against him, but he thrust me away.

He turned about. “Come along,” he said.

I stumbled.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I am unsteady.”

He leaned against the side of the wagon. Then he struck his fist against the wood.

“Astrinax!” he called. “Lykos! Trachinos, Akesinos!”

There was no reply.

He clutched the side of the wagon, trying to hold himself upright.

“Fools, fools, fools!” he said.

I went to my knees, and then to all fours. I shook my head. Then I must have slipped to the ground.