Conspirators of Gor

Chapter Nine

The cages, of heavy, cable-like woven wire, are made for tarsks, not kajirae. One cannot stand in them. They are long, narrow, and low. Thus, more than one can be placed on a sideless, flat-bedded wagon, roped in place. Too, like the common slave cages designed for kajirae, they may be stacked.

I hooked my fingers in the wire, and looked out, frightened, from my knees. The Tarsk Market has its name, obviously enough, I suppose, because it is a general market for tarsks. Certainly the smell of tarsk was all about. And there was little doubt, from the condition of the cage, that the previous occupants of the cage had been tarsks.

Needless to say, it is only low slaves who are vended from such a market.

I lay down in the cage, on my right side, in the straw, facing the back wall of the warehouse.

How vulnerable we were, as slaves!

But, had we been free women I did not doubt but what we would have been abandoned, left in the house, on the Street of Chance, to perish in the flames.

The marks on our thighs, our collars, had saved us. We had been saved, but as what we were, only that, animals.

“That one,” said a voice, a woman’s voice. I did not place the accent. It did not sound pleasant.

“That one?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said the woman’s voice. “I would see her.”

I felt a stick poke me. “Turn about,” said the man’s voice. “On all fours!”

I turned about, and went to all fours, my head down, frightened. I would have a bruise on my back.

My hopes of obtaining a handsome, rich master, from amongst the clients of the gambling house, had perished, as had the house, in the furious, vengeful fire, set by guardsmen.

No one with money would buy here, I suspected, not in such a place, not in such a market.

I had no doubt I smelled, of the straw, and the dung of tarsks.

Too, it was a woman’s voice.

“Let us see her,” said the woman.

I heard the gate at the end of the long, low cage unfastened. “Out,” said the man. “Stay on all fours.”

I made my way to the end of the cage, and emerged, out, onto the stained, straw-strewn floor.

I kept my head lowered.

“She must be cheap,” said the woman.

“She is, they all are,” said the man. “We had the lot for next to nothing.”

“Twenty tarsks,” said the woman.

“Surely not,” said the man.

“No more,” said the woman.

“She is not bad slave meat,” said the man. “Shall I put her in examination position?”

There are various examination positions, but the most common is to stand the slave with her feet widely spread, and her hands clasped behind the back of her neck, or the back of her head. The spreading of the feet makes movement difficult, and the position of the hands keeps them out of the way as the slave is examined. They shall not interfere, nor will there be an impediment to the buyer’s vision as the slave is considered. This position also lifts the slave’s breasts nicely. Too, the girl is expected to stand erect, her shoulders back, which also accentuates the breasts, and her belly is to be sucked in, this calling attention to the width of her love cradle, the narrowness of a pleasant, trim waist, and the lovely flare of her body, as it rises to the beauty of her bosom. She may be handled rather as the buyer pleases, must open her mouth upon request, that her teeth may be examined, and so on. Sometimes the slave cries out startled, or in misery, for she may be tested for sturdiness of body, for firmness, for responsiveness, and such.

“No,” said the woman.

“Shall I have her on her back or belly, and have her squirm for you?” asked the man.

“No,” said the woman.

I hoped that the woman might be a slave, buying for a master. I turned my head a little, and my heart sank. I saw no bared ankle, perhaps encircled with a locked ring, nor some loops of binding fiber, suitable for binding a girl, but the hem of a robe, a rich, scarlet robe, and glimpsed the toes of small slippers, yellow, beneath that hem.

It was a free woman!

“What do you want her for?” asked the man.

“Work,” said the woman. “Is it true that slaves are lazy?”

I thought that a strange question for a Gorean free woman. Was she a stranger, from some unusual city, away from civilization, unfamiliar with some sorts of animals, ones such as I?

“They had better not be,” said the man. “Too, the switch, the whip, encourages diligence.”

It suddenly occurred to me that the woman, seemingly unfamiliar with such obvious things, might not be Gorean. Certainly I was unfamiliar with the accent. Perhaps she might buy me and free me?

Then I realized how foolish was such a thought.

I was on Gor.

“Twenty tarsks,” said the woman.

“Not enough,” said the man.

“Show me something else, cheaper,” said the woman.

“There is nothing cheaper,” said the man. “She is the cheapest.”

“Twenty,” said the woman.

“Forty,” said the man.

“What was she?” asked the woman.

“A gambling-house girl,” said the man.

“What is that?” asked the woman.

“A serving slave, a display slave, a lure slave, such things,” he said. “They encourage men to drink, to eat, to spend, to wager, to linger at the tables, to draw further cards, to cast the dice just one last time, and such.”

“The gambling,” she said, “is not then done with lives, those of men and animals.”

“Not in any obvious sense,” said the man.

“I see,” she said. And it sounded as though she dismissed the bouts of the spinning wheel, the shaken box, the buying of chances, the drawing of cards. The blood shed in such games is largely unseen, doubtless, but, I fear, it is there.

I did know that men bet on tarn races, which could be dangerous at the rings, sometimes a body broken, a limb lost, a wing torn away, and that some cared for arena sports, sword games. Tharlarion races were regularly held at Venna, and other towns. Sometimes, interestingly, fortunes were wagered on kaissa matches.

“I suppose,” said the woman, “that a gambling-house girl, one purchased for such a work, would be likely to be of interest to men.”

“Very much so,” said the man.

“Good,” said the woman. “Such a slave upon occasion might prove useful.”

I did not understand what she meant.

If she were buying for a brothel, or tavern, it did not seem she would be here, in this market.

“Surely,” said the man. “I could let her go for fifty tarsks.”

“Fifteen,” said the woman.

“Forty-five,” said the man.

“Actually,” said the woman, “I would prefer a barbarian.”

“She is a barbarian!” said the man. “Bring a lamp!” he called.

I was pulled to my knees, and my left arm was seized, and held up. “The barbarian scarring,” said the man, indicating my upper left arm. “Many barbarians are so marked, not all.” Then he put his hand in my hair, and yanked my head up, and back. “Get your mouth open,” he said, “widely, more, more!” I closed my eyes against the light of the lamp, so close to me, held by his fellow. I felt its warmth. My mouth hurt, held so. “See?” said the man.

“I do not understand,” said the woman.

“The teeth,” he said.

“I see,” she said.

“They are in lovely condition,” he said.

“No,” she said, “the two specks, there and there.”

“Of course,” said the man, “many barbarians have such things, not all. It is one way of recognizing the barbarian.”

“What are they?” she asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “Some think they are a decoration, a thing of vanity, like a beauty mark, to call attention by contrast to the exquisite beauty of what is not blemished, others consider them an identificatory device, a subtle one, by means of which a slave may be recognized.”

“She is clearly a slave,” said the woman.

“Obviously,” said the man.

Actually, for those who may be unfamiliar with such things, what they spoke of was a consequence of the work of a form of physician on my native world, one who concerns himself primarily with the health and condition of teeth. The internal damaging of teeth is more common on my former world than on yours, a difference doubtless having much to do with differences in diet. In any event, the damaged tissue is often removed, the resultant opening being subsequently closed.

I looked up, piteously, at the man.

“You may close your mouth,” he said.

Gratefully I closed my mouth.

I remained on my knees. Slaves are commonly so, in the presence of free persons. Such things make clear the difference in status between the free and their properties.

And I now well knew myself a property.

The only question was who owned the property, who owned me?

“Too,” said the man to the woman.

“‘Too’?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. Then he said to me, “Say the alphabet.”

I could not read, but I had been taught the alphabet, by rote. Interestingly, he had had me recite the alphabet earlier, shortly after my arrival here, before I had been caged. I recited the letters, again, now, which I would not even have known were letters, if I had not been so informed in the house.

“There,” said the man, smiling. “Hear?” he asked.

“What?” said the woman, hesitantly.

“The mistakes,” said the man.

“Of course,” said the woman, but I was confident she was no more aware of the mistakes than I was. Indeed, I suspected she could not read. But the sumptuous raiment she wore surely suggested wealth, if not high caste.

The mistakes I had made, I unaware of them, had been taught to me, that they would mark me as a slave. Too, I was certain I had been taught certain pronunciations of words I was not likely to frequently hear, which were also, in their subtle way, entrapments. The free, of course, do not correct such mistakes, and let them pass, deliberately, as a matter of course. In this way it is difficult for the slave to understand what she might inadvertently be doing, which may call attention to her bondage. I had, some days ago, when out of the gambling house on an errand, barefoot, in my short, purple tunic, with its lettering on the back, seen a seemingly free woman, in lovely robes and veils, seized and stripped by guardsmen. Normally, when there is doubt as to the status or condition of a woman she is given to free women, who may then, with respect to her modesty should she be free, examine her body, for a possible collar, or brand. This one, however, was simply disrobed, bound hand and foot, and put in a wagon, for delivery to a market praetor, who would see to her return to her master, or, that failing, to her lashing, fugitive branding, and resale. I would not dare to speak to a free person, but I hurried to a tower slave in the crowd, trying to learn what had happened. The tower slave, however, would not demean herself by responding to the inquiry of a “half-naked, gambling-house girl.” A laundress, however, fresh from the troughs and bearing her bundle, looked at me, frightened, and said, “Slave Gorean.” “I see,” I had said. “It is an extra chain on us,” she said, “one we do not even know we wear.” “Yes,” I had said, uneasily, and hurried on, about my way. I, too, I was sure, wore such a chain.

“I am interested in an ignorant barbarian,” said the woman.

“A stupid barbarian?” asked the man.

“No,” she said, “one ignorant.”

Why, I wondered, would anyone want an ignorant girl? I supposed I was ignorant. I had not been that long on Gor. I hoped she did not want me for a serving slave. I did not even know the subtle fastenings of the robes of concealment, the layerings and arrangements of veils, the order of a woman’s bath, or such.

“Girl,” said the man.

“Master?” I said.

“When were you first collared?” he asked.

“In En’Kara,” I said, “in the house of Tenalion, of Ar.”

“That is a good house,” said the man to the woman.

“What year?” he asked me.

“This year, Master,” I said.

“There,” said the man. “This is your slave.”

“Twenty tarsks,” she said.

“Fifty,” he said.

“She is a barbarian, an untutored, ignorant barbarian,” she said.

I was not at all sure that the speaker herself was all that informed. Might she be a barbarian, as well? But I did not know the accent. Perhaps it was from the islands, or the far south.

“Barbarians make excellent slaves,” said the man. “They come from a world where there is little opportunity for their bondage. Slaves are mostly held in secret. On her world many men are crippled, confused, divided, set against themselves, taught to suspect their most basic, virile impulses. They are taught to fear manhood, and hold it as a thing of regret or shame. Accordingly, the women wander about, neglected, forlorn, lacking masters, denied the chain and whip.”

“I see,” said the woman.

“I did not, of course, mean women such as you, your graciousness,” he said.

“I trust not,” she said.

“But the slaves on this slave’s world,” said the man, presumably indicating me, I kept my head down, “are treated with great cruelty, a cruelty so great that it is difficult for such as we, scions of a high civilization, to even comprehend it, for they are denied what they need, and without which they cannot be fulfilled, their masters. It is little wonder they come hot from the block, tear-stained and needful, to put themselves to a man’s feet. They have come from a desert, to the green meadows of Gor. No longer do they thirst, no longer do they starve. Here they are put in collars.”

“Twenty,” said the woman, evenly.

“Perhaps forty-five?” suggested the man.

“No,” she said.

“Many men are fond of barbarians,” he said.

“I am not a man,” she said.

“You should have seen her,” he said, “in the tunic of the gambling house.”

“I am sure she was attractive,” said the woman.

“She was almost nude,” he said.

“If I buy her,” said the woman, “I may put her in a sack, left over from the transportation of suls.”

Such sacking is plain, coarse, and ill-woven.

Too, such garmenture is unflattering, and likely to solicit ridicule from one’s sister slaves.

“Behold the high slave!” they might laugh. “A slave?” might laugh another. “I must look more closely. I thought it a sack of suls!”

Such cloth, too, scratches.

It is a torment to put a slave in such a garmenture.

Some men avail themselves of such a means to demean or punish a girl.

“If you are interested in her attractiveness to men,” he said, “for example, you might wish to give her to one or another, for an evening, or such, for some purpose of yours, you might think in terms of a camisk, a ta-teera, a bit of rep-cloth, such things.”

I knew that camisks, and ta-teeras, were frowned on in the streets, in public. The streets of Ar were not the aisles of taverns, the vestibules and stairwells of insulae, the corridors in a military camp. Still one would see them. Indeed, in some of the lower paga taverns, the girls wore only their bells and collars. Little kaissa was played in such taverns.

“Twenty,” said the woman.

“Let us say, forty,” suggested the man.

“I wish you well,” she said, turning about, with a swirl of garmenture.

“Thirty!” he cried. “Yes, yes! Then twenty!”

She spun about. “Done,” she said.

I saw a twenty-tarsk piece put in his hand.

I had been sold, again.

“What is your name?” asked the woman.

“Whatever Mistress wishes,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed, and I sensed, within the veil, she wrinkled her nose. “What of Dung-of-Tarsk?” she asked.

“Whatever Mistress wishes,” I said.

“What have you been called?” she asked.

“Allison,” I said.

“I do not know that name,” she said.

“It is a barbarian name, your graciousness,” said the man.

“Good,” said the woman. “We will keep it. That way others will know that she is a barbarian, or no better than a barbarian.”

“It will help to keep her in her place,” said the man.

“What is your name, girl?” she asked.

“Allison, Mistress,” I said, “if it pleases Mistress.”

“I will have her picked up later this evening, after dark,” said the woman. “In the meantime shave her head and scrub her clean, with kaiila brushes.”

“It will be done,” said the man.

Why, I wondered, was I to be picked up after dark?

Why would she not take me with her, from the market? The men could thong-bind my wrists behind my back and cord-leash me.

Suitably bound and tethered I could no more escape from her than from a man. A slave is often made helpless, absolutely so.

Surely it would not take long to cleanse a slave, or, if one wished, to shave her head.

Why was I to be picked up after dark?

I was uneasy.

I was looking up, from my knees, these positioned closely together, as though I might still be white-silk, when the woman’s veil seemed to slip, as though inadvertently. I think, however, this lapse was not inadvertent, as she did not immediately restore it, but let it lay loose for a moment, as she smiled.

“Aii,” said the man, softly.

I myself gasped, as well. She was surely one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her features were exquisite, her eyes a deep, soft, lovely blue. At the side of her hood, there was a strand of bright, blondish hair.

“I am the Lady Bina,” she said. “It is in this name that my agent will call for the girl.”

She then refastened the veil.

I gathered she had well tested her power, to her satisfaction, on the hapless fellow.

I recalled the sternness of her bidding.

This was no ordinary beautiful woman.

“You may find my agent unusual,” she said. “But do not be afraid. He is harmless, save when aroused, or angered.”

I did not understand this.

“I have men,” said the fellow. “Let them conduct you from this place. It is a low place. The streets are not well lit. It will soon be dark.”

“I do not understand,” she said, in a way which suggested she well understood.

“The streets are dangerous,” he said. “Your graciousness should be guarded.”

“I am guarded,” she said, and turned, and left.

“She is beautiful enough to be a Ubara,” said the man to his fellow, who had held the lamp.

“That is an odd name,” said his fellow.

I thought it odd, as well, for ‘bina’ is a common word for beads, generally cheap beads, of colored wood, slave beads.

“I do not think she is Gorean,” said the man.

“What then?” asked the other. “She does not seem barbarian.”

“Did you see her?” asked the man.

“Of course,” said the other.

“What do you think?” asked the man.

“Ten golden tarn disks, at least of double weight,” said the other.

“I think so,” said the man.

“Such women are well guarded,” said his fellow.

“This is an honest house,” said the man.

“Yes,” said the other. Then he looked down at me. “So,” he said, “twenty tarsks.”

I put my head down.

“It is not a bad price for her,” said the man.

On Gor, commonly, slaves are cheap, even beautiful slaves. They are easily obtained. Almost anyone may own one, or more.

“Allison,” said the man, “follow Petranos. He will conduct you to the tubs. There he will shave your head, and then the girls will scour you.”

“May I speak, Master?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

I put my hands to my hair. “Must my head be shaved?” I asked.

He put his left hand in my hair, holding me, as I knelt, and then, first with the back of his right hand, and then with its palm, cuffed me, sharply, stingingly.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

I then rose to my feet, and hurried after Petranos.

I knelt under the sheet, it wrapped closely about me, sobbing, in an outer room, one with access to the street. I could see the street, through the opened door. It was already dark. My left ankle was chained to a ring anchored in the floor.

It is usually the left ankle which is chained.

My body was sore, for the slaves who had cleaned me had not been gentle. They were larger slaves, thick-bodied, and coarse. They tend to have something of the attitude of free women toward slaves of a sort likely to be of greater interest to men. They tend to despise the needful, lovely, feminine slave, the sort men are likely to seek, capture, collar, and put to their feet.

I was now much different from what I had been.

I was now sparkling, doubtless.

The cleaning slaves had seen to that.

The smell of tarsk was no longer on me. Surely that was to the good. But I was miserable. I put my hand to my head. I remembered the feel of the razor on my scalp. I cried out in misery. Petranos had done his work well.

How ugly I now was!

How could I now attract a desirable master?

For what had I been purchased? For the mills, or the mines, for work at the carnariums, the filth pits, for work in the sewers, in the tharlarion stables, at the tarsk pens? I did not know.

Clearly I would now be of little interest in the taverns, in the brothels, in the gambling houses, even in the towers, or inns.

Who now would want the former Allison Ashton-Baker? Not even the boys I used to torment!

I heard then a cry of alarm from the street.

I jerked against the chain, startled, and nearly rose to my feet, but then swiftly resumed my kneeling position. I was a slave. No free person had given me permission to rise.

We are on our knees as easily, and naturally, and as appropriately, as the free person is on his feet, or sits on his bench or chair, or reclines, at ease, on his supper couch.

Two or three men, from the market, who had been loitering outside, in the warm night, backed through the door, warily.

Something very large, and bent over, boulder-like, was in the doorway. It was huge, the form muchly concealed within the ample, thick, sheet-like, hooded cloak it wore.

The hood moved, from side to side, and I sensed that something deep within the hood was considering the room.

“Away!” cried one of the men.

I then heard a noise, a sort of noise, which, this first time I heard it, dismayed and terrified me. It was a noise such as one might expect from some large, wary, suspicious, predatory, carnivorous beast. It was clearly bestial. But, strangely, it seemed no ordinary noise, some sort of signal, or a revelation of a mood, but a subtly articulated stream of sound, and scarcely had it ceased than I heard Gorean, the words clearly sounded, but oddly spaced, produced, apparently, by means of some sort of device, some sort of machine or contrivance.

“Do not be afraid,” it said. “I bear no weapons. I mean you no harm. I come in peace. I come in the name of the Lady Bina, that I might claim on her behalf a female slave.”

“Who are you?” said a man.

“What are you?” said another.

“Are you human?” asked another.

“What is human?” rejoined the mechanical voice. “A mind, a shape, a form? Are you human?”

“It is a beast,” said another. “They are dangerous. They are hunted. They lurk in wildernesses. Some are north, in Torvaldsland.”

“I come on behalf of Lady Bina, to claim a slave,” said the voice.

“We await another,” said a man, he who had bargained unsuccessfully with the lovely Lady Bina, “her agent.”

“I am he,” said the voice.

“How do we know that?” asked a man.

“I come in her name,” said the voice.

I knelt, chained in place, in terror. I do not think I could have spoken, had I wished to do so.

“What is the name of the slave?” asked the fellow who had dealt with the Lady Bina.

“My translator,” said the voice, “does not carry the name.”

“Translator?” said a fellow, puzzled.

“The speaking thing,” said another.

“Then,” said the man who had sold me, “you cannot have her.”

At this point a sound came from within that enormous, cloaked, hooded figure which was not translated, but its menace was clear, and the men moved further back.

I found my voice, to scream, and hide my head.

A hairy, large, paw-like thing had come from under the cloak and brushed back the hood, revealing a broad, furred head, perhaps a foot in width, with large eyes. The ears, large and pointed, moved back, gently, against the sides of the head. The mouth opened, enough to see the movement of a large, restless tongue, and afford a glimpse of thick, spike-like, moist, curved fangs.

I had the sense that those massive jaws might have been capable of biting through a beam, and could easily, like tearing paper, snap away a man’s head, or woman’s.

The beast approached me, the cloak dragging behind it. I could now see its furred chest, and could see, against the chest, the small device, the translator, which was slung about its neck. One massive paw reached toward me.

“Do not!” said the leader of the men, he who had dealt with the Lady Bina. “She is chained! You would tear her foot off!”

The beast reached to the chain that fastened me to the ring, and wrenched it from the floor, with a splintering of wood.

“Stop!” said the leader.

The beast turned and looked at him.

I would not care to have such a thing so look at me.

“I will unchain her!” he said.

“The slave is female,” came from the translator, mechanically, unemotionally, a placidity quite at odds with the roiling, tensed power that seemed to rise now like lava within that immense, living frame, “the price was twenty tarsks, and the buyer is by name Bina, and by title, the Lady Bina.”

“I will unchain her,” said the man. “Forgive us. We wished to be sure of matters. Our mistake is natural. We were not warned, or sufficiently warned. We did not expect an agent such as yourself, noble Master.”

I did not think the beast was flattered.

He seemed to be measuring the distance between himself and the rear entrance, leading to the cage area. The ears were lifted. I heard nothing. There was moisture about its jaws and the fangs were wet with saliva.

Words came again from the translator.

“Tell them not to use their bows,” it said. “Before they could appear in the portal, I could strike away your head.”

“I do not understand,” said the man, disconcerted.

“Tell them to put their bows down, in the portal, where I can see them.”

The man turned about. “Is anyone there?” he called.

“Now,” came from the translator.

“There is no one there,” said the man.

“Now,” repeated the translator.

“There is no one there,” said the man.

“Do you wish to live?” came from the translator.

“Do it, do it,” said the man, “put your bows down, in the portal.”

Two fellows, whom I recognized from the market, then appeared in the portal, and placed crossbows on the floor.

I had heard nothing, nor, apparently, had the others in the room, only the beast.

Could one hear a step so soft, the drawing of a cable, the laying of a quarrel in the guide?

“You will live,” came from the translator.

A key was thrust into the lock on my manacle, and it was turned, moving the bolt, after which the sides of the device were opened, on their hinges.

The sheet was removed from me and I was put to my belly before the beast. I scarcely dared raise my head.

I saw heavy, furred, clawed feet before me.

“Your principal,” said the man, rising to his feet, “made an excellent buy. She is a beauty. But perhaps you cannot see that, as you are different.”

The large head lifted and regarded him. “I can see that,” it said.

I trembled.

“There is an additional charge, of ten tarsks,” said the man.

“Perhaps, after all,” came from the translator, “you do not wish to live.”

“It will be waived, of course,” said the man.

The beast then, bent over, wary, began to back toward the street. It paused in the portal. “Come with me,” came from the translator.

I saw the large eyes on me.

“What would such a thing want of a slave?” asked one of the men.

“Food?” suggested another.

I screamed in terror, sprang to my feet, and tried to run back toward the cages, but had moved not a step or two before I was caught in the rear portal by one of the fellows there, and held. I struggled, wildly, but my strength was no more than that of a child in his arms. I began to shudder. I turned to look at the beast, saw the eyes and fangs, screamed again, and lost consciousness.