Explorers Of Gor

11
Shaba

The girl stood at the heavy, wooden door, on the dark street, and knocked, sharply, four times, followed by a pause, and then twice. A tiny tharlarion-oil lamp burned near the door. I could see her dark hair, and high cheekbones, in the light. The yellow light, too, flickering, in the shadows, glinted on the steel collar beneath her hair. She wore a tan slave tunic, sleeveless, of knee length, rather demure for a bond girl. It did, however, have a plunging neckline, setting off the collar well.

She repeated the knock, precisely as before.

She was barefoot. In her hand, wadded up, was a tiny scrap of yellow slave silk, which had been her uniform in the tavern of Pembe.

She was not a bad looking girl. Her hair, dark-brown, was of shoulder length.

Her accent, as I had detected yesterday evening, in the Golden Kailiauk, was barbarian. Something in it, when she had cried out, or spoken to me, suggested that she might be familiar with English.

I had little doubt she had been affiliated with he who had called himself Kunguni. She had simulated the appearance of the blond-haired barbarian beneath the brown aba. Her face and body, when she had protested her innocence to me, had belied her words. I had learned from Kipofu that she was not owned by Pembe, proprietor of the Golden Kailiauk. Doubtless, for a fee, paid by her master, if she were a slave, she had been permitted to serve in his place of business. Sometimes masters do this sort of thing for their girls. It is cheaper than renting space for them in the public or private pens. Pembe would not be likely to think anything amiss.

I stood back in the shadows. A tiny panel in the door slid back. Then it shut. A moment later the door opened.

I saw, in the light; briefly, the scarred face, and bent back, hunched, of he who had called himself Kunguni. He looked about, but did not see me, concealed in the shadows. The girl slipped past him, and entered the door. It then shut.

I looked about, and then crossed the narrow street I glanced at the shuttered windows. I could see cracks of light between the wooden slats.

Inside, not far from the door, I could see the girl and the man. The room, or anteroom, was dingy.

"Is he here yet?" asked the girl.

"Yes," said the man, "he is waiting inside."

"Good," she said.

"It is our hope," said the man, "that you will be more successful this evening than last."

"I can get nothing out of her, if she knows nothing." snapped the girl.

"That is true," said the man.

The girl took the bit of wadded yellow pleasure silk she carried in her hand and, straightening it a bit, slipped it on a narrow wooden rod in an open closet. "Disgusting garment," she said. "A girl might as well be naked."

"A lovely garment," said the man, "but I agree with your latter sentiment."

She looked at him, angrily.

"Did many ask for you tonight?" he asked. "Or did Pembe have to inform them that you were not for use?"

"None asked," she said, angrily.

"Interesting," he said.

"Why is it 'interesting'?" she asked, not pleasantly.

"I do not know," he said. "It just seems that your face and body would be of interest to men, but apparently they are not."

"I can be attractive, if I wish," she said.

"I doubt it," he said.

"Behold!" she said, striking a pose.

"It is fraudulent," he said. "Women such as you understand nothing of attractiveness. With you it is a matter of externals, of acting. Any true man sees through it immediately. You confuse the pretense with the truth, the artificial and imitative with the reality. You think you could become attractive but merely choose not to be so. It is a delusion, as you understand these things. This permits you to console yourself with lies and, at the same time, provides you with an excuse for despising and belittling the truly attractive woman, thinking she is merely, as you would be, if you were she, acting. But it is not true. The source of a woman's attractiveness is within her. It is internal. It comes from the inside out She is vulnerable, and desires men, and wishes: to be touched and owned. This then shows in her body and movements, and in her eyes and face. That is the truly attractive woman."

"Like that she-sleen in the other room?" asked the woman.

"She has felt the whip, and known male domination," he said. "Have you?"

"No," she said.

"I took the liberty of caressing our lovely bound captive a bit before you arrived," he said. "She is quite hot."

"I hate that sort of woman," said the girl. "She is weak. She is a slave, and I am not"

I saw the man smile.

"Tonight, if she knows anything," said the girl, "I will get it out of her."

"I am sure you will," he said.

I then saw the girl, to my surprise, remove a tiny key from her tunic.

"Permit me," he said.

"Thank you, no," she said, acidly. Then she, lifting her arms, fitted the key into the lock at the back of her collar. This action lifted the line of her breasts, which was lovely, and lifted the tan slave tunic a bit higher on her thighs. She was nicely legged, as I had noted before. "You needn't look at me as I do this," she said.

"Forgive me," he said, and turned away. He smiled. He began to undo certain buckles, attached to leather straps, within his own tunic.

She removed the collar, and set it on a shelf in the closet, with the key. "A collar," she said. "How barbaric it is to put women in collars." She shuddered.

I saw to my surprise, that the man, he who had been called Kunguni, drew forth, from beneath his tunic, a sewn, padded mound of cloth, heavy, globelike, with dangling straps. He then straightened his back. He was not tall, but he stood now slim and straight His right leg, too, now did not seem to afflict him. He stood straight upon it With the thumb and first finger of his right hand he peeled a cunning, jagged streak of paste and ocher from his left cheek, removing what I had taken to be a scar. I recalled the words of Kipofu: "His back is crooked and It is not. His back is hunched and it is not. His face is scarred. and it is not. His leg is crippled and it is not." But I did not know who he might be. "Do not seek him," had said Kipofu. "Forget him. Flee."

"How long must I continue this farce of feigned service at the Golden Kailiauk?" she asked.

"Tonight," said the man, "was your last of feigned service there."

"Excellent," she said.

He smiled.

"If you would now excuse me," she said, coolly, "I would like to slip into something suitable for a woman."

He looked at her.

"More suitable than this tunic," she said.

"Slave tunic," he said.

"Yes, slave tunic," she said, irritably.

"Are all women on your former world like you?" he asked.

"Not enough," she said.

"How I pity the men of such a place," he said.

"True women will teach them how to act and be," she said.

"What piteous fools," he said.

"What did you mean, my 'former world'?" she asked. "It is still my world."

The trace of a smile moved at the corners of the mouth of the man who had been called Kunguni.

"If you will now excuse me," she said, "I would like to change."

"I shall await you with him in the other room," he said.

"Very well," she said.

"When you come," said he, "bring your whip."

"I will," she said.

The man then left the small anteroom, closing its door behind him, and the woman reached to the wooden rods in the closet, on which garments hung.

I could not see into the other room from where I stood, nor did it obviously have windows. I backed into the dark street and then, a few feet away, saw a low, sloping roof. Most of the buildings of Schendi have wooden ventilator shafts at the roof, which may be opened and closed. These are often kept open that the hot air in the room, rising, may escape. They can be closed by a rod from the floor, in the case of rain or during the swarming seasons for various insects.

In a few moments I had hoisted myself up to the low roof and then, again, climbing, I eased myself onto the roof of the building in which the man and woman had been conversing. There was a ventilator shaft, or slatted grille, over the main room, as I had anticipated. There is generally one room at least in which this arrangement occurs. Otherwise indoor living in Schendi could be difficult to bear. I could look down into the room, some fifteen feet below, through the slats in the grille. I could not, from my position, see the entire room. I could not see, most importantly,the figure whom, I gathered from the conversation and glances of the man and woman, sat at the far end of the room, behind a small table. I saw upon occasion the movement of his hands, long and black, with delicate fingers.

I could see, however, the man who had been called Kunguni and the woman who had worn the tan slave tunic. I could also see, kneeling on a dark blanket, naked, her ankles tied. her hands tied to her collar, her head down, still blindfolded, the blond-haired barbarian.:

"I am sorry I am late," said the girl who had worn the tan slave tunic. "Pembe kept me later than I pleased, to finish serving paga to a drunken oarsman."

"What sacrifices we must make in the prosecution of our arduous mission," mused the fellow who had been called Kunguni.

The girl looked at him, angrily. She now wore, interestingly, tight black slacks and a black, buttoned top. I could also see she wore Earth undergarments. On her feet were wooden clogs. Her clothing seemed strikingly at odds with her setting. She apparently had little sensitivity to the aesthetic incongruities involved or, perhaps, she wished merely to reassure herself by this device that she was truly of Earth and not Gor. I had thought the slave tunic and collar had made her fit in better with her surroundings. They seemed more apt, more tasteful, more appropriate. They had been, I recalled, «right» upon her. But are they not right upon any woman, in any world?

There were two other men in the room, and I gazed upon them with some astonishment. They were large fellows, strong and lean, dressed in skins and golden armlets, and feathers. They carried high, oval shields, and short, long-bladed stabbing spears. These men, I was sure, were not of Schendi. They came from somewhere, I was sure, in the interior.

The blond-haired barbarian, blindfolded, frightened, lifted her head. Her lower lip trembled.

The fellow who had been called Kunguni crouched before the girl and, quickly, jerked loose the knot which held her bound hands, which were still tied, tethered at her collar. He held her bound wrists in one hand.

"Please do not hurt me any more," she said, in English, "I have told you all I know."

With his right hand, holding the girl's tied wrists in his left, the man tossed a rope up, over a rafter. He tied it then to her bound wrists, about the cording which secured them. He then signaled to the two large fellows who stood nearby. They put aside their shields and short spears and, hauling on the rope, jerked the blond-haired barbarian to her feet.

"Please," she wept, "I've told you all I know!"

At a signal from the man near her the two large fellows drew the girl from her feet, until she hung suspended some six inches from the floor.

"Begin," said the voice of the unseen man, he behind the table. He spoke in Gorean.

The girl in the slacks and black, buttoned top swung loose the blades of the slave whip she carried. She touched the blades to the body of the suspended girl.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked.

"A slave whip. Mistress," said the girl, in English. Their conversation was conducted entirely in English. The two girls, I gathered, were the only ones in the room who spoke English. The girl in the black slacks did, however, of course, translate, here and there, what the blond-haired barbarian said. She herself, of course, inevitably communicated with the men in Gorean.

"Speak," said the girl in the black slacks.

"I have told you all I know," wept the blond-haired barbarian. "Please do not beat me again."

"Speak," said the girl in the black slacks, touching the other girl lightly with the whip.

"My name is Janice Prentiss," she said.

"Your name was Janice Prentiss," corrected the girl with the whip.

"Yes, Mistress," said the suspended girl. "I was recruited in-"

"Be silent," said the girl with the whip.

"Yes, Mistress," moaned the girl.

Then the girl in the black slacks, suddenly, lashed her with the whip. The blond girl cried out with misery, twisting helplessly on the rope, her toes some six inches or so from the floor.

"Speak!" said the girl in the black slacks.

"Mistress!" cried the blond girl.

She was struck again.

"Mistress!" wept the blond girl.

"Speak of important things, of the ring and the papers!" she snarled.

"Yes, Mistress! Yes, Mistress!" wept the blond.

The girl in black slacks prepared to strike her again, but he who had been called Kunguni lifted his hand, and she lowered her arm, angrily. I saw that she enjoyed punishing the blond girl. For some reason, it seemed, she hated her.

"The ring and the papers," she said, "notes of some sort, and two letters, I received in Cos from one called Belisarius. I took passage for Schendi on the Blossoms of Telnus, a ship of Cos. We fell to pirates on the high seas. I think they were of Port Kar. We were boarded. Fighting was fierce but brief, Our ship was then theirs. I, and other women, placed in a net, were swung to the deck of the pirate ship. On its deck we were stripped and put in chains, we were then carried below, where we were fastened to rings. I was later sold in Port Kar. I was purchased by the merchant, Ulafi, of Schendi. He brought me slave to this port."

The girl in the black slacks struck her twice with the whip, and the suspended slave, striped by the blows, dangled, shaken, sobbing, before her.

"The ring, the papers!" said the girl in the black slacks.

"I was captured," wept the girl. "I was put on another ship. I was chained in a dark hold, with other women, naked. I do not know what happened to anything. Have pity on a slave!"

The girl in the black slacks drew back her hand again, again to strike with a five-bladed lash, but he who had been called Kunguni motioned for her not to strike. He spoke, in Gorean, to the girl in the black slacks.

"What was the name of the ship which captured the Blossoms of Telnus?" she asked. "Who was its captain?"

"I do not know," wept the blond girl. "I do not even know in what market I was sold."

"It was the Sleen of Port Kar," said he who had been called Kunguni, "captained by the rogue, Bejar, of that port."

Watching through the wooden slats above, I smiled. Bejar, in my opinion, was one of the most responsible, decent and serious captains in Port Kar.

"We had this through Uchafu, the slaver, who had spoken to Ulafi," said the man.

"Ulafi should have been recruited," said the dark-haired girl. "He will do anything for gold."

"Except betray his merchant codes," said he who was called Kunguni.

I was pleased to hear this, for I was rather fond of the tall, regal Ulafi. Apparently they did not regard him as a likely fellow to be used in the purchase of stolen notes on speculation, to be resold later to their rightful owner. Many merchants, I was sure, would not have been so squeamish. Such dealings, of course, would encourage the theft of notes. It was for this reason that they were forbidden by the codes. Such notes, their loss reported, are to be canceled, and replaced with alternative notes.

"Let us send a ship to Port Kar," said the dark-haired girl, "to obtain the ring and papers from Bejar."

"Do not be a fool," said he who was called Kunguni. "By now, Bejar has doubtless disposed of the ring, which would be meaningless to him, and has sold the notes."

"Perhaps he would give them to an agent," said the girl, "to be brought to Schendi for sale to Shaba."

"He would sell them," said the man. "He would choose to realize a sure profit An agent might betray him. Too, an agent, carrying the notes, might be dealt with in Schendi not with gold but steel."

"They are then lost," said the girL.

"But we retain the true ring," said the man. "Belisarius, in Cos, if he learns of the loss of the Blossoms of Telnus, will doubtless contact his superiors, who will act. A new false ring may be fabricated, and new notes prepared."

"If he learns," said the girl.

"It could take months," admitted the man. Then he turned to face the figure seated behind the low table, whom I could not see. "You could take the ring to Cos, to Belisarius," he said.

"I am not a fool," he said. "The notes must come first to Schendi."

"As you wish," said he who had been called Kunguni. "But," he said, shuddering, "they may come for it."

"They?" asked the seated figure.

"They who desire it," said he who had been called Kisuguni.

"I do not fear them," said the seated figure.

"I have heard they are not like men," said he who had been called Kunguni.

"I do not fear them," said the man behind the table.

"Give me the ring." said he who had been called Kunguni. "I will keep it safe."

"I am not a fool," said the other. "Bring me the notes."

"What of her?" asked the girl in black slacks, gesturing with the whip to the suspended, blond slave.

"I think she has told us, willingly and helplessly, all that she knows," said he who had been called Kunguni.

"What shall we now do with her?" asked the girl in slacks.

He who had been called Kunguni looked at the suspended, blond slave. He looked at her carefully, considering her. "She is pretty," he said. "Let her live."

He signaled to the two large fellows, those clad in skins and feathers, and armlets of gold, and said something, briefly, to them. I did not understand the language in which he spoke. It was neither English nor Gorean. They lowered the blond to the floor, and took the rope from her wrists by which she had been suspended. They then took the cording from her wrists, which had tied them together, and, with the same cording, fastened them behind her back. They then threw her to her stomach, untied her ankles, and snapped shackles on them, steel shackles, with about a six-inch run of chain. They then threw her on her knees on the dark blanket on which I had originally seen her. They slipped one end of the rope by which she had been suspended under her collar and pulled it some ten feet through, roughly, at the side of her neck. This double strand they then took some two and a half feet behind her. They looped it about a slave ring, set there in the wall, one of four, about a yard above the floor, and tied it there, the long, free ends falling loose, coiling, to the floor. She, blindfolded and shackled, her wrists bound behind her, her neck tethered to a ring, was well secured.

"What a miserable, worthless thing you are," said the girl with the whip to her.

"Yes, Mistress," said the blond girl, her lip trembling.

"Observe," said he who, had been called Kunguni to the dark-haired girl with the whip. Then to the blond, he said, sharply, "Nadu!"

Immediately, as she could, the girl assumed the position of the pleasure slave. Her hands, of course, were tied behind her.

"Despicable slave!" said the dark-haired girl.

"Yes, Mistress," wept the blond.

The dark-haired girl then drew back the whip to strike her, but he who had been called Kunguni caught her wrist, in the black sleeve of her blouse. "No," he said. "The whip will be used later."

He then released her wrist.

"Excellent," she said. "I shall look forward to it."

"And I, as well," said he.

The girl looked with hatred at the blond.

I smiled to myself. I did not think they had need any longer of the services of the dark-haired girl. Her translations, I must admit, had been fluent and accurate.

I then slipped back from the wooden slats, moved back on the roof and, quietly, lowered myself to the first roof, a low one, and, from there, down to the street.

I spun about.

I faced the short, stabbing spears of the two huge blacks. They had slipped out the front door, to receive me.

The door opened again and, in the light, I saw the' face of be who had been called Kunguni. "Come in," said he, "we have been expecting you."

I straightened up. "I bear in my tunic," I said, "two letters, which should make my business clear to you."

"Move carefully," suggested he who had been called Kunguni.

Slowly, watching the points of the two stabbing spears, I drew forth the two letters. I had not carried with me, of course, either the ring or the notes.

I handed the two letters to the man at the door. He glanced at them.

"One of them," I said, "is for a man named Msaliti."

"I am Msaliti," said the man who had been called Kunguni. "Come in," he said.

I followed him into the building, through the small anteroom and into the larger room, which I had seen through the wooden grille in the ceiling. The two large fellows, in skins and feathers, with golden armlets, entered behind me.

Inside I saw, to one side, the blindfolded, whipped slave. She had revealed eagerly, helplessly, sobbing, all she knew. She still knelt beautifully, in the position of the pleasure slave. She had not been given permission to break position. The other girl, the dark-haired girl with the whip, seemed startled at my entrance. She had not expected me. The men, I understood, had not taken her into their confidence. I did not greet her. She was the sort of woman who is best greeted by throwing her upon her back and raping her.

I looked at the man who sat, cross-legged, behind the table. lie was a large, tall man. He had long, thin hands, with delicate fingers. His face seemed refined, but his eyes were hard, and piercing. I did not think he was of the warriors but I had little doubt he was familiar with the uses of steel. I had seldom seen a face which, at once, suggested such sensitivity, but, at the same time, reflected such intelligence and uncompromising will. Following the lines of his cheekbones there was a stitching of tribal tattooing. He wore a robe of green and brown, with slashes of black. Against the background of jungle growth, blending with plants and shadows, it would be difficult to detect. He also wore a low, round, flat-topped cap of similar material. On the first finger of his left hand he wore a fang ring, which, I had little doubt, would contain a poison, probably that of the deadly kanda plant.

The second letter which I had handed Msaliti lay now on the table before the man.

"That letter," I said, "is for Shaba, the geographer of Anango."

He picked up the letter. "I am Shaba," he said, "the geographer of Anango."