Fighting Slave of Gor

16 THE PERFUME SHOP OF TURBUS VEMINUS; I AM CAPTURED

I knelt in the cool recesses of the shop of Turbus Veminius, a perfumer in Venna. Venna has many small and fine shops, catering to the affluent trade of the well-to-do, who patronize the baths and public villas of the area. I, a slave, unaccompanied by a free person, would wait until free customers were waited upon and served. I could smell perfumes, and their mixings in the long shop behind the counter. There, at various benches, attending to their work,-measuring and stirring, were apprentice perfumers. Though one is commonly born into a caste one is often not permitted to practice the caste craft until a suitable apprenticeship has been served. This guarantees the quality of the caste product. It is possible, though it is seldom the case, that members of a caste are not permitted to practice specific caste skills, though they may be permitted to practice subsidiary skills. For example, one who is of the Metalworkers might not be permitted to work iron, but might be permitted to do such things as paint iron, and transport and market it. Caste rights, of course, such as the right to caste support in time of need and caste sanctuary, when in flight, which are theirs by birth, remain theirs. The women of a given caste, it should be noted, often do not engage in caste work. For example, a woman in the Metalworkers does not, commonly, work at the forge, nor is a woman of the Builders likely to be found supervising the construction of fortifications. Caste membership, for Goreans, is generally a simple matter of birth; it is not connected necessarily with the performance of certain skills, nor the attainment of a given level of proficiency in such skills. To be sure, certain skills tend to be associated traditionally with certain castes, a fact which is clearly indicated in caste titles, such as the Leatherworkers, the Metalworkers, the Singers, and the Peasants. A notable exception to the generalization that women of a given caste normally do not engage in caste work is the caste of Physicians, whose women are commonly trained, as are the boys, in the practice of medicine. Even the physicians, however, normally do not admit their women to full practice until they have borne two children. The purpose of this is to retain a high level of intelligence in the caste. Professional women, it is well understood, tend not to reproduce themselves, a situation which, over time, would be likely to produce a diminution in the quality of the caste. Concern for the future of the caste is thus evinced in this limitation by the physicians on the rights of their women to participate without delay in the caste craft. The welfare of the caste, typically, takes priority in the Gorean mind over the ambitions of specific individuals. The welfare of a larger number of individuals, as the Goreans reason, correctly or incorrectly, is more important than the welfare of a smaller number of individuals. I do not argue this. I only report it.

"My thanks, Lady Teela," said Turbus Veminius, proprietor of the shop, accepting coins and handing to a robed woman a tiny vial of perfume. She then left.

The woman of the Physicians, at the age of fifteen, in many cities, wears two bracelets on her left wrist. When she has one child one bracelet is removed; when she has a second child the second bracelet is removed. She may then, if she desires, enter into the full practice of her craft.

Turbus Veminius then turned his attention to another customer.

Caste is important to the Gorean in ways that are difficult to make clear to one whose social structures do not include the relationships of caste. In almost every city, for example, one knows that there will be caste brothers on whom one may depend. Charity, too, for example, is almost always associated with caste rights on Gor. One of the reasons there are so few outlaws on Gor is doubtless that the outlaw, in adopting his way of life, surrenders caste rights. The slave, too, of course, has no caste rights. He stands outside the structure of society. He is an animal. It is said on Gor that only slaves, outlaws and Priest-Kings, rumored to be the rulers of Gor, reputed to live in the remote Sardar Mountains, are without caste. This saying, however, it might be pointed out, as Goreans recognize, is not strictly true. For example, some individuals have lost caste, or been deprived of caste; some individuals have been born outside of caste; certain occupations are not traditionally associated with caste, such as gardening, domestic service and herding; and, indeed, there are entire cultures and peoples on Gor to whom caste is unknown. Similarly, caste lines tend sometimes to be vague, and the relation between castes and subcastes. Slavers, for example, sometimes think of themselves as being of the Merchants, and sometimes as being a separate caste. They do have their own colors, blue and yellow, those of the Merchants being white and gold. Too, are the bargemen of the Southern Cartius a caste or not? They think of themselves as such, but many do not see the matter in the same light. There are, on Gor, it might be mentioned, ways of raising and altering caste, but the Gorean seldom avails himself of these. To most Goreans it would be unthinkable to alter caste. He is generally too proud of his caste and it is too much a part of him for him to think in such terms. It is, too, recognized that all, or most, of the castes perform necessary, commendable or useful functions. The Leatherworker, accordingly, does not spend much time envying the Metalworker, or the Metalworker the Leatherworker, or either the Clothworker, and so on. All need sandals and wallets, and clothes, and metal tools. Each does, however, tend to think of his own caste as something special, and, somehow, I suspect, as being perhaps a little bit preferable to the others. Most Goreans are quite content with their castes' this is probably a function of caste pride. I have little doubt but what the caste structure contributes considerably to the stability of Gorean society. Among other things it reduces competitive chaos, social and economic, and prevents the draining of intelligence and ambition into a small number of envied, prestigious occupations. If one may judge by the outcome of Kaissa tournaments, amateur tournaments as opposed to those in which members of the caste of Players participate, there are brilliant men in most castes.

"Is the perfume of the Lady Kita of Bazi ready?" Turbus Veminius called to the back of the shop.

"No," a voice answered him.

"Do not hurry," called Turbus Veminius. "It must be Perfect."

"Yes, Turbus," I heard.

Turbus Veminius then turned, sternly, toward the Lady Kita. She was a small, delicate, brown-skinned woman, with a light yellow veil, common in Bazi. She shrank back. "When was your perfume to be ready, Lady Kita?" he inquired. He did not seem deterred by the two large, smooth-skinned, brownish guards, arms folded, who stood behind her.

"At the fifteenth Ahn," she said, timidly.

"It is now the fourteenth Ahn," he said, casting a meaningful glance at the water clock on the counter to his right.

"I am early," she explained.

"Obviously," he said.

"Yes, Turbus," she said.

"Return at the fifteenth Ahn, and not before," he said.

"Yes, Turbus," she said.

The Lady Kita turned about and hurried, followed by her guards, from the shop.

Turbus Veminius looked after her. He, like many perfumers, and hairdressers and cosmeticians, treated his female clientele almost as though they were slave girls. Indeed, he was famous for once having said, "They are all slave girls." Yet, in spite of the gruff, authoritarian way in which they might be handled, and the rude, peremptory fashion in which they might be addressed, women, and high-caste women, for no reason that was clear to me, flocked to his shop. He was, of course, one of the foremost perfumers of Gor. His prices, it might be mentioned, were beyond the reach of all but the very wealthy. It might also be mentioned that he did not deal at all in slave perfumes.

"Will the perfume of the Lady Kita be ready at the fifteenth Ahn?" Turbus called back to someone in the shop.

"I do not know," said the voice.

"Do not hurry it," he said. "If it is not ready, I will order her to wait, or to return tomorrow. It must be perfect."

"Yes, Turbus," I heard.

I smiled at the thought of ordering a free woman to wait, or to come back tomorrow, and knowing that she would obey you. "They are all slave girls," Turbus Veminius was once reputed to have said.

He then turned his attention to a new customer. She hurried deferentially forward.

I knelt on the tiles. It was warm outside, but cool inside, in the shade. I smelled the perfumes of the shop, many of which were being blended by hand from signature recipes in the back of the shop. Signature recipes are unique, and secret. They are the result of a perfumer's consultations and experiments, the outcome of an effort to devise the perfect perfume for a given woman, though perhaps relativized to a time of day and mood. A wealthy woman may have as many as ten or fifteen signature recipes, each different. They are called signature recipes not only because they are individualized to a given woman but because the recipe bears the perfumer's signature, indicating that he accepts it as a perfume worthy of his house. These recipes, interestingly, are kept on file in the perfumer's, strong boxes. The ingredients and processing remain the secrets of the perfumer. There are also, of course, perfumes associated with a given house, which may be purchased by more than one woman. These recipes are sometimes, by an extension of usage, also called signature recipes. They are, at any rate, supposedly unique to given houses. Also, of course, there are hundreds of more standard perfumes, the preparation of which is widely understood by the perfumers of many cities. Slave perfumes, of course, are an entirely different area. These are usually heavier scents, and more sensual, than those used by free women, scents more fitting to a woman who must obey, and perfectly. There are hundreds of slave perfumes, as there are hundreds of perfumes for free women. The perfumes of Gor, as those of Earth have not, have given special attention to the development of perfumes for slaves. There is thus, on Gor, a subtle and complex variety of slave perfumes available, exciting, provocative, sensuous and unmistakable. There are perfumes for the slave in any woman on Gor. Sometimes, though this is more expensive, a girl is brought in to the perfumers by her master for a consultation; the perfumer then questions the girl, orders her about, and may even caress her; then, in the light of her background and history, and intellectual and physiological nature, he recommends a perfume, or blend of perfumes, for her; this perfume, or blend of perfume, is thus, in its way, matched to her unique beauty and bondage. Most slave girls, however, feel that an individualized perfume is not necessary. Too, they often wish to use a variety of perfumes, depending on various factors, such as the time of day and their own moods, and those of the master. Too, many girls are stimulated by wearing a perfume that they know, like the collar and the brand, is common to many slaves. It can make them feel their bondage even more deeply and sensuously. Perhaps, as one slave girl once said, "What difference does it make what slave perfume we wear? They all excite us. They all teach us that we are slaves."

Turbus Veminius had now finished with the customer on whom he had been waiting.

He looked at me. I put my head down; before a free man. He did not summon me forward. I must still wait.

I heard a man outside in the street, selling bread.

I lifted my head. Turbus Veminius was no longer paying me any attention.

"Is the perfume of the Lady Kita of Bazi ready?" he called to the back of the shop. He cast a glance at the water clock.

"It is done," said a voice. "It requires now only your approval."

Turbus then left the counter, and went to the back of the shop.

It is not unusual, on Gor, incidentally, for the articles sold in a shop to be manufactured on or near the premises. This is often the case with craft products, such as glassware, metalware, particularly gold and silver work, rugs and mats, sandals and jewelry. The tradesman, thus, closely supervises the production, and controls the quality of the articles he markets. There are also, of course, many shops which specialize in the sale of, so to speak, foreign goods. A major difference between Gorean shopping and that on Earth is that on Gor there are few stores of a general nature, handling a large variety of goods. One tends, usually, to go from one shop to another, garnering what one needs from a place which specializes in that sort of product. This is inconvenient, perhaps, in some respects, but at least, one knows that the shopkeeper one visits knows his goods and that the quality of his livelihood is intimately connected with the excellence of his merchandise. The place of general stores is taken largely by bazaars and markets where, quite close to one another, in various booths, sometimes of canvas, one may find a large variety of goods. There are, of course, shopping districts in all Gorean cities, where one may find clusters of shops, often specializing in different items. Sometimes, of course, certain areas specialize in, or are known for, given types of services or products. Each city usually has, for example, its "Street of Coins." On such a street, or in such an area, its banking will largely be done. Similarly most cities will have their "Street of Brands," on which street, or in which area, one would expect to find the houses of its slavers. It is to one of these houses, or one of the markets in the area, that one would go if one wished to buy a woman. As I have mentioned, most Gorean slaves are female.

Turbus Veminius was still at the back of the shop.

I, glancing to the side, saw two men, large, in brown tunics, in the doorway of the shop. They seemed an unlikely pair of fellows to be patrons of the shop of Veminius. They glanced at me, and then to the back of the shop. They looked at one another. Then they looked at me again. Then they turned about and left the shop. I did not know what their business was. I had seen them twice earlier, this morning, when I had been on another errand for my Mistress. Once I had thought they might be following me, men put upon my trail by my mistress to spy upon me, to see if I were discharging her errands perfectly, or if my eyes might stray to the ankles of slave girls, but then, as they had turned aside, it had seemed to me that I must be mistaken. Too, I reminded myself, to my chagrin, it was unlikely that my mistress would send men to spy upon me. She was too confident in her con. trol over me, and doubtless rightly so, to feel that there would be any point in such an action. My Mistress now took me for granted. No longer did she even give any thought to any possible recalcitrance on my part. I was now only a docile, obedient slave. I had been beaten with the snake. The two men, I surmised, might be ruffians hired to hunt down a strayed or tardy silk slave. I did not fear them, however, for, as far as I knew, my collar was in order. It read, I had been told, `I am the property of the Lady Florence of Vonda.' They needed only check my collar to see that I could not be he whom they might be seeking.

Turbus Veminius had now returned to the counter. He had with him a small vial of perfume which he had obtained in the back of the shop. He placed it in a cabinet to one side. It was doubtless that which had been prepared for the small, brown-skinned woman, the Lady Kita of Bazi. He glanced at the water clock. It was five Ehn to the fifteen Ahn. The Gorean noon is the tenth Ahn. The shadows were now long outside, on this warm, summer afternoon.

I moved so that I might look a bit out the door. I saw no sign of the two men in brown. Something about them had made me apprehensive. I did see two slave girls hurrying past. It was a bit late now, and they were hurrying home. When their master arrived home they would be expected to greet him, kneeling, his meal prepared.

Turbus Veminius looked at me. Again I put my head down. If he wished me to come forward, he would summon me.

My hands were bound behind my back, with Gorean binding fiber. Slaves are sometimes sent on errands, thus secured. About my neck, on a leather string, was tied a small sack. It contained a note, and coins. I could not read the note, of course, for I was illiterate in Gorean. I Clad run my errands this morning, too, similarly bound and accoutered. I looked up. The attention of Turbus Veminius was now again elsewhere. He was straightening vials in one of the cabinets on the side. I moved my hands in the bonds. I shifted my position a little, kneeling now again in the background, aside, from the door. Twice earlier, too, I had been the only one in the shop but, still, I had not been waited on. Turbus Veminius and one of his fellows had merely spent those times engaged in conversation, pertaining to the tharlarion races. I had not objected, nor did I object now, of course. I did not wish to be kicked or beaten, or have a tag wired to my collar, which would be seen by my Mistress, saying perhaps 'This slave was impudent. I recommend twenty lashes.'

I thought again of the two slave girls who had been hurrying past, doubtless to arrive home in time to prepare their masters' meals and then to be ready, bathed, perfumed and in a bit of silk, kneeling, to greet him. I began to get a bit uneasy then on my own account. This night, I knew, I was to be ordered to the chamber of my Mistress. I did not think she would be pleased if I were late in returning to the house. I would not relish being whipped again, though presumably it would not be with the snake, nor being perhaps confined for another day in close chains.

"May I speak, Master?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said. I glanced at the water clock. It was now shortly after the fifteenth Ahn.

"Ah," said Turbus Veminius, as the Lady Kita, with her two guards, entered the shop.

"Is the perfume ready?" she asked.

Turbus Veminius handed her the vial. She removed the tiny cap and lifted it to her face, which was veiled. She in haled delicately through her nose. I saw the veil draw inward.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, horrified. "Surely this is slave perfume!"

"No," said Turbus Veminius, "but it, by design, resembles it."

"Surely you do not expect me to pay for this?" she asked.

"Only if you wish to, Lady Kita," he said.

Her eyes, over her veil, were angry.

"You wished a perfume, did you not," asked Turbus Veminius, "to distract your companion from his slave sluts, did you not?"

"Yes," she said.

"This perfume," said Turbus Veminius, "will remind him of what he has forgotten, that you are a woman."

She looked at him, her body rigid with rage.

"But it, in itself," he said, "will do little to improve your situation"

"I do not understand," she said.

"You are, I suspect," said Turbus Veminius, "a pretty little thing. If your companion bought you, naked and collared, in a market, he would doubtless prize you highly."

"Turbus!" she cried, angrily.

"But as his companion you are too much taken for granted," he said.

"It is true," she suddenly sobbed.

"If you would improve your situation somewhat," he said, "I recommend that you learn the arts of the slave girl, and practice them with diligence"

"That would only improve my situation somewhat?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yes," he said, "for you would still be free, and no free woman, because she is free, can truly compete for the attention and affection of a man as can a slave girl."

"Why?" she asked.

"I do not know," said Turbus Veminius. "Perhaps it is simply because the slave girl is a slave girl, truly, and is owned."

"What then am I to do?" she asked.

"You could risk slavery," he said, "expose yourself to possible capture, walk the high bridges at lonely Ahn, picnic in the country, go to paga taverns alone, take dangerous sea voyages."

"But what if I were caught, and enslaved?" she asked.

"You would then be a true slave girl," he said, "and would doubtless be taught, thoroughly, and more deeply and sensuously than you could ever hope to learn them as a free woman, for you would then be a slave, the arts of the female slave."

"But I might never again come into the possession of my former companion," she said.

"Presumably you would not," he said. "But presumably you would come into the possession of some man who truly wanted you, and who was willing to pay good money for you."

"I brought a large companion price to my companion," she said. "Perhaps he wanted that more than me."

"I do not know," said Turbus, shrugging.

"He did," she said, bitterly. "He did."

"Perhaps it would be just as well, then," said Turbus, sympathetically, "if you did not come again into his possession."

She put her head down.

"The girl who is bought off the block," said Turbus, "knows that it is she herself, and only herself, who is desired. Nothing else, you understand, is being sold, only the girl."

"Yes, Turbus," she said. "I understand."

"I will take back this perfume," he said. "Obviously you will not want it."

"No," she said, quickly, lifting her head. "I will take it."

"The price is high," he said, "a golden tarn disk."

"I will pay it," she said, giving him the coin from a small, beaded purse she held in her hand.

She turned to leave, but then, again, turned to face him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Do you sell slave perfume, true slave perfume?" she asked.

"We do not sell perfume for slave sluts in the shop of Veminius," he said, sternly.

"Forgive me, Turbus," she said.

"Try the shop of the Steel Bracelets," he smiled. "It is near the house of Hassan, on the Street of Brands."

"Thank you, Turbus," she said. She turned again, to leave.

"And do not let them overcharge you," he called after her. "Five two-hort vials should cost you no more than a copper tarsk!"

"Yes, Turbus" she said. "Thank you. Turbus " She stopped in the doorwav, but did not turn to face him. "I wish you well, Turbus," she said.

"I, too, wish you well, Lady Kita," he said.

She looked up at one of the two large guards who stood beside her. Then she lowered her head. He was looking at her, with a curiosity and interest that must have been unsettling for her. She hurried then from the shop, followed by the guards.

Turbus Veminius looked at me.

"Approach, Slave," he snapped, "and lower your head."

I hurried to him, and put my head down. He took the loop of leather, with its tiny sack, from my head.

"You are Jason," he asked, "the slave of the Lady Florence of Vonda?" He was looking at the note, extracted from the sack.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Her perfume was ready yesterday," he said. He went to one of the cabinets. From the sack he took the coins. They were five silver tarsks. He put them in a drawer. He wrote something on the note, and then he put the note and the vial of perfume in the sack. I again put down my head and he put the sack, on its leather string, about my neck.

"Be careful with that perfume," he said. "It is expensive. It is a signature perfume"

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Is your Mistress beautiful?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Would she look well in a collar?" he asked.

"I am only a poor slave," I said. "How could I form an opinion on that?"

He looked at me, sternly.

"Yes, Master," I said. "She would look well in a collar."

"You are a big fellow," said he. "Have you ever been entered in the stable bouts?"

"No, Master," I said.

"It is growing late," he said. "Perhaps you should hurry home. Your Mistress, hot in her robes, will be wondering where you are."

I said nothing.

"Must I beat you from the shop with a whip?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said. I turned about.

"It seems a shame for a beautiful woman to waste her time with a silk slave," he said. "She should be crawling, collared, to the feet of a true man."

I said nothing.

"Run!" he said, suddenly. "Run, Slave!"

I ran from the shop.

Outside, almost immediately, I struck against two men. "Forgive me, Masters," I said. But my arms were then held, each arm by one of the men. "I did not mean to strike against you," I said. I was being pulled then along the street. The shadows were long. It was warm, and late in the afternoon. There were only a few people on the street. I saw that the two men who held me were the fellows in the brown tunics whom I had seen earlier. "I am sorry, Masters," I said. "Beat me, and let me go, please." I realized then they were pulling me toward an alley. My feet, bare, scraped on the flat stones of the street. My hands, tied behind me, as they had been while I had run the errands of this morning and the errand of this afternoon, fought the binding fiber. A passing Baker glanced at us. "What do you want of me?" I asked. I was dragged into the alley. "I am Jason, slave to the Lady Florence of Vonda," I said. "I cannot be he whom you seek. Look at my collar. Call a guardsman!" I was thrust along the alley. About fifty yards down the alley was a high-sided tharlarion wagon. It had a canvas cover. I was thrown brutally, back first, against a building near the wagon. My feet were half kicked out from under me. My own weight then half pinned me in place. I saw that these men were accustomed to handling slaves. "Who are you?" I asked. One of the men, from his tunic, drew forth a slave hood. "Who are you? What do you want?" I cried. Then the wadding connected with the hood was thrust into my mouth; in a moment, by buckled straps, fastened behind my neck, it was secured in place. One of the men then threw aside the cover on the wagon. Inside I saw a slave sack and, formed of wood, a small, stout, cord-bound, thick-barred slave cage. Such cages are quite adequate for bound slaves. The hood was then drawn over my head and, by straps, buckled shut under my chin. My feet were kicked then fully from under me. In a moment I felt myself being thrust, doubled up, in a heavy leather sack. My head was then thrust down. The sack was tied shut over my head. The two men then lifted me, helpless in the sack, and placed me in the slave cage. I heard its wooden gate slide down into place. The gate then would have been tied shut.

"Throw down and buckle the cover," I heard.

The canvas on the wagon, then, would have been shut and secured.

In a few moments I could feel the movement of the ironrimmed, wooden wheels of the wagon over the stones of the alley.

I struggled for a time, but, in the sack, could obtain no leverage. At times I felt my body, captive in the sack, press futilely against the thick, stout bars of the slave cage. I tried to free my wrists but could not begin to do so. They were held perfectly, and would continue to be held perfectly, each a prisoner to the other, until masters might free me. Slave knots had been used, and Gorean binding fiber, designed for the perfect control of slaves and prisoners.

Again I struggled, futilely, irrationally. Then I ceased struggling.

Resistance was useless.