Mariners of Gor

Chapter Eighteen

“Doubtless you are pleased to see me so?” she said.

I pointed to the deck and she knelt, angrily, before me.

“Head down,” I said.

She put her head down.

“Yes,” I said, “I like to see you as you are.”

She was in a light, brown, soiled work tunic, of simple rep-cloth, little more than a rag, which clung about her beauty.

The light yoke was still across her shoulders, and, suspended from it, on two short chains, each culminating in a hook, were two pails. As she knelt, the pails could rest on the deck.

I had accosted her from behind, as she had approached the rail, with her burden. “Slave,” I had said, sharply.

“Master!” she had said, the instantaneous, unthinking response of a collar girl. That pleased me.

“Turn about,” I had said.

She complied, the pails swinging on their short chains.

“Stand straightly,” I said. She was not a free woman. Did she not know she was a slave before a free man?

I walked about her.

She knew herself considered.

It is common to so scrutinize slaves.

They are familiar with this sort of thing from the first chain that is put on them.

“You recognized my voice,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, bitterly.

I approached her, with master closeness.

This did not please her.

“Lift your chin,” I said.

I then adjusted her collar. I lifted it up, against the bottom of her chin, and then put it back, and pulled it a bit, straightening it, against the back of her neck. She was thus reminded that she wore it.

“You may lower your chin,” I said.

She regarded me, her eyes flashing with fury.

I smiled, amused, and this further enflamed the small, lovely property.

A slave is permitted the pride of a slave, of course, but not that of a free woman. She is not a free woman. In her, such pride is a travesty, a joke. Its may also be a cause for discipline.

I wondered if she still thought of herself as a free woman, or was trying to think of herself as a free woman.

I did not think she would be successful.

I stepped back, regarding her.

The tunic she wore was fetching, if only because there was so little to it. It was high on her thighs, especially the left thigh, for her brand was evident. The hems were ragged. In places it was rent. It was muchly stained and soiled. In front it was torn to her belly.

It was then she had said, “Doubtless you are pleased to see me so,” and I had pointed to the deck, and knelt her, head down.

“Yes,” I had said, “I like to see you as you are.”

She trembled in rage before me, but dared not raise her head.

“When,” I said, “you were the Lady Flavia of Ar, high in the city, confidante of the Ubara herself, I would suppose you did not anticipate that you would one day kneel collared before one who was once a mere guard.”

“No,” she said.

“‘No’?” I said.

“No,” she said, “-Master.”

“I note,” I said, “that you bear wastes.”

She was silent.

These are borne to the rail, where they are emptied, following which the pails, seriatim, on a long rope, are rinsed in the sea, thereafter to be returned to the chain hooks on the yoke.

“Only the lowest of slaves are put to such labors,” I said.

“Some are so punished,” she said.

“Are you being punished?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Then you are amongst the lowest of slaves,” I said.

“Or deemed so,” she said, keeping her head down.

“You are of the Kasra keeping area,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“From what area are the wastes?” I inquired.

“From the Venna area,” she said.

“Then,” I said, “the girls of the Kasra area dispose not only of their own wastes, but those from the Venna area, as well.”

“Yes,” she said. “There the wastes are placed outside the heavy door. We do not enter that area.”

“Did you know,” I asked, “that the higher slaves are housed in the Venna area, and the lower in the Kasra area?”

“May I look up?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” she said, “I did not know that.”

“Doubtless there are exceptions,” I said.

“I trust so,” she said.

“One would certainly not wish for a higher slave to dispose of her own wastes,” I said.

“One supposes not,” she said.

“That would be deplorable,” I said.

“Doubtless,” she said.

“Would you like to be moved to the Venna area?” I asked.

“Certainly,” she said.

“Its deck is higher, its air is better,” I said.

“How might this be arranged?” she asked.

“I need only broadcast the matter of your former identity, your fugitive status, the bounty involved, and such.”

She looked up in terror. Then she looked about, frightened. We were much alone. From some yards away she would appear to be no more than an accosted work slave. “Please do not, Master!” she begged.

“The Kasra area now seems more attractive,” I speculated.

“I do not want to be impaled,” she whispered.

“You are in little danger of that,” I said. “You are far at sea, in waters scarcely suspected, even by those of the far islands. Who here could bring you to Ar? How could it be done? Her walls are thousands of pasangs away.”

“Eventually,” she said, “-if we were to return.”

I was not at all sure we would return. Who knew the mysteries at the World’s End?

“Then, certainly,” I said.

“Master is free,” she said. “He is a man, he is strong, he is a warrior. I am small, weak, helpless, a woman, and a slave. He could easily bring me to Ar.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Would Master bring me to Ar?” she asked.

“You are no Talena, no false Ubara, no unmatched prize,” I said, “but the bounty on you, even so, is not negligible. It might purchase a galley, several slaves.”

“Some slaves,” she said, “have been exchanged for a city. Might one not be worth a galley, and might not one slave be worth several slaves?”

“It would depend on the slave,” I said.

“Buy Alcinoe!” she said.

“Only a slave begs to be purchased,” I said.

“I am a slave!” she said.

“You were always a slave,” I said, “even in Ar.”

“Yes,” she said, defiantly, “I was always a slave, even in Ar!”

“And now,” I said, “you are where you belong, in a collar!”

“Yes, Master!” she said.

“You are not for sale,” I said.

“If I were for sale,” she said, “would you bid for me?”

“I would think about it,” I said.

She pressed her lips to my boots. “I would be a slave of slaves to you!” she said. “Even in Ar I dreamed of myself, collared, in your arms!”

“It is interesting,” I said, “to have the former Lady Flavia of Ar so before me.”

“She is at your feet,” she said, “now no more than a pathetic, petitioning slave.”

“Perhaps she wishes her former identity kept secret,” I said.

“Tell no one,” she begged.

“I do not need to,” I said.

“Master?” she said, looking up.

“You are clever,” I said.

“I would give myself to you!” she said.

“You need not,” I said. “If I buy you, you are mine.”

“Master?”

“Does the tarsk give herself to the tarsk buyer?”

“Even from Ar I have loved you!” she said.

“As a free woman?” I asked.

“No,” she said, angrily, bitterly, tears in her eyes, “as a conquered, abject slave her master!”

“I have little to fear from you,” I said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Were I to spare you from the impaling spear,” I said, “and it were we alone, only we, who knew your identity, might I not expect a knife in the night, poison in the proffered goblet of paga?”

“No!” she said. “From the moment I first saw you I sensed you were my master. I fought this, I amused myself with you, I tormented you, but I wanted you to tear my veils and robes from me, to cast me to your feet, to lock me in your collar!”

“Interesting,” I said.

“I wanted to be owned,” she said, “to be a possession, and yours!”

“It is hard to know if you are more clever or more beautiful,” I said, “but I think you are not as clever as you think.”

“Master?”

“Your secret is not ours alone,” I said.

“Seremides knows,” she said, “but is helpless, not to be feared, ruined!”

“Even before the Vine Sea,” I said, “he knew he could not bring you alone to Ar, for the price on his own head. He could accomplish such a thing only in the case of Talena, whose capture and delivery would guarantee his own amnesty. Accordingly he would require confederates.”

“He may not, as yet, have enlisted them!” she said.

“It is my speculation that Tyrtaios knows,” I said, “and perhaps certain others of their circle.”

“Surely not!” she said, alarmed.

“There are possibly others, from Ar, or elsewhere, who may know, or suspect, as well,” I said. “Seremides’ interest in you has been long noted, even from early in the voyage, by several, for example by Lords Nishida and Okimoto, and the tarnsman, Cabot. They may not know your identity, but they surely suspect something of the sort, a fugitive status, a possible bounty, and such, and after suitable inquiries might well discover your former identity. Indeed, they need only see that you are delivered to Ar, where your identity, as that of various other fugitives, would be soon determined.”

“I am lost!” she moaned. “Protect me!”

“Perhaps it will be I,” I said, “rather, who would bring you to Ar.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “perhaps it will be you.”

“You have little to fear at present,” I said. “Indeed, I suspect that none of us will live to see Ar.”

“Would you truly bring me to Ar?” she asked.

“I do not think so,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“I do not like gold which is washed in blood,” I said.

“Is there no other reason?” she asked.

“Your figure,” I said, “is not without interest.”

“My figure?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Ela!” she wept. “I am unworthy to be a free woman. I desire to be naked, and lusted for. I desire to be collared, and lavish kisses upon the feet of a master! I desire to love and serve, wholly, unstintingly, selflessly, as a slave!”

“You have work to do,” I said.

“If others know my identity,” she said, “why have I not been moved to the Venna keeping area?”

“If it were up to me,” I said, “I would keep you where you are, in the Kasra area, with low slaves, that you might the sooner learn your collar.”

“I assure Master,” she said, “I am well learning it.”

“And,” I said, “those who know your identity, or suspect an identity of some interest, would not be eager to share that information. Let her stay then in the Kasra keeping area. There is less risk then of another suspecting something, and bringing her stripped and shackled before the throne of Marlenus.”

“I love you, Master,” she whispered. “Do you not love me, a little?”

I laughed at the absurdity of the question. “Love,” I asked, “love-for a slave?”

“Forgive me, Master,” she said.

“Be about your work,” I said.

She struggled to her feet, in the yoke, with its suspended buckets, and turned about, toward the rail.

I could not resist administering a sharp, stinging slap, below the small of the back.

She cried out and stumbled forward, almost spilling some of her noisome burden. Fortunately none was lost. She turned about, to look at me, more startled than reproachful, and I pointed to the rail, and she turned about again, and went to it, to empty the pails. I thought she walked nicely. As she had suggested, she was well learning her collar. Fortunately there was no free woman present, or her beating might have been ordered.

“That slave,” said a fellow, passing by, “is well formed.”

“Many are,” I said.

I wondered if I might possibly care for a slave, one such as Alcinoe. I dismissed the thought as absurd. How soon they might attempt to exploit such a weakness. Let them remember what they are, slaves, and no more. Let them kneel, the whip held before them. Let them lick and kiss it, in all trepidation and deference, and hope that it will not be used upon them.