Mariners of Gor

Chapter Nineteen

“Ho, watch,” called Tarl Cabot, from far below, on the deck.

I spun the Builder’s glass in a circle, examining the same horizon, as ever.

“Nothing, commander,” I called down, to the deck.

He then was making his way aft, perhaps to his quarters.

I was at my regular watch, at the platform and ring, on the foremast. The weather was warm, and the sea tranquil. I could not remember several successive days in which our progress had been as uneventful. I had seen little to justify the ominous nomenclature confided to me by Tarl Cabot, that this was the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire, or such. We continued to encounter, ever more frequently, the porous, floating rocks. Too, there was often one or more of the mysterious clouds, or volumes of ash, or whatever they might be, on the horizon. The storm ropes remained in place, the hatches were kept closed, save for ingress and egress, and few were allowed on deck, other than officers, who were not about the business of the ship. There had been fights below decks, particularly amongst the armsmen, who chafed at their confinement. It was hot below decks, and the air grew foul. Men grew ugly. It must be miserable, I supposed, in the Kasra and Venna keeping areas, as well, the penned beasts sweating on their mats, in their chains. Girls now, I understood, vied to carry wastes, that they might, even in so humble and homely an activity, feel the fresh wind of Thassa tug at their tunics and sweep through their hair. The hatches and portals to the open deck were now guarded, from within, by Pani swordsmen. More than one man had died under their swords.

My conversation with Tarl Cabot, alluded to earlier, having to do with the fleet of Lord Yamada, and such, had occurred on the third day of the fifth week past the fourth passage hand. It was now four days later, the second day of the fifth passage hand.

I saw four slaves, below, with their yokes, emerging from a hatch, closed behind them, bringing wastes to the rail. One was the slave, Alcinoe. As far as I knew, she was still white silk. If there were others, I supposed them to be mostly in the Venna keeping area. Some men will pay more for a white-silk girl. Needless to say, white-silkers are rare in the markets. Many are red-silked within an Ahn of their purchase. An interesting form of white-silker is the bred slave, raised in the sheltered gardens and housings of a gynaeceum, who is raised with no knowledge of men, until, say, unhooded, say, on an auction block, chained to a man’s slave ring, cast amidst the tables of feasting warriors, or such. Such girls, of course, are quite expensive. Most men prefer red-silkers, as their slave fires have commonly been ignited. At frequent intervals they become painfully needful. One speaks of chains, ropes, thongs, and such, and they are lovely and instructive accessories, not to be overlooked or ignored, and are surely useful, as well, for inescapable custodial purposes, but it seems clear that the mightiest bonds, within which the slave is helpless, and forever ruined for freedom, are her needs, her slave needs, both physical and psychological, cruelly aroused by masters. Women, their master’s properties, find their meaning, and their true self, in bondage. They are content, and whole, only at his feet. Sometimes slaves, before their vending, are starved of a master’s touch for days. They then are desperately needful on the block, piteously supplicatory of purchase. I looked down from the platform and ring, at a particular slave, one I feared I was finding of interest, far below, Alcinoe. Already in her, I thought, even though she might as yet be white silk, there lurked a remarkable sexual latency, doubtless far greater than the naive slave now suspected. Doubtless she would be astonished at the transformation which would, as she was collared, eventually be wrought in her. Perhaps at first she might be terrified, or dismayed, to discover herself become so helpless, the victim and prisoner of needs so fierce and commanding, so uncompromising and uncontrollable, but later, though helpless in their throes, she, as her sisters, would rejoice in the thrashing ecstasies of the choiceless vessel of a master’s pleasure. In her conquest and ravishing she is raised to the stars, if only to be scornfully cast again to earth, he finished with her, to sob her gratitude, and her hope that she might be again, at her master’s pleasure, subjected to the enforced raptures of the conquered slave. Speak to such a woman of freedom? She has known bondage. She would rather die than leave her master.

From the platform and ring I looked down at the slave, in her work. She was not unattractive. How luscious are such nicely curved, worthless, meaningless, degraded objects! How men desire them! How different they are from free women, a thousand times inferior, a thousand times superior.

It is easy to understand how it is that men will kill for them.

Yes, I thought, she would doubtless be astonished at the transformation which she, the former Lady Flavia of Ar, would undergo. She would then find herself other than she had been, now irrecoverably different.

It is often amusing to see a woman who denies that she is sexual, and that she can be made so, and prides herself on her inertness, frigidity, and superiority to desire, put in chains, and, within Ehn, transformed into a begging slave. And that is the merest beginning.

Later, in her cage, she feels the collar on her throat, with both hands. She moves it about. It is well on her. It cannot be slipped. She then grasps the bars, kneeling. She squirms in the small cage, in which she cannot stand, naked, uneasy. She has begun to suspect what it might be, to be a slave. She wonders who will be her master.

I looked down again from the platform and ring on the slave, now, on its dangling, swaying rope, rinsing a wastes pail. I remembered her, at the foot of the second mast. Indeed, I recalled the view of the physicians, from long ago, early in the voyage. I had little doubt that slave fires might soon, when men chose, rage mightily and irresistibly in that lovely little belly. After a few days as a red-silker, I could imagine her crying out publicly, even before free women she had known, on an auction block, even in Ar, in misery and gratitude, at the deft, gentle, demonstrative touch of the auctioneer’s whip. Her slave needs give a master much power over a woman. And it is pleasant, of course, to exercise such power. It is one of the pleasures of the mastery.

The girl, hand by hand, foot by foot, drew up the pail, swirled water within it, and cast the water back to the sea. She then undid its rope, and bent to fasten the second pail, emptied, to the rope, to rinse it, as well.

The other three girls had returned below decks.

The stem castle deck was empty. There was the helmsman, of course, on the helm deck. Two officers were on the stern-castle deck, but, at the distance, I could not identify them. Interestingly fewer officers were now in evidence than some days before, even after the stringing of the storm ropes. This was supposedly by order of the ship’s governing lords, Nishida and Okimoto.

I had fastened the safety rope about my waist, as usual, but this precaution, day after day, seemed ever more unnecessary, if not foolish.

How could the sea be more calm?

Perhaps Thassa slept.

I saw no sign of her awakening.

There was no sign of the fleet of Lord Yamada. It had not followed us.

The sea was calm.

I did see, rather forward, on the starboard side, a dark cloud, far off. I had not noticed it before.

Two or three Ehn passed.

I sensed, suddenly that something was different, though I saw nothing. The girl, too, stopped in her work. I wondered if this strangeness was only felt forward. I saw no change aft, on the helm deck, or the stern-castle deck.

I suddenly cried out, in horror, “Seize the ropes! Seize the ropes!”

Before us, the sea had opened, and, before the ship, with steep sides, there appeared a valley, water pouring down its sides, as into a vast hole. “Seize the ropes!” I cried.

The bow of the ship paused, teetering, as though at the edge of a cliff, and then, suddenly, it plunged downward, and slid to the side of that steep, pouring, liquid valley, and went over to her side, and continents of water poured over her, and then engulfed her, and she spun about, for all her size, like a child’s toy, and we were under water, turning, and I was swept from the platform and ring, and flung to the end of the safety rope. Then the great ship rotated, buffeted, in the sea, and was washed upward, and she righted herself, and her bow, like a breaching leviathan, the northern whale, broke the surface and I fell back against the mast, gasping for air. The great ship pitched and turned as might a straw in a maelstrom. The waters churned about her, and she was smote as with discordant, hurtling rivers in the sea, and I feared her timbers, though of mighty Tur wood, might be stove in. The ship leapt forward, as waves rose behind her, and then her bow again went under the water, and I clung to the mast, and saw the sea not feet below me. The ship rose from the water, water pouring from her, as from the back of an emerging sea tharlarion. I saw, far below, the small figure of the slave, on a storm rope, both arms fastened about it. Behind us I saw steam rising from the sea, and the water began to boil. The helm deck and stern-castle deck were empty. I feared the calking might be melted from the timbers. The bit of canvas we had flown was soaked, and heavy, and could barely move in the breeze which, but moments ago, had gentled us our course. The ship rocked, and, I feared, was turning back, toward the steaming sea. I saw a figure clamber to the helm deck, a hatch quickly sealed behind it. It was Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, who threw his weight, as that of two men, against the helm pole. The ship, the breeze shaking in the soaked canvas, turned west. I saw another mighty trough before us, and tried to cry out, but no sound came from my throat, and I clung again to the mast. Twice more was the great ship submerged, and twice more, turned and buffeted, she rose to the surface. Steam rose from about us. Water churned, and the sea was as a cauldron, hissing and bubbling. And Cabot, struggling at the helm pole, held the course west, steadily. The sea, three times, had fallen away beneath us. It was as though the floor of the sea itself had shuddered and cracked, opening a world into which water had poured. But this was not what was most frightening, and I saw what many men know of, but few men have seen. Mighty Thassa would give berth. I saw rising, on either side, and before, mountains rising from the sea, mountains of fire, bursting alive, mountains moving, rising, run with molten streams of rock, some loose like flaming water, some patient and thick, dully red, and from these strange mountains, cast into the air were clouds of flaming rock, cinders, and ash. The air fumed and stung with particles, and I fought to breathe, and yet feared to do so. Ash clung about my face and mouth. My eyes stung. How could one live in such air? Surely one would suffocate, or strangle, and collapse, dying in such a fog of cinders and gas. The cracking noises of the angry, burning mountains, too, like thunder at one’s ear, almost deafened one. A gigantic rock fell into the sea, hissing, to port. The sails, I feared, in the falling, flaming debris, would have been ignited, had they been dry. Cinders and ash rained on the deck. Cabot was screaming on the helm deck, for men to emerge, to see to the ship. There was fire on the stern-castle deck, and the bulwarks to starboard were aflame.

Coughing, eyes stinging, burned by cinders, I regained the platform and ring. I looked down to the deck.

Cabot had now been joined by Pertinax and Tajima, and a number of Pani and armsmen were emerging from the lower decks, forward. I saw Lord Nishida among them, gesturing, crying out. Men ran to smother flames. Buckets were cast, and heated water drawn aboard, to be splashed on the flames. Many men had put cloths about their faces.

I muchly desired to free myself of the safety rope, descend the ratlines, and aid in the protection of the ship, but I knew I would not do so. It was not that I feared to leave my post, or feared to be flogged, or killed, for doing so. Rather, it was my watch, and I was of the ship.

The deck was black, and pitted.

The heated air had dried the sails, and they now billowed, as the wind had risen. The course, now held by mariners, continued west, then west by southwest, taking its way amidst new-risen, flaming, towering mountains.

It became possible to breathe without pain.

Later, a light rain had begun to fall, for the first time in several days. This, I take it, may have been a result of the stifling, burning air ascending to the high, cold sky, familiar to jacketed tarnsmen, where, condensing, it fell as a soft, washing rain. Had we not been on the ship, I feared we might not have escaped death. Fixed in place, there would have been little to do but die.

I no longer saw the slave, but I knew that she had survived. Originally, I feared she might have drowned, her arms locked, desperately, frozen, about the storm rope, but, later, the ship righted and emergent, though cruelly pitching, I had seen her move, trembling, struggling to clutch the rope even more tightly. And later, as the ship had sought to effect its escape, I had seen her react, stung by the falling, fiery cinders. As she was no longer in view, she would have been conducted, or sent, below. Her body had been blackened in the soot and ash. I had seen her scratch cinders from her hair, slap frenziedly at the left side of her tiny tunic, where the material had caught fire. Then she had clung ever more tightly to the soaked, heavy rope. There would doubtless be marks on her body from it. I suspected that her hands and arms would have to have been pried from it.

So the slave had survived.

Excellent.

You must understand, of course, that there was nothing personal in this, nothing on the score of which I need castigate myself.

Surely one might be similarly pleased, and even legitimately so, at the survival of any other animal, as well, say, a verr or kaiila. The slave, as the verr or kaiila, and other such animals, has value. For example, she may, at one’s pleasure, be sold.

Understand, clearly, that she meant nothing to me.

There was nothing personal in my feelings.

My concern was purely on behalf of the ship.

One does not care for a slave.

That is absurd.

She is not a free woman.

She is a slave.

Her purpose is to be mastered, totally, to be worked, commonly in the performance of repetitious, servile tasks, and to satisfy, obediently and unquestioningly, and helplessly, the lowest, most bestial, and carnal of her master’s appetites. The free woman may be conducted to public readings and song dramas; the slave is to be at the foot of her master’s couch, chained to his slave ring.

Of what value is a woman to a man if she lacks slave skills?

Even a brilliant woman, witty and articulate, learned, of the high Scribes, collared, her blue robes exchanged for a rag, must apply herself to new studies, the use of her lips and tongue, of her small fingers and glossy hair. Aside from homely tasks, she will be taught cosmetics and ornamentation. To the snap of a whip she will learn slave dance. If the master is cruel, earrings may be fastened in her ears. On the high bridges she will feel wind on her legs and arms, and in her hair, and on her unveiled features, on which men may look with impunity.

She is now a slave.

She belongs to her master.

Collared, she is freer now than she would have ever dreamed possible.

She hopes to prove a suitable slave to him, attentive, humble, grateful, zealous, and skilled.

Her errands done, she hurries to his quarters, to kneel before him.

Many men had now come to the deck, which swarmed with mariners and armsmen. I saw even Lord Okimoto.

About us were several of the fire mountains, less fearful now. We threaded our way amongst them with care.

The storm ropes were loosened and coiled, to be stowed below decks. The hatches, as the sky was clear, remained open. I did not understand it at the time, but the “ridge” had been passed. We were leaving the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire.

I wondered why the slave, earlier, had not accompanied her collar sisters below, but had lingered on deck. Surely she knew she was risking a switching.

I trusted that she had been sent to the washing tubs, that her hair and body, and tunic, might be cleaned, and that physicians had tended to her burns.

Perhaps, by now, she was back in the Kasra keeping area, on her chain, run to its ring by her mat.

Though the hatches and portals had been sealed, I supposed that the great ship would have shipped some water. As I had heard no call for the pumps, I supposed it was negligible, and confined to the holds, where men might wade, and soon hand buckets from one to the other.

I saw Tersites on the stem-castle deck.

I thought him likely to be satisfied with the great ship.

She had come through the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire.

I wondered if the slave, below, once cleaned, and salved, had been beaten. She had not accompanied her collar sisters back below decks. Her hair and body had been covered with soot and ash, her skin had been pelted with dust and scalding cinders, her tunic had been partly burned. Yes, I thought, she would doubtless have been switched. A slave is expected to care for herself, to keep herself clean, well groomed, and attractive, as she is her master’s property.

The great hatch was rolled back. I gathered that tarns would be exercised. I also saw, for the first time, at the side of Tarl Cabot, as men drew back in fear, a large sleen, which dragged its left, hind foot. I had heard the animal a number of times before, but I had never seen it until now. Heeling Cabot, behind the lame sleen, was his barbarian slave, Cecily. She was attractive. I did not doubt but what she would bring good coin off the block. I wondered if the barbarian lands might not be rich with such women, ripe for bringing to the markets of Gor. By the morrow, I hoped that the kajirae, so long confined below decks, might be brought to the open deck, as before, for air and exercise. Alcinoe, I supposed, who would have incurred the displeasure of her keepers, would remain below, on her chain.

I scanned the horizon, that line below the sky, with the glass. Thousands of times I, and others, had done so.

How eager we were to see tiny irregularities in the distance, initially almost undiscernible, perhaps tiny, beckoning flecks of green or brown.

Sometimes, interestingly, particularly after long at sea, one sees such things when they are not there. It is well then to hold back, until one is sure, until matters are clear, at least to the glass. More than one watch had been flogged for crying out the sight of land, stirring crews, rousing jubilation, where there was no land.

It suddenly occurred to me that we must be at least two or three days from land, else the tarns, the concealment of whose existence seemed a matter of such moment to Lords Nishida and Okimoto, would remain concealed. To be sure, perhaps we were months from land. I doubted that, however, if only because of the fire mountains. Might not such cataclysmic births herald a world or worlds similarly formed? Perhaps, I suspected, we were not far from the World’s End, the Homeland of the Pani.

I sensed pressure on the ratlines to my right.

It was Leros.

“Tal,” he said, looking about, clinging to the ratlines. The sight was indeed impressive.

“Tal,” I said. “The jard flies swiftly.”

“To where feasting may be found,” he said.

He joined me at the platform and ring. “I will linger a moment,” I said. I looked about. I had never before seen the formation of islands.