Mariners of Gor

Chapter Eight

The day was dim and cold.

It must be near noon, but it seemed more like dawn. Tor-tu-Gor, Light-upon-the-Home-Stone, was low, lying almost upon the gray horizon.

The ship was not moving.

It was quiet, except for the men below, outside, moving on the ice about us, with their staves, posts, and axes, striking at the ice. Even on deck one could hear the crunch of their boots on the ice below, the striking of the posts downward, each handled by two men, on the ice, the sharp crack of the Torvaldslander axes striking on the horizontal, encroaching wall that seemed about to encircle the mighty ship. Sound carried clearly. One could hear conversations yards below.

“We are in the grasp of Thassa,” said Philoctetes to me.

“She will have her way,” said a fellow.

On the stem castle, one could see the small, misshapen figure of Tersites, hidden in furs, pacing from side to side, sometimes howling in rage, sometimes pausing to shake small, gnarled fists at the thick, white expanse, like rock, that stretched about us.

“This voyage was madness,” said a man.

“Curse Tersites, curse this ship, curse the Pani!” hissed a man.

I had heard no more of sedition from Tyrtaios, who was of the retinue of Lord Nishida. If he harbored thoughts of insubordination, even mutiny, he did not now speak them. They lay dormant, if seething, within the walls of his own dark, coiled, serpentine heart. There is a time to strike, a time to wait. What point to seize a ship, to risk one’s life, when the prize, even if won, would be without profit? Only a fool would hope to steal a wagon without wheels, a kaiila which cannot be untethered, a girl whose chain he cannot loosen, a treasure which cannot be carried away.

“Away!” called a man, standing at the rail.

One of the great saws, heavy, eleven feet in length, with gigantic metal teeth, fashioned from iron timber braces, by the ship’s Metal Workers, on its rope, was lowered over the side, to the men below. There it would be weighted, its back rings fitted with draw chains, and the whole fixed in its pulleyed frame, to be dropped and raised, again and again, and, by means of the draw chains, pulled against the ice.

I had wondered, from time to time, of the hints of Tyrtaios, those of untold wealth for all. Surely that lacked all foundation in fact, and who, save the simplest and most gullible, might be deceived by so obvious and meretricious an enticement, so transparent a fabrication? And yet, I wondered, why would one of the seeming astuteness of Tyrtaios put himself so at risk, as he would be when the vacuity of his promise became manifest, as it must, in time? He, I thought, must be as mad as Tersites himself.

In my turn, I helped draw the used ax, that which had just been replaced, freed of its weight and chains, to the open deck. Its teeth would be sharpened, and then, again, within two Ahn, it would be put to work below.

The days were short, the nights long. In the land of the Red Hunters, farther north, north even of Torvaldsland, it was said that night would reign unremitting for weeks, from passage hand to passage hand, and to passage hand again, as in their summer, oddly, Tor-tu-Gor would never set. Yet even in their night, interestingly, one might see, from the light of moons, from that of stars, and, sometimes, it was said, from mysterious, shifting curtains of light, these many things reflected from the bleakness of the silent, frozen sea.

The mighty ship had been seized by Thassa, in her fists of ice, better than thirty days ago. The ice had formed about her, and lifted her, mighty as she was, from the surface of the sea, aslant, and crooked, yards toward the sky. This had proved fortunate for, as later became clear, the massive press of ice on each side might snap apart even timbers as fearsome as those of the great ship of Tersites, might break them apart as easily as a child might snap the twigs of a play fortress. Thassa had reserves on which she might draw, the vast pressures of her solidifying surface. Twenty days ago the ice had shifted, with a great, splitting roar, and our great, weighty bulk had slid downward, deeper into the ice, then through the ice, and righted itself. We rejoiced that there was again water beneath our keel, and that we might again negotiate a righted deck, but, by morning, as the ice closed in, almost invisibly forming, Ehn by Ehn, hort by half-hort, our joy turned to terror, for one could remark the groaning of timbers, the cracking of stressed beams. “Do nothing!” had cried Tersites. “The ship is strong! She will neither bend nor break. Mightier than Thassa is she, my ship, always, in every way, do nothing!” But the ice, like the forge pliers of a Metal Worker, slowly, little by little, began to close on the wood. “Do nothing!” cried Tersites. But now none heeded him. Aetius, his confidante and loyal apprentice, in whose management was the day-to-day handling of the ship, dared to countermand his orders, this with the support of Lords Nishida and Okimoto, and the counsel of Tarl Cabot, admiral in Port Kar, member of the council of captains, and the war with ice had begun, to keep it at bay, by whatever means necessary. Accordingly, some feet of ice, with great travail, had been cleared about the hull of the great ship, and, by day, and under torches at night, flickering weirdly on the ice, men, in shifts, struck, hacked, and sawed away at the foe, the silent, ever-forming, encroaching ice.

Some men had been lost in this battle with Thassa, men who, for the most part, had been careless, and lost their footing, or beneath whose weight an unexpected edge of thinner ice had given way. Some had been caught under the ice. Most had died from the cold. In such water a man would die within Ihn. The first who had been lost in such a way was Andronicus. I had served at the pumps with him, in the forward port hold. He had been lost at night. Tyrtaios, in his vicinity, had been unable to save him.

I looked over the rail, at the gray sky, the dim globe of Tor-tu-Gor, at the horizon, the flat, white, frozen desert about.

It seemed not unlikely that the voyage of the great ship had now come to her final port, one of Thassa’s choosing.

“Days pass,” said a man, wearily.

“It is endless,” said another.

“Thassa is mistress,” said a man.

“It is hopeless,” said another.

“Be silent,” said another, “or you will be stripped and lashed, and then thrown bound to the ice.”

It was true that the soldiers, or ashigaru, as they were called, of Lord Okimoto were amongst us.

How can one maintain morale, when all is lost?

At least some tarns were aflight.

One even now struck the deck, its wings snapping, soon to be led below.

Its rider, now dismounting, was one of the Pani, a man called Tajima, who was of the retinue of Lord Nishida, but serving in the cavalry.

Even from the height of tarn flight there was seen no break in the ice. It was everywhere about us, perhaps for hundreds of pasangs.

I was pleased to see a tarn return. Several had not. They were, after all, in a way, the eyes of the ship. It was from such saddles that one might see afar. Tersites, in his arrogance, his pride, and waywardness, had not deigned to give his vessel eyes. How then could she see her way? Is it not perilous enough to go forth upon Thassa at all, even in full cognizance, even when assured of her smiles and charms, without venturing upon her in forbidden seasons, blind? It was not known why several tarns had not returned to the ship. One suspects they had been flighted east or south, obedient to the reins of deserters, understandably loathe to die on the ice. But there were other thoughts, too. Perhaps the tarns themselves, now unhobbled, unwilling to return to the imprisonment of the cramped cots below, where they had seen their fellows die, now drunk with their sudden freedom, in the cold, fine, piercing air, exhilarated, and exultant, had chosen to reclaim for themselves their rightful realm, the deep, broad, high country of the sky. The tarn is a dangerous bird, half wild even when domesticated. It would be an easy thing to resist the reins, and turn upon a rider. And even an obedient tarn must eat, after a time. And then, presumably, one must die, tarn or rider. And if the rider survive, how will he live, afoot, alone, in the cold, in the long night?

But the man Tajima had returned.

I suspected he was an able rider.

Because of the risks few tarns were now flighted.

And tarns who cannot fly will, after a time, die.

I could see, some hundred yards off, dark on the ice, the bodies of two sea sleen. There must be a breathing hole there. When approached, they would disappear beneath the ice, for it was they who were being approached. On the other hand, some, seen first beneath the surface, a detectable, sinuous, twisting, moving body, a foot or two below, would suddenly emerge, beside the ship, snouts raised above the surface, with an explosive exhalation of breath, and then a drawing inward of air, these come to open water about the ship, to breathe. It was they who approached. It was eerie to look into the large, round, dark eyes of a sea sleen, peering at one from the icy water. The sea sleen will attack a human in the water, which it will see as food, but it is unlikely to attack one on the ice. Its usual prey is parsit fish, or grunt. In the case of the northern shark it is both prey and predator. Some sea sleen hunt in packs, and these will attack other sea mammals, even large sea mammals, such as whales, which they will attack in swarms, in a churning, bloody frenzy. We were instructed to stand in truce with these marine predators. If one came on the ice, we would push it back in the water with poles. One caught at a pole and snapped it apart with one swift, wrenching closure of its wide, double-fanged jaws, like a toothed trap door set low in that broad, viperlike head. In time one might need them for food. Thus, one welcomed them to come to the side of the ship, to breathe. To be sure, the sea sleen, like its confreres on land, is an intelligent animal, and we did not think it unlikely that it might prove quite dangerous if it were attacked, or thought it necessary to protect a breathing hole. Certainly one did not wish to risk a body, slipped from the ice, being dragged under the water and the hull before we might hurry it back to the ice, and break the stiff, frozen furs from its shuddering body. After the loss of the second man at the hull, the workers on the ice, most of them, those working close to the water, tied themselves together, that the error of a lost footing might not invariably prove fatal. In the water, it can be difficult, hands slipping, no purchase gained, to draw oneself back on the ice. One can die at the edge of the ice, scratching at it, treading water. One does not have long to live in such water. With the rope, on the other hand, one can be extracted from the water swiftly. So simple an expedience had saved more than one life. It was unfortunate that this safety practice had not been in place in the time of Andronicus. To be sure, some men would not avail themselves of the rope, and some, for ease of movement, or comfort, would sever the safety rope themselves. Andronicus, for all we know, might have been one such, so unwise. It was hard to say. And if such were the case, then, even as before, it would have been understandable that Tyrtaios, despite his best efforts, might have been unable to save him.

Of late, in the cold, and half darkness, some of the girls, lesser girls, I took it, from the Kasra keeping area, as well as several from the higher area, the Venna area, warm-shod and well furred, had been released to serve about the ship. Muchly were they pleased, these fortunate ones, to be relieved of the ankle chain, and be loosed from the dank, straw-strewn keeping areas, to which they would be later returned, to be again chained in their places. Many were the small services which these more fortunate ones might perform. Some, like the women of the Red Hunters, repairing rent garments with thong and awl, or, with their lips, teeth, and tongue, softening leather, and attending to stiffened garments, melting and biting the ice away from the fur; and many others would attend to the small, common domestic pursuits of the female slave, the dusting and cleaning of quarters, the making of bunks, the polishing of leather, the shining of the metal fittings of accouterments, laundering, ironing, sorting and folding clothing, sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, waiting upon the long tables, serving menially in the kitchens, as scullions, and such. And others served here and there about the ship in yet other ways, ways similarly appropriate for slaves, carrying messages, running errands, bringing food and black wine, not paga, to the men, both those on deck and those on the ice below, being lowered on a stirrup rope, to be drawn from the side of the ship to the ice by hooked poles, and such. Some of the women, doubtless those once of high caste, and not yet fully aware of their condition, that they were now no more than collared slaves, might, while grateful for their temporary release from the keeping areas and the greater latitudes of movement now permitted them, resent, or attempt to resent, the fact that they now found themselves put to such small, various, repetitive, servile, homely pursuits, perhaps finding in them a pretext for disgruntlement or humiliation. But soon, were their reservations noted by masters, they would address themselves eagerly, diligently, and thankfully to such pursuits, certainly after, say, having been fastened, small wrists tied high over their head, at a whipping ring. They now understood that such tasks were right for them, as they were slaves, and they were grateful to be permitted to live, to perform them. But most of the slaves, by far the greater number, being well apprised by now of the meaning and import of their neck encirclements, and radiant with collar joy, knowing they had irrevocably lost the battle with men which they had never, truly, desired to win, addressed themselves with a light heart and willing hand to such tasks, suitably enforced upon them as what they were now, owned, subdued females, and would hum and sing at their work. As slaves, they knew themselves set appropriately to the tasks and duties of slaves, this confirming upon them what they were, and desired to be, females who had no choice but to serve and please, even to the severities of the whip and chain, females joyful to be true females, females desiring to be owned by men, females wanting to be possessed by masters. In such things can one not hear the crackle of the fire at the mouth of the cave, the drums in the forest, sense the feeling of one’s wrists drawn behind one, and thonged together, snugly, and then the being seized in the mighty arms of hunters and warriors, whose they are, and who will do with them as they will?

It was the second day of the Eleventh Passage Hand.

“Hold, slave!” I snapped.

There was no confusing of men with women.

Even within the bundling of the furs heaped upon them their bodies could not be concealed, the figure, the slightness, and movements, no more than those of free women could be entirely concealed within the layers of their fanciful, absurd robes. What male does not sense the vulnerable, inviting nakedness of a slave within a woman’s assorted garmentures, no matter how contrived and pretentious?

And do not even free women sense that men see them thusly, see them exposed beneath their robes, see them as they would be without them, as they might be, say, were they commanded to put them aside, or as they might be, say, were they torn away? When they sense themselves under the scrutiny of men, do they not turn nicely, and stand well, and pose, and display themselves as the goods they know themselves to be? Surely they are aware, in some way, that they are slaves, and belong to men. What do they need then, but the chain, the block, the auctioneer’s cry?

She turned about, frightened, the vessel of steaming black wine, wrapped in its thick cloths, from the wool of the bounding hurt, held in two hands.

Yes, it was she, at last!

What could be special about her, only a slave?

Doubtless only the gold she might bring, were I to cast her to her knees, shackled and naked, before Marlenus of Ar.

“You,” she might have said, but it was only her lips that formed the word.

I was annoyed. I pointed to the deck, sternly.

Did she not know she was in the presence of a free man?

Swiftly she fell to her knees, and put her head down.

“First obeisance position,” I said.

She put the black wine to the side on the deck, and put her head to the boards, before me, her hands beside the sides of her head.

I let her remain in that attitude for a time, for better than an Ehn, that she might well understand herself in first obeisance position before a man, and then I knelt before her and pulled her head up, and brushed back the hood of her furs.

“Yes, it is you,” I observed.

“Yes!”

She was even more beautiful than I had remembered.

I thrust her head back, so that she was looking up, and felt about her throat, under the fur.

She was nicely collared.

“A ship’s collar?” I asked.

“Yes!” she whispered.

“Yes?” I said.

“Yes, Master!” she said.

I was pleased she had not yet been claimed or assigned.

Might she not have been uneasy, could she have sensed my pleasure, my satisfaction, in having made this determination?

To be sure, almost all the slaves on board wore the ship’s collar, were ship slaves.

“You are still Alcinoe?” I asked.

“That is what they call me,” she said.

“Then that is your name,” I said.

“Yes, Master.”

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Alcinoe,” she said, “-Master.”

“Do not forget it,” I said.

“No, Master,” she said.

I moved about her a bit, and, with my two hands, felt beneath the furring wrapped about her left ankle.

A metal band had been hammered shut there, and, now flat against the band, in its welded staple, was a smaller ring, to which a chain might be attached, or through which a chain might be run, one by means of which several girls might be secured.

In the keeping areas the girls were commonly kept chained.

“I have not seen you about,” I said.

“It is hard to exceed the length of our chain,” she said.

I twisted my hand in her hair, held her, and cuffed her twice, sharply.

She looked at me, my hand tight in her hair, startled, disbelievingly. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her lip trembled. Did she truly think she might play with a free man? Did she truly think she might speak as a free woman? Did she not know she was a slave? Did she truly think that I, or any free man, would not put her to discipline?

Let her learn differently.

Sometimes a master will allow his girl a bit of slack on her leash, so to speak, which is sometimes pleasant, but that only makes it all the more sweeter to bring her again to her knees before him, his slave.

“It is appropriate that you be chained, is it not?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am a slave, Master,” she said.

I stood up, before her, and regarded her.

“Keep your back straight,” I said.

She straightened her back, and looked straight ahead.

“I have not seen you since the cell,” I said.

“Nor I you,” she said.

“It is my understanding that you claimed I had put you to use,” I said.

“Doubtless Master knows the story,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

She dared to look up, frightened.

“Please do not have me whipped,” she said.

I supposed that I, as the putatively offended party, might suggest a repetition of her punishment, for my own satisfaction, the first having been administered merely because she had been caught in a lie.

It is interesting how a slave who has felt the whip so fears it. They will go to great lengths to avoid its kiss.

To it they know themselves subject.

Like most men, most masters, I thought that the whip, if applied, should be applied judiciously, and, preferably, not at all.

It is, after all, primarily an instrument of correction.

And, hopefully, correction will not be necessary.

What one looks for from a slave is service, and inexpressible, inordinate pleasure. Why else would one put them in collars, buy them, and own them, and master them?

To be sure, if they are not fully pleasing, they must expect to be punished, and well. They are, after all, slaves.

Too, interestingly, a slave may sometimes desire to be whipped, perhaps to reassure her of her master’s attention, that she is still important to him, that he regards her as still his slave, that he regards her as still worth whipping, and perhaps, sometimes, she simply desires to be whipped, to be reminded that she is a slave. To the slave her bondage is inexpressibly precious. And surely little could better convince a slave of her bondage than finding herself being whipped as the slave she is.

“Where are you housed?” I asked.

“In the Kasra area,” she said.

It was then further confirmed, as I had earlier conjectured. She was neither claimed nor assigned.

She was a simple ship’s slave.

“Please do not have me whipped,” she said.

The whip hurts; a slave will commonly do much to avoid it. Certainly they are seldom in doubt as to their bondage. They know themselves subject to it. It is often most effective when merely dangling inert upon its peg. It is sometimes put to the lips of a kneeling slave, that she may lick and kiss it, in trepidation and reverence. It is a symbol of the mastery. When a slave is found errant, she is sometimes required, kneeling, to beg for its attention. Sometimes, after having received its attention, she is required to kiss and thank it. “Thank you, dear whip. I shall try to amend my ways. I shall strive to become a better slave.”

“How long have you served about the ship?”

The ship was large, and one had varied duties, here and there.

“This is the third day,” she said, adding, “-Master.”

“Why did you claim I had put you to use?” I asked.

“I do not know, Master,” she wept. “I was angry, I was frustrated, I felt rejected, I felt insulted. I am sorry. I am sorry! Please do not have me whipped, again. It hurts. It hurts, so!”

“You were punished,” I said, putting the matter aside.

“I was in a collar,” she said. “I was alone with you! I could not have prevented you. I could not have resisted. Why did you not put me to use?”

“I was not pleased to do so,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

“Why did you, in Ar,” I asked, “a great lady, lower your veil before a common soldier?”

“I do not know,” she said.

“Perhaps to torment me?” I suggested.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I do not know.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “it was the act of a slave, one who desires to be taken in hand, and braceleted.”

“Surely not!” she said.

“I can understand such things,” I said, “before high officers, before men who determine the opening and closings of gates, men who hold the keys to cellars of gold, to the trove of Merchants, men who command armies, who grasp the reins of power, whose word will launch fleets, but not before common soldiers.”

She put her head down.

Beside her the vessel of black wine no longer steamed.

“Slave?” I said.

“Few men know,” she said, “the secrets even free women confide to the silence and secrecy of their pillows.”

“But it was surely foolish,” I said.

“I did not expect to be a fugitive,” she said. “I thought the power of Talena in Ar was secure. Ar was beaten and downtrodden, confused and set against herself, cleverly divided so that she would be helpless before her foes. We did not anticipate the return of the great Marlenus.”

“Most who could recognize you,” I said, “might be unwise to return to Ar, having prices on their own heads, as Seremides.”

“They might well win their own amnesty,” she said, “were they to deliver a fugitive more sought than themselves. Such things are negotiable, through intermediaries.”

“Seremides,” I said, “is on board.”

“No!” she said.

“Under the name Rutilius of Ar,” I said.

“He must never see me!” she whispered. “He must never know I am on board!”

“Who?” I asked.

“I,” she said, “of course, the Lady Flavia!”

“The Lady Flavia,” I said, “is not on board.”

She looked up at me.

“A slave, Alcinoe, is on board,” I said.

“As you wish,” she said.

“Do you enjoy having this conversation on your knees?” I asked.

“It is appropriate, is it not,” she asked, “as I am a slave, before a free man.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

“I am permitting you to keep your knees closed,” I said.

“Master is kind,” she said. “What if I should wish to open them, before you?” she asked.

“Do not do so,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

I recalled that she had claimed that I had raped her.

“Seremides,” I said, “knows you are on board.”

“No!” she cried, in misery. “Surely you did not tell him!”

“Stay on your knees,” I warned her.

“No,” I said, “I did not tell him. Why should I tell him? Better, surely, that it be I alone who should bring you before Marlenus.”

“You would bring me before Marlenus?” she said.

“Who would not?” I asked.

“Might I not prove a pleasing slave, Master?” she asked, tears in her eyes.

“One does not know,” I said.

“Alcinoe would do much to please her master,” she whispered.

“Speak louder, slave,” I said.

“Alcinoe would do much to please her master,” she said.

“That is only fitting for a slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“For the bounty on your head, pretty kajira,” I said, “one might purchase a galley, and a dozen slaves whose beauty would shame yours, as yours, such as it is, might shame that of tarsk sow.”

“Surely not!” she said. Well had I stung the beauty’s vanity.

“Well, perhaps,” I said, “as much as yours would be beyond that of a typical copper-tarsk girl, a pot girl, a kettle-and-mat girl.”

“I thought my beauty too great for that of a female slave,” she said.

“But now,” I said, “you are more familiar with that of female slaves.”

“But I am beautiful!” she wept.

“I doubt that you would bring gold off the block,” I said, “but I think you would bring silver.”

“Surely I am beautiful!” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “you are beautiful, you are a lovely slave.”

“Am I not attractive?” she asked.

I did not tell her of the nights I had dreamed of having her, collared, in my arms.

“I have had better chained at my slave ring,” I said.

“You have had others chained at your ring?”

“Now and then,” I said.

“And how would you chain me,” she asked, “by throat or ankle?”

“As it might please me, on one night or another,” I said.

“And such is the master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I have never been at the foot of a man’s couch,” she said.

“In the beginning,” I said, “you would be slept on the flooring itself, or a mat.”

“Not on furs?”

“No,” I said.

“I would be slept as a low slave?”

“Of course.”

“Do you find me attractive?” she asked.

“Few slaves are without interest,” I said.

“I would like to be attractive to you,” she said.

“More attractive than a sack of gold?”

“I would scarcely dare hope so much,” she said.

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“If you did not know who I was, and you saw me on the block, naked, exhibited, posed, fearing the whip, writhing on command, might you not find me of interest, and bid for me, and hope to take me home-I, only a slave, on your chain?”

I recalled that she had lowered her veil before me, in Ar, I, only a common soldier, and more than once. However far above me she was then, I was now thousands of times higher than she, for she was now slave.

“Perhaps,” I said, “provided I could get you cheaply enough.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “Seremides does not really know I am on board.”

“He knows,” I said.

“How do you know Seremides knows I am on board?” she asked.

“Some days after having been brought on board,” I said, “I was interrogated by ship’s officers. Seremides was amongst them. Your name, Alcinoe, came up, given the contretemps of the cell. Seremides mentioned that he had seen you, and that you looked well in your collar.”

“Do I look well in my collar?” she asked, bitterly.

“What woman does not?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “We are females, the properties of men.”

“He suggested,” I said, “that you be given to him.”

“I see,” she said, shuddering.

“But, it seems,” I said, “that his request has not been granted, at least as yet.”

“He refused to abet my escape from Ar,” she said. “The mounting ladder was jerked away from me. I was left behind, abandoned.”

“Now, of course,” I said, “things are different. Now, a sack of gold might be tied about your neck, as you might be led, naked and bound, leashed, to the impaling pole, the sack to be cut from your neck and given to Seremides, as you are lifted, striving not to move, into public view.”

“We are likely to die here, in the ice,” she said.

“It seems so,” I granted her.

It was feared that some men might leave the ship, to try to cross the ice east, in the half darkness, perhaps to Torvaldsland. Pani had been set about, to guard the bulwarks, and, on the ice, to supervise the work about the ship. This venture, whispered about, to leave the ship, seemed to me madness. We were hundreds of pasangs from land, and who knew how far the ice might last, but, it seemed, even so woeful and improbable a scheme might have some appeal to forlorn, desperate minds, minds half crazed by the imprisonment of the ship, the silence, the darkness, the cold, the endless labor at the ice, the growing shortage of rations.

“I wonder where Seremides saw me,” she said.

“It could have been anywhere,” I said, “perhaps when you were unhooded, after boarding, perhaps while you were awaiting a chain assignment, in a companionway, in a corridor, on one deck or another, perhaps when you slept, in the Kasra holding area, to which he, as a high officer, might have had access.”

“Few, if any, men are allowed there,” she said. “We are managed by first girls, large tharlarion-like women, female whip slaves.”

“Interesting,” I said. I supposed it made sense that free men, on the whole, would not be allowed to walk about amongst chained slaves.

After all, should one not pay for them?

“Sometimes,” she said, “girls moaning and needing men would be switched to silence. When free I despised the needs of slave girls, but then I did not understand how they felt, how helpless they were in the throes of their needs; I did not understand what was going on in their bodies, that made them cry out, and whimper, and scratch at the boards, and moan; I did not understand what men had done to them, to so ignite their needs, to make them so piteously the prisoners of their own bodies, of what they were, the helpless victim, captive, and slave of their own womanhood.”

“One cannot ignite needs which are not there to be ignited,” I said. “What men have done is simply to free the secret slave in the heart of every woman, she longing for the sunlight of submission and fulfillment.”

“Four times,” she said, “I was awakened from my sleep, the switch flashing upon me. ‘Stop thrashing in your chains, slut,’ I was told. Had I been doing so? I did not know.”

“Presumably you were doing so,” I said.

“The switch stung,” she said.

“That is its purpose,” I said.

I recalled having learned, during my interrogation, that physicians had determined that the slave, Alcinoe, after her time with me in the cell, was almost ready to be put on the block. Apparently she had begun to sense, or fear, the beginning of involuntary, radical changes in her body, incipient glimmerings heralding the onslaught of needs which would inevitably put her vulnerably at the feet of men, the fires which, in a woman’s belly, mark her, more than a brand and collar, a man’s slave.

“In any event,” I said, “he saw you, and I am sure he recognized you.”

“I did not see him,” she said.

“It is enough that he saw you,” I said.

“Are you sure,” she said, “that he saw me?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do not any longer think of yourself as concealed, as inaccessible, as a free woman. You are now an animal. Your features must be as brazenly exposed as those of any other animal, a kaiila, verr, or tarsk. Anyone, as upon them, may look upon you, and boldly.”

Tears sprang anew to her eyes.

“Is this truly surprising?” I asked. “Did you not see many slaves in Ar? Do you still think of yourself as free? What of your own girls? What if one had dared to veil herself, even in play?”

“I would have lashed her,” she said.

“You are surely well aware,” I said, “that as a slave, an animal, you may or may not be clothed. You are surely aware of such things. Your garmenture, if any, will be decided by those who own you. Your features, and, if owners wish it, your body, will be denied the least protection.”

“Yes,” she wept, “yes!”

“Keep the palms of your hands down on your thighs,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“And keep in mind that your features,” I said, “if not your body, must be regularly and fully exposed. Free women will insist on that. Your features, at all times, must be denied even the least thread of the most diaphanous veiling.”

“How easy then,” she said, in misery, “I all unknowing, for him to see me, and identify me!”

“For him,” I said, “or anyone.”

“Even a common soldier,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “even a common soldier.”

“And anyone might bring me to Ar,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “even a common soldier.”

“Such as you,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“How helpless we are,” she said, looking up, “we, so exposed, our lips, our features, our smallest expressions, naked, bared to the view of anyone!”

I was muchly pleased that slaves were denied veiling.

How beautiful and distraught she looked!

How this puts them so much the more where they belong, in our power!

“You may not hide yourselves,” I said.

Her eyes were bright with tears, some coursed down her cheeks, running under the fur.

“You are a slave,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “I am a slave!”

Denial of the veil is one of the things, as noted, insisted upon by free women for the slave, this marking another dramatic difference between them, at least between those of high caste and the slave. Low-caste women, in their work, not unoften do without veiling. Good-looking girls of low-caste sometimes go about unveiled deliberately, hoping that they may catch the eye of a slaver, and perhaps be sold into a high household, or come into the chains of a handsome, well-to-do master. One of the most delightful vengeances of a free woman upon a rival is to have her rival reduced to slavery, and then have her at her feet, tunicked, and face-stripped, as a serving slave, perhaps to be later sold, out of the city. One of the most interesting things about barbarian slaves, which may surprise many, is that few seem to understand, at least at first, the shame that is done to them by denying them the veil. They seem more concerned with the baring of their bodies, which is suitable for slaves. But such are shameless and suitably enslaved. Are they not already half-slave, even before being fitted with the collar? They only become sensitive to such matters when, later, they become aware of the meaning of their bared faces. But, after a time, even Gorean women, as well as barbarians, in bondage, think little of their lack of veiling, at least when not in the presence of a free woman, particularly of high caste. Then they are often forced to feel their shame keenly. Commonly though, they, and barbarians, as well, come to revel in the lack of veiling, and, indeed, in the shame of their commonly brief and revealing garmenture, if allowed garmenture, become insolent in their shameful pride, so deplored by free women, of revealing their beauty, of both face and body, to the eyes of men.

One might note in passing how the slave tunic, or the scandalous camisk or ta-teera, are viewed by free women, slaves, and masters. The free woman regards such garments as a degradation, an unspeakable humiliation, a badge of shame, fit for natural slaves, say, women of alien or enemy cities. But, too, they often seethe with envy that it is not they who are exposed so blatantly, and desirably, to the eyes of males. Might they not, too, be so attractive, were they so excitingly clad, so invitingly bared? And how angry they are that men, who should be above such things, look with such obvious favor on mere slaves! The slave, of course, may at first be miserably shamed to be so garmented, to be put in such a garment, but, soon, she comes to exult in its attractiveness, its brevity and lightness, and the freedom it affords, not only of movement, but more significantly, its gift of psychological, emotional, and intellectual freedom. Too, of course, such a garmenture is sexually arousing, and frees the slave to be the warm, arousable, appetitious, excitable, needful, sexual animal, the slave, she has always longed to be. And as for the views of men with respect to such garmentures, one supposes they need no elaboration. By means of such garments, women, the most desirable properties a man may own, are dressed for his taste, delectation, and pleasure. Were it not for the security of their Home Stones, one supposes there would be few free women in a Gorean city. One wonders sometimes if they understand that the freedom which, in their arrogance, they take so much for granted is tenuous and fragile, a revocable gift of men. Let them think of Tharna, and tremble, or, if they wish, present themselves naked before her gates, petitioning entrance.

“Why is Seremides on board?” she asked.

“There is a price on his head,” I said. “Perhaps, then, to flee.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but one could flee anywhere, to Torvaldsland, to the deeper recesses of the formidable Voltai, to the vast Barrens, to the long Valley of the Ua, anywhere. Here, he is trapped, on a ship.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “he hopes to recoup his fortunes, at the World’s End.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said, “he knew you to be on board, and has in mind your apprehension, and eventual remanding to Ar.”

“Surely that venture,” she said, “would be fraught with peril. The price on his head, I suspect, is greater than that on mine.”

“I agree that is likely,” I said. He had been, of course, the captain of the Taurentians, and had been close to Myron, the polemarkos of Temos, commander of the occupation forces in Ar.

“Still,” I said, “do not underestimate your value in Ar.”

“To another,” she said, “but I think not to Seremides.”

“He might negotiate, anonymously, through others,” I said. I did not doubt that he had cohorts on board, if not brought with him, then later recruited.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“You do not think he seeks you?”

“I think,” she said, “he is after greater game.”

“What, then?” I asked.

“I am not sure,” she said. “I do not know.”

“In any event,” I said, “a slave is far from Ar.”

“Yes,” she said, “a slave is far from Ar.”

“Return to first obeisance position,” I said.

“Surely not!” she said.

“Now,” I said. “Good.”

“Now,” I said, “to second obeisance position.”

“Please,” she protested, her head to the deck.

“Must a command be repeated?” I inquired.

“No!” she said.

The repetition of a command is often a cause for discipline, and she was well aware of what that might involve.

She was now on her belly before me, her hands at the sides of her head.

“Lips to boots,” I said.

She pressed her lips to my boots, left and right, kissing them, and licking at them.

I let her continue to do this for a time.

It is pleasant for a man to have a beautiful woman, for she was beautiful, so at his feet, so at his mercy.

I noted a particular movement in her body, one I had seen before in a slave. I smiled. She was beginning to understand what it might be, to be a slave. Already, I suspected, she had begun to hope, forlornly, that I might be pleased to attend to her, as one who, in his lenience or indulgence, might attend to a slave.

“Enough,” I said. “Position.”

She knelt then before me, as before, back on her heels, head up, back straight, the palms of her hands down on her thighs.

“You wear your furs well,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“To be sure,” I said, “I would prefer you in a tunic, or less.”

“May a slave not open her knees before Master?” she said.

“Do you wish to do so?” I asked.

“I think so,” she whispered.

“No,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

“Is a slave white silk or red silk?” I asked.

“Must a slave respond?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“A slave is white silk,” she said.

“That is unusual,” I said.

“For a slave,” she said.

“You are a slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, “I am a slave.”

“It seems, slave,” I said, “you have let the black wine grow cold.”

“Master?” she said.

“Thus, you are remiss,” I said.

“I have been detained!” she said, frightened.

“You are remiss,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “I am remiss.”

“Then, rise,” I said, “hurry to the kitchens, to heat the wine, or replenish your vessel.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She retrieved the vessel, wrapped in its cloths.

“And hurry,” I said, “run, run!”

“I was the Lady Flavia of Ar!” she said.

“Hurry,” I said, “run, run!”

She turned about, in misery, and, holding the vessel in its cloths, hurried away. She stopped once, to look over her shoulder, and then, frightened, disappeared through the second hatchway amidships, that between the second and third masts.

I feared for her safety, and that of all of us.

Night was falling. On the ice below the work lamps, on their tripods, had been lit. Pani, with bows and glaves, patrolled the perimeter below.

They had earlier stopped two men, set to trek the ice. One had been killed, the other flogged.

Rations were growing short.

I thought of the slave, Alcinoe. Off the block, sold for her simple quality as a female, she might bring one or two silver tarsks. In the south, delivered to the justice of Ar, she might bring a double handful of golden tarn disks. What a fool one would be, not to advantage oneself of such an opportunity. On the other hand, she was pretty, and might make a good slave.

It was hard to tell about such things.

Reasonably clearly, she was already beginning to sense what it might be to be a slave.

That was promising.

I wondered if, in the darkness of the Kasra keeping area, she might have pressed her fingers to her lips, and then softly to her collar.

I recalled she had been switched awake four times.

Presumably she had been thrashing in her chains.

She is coming along nicely, I thought, even predictably.

What woman can be truly fulfilled, who is not a slave, who does not know herself owned, who does not know herself the absolute property of a master, a master whom she knows she must serve with perfection, a master whom she knows, to her joy, will have the wholeness of her womanhood from her?

The watch was called, and I would go below.

I wondered why Seremides was on board. It might have been simply his intention to flee. Who, after all, would think to seek him beyond the farther islands? Or perhaps he wished to seek a fortune in a new, untried venue, a fortune, like many, obtainable by sword skill? Perhaps, on the other hand, he sought the former Lady Flavia of Ar. The reward for her return to Ar was far from negligible. Might it not purchase a galley, and several slaves, of high quality? But she had thought he was after greater game, of some sort. But what might that be? Also, as she could recognize him, her death might be worth far more to him than the gold her delivery to Ar might bring. To be sure, I, too, might recognize him. I had taken care to avoid being alone with him. Clearly I constituted a danger to him, and, as a free man, one far more dangerous than that posed by a slave. I had little doubt he would eventually seek his opportunity, perhaps a thrust in the darkness, a feigned misstep at the ice, the provoking of a quarrel, or such.

I saw two or three men emerge onto the darkening deck. I thought little of it at the time.