Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Four A SAIL

I stood back amongst the trees, looking out to sea.

It was early morning.

I had left the hut of Pertinax a few Ehn earlier.

It was very pleasant near the shore, with the smell of Thassa, with the cool, penetrant air, the sense of the salt of her churning waves, the sound of the surf, the incoming tide, the wash of sea weed on the shore, the water with its soft, fluid rush across the sand and amongst the stones, and then its circuitous return, and then its advance, and then again its return, and the wheeling and intermittent crying offshore of broad-winged coast gulls. Too, as it had rained the preceding night, the higher rocks and the sand above the tide line were still dark with damp. The forest, too, with its moist soil and its glistening, rustling canopies of wet, dripping leaves, shaken in the wind, had about it its sweetness of life.

I wondered if human beings were good for such a world.

Yet if they did not inhabit her would such a world not have been something of a waste, for who, then, would know how beautiful she was?

The Gorean, incidentally, is not a soiling and a plague upon his world, nor is he so arrogant as to deem himself superior to it, its guardian or steward. He regards himself, rather, as a part of her, as much so as a leaf, or tree, but an unusual part, of course, a part which knows itself a part. He is a partaker of its warmth and cold, its winters and summers, its light and darkness, its day and its night, its storms and serenities. He loves his world but he does not understand it for what it is not. It is beautiful but, too, it is awesome and terrible. With equanimity, not caring, it brings forth life and death, flourishing and destruction, growth and decay. It is a world that contains not only the beauty of grass and the blossoming of the talendar but the fangs of the ost, the coils of the hith, the jaws of the larl, the frenzies of flocking, feeding jards, the sudden, wrenching, twisting strike of the nine-gilled shark, the claws of the sleen, the beak and talons of the tarn.

The beach seemed deserted.

No furrows marked where the keel of a long ship might have been drawn ashore.

The horizon seemed clear, gray, and cool, but clear.

It had seemed likely to me that I would have been met by agents of Priest-Kings, but I had encountered only Pertinax, and a woman called ‘Constantina’. These, I was sure, stood in place of Kurii, some Kurii. How much they knew of their role in these matters I was not sure. The human agents of Kurii were seldom enlightened, I supposed, as to the ramifications and depths of the plans of their employers, nor the remote objectives of such plans. I was aware of the usual dispositions of their female agents, once they had fulfilled their purposes. They would not be returned to Earth, with the promised emoluments of their service, riches, at least. This might lead to complications, a request for explanations, inquiries, and such. Kurii, as many predators, are fond of concealment, until they act. Too, their female agents could not be well integrated into Gorean society, with its orderings, its clan and caste arrangements, its rank, distance, and hierarchy. Such women did not even have the protection of a Home Stone. Too, they were, like slaves, selected for their beauty, and this placed them in jeopardy in a world such as Gor. A tabuk doe, so to speak, amongst larls, will not be long without her collar. Gorean males are not men of Earth. I was less certain of the fate of male agents, such as Pertinax. It seems there would be little point in sending them to the quarries or mines. Perhaps they would simply be killed. Certainly they would not be allowed to withdraw from the services of Kurii. That would be highly unlikely. I supposed they might be kept, then, to be used again. Knowing a native language of Earth they might be of continuing value as agents. Too, they could be rewarded on Gor, if not on Earth, where curiosity might be aroused, and in ways which would be unlikely on Earth, but appealing to males. Indeed, many males, one supposes, might prefer Gorean rewards to those of Earth, for example gold, power, slaves, and such.

In moving to the beach I had, as was my training, been alert to a variety of particulars, movements and shadows, the integrity of brush, the branches overhead, the nature of the ground underfoot, was a leaf pressed down here and there, was that a pebble possibly dislodged, such things. There was nothing unusual in this, and the circumspection and alertness involved, the care taken in one’s passage, would have been typical of one of my caste, and certainly in negotiating an unfamiliar and perhaps dangerous terrain. Too, I suspected there might be another, or others about. Was I not to be met?

But no rendezvous had taken place, not with agents of Priest-Kings.

It occurred to me that such an agent, or agents, might have been waiting, and had been killed.

On the other hand, I had detected little or no uneasiness on the part of Pertinax or his slave, Constantina, which might have appertained to such a deed.

To be sure, they might know nothing of it. Kurii might know. But why would Kurii have agents of theirs meet me here at all?

It would have to do, one supposed, with the intruders, with flights of tarns, but I understood nothing of this.

Or had such things to do with Priest-Kings, and their plans?

And were Kurii here intent on turning something to their own advantage?

From the shelter of the trees, I looked across the water.

The horizon was still clear.

When I had left the hut of Pertinax, or the hut he utilized, he, and Cecily, had been asleep. I did not think Constantina had been asleep. To be sure she appeared to be asleep.

It interested me that Pertinax had identified Constantina as his superior. Indeed, he had informed me that she had recruited him.

It seemed unlikely a slave would be so charged, so privileged.

I heard the tiny sound a few yards away.

I had been waiting for it.

Constantina, you see, had not truly been asleep. I had been reasonably sure of that.

In approaching the shore, I had left an easy trail leading to the beach, but had then doubled back, and waited in the shelter of some trees, a few yards back, and to the side, from which point of relative concealment I could both survey the beach and monitor my original trail.

As I expected, Constantina was moving toward the beach. Interestingly, she did not seem to be following the trail I had left, quite obviously, I had thought. Rather she was just moving cautiously, directly, toward the beach. I had little doubt she was trying to spy on me, though, given her clumsiness, and her apparent lack of awareness of the trail I had left, the word is perhaps more complimentary than it needed be.

Kurii would know, of course, that the coordinates of my landing would be known to Priest-Kings. Indeed, they were specified by Priest-Kings.

These coordinates, too, or, better, the locale in question, would have been made clear to Pertinax and Constantina.

The agent, or agents, of Priest-Kings, it seemed, then, were either late for their appointment, or had been killed, and their bodies disposed of. That Constantina had come to the beach, to spy on me, suggested to me that either the agent, or agents, of Priest-Kings had not yet arrived, and Constantina was concerned to detect their presence, or, if they had arrived, and been disposed of, Constantina was unaware of that fact.

As indicated earlier, I was reasonably sure that neither Constantina nor Pertinax were harboring any surreptitious knowledge of murders recently wrought. If such murders had taken place I did not think that Kurii would have risked entrusting Constantina or Pertinax with a cognizance so dreadful and solemn, lest it be betrayed by some careless word, some inadvertent expression, a surprising hesitation, some gauche, unwary phrase, or pause.

There had been a storm last night, and it had moved in from the west, from Thassa. That might have delayed a ship, as she hove to, or was blown off course. Too, who knew what weathers might have prevailed in the last several days.

Priest-Kings, you see, seldom use their own ships in the vicinity of Gor’s surface. They tend to protect their mystery or privacy zealously. The dark, palisaded Sardar itself, the abode of Priest-Kings, is sealed away. It is sacred, and forbidden. Accordingly, the agents of Priest-Kings, on the surface of Gor, tend to move as Goreans would move, and commonly appear indistinguishable from ordinary Goreans. The sight of large metal vessels, coming and going, might make the Priest-Kings seem too comprehensible, remarkable, and powerful, but comprehensible. Humans are likely to fear best what they cannot see; what they can see they may investigate. Too, the caste of Initiates, which claims to mediate between humans and Priest-Kings, with their sacrifices, and such, would obviously prefer for Priest-Kings to remain as invisible and mysterious as possible. Thus they can interpret their “will” as they please, as the wind blows, so to speak, or, perhaps more accurately, as the gold depresses the scales. To be sure, many Initiates doubtless take themselves seriously.

Constantina was quite near now.

She was doing her best to move stealthily. Whatever her various qualities, properties, values, and virtues might be, which might make her of interest to a man, her strong suite was obviously not woodcraft. She was looking toward the beach, and, forward, from side to side. She seemed puzzled, that she did not see me.

Where could I be?

Suddenly she stiffened, pulled back, against me, her cry stifled by my hand across her mouth.

“Tal,” I said to her.

She squirmed, helpless.

I held her for a time, until her struggles subsided, until she knew herself my prisoner. I then removed my hand from across her mouth, but held her by the arms, from behind.

“What are you doing here, girl?” I asked.

“‘Girl’!” she said.

“‘Girl’, ‘Slave’,” I said.

She struggled, again, in my arms, held from behind, but could not free herself.

“Girl, slave,” I said.

“Nothing!” she said.

“I think we should have a talk,” I said.

“I was come to fetch water!” she said.

“You cannot drink the water of Thassa,” I said. “If there is a spring about, it is not here.”

“I lost my way,” she said.

“Where is your yoke, with the attached buckets?” I asked. “Doubtless you would look well, carrying water in such a device.”

“I was looking for the spring,” she said.

I then drew her by the right arm, she stumbling, to the edge of the trees, at the border of the beach.

There I thrust her back against a small tree and, pulling her arms behind her, fastened her wrists together, behind the tree, so that she stood before me, fastened in place.

She pulled at the ropes a bit, futilely.

She looked at me, angrily. “Let me go!” she said.

“Why were you following me?” I asked.

“I was not following you!” she said.

“You are aware that you can be seen easily, from the shore?” I said.

She looked about, frightened. “Yes?” she said.

“There may be intruders about,” I said. “I saw several disembarked yesterday. Pertinax tells me that there have been many of them. Some may still be about. Others may arrive.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“I thought you might,” I said.

“This is Gor,” she said. “Do not leave me here, a woman, bound as I am!”

“Then you acknowledge yourself a woman?” I said.

“Of course!” she said.

“And you are not a man?”

“No,” she said, “I am not a man — I suppose.”

“You suppose?” I asked.

“I am not a man,” she said.

“You are quite different?” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said, jerking at her bonds.

“Perhaps?” I inquired.

“Yes,” she said. “I am quite different!”

“I wonder if you understand that,” I said. “That you are radically different, wholly and absolutely different, wonderfully different.”

“Wonderfully different?” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “but you have not yet learned your womanhood.”

“I hate being a woman!” she said.

“That is because you have not yet been put at the feet of men,” I said.

“Untie me,” she said.

“I like you as you are,” I said.

“Untie me!” she said.

“Free yourself,” I said.

“I cannot!” she said.

“Then you will remain as you are,” I said.

“I was not following you,” she said. “I was fetching water, I lost my way.”

“And forgot containers, in which water might be brought?”

She was silent.

“Perhaps, rather,” I said, “you wished merely to look upon the sea, in the early morning, to hear the gulls, and such.”

“Yes,” she said, “that is it!”

“But you feared to be caught, unengaged in labors, lest Pertinax, your master, beat you for dalliance?”

“You have found me out,” she said, sadly. “Please do not inform my master.”

“Your severe master?”

“Yes,” she said, head down, “I do not wish to be beaten.”

“You have never been beaten in your life,” I said.

She looked up, angrily.

“It is hard to know whether there is a man in Pertinax or not,” I said. “If there is, it is hard to see, for the spineless urt.”

A flicker of a smile crossed her countenance.

How she despised him!

Women despise men for weakness, and fear them for strength.

“And I doubt you have ever looked on anything,” I said, “without considering how it might be put to your advantage.”

“That is not true!” she said.

“Perhaps when you were younger,” I said.

“Let me go!” she said.

“You are a mercenary, of sorts,” I said.

“I am a mere, worthless slave,” she said, humbly, “only a Gorean slave girl.”

“We are going to have a talk,” I said.

“Release me!” she demanded.

I stood back, and, for a time, regarded her.

“Do not look at me like that!” she said.

“Why should I not do so?” I inquired.

“It, it makes me uncomfortable!” she said.

To be sure, the tunic was a bit long, and heavy, but her arms, at any rate, were bared.

“Please,” she said.

“A slave,” I said, “should hope that she would be so looked upon, and should hope that she would find favor in a man’s eyes.”

“Beast!” she said.

“You are a slave, are you not?” I asked.

“Certainly!” she said.

“And your master is Pertinax?” I said.

“— Yes!” she said.

“What is your brand?” I asked.

“I am not branded!” she said. “That is a cruel thing to do, and Pertinax, my master, has not had it done to me.”

“A slave should be branded,” I said.

“I am not branded,” she said.

“Do I have your word on that?” I asked.

“Certainly!” she said.

I then went to her tunic, and, on the left side, lifted the tunic to the hip.

“Monster!” she wept, and pulled at the ropes.

The common branding site is the left thigh, just under the hip. The common tunic, of course, covers the brand. A side-slit tunic makes the brand easily detectible, and certain other garments, as well, for example the common camisk.

“Do not!” she said, pulling away.

Some masters, after all, are left-handed.

“Beast, beast!” she said.

I smoothed down the tunic, on both sides, and she pressed back, against the slim trunk of the tree, and turned her head, angrily, and looked to the side.

“You are not branded,” I said, “at least not obviously.”

“I told you that,” she said, angrily.

“I thought you might be lying,” I said.

“I was not,” she said.

“A slave should be branded,” I said. “It is an explicit recommendation of Merchant Law.”

“My master is too kind to brand me,” she said.

“It is not a matter of kindness,” I said. “It is simply something to be done with a slave, routinely.”

“Well, I am not branded,” she said, turning to look at me, angrily.

“You are sure you are a slave?” I asked.

“— Certainly,” she said. “If you look closely, perhaps you can see that I am in a collar!”

“Do you like your collar?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “It is humiliating, degrading, and hateful.”

“Is it uncomfortable?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Most slave girls love their collars,” I said. “Many would not trade them for the world.”

“I see,” she said.

“They are certificates of their attractiveness, that they are of interest to men, that they have been found worth collaring.”

“I see,” she said.

“Collar!” I snapped.

“What?” she said.

She had not lifted her head, exposing her throat and the encircling collar.

I approached her and examined the collar. “This collar is not engraved,” I said. “Should it not identify you as the property of Pertinax, of Port Kar?”

“It is a plain collar,” she said.

“Doubtless it is locked,” I said.

“Certainly,” she said. “I am a slave.”

I turned the collar, and tested the lock, and then turned it, again, so that the lock was at the back of the neck.

“You see!” she sniffed.

That she seemed so calm about this convinced me that she had access to the key, that either it would be within the hut, or, perhaps, more likely, on her person. It seemed clear to me, from what I had seen of her relationship with Pertinax, her supposed master, he would not have it.

I was reasonably certain she would be terrified if the key were not in her own possession.

In the hut, it might be available to others.

I supposed, then, that the key would be about her person, somewhere.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Here,” I said, “at the hem.”

“Do not!” she wept, trying to pull away.

It was a moment’s work, with the point of my knife, to free the key, which I then held before her.

She averted her head, in misery.

I wondered if she knew the penalties to which a Gorean slave might be subject, for such a crime.

I supposed not.

“Come back!” she cried.

I had turned about and walked down, toward the shore, and stood there, my ankles in the lapping water.

“No!” she begged.

I spun the key far out into the waves.

“No, no!” she called.

I then returned to where I had left her.

“The collar is locked!” she said. “I cannot take it off!”

“That is common with female slaves,” I said.

“You do not understand!” she hissed.

“What do I not understand?” I asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, sullenly.

“Do not fear,” I said. “With proper tools the collar may be easily removed. Any metal worker, with the proper tools, could manage the business without difficulty.”

“Beast!” she said.

“How does it feel to be collared, truly collared?” I asked.

“I hate you!” she said.

“Now that you are truly collared,” I said, “I think certain other adjustments would be in order.”

“Stop!” she said.

But, tied, as she was, she could not deter my work, and I carefully, without being extreme, or excessive, in the matter, shortened the skirt of her tunic in such a way that it would be more typical in length for that of a Gorean slave girl.

“Beast, monster!” she hissed.

“I do not think Pertinax will mind,” I said. “And if he wishes to shorten it further, to make it truly ‘slave short,’ or ‘slave delightful,’ he is free to do so.”

“Do you not understand!” she exclaimed. “If someone sees me like this, they will take me for a slave!”

“You are a slave, are you not?” I asked.

“— Yes, yes,” she whispered.

“And I did not slit the skirt at the left thigh,” I said, “so Goreans will assume it is branded. If it were discerned that it lacked the brand, they would doubtless soon see that the oversight, one scarcely pardonable, was remedied.”

In her distress I do not think she even understood what I was saying.

I then fastened my hands at the neckline of the tunic.

“No,” she said. “No!”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I am not a slave!” she said. “I am a free woman!”

“Perhaps you are a slave and do not even know you are a slave,” I said.

“No, no!” she said. “I am free, free!”

I did not remove my hands from the neckline of the tunic.

“Speak!” I said.

“I was hired!” she said.

“You and Pertinax,” I said.

“Yes!” she said.

“To whom are you in fee?” I inquired.

“Men,” she said, “anonymous. I was approached on Earth, and it was I who recruited he whom you know as Pertinax.”

“Your Gorean is acceptable,” I said.

“We were given weeks of intensive training on Earth,” she said, “and more on Gor.”

“Continue,” I said.

“I was given a retainer of one hundred thousand dollars,” she said, “and so, too, was Pertinax, and we are to receive one million dollars each at the accomplishment of our mission.”

“The deposit was seemingly made to a given bank, one selectively chosen, and you were furnished with what appeared to be documentation of this,” I said. “But I am confident the money was never in actuality deposited.”

She regarded me, wildly.

“To be sure,” I said, “you were doubtless given funds, which led you to believe the business was in earnest.”

“More than five thousand dollars,” she said.

“I see,” I said.

“I shall collect the rest when I am returned to Earth,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I shall return to Earth shall I not?” she said.

“You are on Gor, girl,” I said, “and on Gor you will remain.”

“No,” she said. “No!”

“And there will be others,” I said, “as greedy, and foolish, as you.”

Wide were her eyes.

“You are, doubtless unknowingly, a minion of a life form known as Kurii,” I said. “Kurii, however one views them, have a sense of honor, a sense of what is appropriate, of what is proper. I assure you they have little respect for traitresses.”

“I do not believe you!” she said.

“As you wish,” I said.

“What would be my fate?” she asked.

“You are nicely faced, and figured,” I said.

“No!” she said.

“It would amuse Kurii,” I said, “that you would sell for a handful of coins.”

“You are trying to frighten me,” she said.

“You were not to be trusted,” I said. “Why should you expect that others were to be trusted?”

“I will not be frightened!” she insisted.

“When the iron is put to your thigh,” I said, “you will know what you are.”

“No!” she said.

“Then you will finally be worth something. Someone will get some good out of you.”

“No!” she said.

“Continue to improve your Gorean,” I said. “You may be well whipped for errors.”

“Let me go!” she said.

“But we have not finished our chat,” I said.

“Release me,” she said. “What if someone should see me as I am?”

“What is your role here?” I asked.

“Surely you do not expect me to speak,” she said.

“As you wish,” I said.

My hands tightened at the neckline of her garment.

“Do not!” she said. “You are of the warriors. You have codes. I am free, a free woman! I am not to be touched! I am to be treated with respect and dignity! I am not a slave! I am a free woman!”

I removed my hands from her garment, and stepped back.

“Now untie me,” she said.

I left her bound.

She did have nice legs. Such women put a strain on the codes.

“I think,” I said, “that you are indeed a free woman, but, you must remember, you are one of Earth, not Gor. There is a considerable difference. For example, you have no Home Stone.”

“What is a Home Stone?” she said.

“Surely you have heard of them,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “but I do not understand them.”

“I am not surprised,” I said.

She pulled at the bonds.

“Do not look at me like that!” she said.

“Do you not know how appealing to a man is the sight of a bound woman?” I asked. “Masters not unoften bind their slaves and order them to squirm. The slave then is well reminded of her dependency and helplessness. And the master, for his part, now knows the slave is wholly his, prostrate at his mercy, and he finds this pleasant, and stimulating. Too, the woman is aroused, as well, and knowing herself helpless, and wholly in the master’s power, is soon beside herself with readiness. This has much to do with dominance/submissive ratios, which are pervasive in nature. Too, much can be accomplished along these lines by merely dressing the woman as one pleases, and seeing to her obedience and service. The master/slave relationship is extensive and complex. It is not all a matter of putting the slave to one’s pleasure, though, to be sure, without that it is nothing.”

She then stood very still.

“Yes,” I said. “Women such as you strain the codes.”

“I am free,” she said. “Free!”

“Yes,” I said, “you are a free woman, but one of Earth. You do not have the status of a Gorean free woman. Compared to a Gorean free woman, sheltered by her Home Stone, secure within her walls, complacent in the unquestioned arrogance of her station, the women of Earth do not even understand what it is to be free. The Gorean free woman is glorious in her freedom. The free women of Earth are no more than the sort of women that Gorean slavers think nothing of enslaving. They see the women of Earth not as free women, but only as slaves who have not yet been put in their collars.”

“I am a woman of Earth!” she said.

“Precisely,” I said.

“Monster!” she said.

“But it is true,” I said, “that you are a free woman of Earth, at least as far as those women can be free, and thus that my codes, though the matter is controversial, much depending on interpretations, do suffice to give me pause.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Now release me.”

“But you have not yet explained your role here,” I said, “nor that of Pertinax.”

“Nor is it my intention to do so,” she said.

“Very well,” I said.

“Untie me,” she said.

I turned about, and looked out to sea. I was now sure of it. What had been hitherto no more than a dot on the horizon, perhaps no more than a sea bird resting on the waves, even sleeping, as they do, was now clearly, though still small, and far off, a sail.

“There is a ship,” I said, shading my eyes.

“There have been such ships,” she said, straining her eyes, pulling against her bonds, looking outward, toward the horizon.

“One came in yesterday,” I said, “from which were disembarked, following the surmises of Pertinax, your subordinate, and not master, bandits, brigands, or such.”

“Untie me! Untie me, swiftly!” she begged.

I wondered if an agent, or agents, of Priest-Kings might be aboard that vessel, now so far off, now seeming so tiny.

“Untie me, now!” she cried.

“As you are a free woman,” I said, “even though one of Earth, I have treated you with some circumspection. In the codes such matters are gray, for it is commonly supposed that a Home Stone would be shared. If you were a slave, of course, whether of Earth or not, the matter would not even come up. Too, as you may not understand, even a Gorean free woman is expected to show a fellow respect, as another free person. If she insults him, belittles him, ridicules him, or treats him in any way which he deems improper or unbecoming, sometimes even to the glance, depending on the fellow, she is considered as having put away the armor of her status, and may be dealt with as the male sees fit. This is particularly the case if there is no shared Home Stone. Other situations are also regarded as ones in which the woman has voluntarily, or inadvertently, divested herself of the social and cultural mantles usually sufficient to protect her freedom and honor, such as walking the high bridges at night, undertaking dangerous expeditions or voyages, traversing lonely areas of a city, entering into a paga tavern, and so on.”

“There is a ship there!” she said. “I can see it clearly!”

“Yes,” I said.

“Can they see us?” she asked, desperately.

“Perhaps,” I said. “They may have a glass of the Builders.”

“If they see me here,” she cried, “half naked, bound, collared, what will they do with me?”

“Put you on a chain, of course,” I said.

“But I am free!” she said.

“Perhaps for the better part of an Ahn, or so,” I said.

“I am free,” she said. “Your codes! Your codes! You must protect me!”

“My codes do not require that,” I said.

“You would not leave me here as I am!” she cried.

“You are mistaken,” I said. “That is precisely what I will do.”

I then turned away, to withdraw into the forest.

“Wait!” she begged. “Wait!”

I turned to face her.

“I will speak, I will speak!” she cried.

“As you will,” I said.

“Untie me!” she cried. “Let us hide! They can see us here. They may have already seen us here.”

“Possibly,” I said.

“Untie me!” she begged, wildly.

“Speak first,” I said.

“We were brought here, Pertinax and I, by a disk craft, and told to wait for you,” she wept. “We were to encounter you, and show you hospitality, and then conduct you into the forest, to a rendezvous. Pertinax knows the place. He has been there. The trail is marked.”

“What sort of rendezvous,” I asked, “with whom, and to what purpose?”

“I know little,” she said, “save that they would enlist your services.”

“My services are not easily enlisted,” I said.

“They will have a hold over you,” she said. “A woman.”

“What woman?” I asked.

“I do not know!” she cried.

“I understand little of this,” I said.

“It has to do with tarns, and a ship, a great ship,” she said.

“What woman?” I asked. “What woman?”

“I do not know,” she said.

I untied her hands and she pulled away from the tree, weeping, and fled back some yards into the forest. There I saw her stop for a moment and tear wildly, hysterically, at her collar. She could not, of course, remove it. It was nicely on her, a typical Gorean collar of the higher latitudes, sturdy, flat, close-fitting. She tried to jerk down the hem of the shortened tunic, on both sides, but it sprang upward again. She then cried out in misery, and disappeared into the trees, presumably to warn Pertinax.

Presumably he would see her differently now, given the alterations to her tunic. And he would note, too, from its shortening, and the ragged lower edges, that the key was no longer in its place.

Yes, I thought, he would doubtless see her differently now.

And doubtless she would be well aware that she would now be being seen differently.

To be sure, I did not think she had anything to fear from Pertinax. It would be quite different, of course with a Gorean male.

I then turned to note the ship, now something like a hundred yards off shore.

It was a round ship, more deeply keeled, more broadly beamed, than the long ship.

It would not beach.

A longboat was being put in the water.

It had four rowers and a helmsman, and one individual forward.

The individual forward, I supposed, would be he for whom I had been waiting, the agent of Priest-Kings.

I suspected that Constantina would by now be at the hut, begging, perhaps on her knees, in her desperation, and as she was now clothed, Pertinax to flee.

To be sure, it mattered little to me that she might observe the arrival of the newcomer.