Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Five AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IS RENEWED; A NEW SHIP ARRIVES, AND DISCHARGES PASSENGERS AND CARGO; I OBTAIN CONSIDERABLE INTELLIGENCE, BUT NOT ENOUGH

He waded ashore.

The longboat did not beach.

“You?” I said.

“From the time of the Five Ubars, in Port Kar,” he said.

“Before the ascendancy of the Council of Captains,” I said.

“It has been a long time,” he said.

“Do not approach too closely,” I said.

“I am unarmed,” he said, opening his hands and holding them to the sides. “But others are not.”

I did not unsheathe my weapon.

Two of the oarsmen from the longboat were in the water to their waists, and each held a crossbow, with a quarrel readied in the guide.

The other two oarsmen, oars outboard, and the helmsman, his hand on the tiller, nursed the boat, keeping it, as it was turned, muchly parallel to the shore. It could be easily swung about.

“Sullius Maximus,” I said.

“Officer to Chenbar, of Kasra, Ubar of Tyros,” he said.

“Traitor to Port Kar,” I said. “Mixer of poisons.”

He bowed, humbly.

“You recall,” he said, smiling.

“But you brewed an antidote,” I remarked.

“Not of my own free will,” he smiled.

He had been infected with his own toxin, which produced, in time, a broad paralysis, that he might prepare, if time permitted, its remedy. His lord, Chenbar, had not approved of poisoned steel, and I had once spared the Ubar’s life, on the 25th of Se-Kara. The antidote, proven in the case of Sullius Maximus, had been conveyed to Port Kar.

“I am pleased to see you are looking well,” said Sullius Maximus.

“How is it that I find you here?” I asked.

“Surely you know,” he said.

“Scarcely,” I said.

“Surely you do not think this is some eccentric coincidence,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“You are waiting for the agent of Priest-Kings,” he said.

I was silent.

“I am he,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“How else would I know of your location?”

“Kurii know,” I said.

“Who are Kurii?” he said.

“You do not know?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“How is it that you, an agent of Priest-Kings, know not of Kurii?”

“To serve our lords, the masters of the Sardar,” he said, “one needs know no more than they deem suitable.”

“Perhaps they are your lords,” I said. “They are not mine.”

“Are they not the lords of us all,” he said, “are they not the gods of Gor?”

“And are the Initiates not their ministers and servitors,” I said.

“One must allow all castes their vanities,” he said.

“Doubtless,” I said.

“I understand,” he said, “that you have labored, now and then, on behalf of Priest-Kings.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I find their choice of agents strange,” he said. “You are a barbarian, more of a larl than a man. You know little of poetry, and your kaissa is commonplace.”

“My kaissa is satisfactory,” I said, “for one who is not a Player.”

“You are not even a caste or city champion,” he said.

“Are you?” I inquired.

“Games are for children,” he said.

“Kaissa is not for children,” I said. Life and death sometimes hung on the outcomes of a kaissa match, and war or peace. Cities had been lost in such matches, and slaves frequently changed hands.

Too, the game is beautiful.

Its fascinations, as those of art and music, exercise their spells and raptures.

“To be sure,” he said, “you do have, I gather, a certain audacious expertise in certain forms of vulgar weaponry.”

“Less sophisticated and urbane, doubtless,” I said, “than the administrations of poisons.”

“Do not be bitter,” he said. “All that was long ago, and seasons change.”

“Seasons, like enmities, and tides, return, do they not?” I asked.

“I come to you in friendship,” he said, “as partisans in a common cause.”

“I do not think you are an agent of Priest-Kings,” I said.

“I find it difficult, too,” he said, “to suppose that you are an agent of Priest-Kings.”

“I do not think of myself as such,” I said.

“But you are here,” he said.

“At the will of Priest-Kings, yes,” I said, “but I do not know why.”

“I am here to inform you,” he said.

“How do I know you are an agent of Priest-Kings?” I asked.

“Perhaps I am an unlikely agent,” he said. “Who am I to know? One might say the same of you, if you are indeed an agent. Who is to tell Priest-Kings who will be their instruments? Are you privy to their councils, can you read the mists, the fogs and clouds, which hover about the Sardar?”

I supposed it was possible that this man might be an agent of Priest-Kings. Doubtless they selected their human agents with an eye to probity and utility, not nobility, not honor. Too, the moralities of Priest-Kings might not be those of men, or of Kurii. Too, I knew there was a new dynasty in the Nest. The remnants of the older order might, by now, dispossessed and superseded, neglected and scorned, have long ago sought the pleasures of the Golden Beetle.

“You have some token, some sign, some credential, or such, which might testify to your legitimacy here, something which might certify your authenticity?”

“Certainly,” he said, reaching within his tunic.

I tensed.

He smiled.

He withdrew a loop of leather from within the tunic, on which loop was fastened a golden ring. This ring was something like two inches in diameter, and the way it hung suggested its weightiness.

The golden circle, incidentally, is taken as the sign of Priest-Kings. Such circles are often carried by high Initiates, on golden chains about their necks. Too, they are likely to appear on the walls, and over the gates, and such, of temples, and, within temples, they invariably surmount altars. Staffs surmounted with this symbol are often carried by Initiates, as well, and such staffs invariably figure in their ceremonial processions. The gold is the symbol of that which is rare, is precious, is constant, and does not tarnish. The circular form is a symbol of eternity, that which has no beginning, that which has no end. The blessings of Initiates are accompanied by the sign of Priest-Kings, a circular motion of the right hand. These blessings, on feast days, may be bestowed on the faithful without cost. Sometimes, of course, such blessings must be purchased. The favor of Priest-Kings is not easily obtained, and Initiates, as other castes, must live.

“Anyone,” I said, “might fix a ring of gold on a leather string.”

“That is how you know its authenticity,” said Sullius Maximus. “For those endeavoring in fraud, to abet a ruse, would surely fix the ring on a chain of gold.”

“May I see the ring?” I said.

I was not interested in the ring, of course, but the leather string, for leather can absorb certain substances, such as oil, or the exudates of a communicative organ.

Sullius Maximus cast me the ring, on its leather loop. He did not care to approach me too closely. I did not blame him. Might not a knife swiftly, like a striking viper, dart from its sheath, find its home in a startled heart, and might not the very body of that heart serve an assassin as shield, sheltering the assailant from the vengeance of the crossbows’ metal-finned, soon-flighted penetrant iron?

I pretended to examine the gold. I lowered my head respectfully to the symbol, as one might salute the Sardar, but I kept my eyes raised, to keep in view its purveyor. The string, in which I was primarily interested, was bunched in my hand, close to the ring, and I took its scent. Without a translator I had no hope of deciphering the scent, but I recognized the voice, so to speak, of Priest-Kings, who communicate by scent. I had no doubt that that leather had been impressed with the message of Priest-Kings.

But I had no way of reading it.

I did not inquire of Sullius Maximus the location or fate of an appropriate translator, for I was confident he knew nothing of such a device.

It was lighter now, and I examined the string, visibly. On it, in two places, there were reddish brown stains.

“The string is soiled,” I said.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Blood,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said. “It was given to me as it is.”

“I do not doubt that it came into your possession rather as it is,” I said.

He bowed his head, in assent.

I now knew I would not be met here by an agent of Priest-Kings.

The agent of Priest-Kings had been intercepted.

How then would I know the will of the denizens of the Sardar, even to judge whether or not I should honor it, or endeavor to comply with it?

“You have been to the Sardar?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, looking at me, narrowly.

“Recently?”

“Of course, to be given the ring, and the message.”

“What are the Priest-Kings like?” I asked.

“Surely you know,” he said.

“Tell me,” I said.

“They are like us,” he said.

“I am pleased to hear it,” I said.

“Only larger, stronger, more powerful,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“As befits gods,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I recognize, and respect, and honor, your caution,” he said. “But now, if you are satisfied, I will execute my charge. I will deliver the message of Priest-Kings, and withdraw.”

“You received this message,” I said, “from the great Priest-King, Lord Sarm?”

“— Yes,” he said.

Sarm, of course, years ago, had succumbed to the pleasures of the Golden Beetle. I was reassured, then, that the Kurii still knew little of the denizens of the Sardar.

It is difficult to do contest with an enemy which is both mysterious and powerful.

I had little love for Priest-Kings, but theirs was the law and the rod which held in check the inventive and indiscreet aggressions of humans on this, their world. Had it not been for the governance of Priest-Kings, and their surveillance, and the enforcement of their prohibitions on technology and weaponry, I had little doubt that the suspicions, fears, and simian ingenuity of my species on Gor would have by now produced lethalities equivalent to, if not superior to, the madnesses which currently threatened the destruction of another world, the ruination of another habitat, the extinction of an indigenous species, my own, on that other world. The paw which first grasped a jagged stone can eventually become the hand which can, with the pressing of a switch, eliminate continents. How easy it is to poison atmospheres, and how easy, soon, to set axes awry, and roll a world into a star’s flaming maw. I supposed that the human species was one of the few species with the capacity to render itself extinct. I doubted that the Priest-Kings were overly concerned with the welfare of humans, but it seemed clear that they had no intention of sharing the psychotic pastimes of such a species, or of enduring the consequences of its stupidities, hence their weapon and technology laws. But the shield of Priest-Kings was concerned not only to protect their own world from the potential dangers of an eventually advanced and technologically armed humanity, mostly, originally, brought over millennia to Gor in Voyages of Acquisition for its biological interest, as were many other forms of animal life not native to the world, but, as well, from the incursions of a particularly acquisitive and predatory life form, the Kurii. Too, interestingly, the sheltering wing of the Priest-Kings, her declared protectorate, extended beyond Gor to another world as well, to her sister world, Earth. It, and its resources, were to be protected from Kurii. Let Kurii be denied Earth, with its wealth of water and hydrogen, be denied such a foothold and platform for their projects, so splendid a staging area for an approach to Gor. Let them remain, rather, in their distant, isolated, metal worlds, confined to an alien wilderness, an archipelago of debris between Mars and Jupiter, the Reefs of Space, the Asteroid Belt. It was interesting, I thought, that those of Earth owed so much, their world as they knew it, to an unknown benefactor, a form of life whose very existence was unknown to them. To be sure, I was confident that the motivations of Priest-Kings were self-serving and prudential, not moral, or at least not moral as humans might understand such things. If there were agendas here they were not ours; they were those of the Sardar.

“What is the message of Priest-Kings?” I asked.

“First,” said he, “return to me the ring.”

“Should I not keep it?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “It is meaningless to you. It is important to me. It is my token, my proof, that I speak for Priest-Kings.”

“You are to speak further,” I asked, “to others, at other times?”

“I do not know,” he said. “Put the ring down, on the sand. Step away. I will pick it up.”

To be sure, I had no translator, and was, accordingly, unable to read the message. I wondered if Sullius Maximus suspected that some significance, other than that which he had conjectured, might lie within the leather loop of the golden ring. He was a highly intelligent man. That was surely not impossible.

“Did Lord Sarm give you the token,” I asked, “in a box, a container, of some sort?”

Sullius Maximus regarded me, suddenly, alertly.

Yes, I thought, he is quite intelligent.

Presumably the agent of Priest-Kings, he who had been intercepted, would have had about himself not only the message but a translator. The translator would presumably, as it was outside the Sardar, open only to a code, and only at a certain time, and for a certain time. Presumably there would have been a schedule or envelope of two or three days in which it might have been utilized. The agent would have been instructed to process the leather band, which was, in effect, a scent tape, only in my presence, or, more likely, supply me with the code, and then withdraw. The scent itself, given its nature, as a covert message, would fade after a time, not having been imprinted permanently on the tape. These would seem fairly obvious security measures.

“There was a box,” said Sullius Maximus.

“But it was unusual, was it not?” I asked.

“Quite,” said Sullius Maximus.

I was sure that Sullius Maximus, and his presumed fellows, would have supposed the message was in the box, which was, in fact, unknown to them, either the translator, or contained the translator, and would have tried to open it. I did not think they would associate the ring, on its leather cord, with the box itself. I had little doubt that their efforts had been attended with surprising results. I remembered a metal envelope in which I had received a message, years ago, on a solitary camping trip, in the winter, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I had neglected to follow the instructions, to discard the envelope. It had burst suddenly into flame. The fearful destruction of the object not only destroyed it, but was such that it might have blinded one in whose hands it lay, or burned them alive. It had been in my knapsack and I had managed to slip it free and let it fall to the snow, which it melted, for yards about.

“In what way?” I asked.

“— Ornate,” said Sullius Maximus, “small, crusted with jewels, such things.”

“I see,” I said.

I wondered if one or more of his confederates had been incinerated. Doubtless the agent of Priest-Kings would have resisted capture, and would have been quickly, brutally slain, it being presupposed that his life would be of small value, that he was the mere carrier of the message, a message presumably in the box, and the token, which they would have supposed was his identification, his certification to be the one to whom the Priest-Kings had entrusted the transmission of the message.

Sullius Maximus, and his fellows, then, would be unaware of the contents of the actual message.

But then, so, too, was I.

To be sure, the actual nature of the message, which might have been suspected by Kurii, and which, in any event, they would not have delivered to me, would be of less interest to them than the message, their message, which they would want delivered to me, as though it were the message of Priest-Kings. The will of Kurii then would be conveyed to me under the pretense that it was the will of Priest-Kings. If their designs held firm, and their deception was successful, I would then, supposing me obedient to Priest-Kings, pursue their design in place of that of the masters of the Sardar.

Given the presumed destruction of the “box,” supposed to contain the original message, presumably on its scroll, the Kurii, or their minions, utilizing the “token,” not understanding the nature of its imbedded message, and accommodating themselves to the situation as best they might, would deliver their own message orally.

Fortunately for me, they knew little of the Sardar, of Priest-Kings themselves, of their modalities of communication, of their caution, of their security measures.

“The ring, please,” said Sullius Maximus.

I put the ring, on its loop, down on the sand, and backed away from it.

Sullius Maximus approached it and, not taking his eyes from me, picked it up.

“My thanks,” said he.

“Smell the leather,” I said. “It seems to have been perfumed.”

“I know,” he said. “But I doubt the perfume would be popular in the paga taverns of Kasra.”

“Nor elsewhere,” I speculated.

He held it briefly to his nose, and then, with an expression of disgust, returned the loop and ring to a concealment within his tunic.

“Perhaps it would do for a free woman,” I said, “intent on discouraging the avidity of a suitor.”

“No,” he said. “Free women are women, and they desire to be desired. It gives them great pleasure to attract, and then deny and torment suitors. They find it gratifying. It is an exercise of power.”

“True,” I said. Gorean free women were famed for their arrogance and pride. It was little wonder that men often took such things from them. What a terror for a free woman, reduced to bondage, to know that spurned suitors may find her, even seek her out, and buy her. When a woman is stripped and collared, and knelt, and has the whip pressed to her then unveiled lips, she is scarcely any longer in a position to discomfort and torment a fellow. Rather she must then be seriously concerned for her life, and hope that she will be found pleasing, and fully.

“It was much stronger a few days ago,” he said. “The scent has faded, significantly.”

“Even since yesterday?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, puzzled.

The agent of Priest-Kings was to have contacted me yesterday, I supposed, the day I had arrived on the beach, disembarked from Peisistratus’s ship. Instead I had been met by Pertinax.

“If you find it offensive,” I said, “you might clean the cord, wipe it free of scent — and blood.”

“I will,” he said, “now.”

“Now?” I said.

“I thought the odor might be pertinent to the authenticity of the token,” he said. “I noted that you took the scent.”

“You are perceptive,” I said.

“But the scent is fading,” he said. “If I accept an office anew from Priest-Kings, they will doubtless provide a new signature string, with the appropriate scent.”

“Thus you would clean the soiled string?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why not discard it?” I said.

Whereas I was not sure the message was still readable, and I had no translator at my disposal, even if it were readable, I would have been concerned to retrieve the cord.

“No,” he said. “I think it best to keep the whole intact, lest inquiries arise.”

“I would suppose,” I said, “the ring is the token.”

“But on a strand of leather, not a golden chain,” he said.

“Doubtless you are right,” I said.

“Do you think the odor is important?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said. “It might, as you suggest, be relevant to the authenticity of the token.”

“You took its scent,” he said.

I shrugged. “The odor was odd,” I said. “I was curious.”

“It meant nothing to you?”

“Little or nothing,” I said.

“I speculate,” he said, “you know as little of this as I.”

“I fear so,” I said. Certainly I had no idea what might have been the message of the string.

Then the helmsman in the longboat called out, “Hurry!” He was looking about. I looked out, across the water. A narrow spume of smoke rose from the round ship, near its bow. This was, I supposed, a signal to return to the ship. Such signals are silent, and in waters where it might be wise to be wary, drums or horns would not be used. At night, dark lanterns, shuttered and unshuttered, may be used. Other devices, more common on ships of war, in similar situations, are flags and banners. Needless to say there are codes involved, which may be changed when deemed appropriate.

Sullius Maximus backed away a step or two, looked briefly back, to the round ship, some hundred yards offshore. It had begun now to come about, its bow moving, turning, toward the horizon.

“It is dangerous here,” he said. “I must hasten.”

“Hurry,” called the fellow at the tiller, again. The two oarsmen turned the longboat toward the round ship.

“How, how dangerous?” I asked.

Certainly he had two crossbowmen at his back. And the beach was open several yards behind me. He was beyond a cast of the spear. This was a remote area. To be sure, he was well within the purview of a longbow.

“Attend,” said he, “fellow partisan of the plans of Priest-Kings, attend the commands of the Sardar!”

“What is your sudden concern?” I asked.

I saw no new sail on the horizon.

Something, of course, might have been seen from the height of the permanent mast of the round ship. A lookout is often posted there, with a Builder’s glass. He stands on a small platform, and is usually roped to the mast, or has his place within a chest-high ring of metal. The masts of the common Gorean warship are commonly lowered before entering battle. This makes the ship more amenable to her oars and less vulnerable to flaming missiles, which might ignite a sail on its long, sloping yard.

I wondered that Sullius Maximus had not been conveyed hither in a long ship. Surely Tyros has one of the most formidable fleets on Thassa.

Perhaps this had little to do with Tyros?

Perhaps a round ship would raise less suspicion?

Perhaps this was the very ship on which the agent of Priest-Kings might have had his passage?

“I speak in the name of Priest-Kings,” said Sullius Maximus, swiftly, as though by rote. “You are to attend me intently, and are to obey with perfection.”

“I am a free man,” I reminded him.

“Hear the will of Priest-Kings!” he said.

And so I prepared to hear the will of Kurii.

“You are to enter the forest,” said Sullius Maximus, “and seek out a forester, by name, Pertinax. The hut is nearby. You will know him by name, and by his possession, a blond-haired, blue-eyed slave. She is barbarian. She has tiny bits of metal in two of her teeth, and a tiny brand on her upper left arm. Her name is Constantina. They are to conduct you within the forest, to a rendezvous with a mariner from west of Tyros and Cos.”

That interested me, for few ships voyaged to the west of those maritime ubarates. There were, of course, some islands beyond Tyros and Cos, some smaller islands, spoken of, commonly, as the Farther Islands. I supposed, thus, that the “mariner,” if he were a mariner, must be from one of the Farther Islands. I was personally unaware of any who had sailed beyond those islands, and returned.

What Sullius Maximus had referred to as a brand on the upper left arm of Constantina was doubtless a vaccination mark. Few, if any, of the maladies which immunization was designed to prevent on Earth existed on Gor. It was natural for Goreans, hence, to suppose that this form of scarring was a brand, a deliberately inflicted mark, though not necessarily one indicative of bondage. Ritual scarring was not unknown on Gor, for example amongst certain of the Wagon Peoples of the southern plains, certain tribes south and east of Schendi, in the vicinity of the Ua, and so on. The girls were, of course, barbarians. Some Goreans supposed the tiny marks were “selection marks,” marks identifying choice females, suitable for eventual enslavement. This misunderstanding was presumably fostered by the fact that the great majority of Earth females brought to Gor were, in their variety of ways, choice merchandise or, to speak vulgarly, superb “block meat.”

“You are to take your orders from this person, or his superiors,” said Sullius Maximus.

“I do not understand what is going on here,” I said.

“Your duties will be explained to you,” said Sullius Maximus.

“What is the name of this ‘mariner’?” I asked.

“Nishida,” he said. “Lord Nishida.”

“Hurry! Hurry!” called the fellow at the tiller of the longboat.

Sullius Maximus then turned about, and hurried toward the shore.

He waded into the surf and, when he had boarded the small craft, the two fellows with crossbows followed him, and, in moments, their weapons stowed, they, and the other two oarsmen, were propelling the longboat toward the round ship. The fellow at the tiller had a steady hand, and the longboat was soon aside the round ship, and had been hoisted over the gunwales. At the same time the lateen sail was unfurled from its yard, and, swelling, took the wind, and the ship, like a stately bird, was aflight.

Sullius Maximus would have had no way of knowing that I had already made the acquaintance of Pertinax and Lady Constantina, nor in any event would this have much mattered. The principal point of his contact with me, I supposed, was to convince me that I had now kept my appointment with the agent of Priest-Kings, and had thereby received my instructions from the Sardar. I would be thus relieved of any inclination to await that contact, my possible suspicions having been thusly allayed. Presumably, too, assuming I was compliant to the will of Priest-Kings, I would now naively prosecute the machinations of Kurii, confident that it was in the cause of Priest-Kings that I labored.

What I had learned from Pertinax and Lady Constantina, of course, was rather similar to that which I had learned from Sullius Maximus, which was only to be expected, as they, though perhaps unbeknownst to one another, were in league. From Pertinax I had gathered the rendezvous in the forest might take place tomorrow, or soon thereafter. From Sullius Maximus, I had gathered that it was to take place with a “mariner” called Nishida. That did not sound to me like a Gorean name. Similarly, he had spoken of “Lord Nishida,” which suggested that the individual, if a mariner, at all, was not likely to be a common mariner. From Lady Constantina I had learned that a ship was somehow involved, and tarns. She had also suggested that I would be subject to a hold of some sort, presumably something that would guarantee my fidelity to the orders received. This hold, I had gathered, had something to do with a woman. I understood little of this.

Once this rendezvous had taken place it seemed to me unlikely that the Kurii would have further use for Lady Constantina. I rather doubted that she would be given to Pertinax, as he seemed still much of Earth. He did not seem to me a master. Naturally it would be appropriate to give a woman, particularly a good-looking woman, which Constantina was, only to a master.

They know what to do with such women.

I decided to return to the hut of Pertinax.

I supposed he would still be there, even if Lady Constantina would have urged flight. Too, I was sure Cecily would be there, as well. She had not been given permission to leave the area, nor did I think, in fact, she would wish to do so. Once, before, on a Steel World, she had fled. She had, of course, eventually, easily enough, a half-naked slave, branded and collared, been recovered. I had punished the Earth girl well for her indiscretion. She was now, as the saying is, more familiar with her collar. Now, the very thought of attempting to escape, or of even failing to be pleasing, and fully so, would fill her with terror.

Constantina, I had now discovered, was, as I had hitherto suspected, a free woman. I did not think she would inform Pertinax that I now knew her secret. It was, of course, one to which he would be privy. It would be important to her, surely, to try to retain her pretense of bondage, at least before Pertinax, when I was present. She would not be sure, too, of what consequences might accrue to her, from her employers, should they learn of her disclosures at the shore. Better to pretend things were as before. And, indeed, was her disguise not required of her, that she might, in relative safety, arousing little suspicion, negotiate the realms of Gor, her markets and streets, her fields and bridges, her wharves and roads? To Goreans, a free female of Earth would be surprising, at least. Too, there were few, if any, free women in the forests. These were not the locales to which a free woman would be likely to be brought, nor to which they would wish to come.

So now it seemed to me that I might well behave toward Lady Constantina, as before, as though I still accepted her as, and believed her to be, the slave of Pertinax. To be sure, it would now give me special pleasure to treat her as the slave she pretended to be. Let her, a proud, insolent free woman of Earth, used to the men of Earth, such as Pertinax, men whom she despised and might affront with impunity, and upon occasion, in virtue doubtless of wealth and authority, command, have to behave before me, and before Pertinax, as a mere slave.

I wondered if the adjustments I had made to her garmenture, and the fact that she no longer held the key to her collar, and could not now remove it, might help her have to have more of a sense of what it might be, to be a slave.

Certainly she would be uneasy.

I thought I would enjoy this.

And I was sure Cecily, too, would enjoy it.

Cecily, of course, believed her a slave, one, however, surprisingly in need of discipline.

Slaves desire to be kept in order, and certainly expect other slaves to be kept in order, as well. They find infractions of discipline almost incomprehensible, perhaps because they so seldom occur, and when they do, they are usually promptly and sharply punished. A slave expects to be punished if she is not pleasing. Indeed, if she knows herself to have been negligent or omissive, which sometimes occurs, she may beg to be punished, that she may feel that the balance, harmony, and order of her existence, of her very world, has been restored. If a slave is not treated as a slave she may become confused and frightened, for she knows she is a slave, and how she should be treated. Should a master begin to treat the slave as though she might be a free woman, she is likely to throw herself to his feet, and beg not to be sold.

The preciousness of the collar to the slave, and the fulfillments of her bondage, are not to be minimized. Commonly she lives to love and serve the master, to the best of her ability. She knows she is a slave, and how slaves are expected to behave. Accordingly that is how she does behave, as a slave.

Even free women, it seems, have some sense of these remarkable and profound fulfillments, and this accounts, one supposes, for their almost universal hostility toward, and contempt for, their embonded sisters.

The slave, it might be noted, is seldom, if ever, treated with gratuitous or wanton cruelty. She is subject to that, but what would be the point of it? To a Gorean such things would be incomprehensible, or absurd. What is important is the mastery, and firmness, to be sure a mastery and a firmness which is uncompromising and exacting, categorically and absolutely so, but also one which is commonly taken for granted, by both the master and the slave.

When a man has what he wants from a woman, a hot, helpless, grateful slave, one devoted and dutiful, a lovely property, vulnerable in his collar, why should he not be contented, well-disposed, and benevolent?

A man finds himself, a slave at his feet, and a woman finds herself, a slave, at the feet of her master.

And thus speaks the cave, the dances at campfires, and thongs. And thus, in the enhancements of civilization, speak bracelets, the collar, and the block.

I wondered if I should gather in Cecily, and try to make my way south, eventually to Port Kar.

This might expose me, and my holding, and properties, ships, treasures, slaves, and such, to the reprimand of Priest-Kings, of course.

And if I slipped from the surveillance of Kurii, and their minions, this, too, might place much in jeopardy.

Pertinax, for example, who seemed a nice enough fellow, might be punished for having failed his more remote employers. I doubted that the displeasure of Kurii could be lightly borne.

Primarily, I suppose, I was curious.

I did not know the will of Priest-Kings, and so did not know either how to thwart it, or abet it, even if I wished to pursue one of these objectives. But, similarly, I did not know what project Kurii might have afoot.

But I was curious.

I decided I would remain in the forest.

Sometimes high warriors, city masters, Ubars, generals, and such, play “blind kaissa.” Two boards are used, with an opaque barrier between the boards, so neither player can see the pieces of the other. An adjudicator observes both boards and informs the players whether a move is legal, whether a capture has been made, and so on. Thus, in a sense, the game is played in the dark. Gradually, however, from the adjudicator’s reports, particularly if one has much experience of this version of kaissa, one begins to sense the positions and strategy of the opponent. This game is intended to intensify and heighten the intuitions of battle. In Gorean warfare, of course, as in much traditional warfare, prior to electronic sophistications, one is often uncertain of the position, strength, and plans of the enemy. Too much in war, and often much of fearful moment, is “blind kaissa.”

And so, I thought, perhaps in the northern forests, I might try my hand at “blind kaissa.”

I would return to the hut of Pertinax.

It was at this time that I, facing the sea, looked to my left, several hundred yards down the beach, and, too, several yards out to sea.

I now suspected the meaning of the signal smoke near the bow of the round ship, and why she had recalled her longboat, had swung about and unfurled her sail. Presumably, her lookout had espied, far to her starboard, another sail. Gorean ships seldom approach one another, and when they do, it is likely that one or both have piracy or war on their mind.

Yesterday I had gathered from Pertinax that ships, perhaps several, had come to the local shores, and disembarked fellows of a sort whose acquaintance he was not eager to make. Indeed, while I had been with him, yesterday, one such ship had disembarked a number of armed men.

A small ship was there, her sail furled. She had some ten oars to a side; she was smaller than my Tesephone. She was of a sort that might be used in messaging, or packet work. She had swung parallel to the shore, her bow south. Several men were spilling over her port side, perhaps twenty or more. Some boxes, too, perhaps supplies, of one sort or another, were cast overboard, and these were being guided by wading men to the shore, where they were drawn up on the beach. I then noted, lastly, another form of cargo, one that had not been on the earlier ship, items strung together, which were then rudely, unceremoniously, disembarked, plunged overboard into the chilly waters. These items then, some immersed, now and again, others trying desperately to hold their heads above the water, were dragged through the surf to the shore, and then, barefoot, stumbling, shuddering, were knelt on the wave-washed pebbled sand, water, coming and going, swirling about their knees and thighs, where they huddled together, heads down, several clutching their arms about themselves for warmth. I counted some fifteen, though it was hard to tell, at the distance, as they were crowded together. Sometimes such properties, so linked, are spoken of as a “slaver’s necklace,” pretty beads, so to speak, on a common string. In any event they were chained together, by the neck. The chain seemed heavier than necessary, and the collars were high and dark. If the girl kneels upright, her back straight, as slaves are commonly expected to kneel, she cannot well lower her head in such a collar. The head remains lifted to the master, which can be fearful for a slave. She lowers her head by bending at the waist. I surmised they were low slaves. To be sure, even recent free women are sometimes put in such devices, that they become that much the sooner accustomed to their condition, that they are no longer free, but are now goods, now properties, now slaves.

Pertinax would have fled such fellows, I suppose, but I was curious as to their origin, and their business here, in this remote area.

Too, I was armed.

So I approached them, as though I might have been waiting for them.

Doubtless they were to be met, in one way or another, either at the beach, or later, in the forest.

I lifted my hand. “Tal,” I said.

“Tal,” said a fellow, and then one or two or more.

“You are late,” I said.

I had no idea if this were true or not, but the round ship which had recently departed, I was reasonably sure, had been late. Should it not have arrived yesterday, when I had been disembarked from the ship of Peisistratus?

“Adverse winds,” said a fellow. “We were much under oars. The sea was high.”

That accent, I conjectured, was Tyrian, or Cosian. They are muchly similar.

“How are things in Kasra?” I inquired. “In Jad?” These were, respectively, ports in Tyros and Cos.

One of the fellows looked at me, strangely.

“It is years since I saw Kasra,” said a man.

“I have not seen the terraces of Cos since the fall of Ar,” said another.

“They are mariners,” said the fellow who had first returned my greeting. “Most here are fee fighters, mercenaries.”

“You do not appear regulars,” I granted him.

I watched the small ship dip her oars and begin to move south. After a time, a hundred yards or so from shore, she dropped her sail.

“There was another ship here,” said a man. “We heard the lookout cry her position.”

“A round ship,” I said. “I could not persuade her to dally.”

Several of the men laughed. It was a laugh which would not have reassured Pertinax.

“How are things in Ar?” I inquired.

“Have you not heard?” said a fellow, incredulously.

“No,” I said.

“Ar has risen,” said another. “Only by forced marches, on which many perished, were we able to elude vengeful citizens.”

“Hundreds were captured, tortured, and impaled,” said another.

“We, and some hundreds, fought to open the streets which had been barricaded against us, to prevent our egress, to pen us helplessly within that sea of fire and blood,” said another, shuddering.

“Some of us,” said a man, “apprised of the danger, wary to rumors, took what loot we could, what we had acquired in the occupation, and more, and slipped away, into the night, before the great bars rang the rebellion.”

“Those were the fortunate ones,” said a fellow, grimly.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“You have heard of Marlenus,” said a man, “surely?”

“Of course,” said I, “Marlenus of Ar, of Glorious Ar, Ubar of Ubars.”

“Long was he gone from Ar,” said a fellow. “He disappeared, on a hunting trip, in the Voltai.”

“As time went on, he was supposed dead,” said a man. “Surely you know of the war betwixt Ar, and Tyros and Cos, and other polities?”

“Yes,” I said.

A hundred war banners, I feared, had been unfurled.

“Fortunate it was for Tyros, Cos, and their allies,” said a fellow, shuddering, “that Marlenus was absent from the city.”

I supposed that so.

“Mercenaries, and mercenary bands, were recruited from dozens of states, even from brigand bands, from outlaw leagues, eager for loot.”

There was some rueful laughter from several of the fellows about.

“These swelled the ranks of the spears of the island ubarates,” said a fellow.

The strength of the maritime ubarates was surely in their fleets, not in their ground forces.

“Ar neglected precautions,” said a man, incredulously. I wondered if he might not have been a banished warrior, from some city. I thought the scarlet would not have ill become him. “She failed to arm and deploy her formidable infantries.”

“I see,” I said.

These things I muchly knew.

I recalled that Dietrich of Tarnburg had fought a tenacious holding action at Torcodino, to delay the advance on Ar, to give her time to meet the avalanche, the swift confluences, of armed men who would descend upon her. But his action had been unavailing, and Ar had remained quiescent, even inert, though surely the screams of the tarns of war must have somehow reached her walls. Could they not heed the plaints of refugees, hear the drums of spearmen, sense the ponderous tread of war tharlarion? It soon became clear to many that conspiracy and treachery reigned within the Central Cylinder, and that the throne itself might now be festooned with the promises and wealth of the island ubarates. Ar, pathetic, confused, disorganized, and distraught, was unable to muster more than the feeblest of resistances, and these were muchly betrayed by commands from the Central Cylinder. Many of the best forces of Ar, her finest troops, her best officers, by intent, to divert them from the defense of the city, had been earlier ordered to the vast delta of the Vosk, to engage there in an alleged punitive expedition against supposed incursions from Cos and Tyros. These troops were deliberately undersupplied and misled. They were deliberately subjected to orders which were obscure or confused, even contradictory, orders the compliance with which would be almost suicidal in the terrain. These troops, as planned, had been decimated in the delta of the Vosk, and largely lost, the prey of heat and insects, of salt water and quicksand, of armed rencers, of serpents and tharlarion. Few, proportionately, had returned home. Some, dazed and starving, half mad, had reached the southern dikes of Port Kar, separating her from the delta. And when some managed to reach Ar, they found her surrendered to the enemy, garrisoned by the foe. Myron, polemarkos of the continental forces of Cos, he of Temos, cousin to Lurius of Jad, of Cos, was in command of the city, though he maintained a headquarters outside her pomerium. In this fashion it was proclaimed that Ar had been liberated and a new day had come about, one of harmony, peace, and amicability. Meanwhile the citizens of Ar were to believe their loss was a gain, their defeat a victory. They must atone now for the erstwhile glory of Ar, regret her former might, influence, and power. Now they must acknowledge her misdeeds, and celebrate her redemption by her friends and allies, the benign forces of Cos, Tyros, and their allies. And many sang, and congratulated themselves on their newly found virtue, while dismantling their walls to the scornful music of flute girls. Meanwhile, of course, the invaders tightened their controls and, for months, either randomly, as it pleased them, or systematically, in accord with the directives of the polemarkos, began to loot Ar of its wealth, its silver and gold, its jewelries and gems, its medical elixirs, its ointments and scents, its pagas and wines, its manufactures, its beasts, its slaves, and, in many cases, its free women, some put in paga taverns and brothels, others stripped and coffled, to be led to foreign markets, and some even, after transport from Brundisium, to Cos and Tyros themselves.

To be sure, all had not gone as smoothly as it might have for the invaders because, eventually, sporadic acts of resistance occurred. These were generally attributed to the work of a small group of resistance fighters, which became known as the Delta Brigade. Because of the vast, triangular spreading of the Vosk river, into dozens of smaller rivers, often mutually interfluent, flowing into the Tamber Gulf, which leads to Thassa herself, the sea, that area is known in Gorean as the Delka, or, better, the Delka of the Vosk. “Delka” is a triangular letter in Gorean, the fourth letter in her alphabet, derived, it seems, from the Greek letter “Delta.” The core of the Delta Brigade was surmised to be composed of veterans returned from the misdirected and ill-fated campaign in the Vosk’s delta, and thus the term “Delta Brigade.”

“Tell me of the rising, the rebellion,” I said.

“Woe to Cos and Tyros,” said a fellow. “Marlenus returned.”

“Where had he been, what had been his fate?” I asked.

“Much is unclear,” said one of the fellows. “It seems he was injured in a fall, whilst hunting, lost his sense of self, wandered perhaps, no longer knew himself.”

“Some think he might have been captured, and imprisoned in Treve,” said a fellow.

“Impossible,” said another.

“In any event,” said a bearded fellow, “it seems he emerged from the Voltai, thought himself somehow of the Peasants, and labored with them.”

“He was eventually recognized, in Ar,” said another.

“It was said by a mere slave,” said another.

“Interesting,” I said.

“A female,” said another.

“Was she then freed?” I asked.

Several of the men laughed.

“Forgive me,” I said. “I spoke foolishly.”

Gorean slaves were seldom freed. Indeed, there is a saying that only a fool frees a slave girl.

“Soon others recognized him, as well,” said another.

“Then he was concealed by partisans,” said another.

“He recovered his memory,” I said.

“It was strange,” said another.

“We know only the stories,” said another.

“He was like a child, it seems,” said another, “a powerful, dangerous child. He listened to what he was told. He learned what had occurred in the city, as it was patiently explained to him. He grew sorrowful, and then, slowly, angry. Then he said, ‘But where is Marlenus?’”

“This elated his sheltering partisans,” said another, “that he could recall that name. ‘Where is Marlenus?’ he asked, again, and again. ‘He must return,’ he was told. ‘Where is he?’ he asked. ‘In the city, it is thought,’ he was told.”

“He did not know himself Marlenus?” I said.

“No,” said one of the men.

“Continue,” I said.

“‘Who rules in Ar?’ he asked,” said the bearded fellow.

“‘Truly, or in name?’ inquired his interlocutor,” said another. “And he wished to know in truth who ruled, and he was told Lurius of Jad, in far Cos, but through Myron, the polemarkos, with the collusion of Seremides, master of the Taurentians, the palace guard. And then he asked who then ruled in name, and men feared to tell him, that it was she who had once been his daughter, before her dishonoring, and disownment, for the slur she had once cast on his honor.”

I knew something of this.

She had once been captured and enslaved by the tarnsman, Rask, of Treve, but he, having become, however unaccountably, enamored of a blond barbarian slave named El-in-or, gave her to Verna, a leader of Panther Girls, who took her to the northern forests. Later, on the northern coast, she was exposed for sale. There she had come within the cognizance of a slaver, Samos, first Captain in the Council of Captains of Port Kar. Eager to escape the toils of her cruel mistresses, and hoping that she might be returned to civilization, and even freed, she had begged him to buy her. And thusly had she performed a slave’s act, begging to be purchased, for in this act one acknowledges oneself purchasable, and thus a slave. I, later, at the time unable to walk, and muchly paralyzed by the poison of Sullius Maximus, encountered her in the house of Samos. I had had her freed and returned to Ar. It was by then common knowledge how she had been slave, and in what fashion she had come into the keeping of Samos. The honor and pride of a man such as Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ar, Ubar of Ubars, refused to sustain indignities of this enormity. Such affronts could not be brooked by an honor such as his. What an insult, profound and grievous, was this to his blood, and to the throne of Ar! He thus disowned her as his daughter, and had had her sequestered in the Central Cylinder, that her shame might be concealed from the city and the world.

Had she not been free when she was delivered to Ar it is quite probable she would have been whipped and sold out of the city.

Had she, when free, and not slave, been guilty of a stain on the honor of Ar she might well have been publicly impaled.

“But he asked, again, and again, in his slow, childlike way, who now, be it only in name, ruled in Ar,” said one of the men on the beach, “and the partisans took council, and decided to risk the disclosure, though they knew not what effect it might have.”

“‘Talena,’ he was told,” said another, “’daughter of Marlenus of Ar.’”

“Then,” said another, “as the story has it, he lifted his head, and his whole mien changed, and his body seemed to become larger and filled with power, and his eyes took on a strange, fierce, wicked gleam, and he said, quietly, and not in his slow, innocent, puzzled, childlike voice, but in another voice, a voice like iron and ice, ‘Marlenus of Ar has no daughter.’”

“The partisans looked to one another, their eyes alight,” said a man.

“It is then,” said another, “as the story goes, that he stood upright amongst the partisans, like a larl amongst panthers, and said, ‘Bring me a banner of Ar.’”

“‘Who are you?’ he was asked, ‘that you dare ask for a banner of Ar?’” said another. “’They have been forbidden,’ said a partisan. ‘They are concealed.’”

“‘Bring me a banner,’ he said, ‘one large, and broad.’ ‘Furled or unfurled?’ he was asked. ‘Furled,’ he said, ‘that it may then be unfurled.’”

“The partisans then gasped, realizing who it was who then stood amongst them.”

“‘Who would dare unfurl the banner of Ar?’ he was asked.”

“‘I,’ he said, ‘Marlenus, Ubar of Ar.’”

The unfurling of a furled banner, in given circumstances, when this is accomplished deliberately, slowly, and ritualistically, is far more than a sign of war; it is a sign of unappeasable purpose, of unmitigated intent, of implacable resolution. More than once the surrender of cities has not been accepted, but they have been leveled and burned, simply because a banner had been unfurled.

“‘How many swords have we?’ he is said to have asked, and then demanded maps of the city, that he might be shown the locations of intrusive garrisons. The men about him he appointed high officers, by his word alone.”

This was possible, as the word of the Ubar takes precedence over councils.

“Had we known Marlenus was in the city,” said a man, “we should have withdrawn.”

“Word,” said another, “was soon in the streets, and it swept from insula to insula, and to the lesser cylinders.”

“But we were not immediately aware of this,” said a man. “Surely the great bar had not yet rung, signaling the rising.”

“They planned swiftly, and well,” said another fellow, shuddering.

“Weapons had been forbidden to the populace,” said another, but many had been concealed, and there is little which may not figure as a weapon, axes and hammers, the implements of agriculture, planks, poles and sticks, the very stones of the streets.”

I nodded. A tyrant state always wishes to disarm the public, for it understands its secret intents with respect to that public, and wants it at its mercy. This disarming is always, of course, alleged to be in the public’s best interest, as though the public would be safest when least capable of defending itself.

“Many of Ar, particularly in the higher, richer cylinders,” said a fellow, “had collaborated with us, had abetted the occupation, had shared in the looting of the city.”

I supposed that was true. There were always such, in all cities, attentive to the directions of shifting winds.

“Proscription lists had been prepared,” said another.

I shuddered.

“It was safer to be in the blue of a Cosian regular,” laughed a man, “than in the satin robes of traitors.”

I feared then for Talena, arrogant traitress, puppet Ubara, occupant of the throne on the sufferance of invaders, sullier of her Home Stone.

Marlenus had returned!

“We awakened at dawn,” said a man, “startled, bewildered, to the ringing of the great bar, and rushed into the streets, to be met with steel and stones. They swarmed from everywhere, struck from everywhere. An arsenal had been seized. The cry of battle, ‘For Glorious Ar,’ was all about us. We cut down what we could, but they were everywhere, screaming, rushing at us. A fellow would kill two, and have his throat cut by a third.”

“We were outnumbered, dozens to one,” said a man.

“They were maddened, merciless,” said another. “Like starving blood-maddened sleen!”

“They had planned well,” said another. “A thousand avenues of escape were closed, even to the spilling of walls into the streets. We lost many, surmounting such obstacles, fighting our way toward the open.”

“Luckily,” said another, “much of the walling of Ar had been earlier dismantled by her own citizens, or we might have been unable to reach the fields, the marshes, the Viktel Aria.”

“What of Myron,” I asked, “his troops?”

“He was drunk in his tent,” said another, bitterly.

“Many of his troops,” said another, “those of the mercenary captains, given the emptying of Ar, and the lessening of loot, had deserted.”

“There were regulars, surely,” I said.

“Too few,” said another man. “It had been thought that Ar was pacified, that she required little attention, that the propaganda of Tyros and Cos had done its work, weakening and confusing Ar, dividing her and turning her against herself. Many troops had been recalled to the island ubarates themselves, others to the Cosian principalities on the Vosk.”

“They did engage,” said another man, “but not as they would have preferred. They had little time to form, as enraged thousands, many now armed with captured weapons, rushed forth from the city to deal with them.”

Commonly a large Gorean military camp is square, or rectangular. It is carefully laid out, and is usually severally gated, which allows for the issuance of forces from the interior in a variety of manners. Too, it is ditched, and palisaded, with lookout towers at the corners of the palisade. Watches are routinely maintained, and not unoften patrols reconnoiter the locality. I recalled, however, from when I had been last in Ar, that many of these provisions had not been supplied by the polemarkos. Though Myron had had his weaknesses, for paga, and, occasionally, for a slave, he was not a poor officer. The nonfortifying of the camp had been deliberate, a part of the charade that Tyros, Cos, and their allies, had come to Ar not as conquerors but as liberators.

“We soon heard,” said one of the men on the beach, “that a banner had been unfurled.”

“And that Marlenus had returned,” said another.

“That broke the spirit of hundreds,” said another.

It is interesting, I thought, what may be the effect of will, and a given leader, on a course of events, how such things, will and a given leader, as though by magic, can generate storms, can shake the earth, may turn even urts into larls, jards to tarns.

How does the leader know this will occur, I wondered. Or does he know?

“Hundreds escaped with their lives,” said a man.

“And thousands did not,” said another.

“The streets of Ar ran with blood,” said a fellow. “Traitors, hundreds, gathered together from the proscription lists, were taken outside the city and impaled.”

“The great road, the Viktel Aria, was lined, on both sides, for pasangs, with the bound, squirming, whimpering bodies,” said a man.

I nodded.

The vengeance of a Marlenus, I knew, would be a frightful thing.

“Many bodies were hurled, like beasts, into the marshes, for tharlarion,” said a fellow.

“Or into carnariums,” said another.

These were deep pits outside the city, used for the disposal of filth, of garbage, and such. Occasionally a new one was dug, and an old one covered over. Occasionally one was opened, even generations after its closure, that it might be reused, and the lingering stench might still overcome even a strong man. Usually these pits were tended by male slaves, with shovels, with the lower parts of their faces wrapped in scarves.

“The walls of Ar,” I said, “are doubtless being rebuilt.”

I must not make my serious concerns too obvious.

“With soaring hearts and singing,” said a fellow.

“And the flute girls who so tormented and mocked the earlier dismantlers of the walls?” I asked.

“Collared, naked, sweating, under the lash,” said a fellow, “they now struggle to bear stones to the builders.”

“They will be distributed later, as officers deem fit,” said another.

“Excellent,” I said.

I tried to keep my voice steady.

“And what of Talena?” I asked.

“A great price has been put upon her head,” said a fellow.

“Ten thousand tarns of gold,” said a fellow.

“Tarn disks of double weight,” said another.

“Then she escaped the city,” I said. “She has not been captured.”

“You seem pleased,” said a man.

“He is a bounty hunter,” laughed a fellow.

“You will not have much of a chance to get your capture rope on her,” said another.

“Every bounty hunter on Gor will seek her,” said another.

“Where would she go? How would she escape capture?” asked another. “I wager she is already captured, and her hunter is pondering how he might get her safely to Ar.”

“He may be negotiating for a better price, even now,” said another.

“Perhaps she was concealed, and sped to Cos,” I said. “Surely they owe her much. She did them much service.”

“Ar has risen,” said a man. “If she is in Cos, Lurius will deliver her to Marlenus as a peace offering, as a sign of reconciliation and proposed amity.”

“I do not think she is in Cos,” said a fellow, “or Tyros, either.”

“Where then?” said a man.

“I know not,” he replied.

“Where would she go?” asked the fellow who had spoken earlier. “Who would shelter her? She cannot just enter another city, even a village.”

I realized the fellow’s point. There would be the matter of clan, of caste, of identity, of Home Stone. The veils of anonymity are not easily donned in a closely-knit society.

“Surely she might bribe discretion,” said a man.

“And what bribe might she, unthroned and sought, a fugitive, offer to better the bounty of ten thousand tarn disks?” asked a fellow.

“Of double weight!” laughed another.

How much could the fleeing Ubara have taken with her, I wondered, given the suddenness of the turn of events, the surprise of the rising. A handful of economic resources, seized in a moment of panic-stricken flight, would not be likely to last long.

“Might she not have loyal retainers?” I asked. “Men who would die for her?”

“None would stand by her,” said a fellow, “once she no longer stood within the palisade of foreign spears.”

“She was despised,” said another, “even by those welcomed within the chambers of her treason.”

Too, I thought, how foolish to look for loyalty amongst the disloyal, to hope for honor from those who were without honor. Would the ultimate motivation of the conspirator not be the sanctity of his own skin? Frightened urts will turn on their fellows and lacerate them. They will kill one another for a drop of blood. Betrayal is a not infrequent behavior, and it is one to which one may easily become habituated.

“It is only a matter of time,” said a fellow, “until she is thrown, naked and in chains, to the tiles at the foot of the Ubar’s throne.”

“Woe to Talena,” said a fellow.

“She is a traitress to her Home Stone,” said a man.

“True,” said the fellow. “Let it then be done to her according to the ways of Gor.”

“And the mercy of Marlenus,” said another.

At this there was a coursing of rude, cruel, unfeeling mirth amongst the rough fellows on the beach.

And these fellows, I thought, were the very fellows from whom she might have hoped succor, for it had been blades such as theirs which had placed her upon, and protected her upon, the usurped throne of Ar.

But they were Gorean, and she was a female, and one who had betrayed her Home Stone. I did not doubt but what any one of them would have been pleased to have her bound at his feet.

On Gor a traitress is a prize.

Anything may be done with her.

“Are we to make camp here?” asked a fellow.

“No,” I said.

The fellows who had disembarked yesterday, even later in the day than the present Ahn, had entered the forest.

Too, I thought their employers, whoever they might be, would not want them to camp in the open.

I had gathered that the arrivals of these mysterious, armed visitors was surreptitious.

Obviously I could not inquire too closely into their business, their expectations, plans, and such, for it would be supposed I knew as much, or more, than they did at this point. I had learned a great deal in the past Ahn, but there was much I still did not know.

I wandered over to the huddled, kneeling cargo which had been rudely disembarked, that put into the water, with the crates, boxes, and such.

Some four or five of the newcomers followed me.

“Form a line,” I said to the girls, “facing me.”

On all fours, they formed this line, looking up at me.

There were, as I had earlier supposed, fifteen on the chain.

The chain, heavy and black, much heavier than it needed to be, dangled between them. The collars, as noted, were somewhat unusual, rather like punishment collars.

There was a cool breeze sweeping in from Thassa.

The cargo had not been brought much onto the beach and, as they were, on all fours, the cool surf washed up about them, swirling about their feet and knees, and covering their hands to the wrist.

The bodies of the girls glistened with water, from the nature of their arrival. Drops of water clung to their eyelashes. Their hair was soaked. In some cases it fell about their faces. It seemed, too, in some cases to have been hastily, unevenly, cut. Whereas long hair is commonly favored in slaves, it is seldom that a slave is brought to the block with ankle-length hair. On the other hand, Gorean free women often have quite long hair, in which they take great pride. It is not unusual that it might reach to the back of their knees. When they are enslaved it is commonly shortened, considerably. There are various reasons for this, as I understand it, for example, the slave learns that she is no longer a free woman, that her hair, its length, dressing, and such, is now at the disposal of masters, that the distinction between her and the free woman is to be clearly drawn, even in a matter as simple as hair, and that the envy of the free woman is not to be aroused at the sight of hair in a slave which might be the pride of a free woman. Too, the shorn hair is of value in a number of ways, not only for wigs, falls, and such, but, too, interestingly, because it makes the best cordage for catapults, far superior to common hemp, and such. Too, I supposed, if one wished to alter the appearance of a free woman, or, more likely, a former free woman, for some reason, perhaps to afford her something in the nature of a disguise, her hair might be shortened.

Here and there wet sand clung about their bodies.

The chain, and the collars, were dark with water.

One or two of the girls whimpered, with fear, or cold.

They were naked, as this is the way slaves are commonly transported. In this way there is less bother with clothing, its soiling, its cleaning, repair, and such. Too, in this fashion it is easier to keep the girls clean, with cast buckets of water, or forcing them into pools and streams, and such. In slave ships the heads are usually shaved, this reducing to some extent the dangers of insect infestation. Slave dips are not uncommon, too, after transportation, as a precaution against such infestation.

I examined the line. “Not all are branded,” I said.

“Not yet,” said a fellow.

“Position!” I snapped.

Three of the girls immediately went to position. Others, startled, looked about, in consternation, trying to understand what they must do, or perhaps, even, if “position” was truly to be expected of them.

Many free women, incidentally, have never seen a slave in “position,” though they may, to their disgust, or delight and envy, have heard the attitude described. This is not as surprising as it sounds for free women are not allowed in paga taverns, and such places, and would seldom have an opportunity to observe what takes place between a female slave, particularly a pleasure slave, and her master. The female slave, before a free woman, kneels, certainly, but commonly demurely, not as she would, and must, if she is a pleasure slave, before a male.

I called attention to one of the girls. “This is ‘position,’” I told the others. The others then, though doubtless some with misgivings, for a woman is extremely vulnerable before a male when she is in “position,” attempted, to a greater or lesser extent, to duplicate the posture and bodily attitude of the girl to whom I had called their attention.

I attended then to the line. “Oh!” cried more than one, when I kicked apart her knees.

I called the attention of the men to one of the girls, not branded, who was now, like the others, in position. Her lips were slightly parted. There was a slightly startled expression in her eyes, as of suddenly sensed possibilities and sensations.

“This one,” I said to the men, “will be soon heated.”

She lowered her eyes, but, in position, because of the collar, she could not lower her head.

“Yes,” said one of the fellows.

She shuddered. Was it with cold? Or was it because she had suddenly sensed, however fearfully, or curiously, or eagerly, the long-suspected latencies of her lovely belly?

“Soon enough,” said another fellow, “they will all heat quickly.”

I nodded. I did not doubt it.

“Some of these are new to the collar,” I said, “not even branded. Where did you get them?”

“These are all of Ar,” said one of the men. “The three who went immediately to position were taken from a paga tavern, which had purchased them, after their consignment to the collar by the judgment of Talena, then Ubara.”

I recalled that several women had been brought publicly, on various days, before the judgment of Talena, in her open-air court on the platform near the Central Cylinder. I supposed that she had been given quotas to fill by her superiors, largely under the pretext of reparations due the invaders, these because of the misdeeds of Ar, but how she filled the quotas might, I supposed, be muchly up to her. It did provide her with a convenient opportunity for evening a variety of scores and such, particularly with free women who might have found her diminishment in Ar, and her sequestration, a matter of some satisfaction or amusement. I recalled she had designated Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, who had been the daughter of a former administrator of Ar, Minus Tentius Hinrabius, for the collar. Claudia, a rival and critic of Talena, was the last of the Hinrabians. She was also a rival in beauty to the Ubara. These other women, however, I had not seen. They were new to me.

“When the fighting began, and it became clear how desperate it was,” said a fellow, “and how the city would be lost to us, we sought, in a brief surcease of battle, to sack up what coin we might, and other valuables, and prepared to fight our way toward the pomerium.”

“That is when we entered a paga tavern, the Kef, to gather in, and take with us, some recollected items of flesh loot,” said a man. He pointed, one by one, to the three women with brands, who had instantly gone to position, obedient to my command.”

I nodded. These were the women taken from a paga tavern. Perhaps once they had been free women of Glorious Ar but they were now marked-thigh girls, slaves.

All were quite attractive.

But that was not unusual with Gorean slaves.

The “Kef,” incidentally, is the first letter of the Gorean expression, ‘Kajira‘, which is the most common Gorean word for a female slave. More than one paga tavern is so designated, though not on the same street. There might be, say, a “Kef” on Teiban, another on Venaticus, another on Emerald, and so on. The small, cursive “Kef” is also the most common brand on Gor for a female slave. Each of the three slaves bore it, on the left thigh, high, under the hip.

“They came with us, willingly,” said a fellow.

“Quite willingly,” laughed another.

“Of course,” I said.

Those unfamiliar with the ways of Gor might suppose that a foregone consequence of the liberation of a city would be the freeing of certain slaves, say, those of the city who had been impressed into bondage. That is not, however, how the Gorean sees such things. Many Goreans are fatalists and believe that any woman who falls into bondage belongs in bondage, even that it is the will of Priest-Kings that her throat should be enclosed in the lovely circlet of servitude. Most, however, understand that when a woman has worn the collar, it is quite likely that she, in her heart, even if freed, will always wear the collar. She will need a master, and long for one. She understands herself as something which, ideally, belongs wholly to a man. In her heart, and her belly, she will always treasure the collar. The vanities and inanities of the free woman, with her hypocrisies and pretensions, will no longer satisfy her. She will always remember what it was, to kneel, to be bound, and to love. She will always remember the wholeness and beauty of her life as a slave, and the raptures of the collar. She has been, as it is said, “spoiled for freedom.” Too, Gorean honor enters into these things. That, say, a daughter should fall slave, is taken not so much as a lamentable tragedy, as it might be in some cultures, as an intolerable affront to a family’s honor. Goreans, after all, are well aware of the many remarkable and fulfilling aspects of female bondage, for they may own slaves of their own. They have little doubt that the embonded daughter will well serve her master. Indeed, she had better do so. But she is then an animal and regarded as lost, and well lost, to her family and Home Stone. Tarsks, verr, kaiila, and such, of course, do not have Home Stones. Thus, the family puts the thought of her aside, for she is now a slave. And, of course, to assuage the family’s honor she will be left a slave. To be sure, a woman of a city found enslaved within the city is commonly sold out of the city. Slavers, for example, will seldom sell a woman in what was once her own city. I was not surprised then that the three paga slaves, former free women of Ar, would accompany the mercenaries willingly, even eagerly. It would be far preferable to being pilloried naked, subjected to the blows and abuse of irate citizens, being publicly, ceremoniously, whipped, and then being transported out of the city, naked, standing, wrists lashed to an overhead bar, on a flat-bedded, public slave wagon, to the jeers of free citizens. In such a way, it is supposed, might be wiped away the dishonor which her bondage had inflicted on the city, at least to some extent.

“You knew these women?” I asked.

“They frequently brought us paga,” said a man.

“I see,” I said.

“We can rent them on leashes,” said a fellow. “They will bring good coin in the furs.”

“They are hot?” I said.

“A touch will make them beg,” said another fellow.

“Excellent,” I said.

I looked then to the other women.

“These others, too,” I said, “were then designated for the collar by Talena, then Ubara?”

“Not at all,” said a fellow. “These were confidantes, even cohorts, of the Ubara, women of high caste, rich, well-placed, favorers of the policies of the occupation, not only condoners but abettors of the predations of Tyros and Cos. Several became rich.”

“Collaborators?” I said.

“Precisely,” said a man.

“Several, in the fighting, learned they were on the proscription lists, copies of which were posted on the public boards,” said another.

“They knew themselves in frightful danger,” said another.

“They came to us and flung themselves to our feet, begging to be protected, to be permitted to accompany us in our flight.”

“We were in haste,” said a fellow, “as you may well suppose. Enemies were at hand, ransacking houses, scouring bridges, searching towers, closing in upon us. Our heads were at stake. We must seize what loot we could and flee for our lives.”

“‘Take us with you!’ they begged!”

“‘Remain behind, as befits your crimes,’ we told them.”

“‘No! Mercy!’ they cried.”

“‘Loathsome she-urts, detestable profiteers and traitresses,’ we cried, ‘remain behind, be hurled to eels, be cast amongst leech plants, be weighted and thrown into carnariums, view the city you betrayed from the height of high impaling stakes!’”

“‘No, please!’ they wept. ‘Show us mercy!’”

“‘What interest have we in free women?’ we asked.”

“‘In free women?’ they said, bewildered.”

“‘None,’ we informed them. We could hear the shouts of foes, nearing our hiding place.”

“We gathered what we could, which was little enough.”

“‘Take us with you!’ they wept. They were on their knees, their hands extended to us in piteous, frantic supplication.”

“Time was short.”

“We turned to face them.”

“‘Take us with you!’ they cried.”

“‘Why?’ we inquired.”

“They did not understand this question,” laughed a fellow.

“Free women are so stupid,” said another.

“‘Please, please!’ they cried.”

“‘Remove your veils,’ ordered Torgus,” said one of the men, indicating a large fellow nearby.

“‘Never,’ they cried,” recalled another fellow, grinning.

“We turned then to leave,” said another fellow, “but we heard ‘Wait! Please, wait!’ When we looked back they begged that we remove their veils, even to the ripping of them from them, as might be done with the insolence, amusement, and scorn of a slaver. But this, in our anger and contempt, we refused to do. ‘Remove your own veils,’ we told them.”

“‘Do not so shame us!’ they wept.”

“But in moments, by their own small, desperate hands, their faces were bared to men, men neither of their families nor companionship.”

“By their own hand they had face-stripped themselves,” said one of the fellows.

At this moment three or four of the girls on the chain burst into tears.

This is perhaps difficult for those unfamiliar with Gor to understand, one supposes, but the matter is cultural, certainly in the high cities. The face of a free woman, particularly one of high caste, of station, and such, is secret to herself, and to those to whom she might choose to bare it. It is not like the face of a slave, exposed to any herdsman or peddler, any passer-by, who might choose, however casually, to look upon it.

Some of the girls, careful to retain the posture in which they had been placed, lest they be struck, wept. They had not forgotten the moment, it seemed. Later, the sting of that humiliation would fade, and they would rejoice to be freed of the encumbrances of veiling, and revel in the feel of the air on their face, a face whose soft, luscious, inviting, vulnerable lips were now exposed to the sight, and kisses, of men.

Perhaps the closest analogy to this would be a woman of Earth complying with an order to remove her clothing before imperious strangers.

From the Gorean point of view, the face of a woman, you see, is the key to her self, the face, with its beauty, its softness, its special uniqueness, its myriad expressions, proclamatory of her feelings, her thoughts, and moods. How beautiful is a woman’s face, and how its subtlest expressions, even inadvertently, even unbeknownst to herself, may be fraught with the delicious treasures of betraying disclosures! The master reads the face of a slave; he may ponder the thoughts, the motivations, and intentions of the veiled free woman.

How precious is the veil to the free woman; she is not a slave.

The free woman is mysterious; the slave is not; she is at a man’s feet.

“‘Hurry, hurry!’ we were urged,” recollected one of the fellows.

“We could hear the men of Ar on the street, doors away,” said another.

“‘Submit, strip, pronounce yourself slave, hurry to the rope,’ barked Torgus to the dismayed, frightened women,” said a man.

“In moments,” said another man, “each hastened to submit.”

Submission may be rendered in a number of ways. The most important thing is that the submission is clear. A common posture of submission is to kneel, lower the head, and extend the arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding. Often a phrase, or formula, is employed, as well, often as simple as “I submit,” “I am yours,” “Do with me as you will,” or such. If one is of the Warriors the codes then require one to either slay the captive or accept the submission. Almost invariably the submission is accepted, as women on Gor are accounted a form of wealth, at least once they are collared. I know of only one exception to this almost invariable acceptance of a submission. A woman submitted and then, later, betrayed the submission, and stabbed he to whom she had submitted. The next time she submitted her head was cut off. It might be noted that the submission, in itself, strictly, does not entail bondage, but captivity. Nonetheless it is almost invariably followed by the captive’s enslavement. A woman who submits expects the collar to follow.

“Each then,” said a fellow, “divested herself of her robes, stepped from them, declared herself slave, and hurried to Torgus, who knotted a length of a coarse, common rope about her neck.”

“We made certain each was block naked,” said a fellow.

“Some had foolishly neglected, or forgotten, to remove their sandals or slippers,” explained another fellow.

“They were suitably cuffed?” I said.

“Yes,” said a man.

This was acceptable, as they were then slaves.

Those were probably the first blows they had ever felt.

“‘We are lost,’ we thought,” said a man. “For the men of Ar were at the door itself.”

“‘We are fee fighters,’ Torgus told us, ‘in no uniform. The men outside will not know we are not of Ar. Ar is a great city. Who knows all her citizens? Throw open the door, cry out “For Glorious Ar,” in suitable accents, and drag our prizes into the street. Given the length of their hair the men of Ar will assume these are free women, captured, in accord with the proscription lists. Cry out that we are conducting them to the impaling poles.’”

“You are clever,” I said to Torgus. “I gather that the ruse was successful.”

“For a time,” said the large fellow, Torgus.

“Until it became clear we might be fleeing the city,” said another.

“This aroused suspicion, and, forced to speak, the foreignness of the accents of some of us, for not all were skilled in the intonations of Ar, unsheathed the swords of men of Ar.”

“There was then fierce blade work,” said a fellow.

“The slaves lay naked on the ground, on their bellies, covering their heads, moaning, shrieking, while steel flashed about them.”

I nodded. They would await the outcome of the fierce altercation. They would affect its outcome no more than tethered kaiila.

They must wait to learn their fate, which would by determined by men.

“Many were trod upon,” said a man, “and sparks stung their backs.”

“Here, though, in the vicinity of the pomerium,” said a man, “we were not overmatched as in the city, and we were fee fighters, and mere citizens were opposed to us.”

“We lost men, and so, too, did they, and more, but we cut our way clear to the rubble of the dismantled wall.”

“Those opposed to us knew themselves outskilled and drew back, to summon reinforcements.”

“We then struggled over the rubble, dragging the slaves with us, and were soon beyond the pomerium,” said a man. “The camp of Myron had been overrun, but Cosian regulars, abetted by Tyrian contingents, and some allies, had regrouped and, well disciplined, and orderly, in their squares, had already begun the withdrawal northwest to Torcodino, and would from there march to the great port of Brundisium, where would await them ships of Tyros and Cos.”

“We, and hundreds of fugitives, with loot, and baggage, and slaves, attached ourselves to these units, and clung to the perimeters of their camps,” said one of the fellows on the beach.

“We lost no time shortening the hair of our detestable traitresses,” said a man, “to a length suitable to their new condition, that of slave. We would not want reconnoitering tarnsmen, flighted from Ar, to suspect that they might be refugees from the proscription lists, lest determined efforts be made to recover them.”

I supposed the women had no objection to this, despite the shearing of their beloved tresses being in its way a badge of degradation and servitude.

Surely it was better to be shorn of those treasured tresses than be betrayed by them into the hands of vengeful citizens.

And better, surely, the degradations of collars and their fair lips pressed to the feet of masters than the slow, lingering death of the impaling pole.

The three paga slaves had little to fear, of course, for their brands would protect them.

They were attractive, domestic animals.

Yet they, too, would be eager to escape Ar, for its Home Stone had once been their own.

Too, they were now different from what they had been, quite different, for they had known the touch of masters.

“It was a terrible march,” said a fellow. “We were afflicted from the air, arrowed by avenging tarnsmen. Sometimes small groups attacked the margins of our march. We knew not whether they were allied with Ar, or merely seeking spoil, or trying to curry favor with great Marlenus.”

“We must deal with brigands and thieves, within our own camps,” said another. “There were many desertions.”

“Bosk, and verr, and tarsks, were driven from our path,” said a man. “Fields were burned. Wells were filled in. There was little to eat or drink. They opened and closed the veins of kaiila, draining their blood into flasks. A single urt cost as much as a silver tarsk.”

“At last we reached Torcodino,” said a man, “and found safety within her walls.”

“It was there,” said a man, “that we put iron on the necks of our sluts.”

“They then well knew themselves slave,” said a man.

“Ten days later we accompanied the march to Brundisium,” said a man. “The regulars of Tyros and Cos, and their officers and slaves, were soon embarked, and gladly, with songs of joy, for their home islands, but it fared differently with many of us, the gathered mercenaries who had served the island ubarates.”

“The port police would not permit us within the walls of Brundisium,” said a man. “Refugees were unwelcome. They brought nothing to the city, there was no work for them, they were dangerous, they would be expensive to feed.”

“By heralds we were warned away from the walls,” said a man.

“‘Scatter! Begone!’ we were told,” said a man.

“Rumors had it that our slaughter was planned,” said another.

“It was at that time,” said a fellow, “that the strange men contacted us.”

“Of course,” I said.

I did not understand them, of course, but they would suppose this was all familiar to me. Strange men, at least, would be men, not, say, Kurii. That they spoke of them as “strange” interested me. How would they be strange? In demeanor, in language, in dress? I gathered, whatever might be the case, that they were men of a sort to which they were unaccustomed, men of a sort with which they were unfamiliar.

“Some hundreds of us were then soon within the walls of Brundisium,” said a fellow, “and were conducted to the wharves, thence, over several days, to be embarked on various ships, toward points unknown.”

“As here,” I said.

“It seems so,” said a man, looking about the beach, after the departing vessel, then to the looming forest.

“The ships would depart at intervals,” I said.

“Hirings and charterings took time,” said a fellow.

“I trust,” I said, “in the meantime you were comfortably housed.”

“In mariners’ billets,” said a fellow.

“The strange men were generous,” said another. “Each of us received, in copper tarsks, the equivalent of a silver stater of Brundisium.”

“They were generous, indeed,” I said.

“We had several nights to enjoy the taverns,” said a fellow.

“What of your slaves?” I asked.

“We chained them in the basement of one of the billets,” said a man.

“Apparently you could take them with you,” I said.

“Yes,” said he, who was called Torgus. “We were told that uses might always be found for such.”

“I do not doubt it,” I said. I glanced at the slaves, in position, the iron on their necks, the water swirling about their knees. They were soft, pathetic, and fearful. They were helpless. They were owned.

I wondered if Pertinax might have felt sorry for them. But that would have been absurd, for they were slaves. One might as well have felt sorry for a kaiila or tarsk.

A slave is not to be coddled, but mastered.

Yes, I thought, uses might always be found for such. Indeed, wherever there were strong men, uses might be found for such.

They were slaves.

“I have heard that Brundisium is plentifully supplied with paga taverns,” I said.

“Indeed!” agreed a fellow.

This was only to be expected, of course, in a port city, frequented with mariners, merchants, diverse transients, and such.

“One of the best is the tavern of Hendow,” said a fellow.

“It is on Dock Street,” said another.

I had heard of it. It was famed for the beauty of its slaves and the quality of its dancers.

“The slaves there vie with one another for permission to approach your table,” said a fellow. “They all want to serve you paga.”

“That is not unusual in a paga tavern,” I said.

“No,” said a fellow.

Sometimes the paga slaves are knelt at a wall, and one indicates his choice, she whom he will permit to serve him.

“And in the alcoves they whimper in their chains,” said a fellow, “begging to be permitted to bring you the most exquisite and prolonged of kajira delights.”

“Their master, Hendow, is a monster,” laughed a fellow. “It is little wonder his slaves strive with all their softness and beauty to well serve his customers. Woe to the girl who does not please a client of severe, massive Hendow.”

“Yes,” said a fellow, “perhaps at first they fear Hendow, but, shortly, in your arms, they are no more than slaves.”

I felt sorry for the men of Earth, so many of whom had never held a slave in their arms.

How different they would be, I thought, if they knew the mastery.

Who could do with a free woman, I wondered, who had once tasted slave?

It is no wonder free women hate their embonded sisters, and treat them with such contempt and cruelty.

“I think,” said Torgus, “we ought not to remain too long on the beach.”

“Certainly not,” I said.

“I have the countersign,” he said. “I await the sign.”

“It is not yet time,” I said.

“I think it is time,” he said.

“Who are you?” suddenly asked a fellow.

“Give us the sign,” said another.

“A ship arrived yesterday,” I said.

“Our ship is the last,” said Torgus.

“The sign, I have,” I said, “is ‘Tarns aflight‘.”

“I have no countersign for that,” said Torgus, very quietly.

“The countersign,” I said, “from yesterday’s ship, was ‘from Ar‘.”

“That is not the sign I was to expect, nor to answer with my countersign.”

“I suspect there is a misunderstanding,” I said.

I noted I was being ringed with fellows, but space was left, in which weapons might be drawn. Torgus stepped back, to put a few feet between us.

“He must be our contact,” said a fellow. “How else would he be here, to meet us?”

“We were warned of strangers,” said Torgus.

” Tarns aflight,” I said.

” From Ar, from Ar,” volunteered a fellow, hopefully.

“Yes,” I said, cheerfully, “’from Ar‘.”

I saw the hand of Torgus, and that of several others, move to the hilts of weapons. Their scabbards, on the whole, as mine, were at the left hip, suspended there on a shoulder strap. This is common if conflict is not imminent. If it is, the scabbard is often hung loosely at the left shoulder, where, the blade drawn, it may be instantly discarded. A hand in a shoulder strap, in grappling, for example, may serve to hold an enemy in place for, say, the thrust of a knife.

I did not draw my weapon, nor did any of the others.

Clearly they were undecided as to what to do.

“Your slaves are attractive,” I said. “What do you want for them?”

“They have already been purchased, by our employers,” said Torgus. “We are merely delivering them.”

Several of the girls looked startled at this intelligence. It seems they had not realized they had been sold.

“The sign,” said Torgus, “the sign.”

“Certainly,” I said, looking about. I detected a movement in the forest. “My superior will supply it. Mine was apparently for the ship yesterday. There seems to have been some confusion.”

“Apparently,” said Torgus.

“Wait a bit,” I said. “He will be here.”

“Are you not to guide us?” asked a fellow.

“No, my superior,” I said.

“How long must we wait?” said Torgus, glancing about. The beach was apparently more open than was to his liking.

I was sure that this ship would be met, and I must endeavor to keep things as they were, and hope that the contact would reveal himself shortly, and the sooner the better. Torgus was tolerant, but he was suspicious, and he was not a fool.

“How long?” asked Torgus.

“Not long,” I said. “A few Ehn, perhaps a bit more.”

I had seen a movement within the forest and, given the remoteness of the area, I was sure it must be connected with the new arrivals.

After a time, Torgus said, “We have waited long enough.”

“Wait a little more,” said one of his men, the fellow whom I had earlier conjectured might not have ill worn the scarlet.

Torgus shrugged. It seemed he attended this man, and respected him.

“I shall enter the forest,” I said, “and seek out my superior.”

“Remain where you are,” said Torgus.

“Very well,” I said. I thought I might be able to bring down two or three, but then I would have expected to be cut down.

If Cos and Tyros had paid these men good coin for their work in Ar, as I supposed they had, they would be skilled. I recalled how they had, as related to me, cut their way through several fellows of Ar to reach the pomerium, from whence they, together doubtless with other remnants of garrisons which had managed to escape the city, had joined in the general retreat from Ar.

“He is a spy,” said a fellow. “Kill him.”

Torgus drew his weapon.

“We do not know he is a spy,” said the fellow who might once have worn the scarlet.

“He is a spy,” said Torgus.

“If so,” said the fellow, “better to hold him, to bind him, and keep him for questioning.”

“Yes,” said Torgus, “that is best.”

“Who will bring the rope?” I asked.

I stood within the ring.

“He has drawn!” said a fellow.

“I did not see it,” said another.

“He is of the Warriors,” said a man.

Those of the scarlet are trained in such a draw. One does not indicate that one will draw. One does not glance at the hilt. One does not tense. One’s attention seems elsewhere, and the eyes of others will follow. The hand is not noticed. It is, I suppose, in a way similar to a magician’s sleight of hand. And then, surprisingly one notes that the weapon is free.

“Ho!” cried a voice, from the edge of the forest.

I had been right.

I could see some fellows amongst the trees.

Attention was then directed upon the newcomers. I stepped back, a little, amongst the fellows on the beach. The new arrivals might have noticed the semblance of a dispute on the sand, but such things might be common amongst fee fighters, rough men, fierce, and dangerous, undisciplined. Such men often adjudicate disagreements with steel. I was not in the scarlet. I might be, for all the newcomers knew, another of the fellows whom they had come to meet. How, at least for a few moments, would they know otherwise?

I sheathed my blade.

“I would leave, if I were you,” said the fellow next to me, who had drifted back with me. It was he whom I had thought might once have been of the Warriors. I supposed he might have murdered a man, or betrayed a Home Stone, some such thing. It seemed strange to me that he should be with these other fellows.

“My thanks,” I said.

But I did not move.

His accent seemed Cosian.

Mine he could probably not place.

Port Kar, of course, was at war with Cos, but that does not mean one had to keep it constantly in mind. There is a time to kill, a time to play kaissa, a time to share paga, a time to do business, a time to exchange slaves, and so on. As warriors are not politicians, their truces are frequent, their salutations genuine.

Besides, he might not be of Cos.

Many of the islands to the west had similar accents.

I moved forward a little.

One of the newcomers, he in advance of his cohorts, stepped forward, and lifted his hand, addressing Torgus, who had come forward, to meet him.

“Tal,” he said.

Torgus returned this greeting.

There might have been twenty fellows with the newcomer. Behind them, back in the trees, I saw seven or eight briefly tunicked slaves. Some carried poles, with coiled ropes. Such poles could be used for portering, the baggage fastened to them by the ropes. Sometimes captured panther girls, small bands of which occasionally roamed hundreds of pasangs to the south, were slung from such poles. They were bound, hand and feet, by their captors, to the poles, as might have been slain or captured panthers, the beasts from which they derive their name. They are fastened to the poles in such a way that they dangle, swinging, from them, their bellies to the pole, their backs to the ground. The poles are carried by female slaves, a great insult to the panther girl for they despise female slaves. And she does not know, of course, to what fate she is being carried. When they are returned to civilization, the captured panther girls, most of whom suffer from repressed sexuality, are stripped, branded, and collared, and taught their womanhood. They sell well, and some men seek them out, in the taverns. Wonders, it is said, may be wrought in such women by a switch, and a master’s hand. Supposedly they make superb slaves. And once the slave fires have been ignited in their bellies, they are, of course, as helpless, and needful, as any other slave.

” Beyond Tyros!” said the newcomer.

” Beyond Cos!” said Torgus.

Several of the fellows on the beach looked uneasily at one another. There was little, as far as we knew, beyond Tyros and Cos, some small islands, of course, usually spoken of as the Farther Islands, but nothing else, lest it be the World’s End, the edge of the sea, supposedly the plunge into the abyss, nothing.

Few ships, as far as I knew, had ventured west of the Farther Islands, and of those, as far as I knew, none had returned.

Thassa, it seemed, might be jealous of her secrets.

I moved forward. “Tal,” I said to the newcomer.

“Tal,” he said.

I had addressed him familiarly. This seemed to convince even Torgus that I knew him, and the newcomer supposed, as I had supposed he would, that I was one of the others, though perhaps one a bit more indiscreet or forward than might have been desirable.

The newcomers were nicely organized, and, in moments, much of the baggage had been lashed to the poles, and the briefly tunicked slaves shouldered the poles with the suspended cargo, and stood ready to depart. They were a good looking set of slaves, and the brevity of their tunics, which is a feature of such garments, left few of their charms to speculation. They stood very straight, but with the grace that is expected of a slave. Clumsiness, awkwardness, stiffness, and such, are not permitted to slaves; they are not free women. I noted that the slaves stole glances at several of the fellows on the beach. They knew they might be given to them. I went behind one of the women, at the aft end of a pole, and carefully turned her collar. She remained absolutely still. The collar was plain. I adjusted it then so that the lock was again at the back of the neck, where it belongs. I had learned nothing.

I then, in order to make myself useful, put the fifteen neck-chained girls, who had arrived on the ship, to their feet, and arranged them in a line, one behind the other. I gathered they had been marched in something like this order before, because of the gradations of height. I put the tallest girl in front, as that is the usual way the slavers arrange their “beads.” I then distributed several of the smaller packages, which had been left free, doubtless deliberately, amongst them, the heaviest to the taller, larger girls. Indeed, precisely fifteen such packages had been left, not attached to the poles borne by the fair porters come from the forest. Surely this was not a matter of coincidence. The new girls, too, then, were to carry burdens, perhaps their first.

“Place the boxes on your head,” I told them, “steadying them with both hands.”

This is a common way in which Gorean slave girls, and, indeed, free women of lower castes, carry boxes, baskets, bundles, and such. This form of lading is particularly lovely in the case of female slaves because the hands are thus fixed in position over their heads, almost as though chained, and the breasts are nicely lifted. Too, they then know themselves, as much as pack kaiila, bearing the burdens of men.

In moments the leader of the fellows from the forest had set out amongst the trees. A march then followed him, first his own men, then the portering slaves, with their poles and baggage, and then Torgus, and the fellows from the ship, and then, bringing up the rear, a lovely coffle, fifteen shapely pack beasts, the girls from the ship.

I thought they looked well on their chain, bearing their burdens.

Then the chain, at the edge of the forest, stopped.

I suspected it was terrified to enter that gloom.

And it was not being supervised. There was no master or switch slave behind them.

That was interesting, I thought.

But then what would they do, where would they go? How would they survive in the forest, naked and chained?

Their very survival depended on masters, and, as they were slaves, on pleasing masters.

The chain was clearly frightened.

All that they knew, and were familiar with, lay behind them.

One girl, the last on the chain, turned to look back at me, almost wildly, her hands steadying her burden.

It was she who had seemed, finding herself in “position,” perhaps for the first time in her life, to have come suddenly to a new sense of herself, to a new astonishing awareness of herself. The very assumption of “position” by a woman can have that effect. It is hard to be in “position” and not know oneself a female, and a particular sort of female. It is not only a symbolic posture for a woman, which she well understands, her kneeling, and vulnerability, and such, but it is an arousing posture, as well. I had seen her expression, her surprise, her apprehension, her fear, her curiosity, her incipient readiness. I had little doubt she would heat quickly, and might be the first of the lot to weep in need at the smallest touch of a master.

Then the chain moved, presumably frightened to remain where it was, presumably fearful of falling behind, and, the chain jerking against the side of her neck, she stumbled forward. Then she, with the others, had disappeared into the forest.

The women, I supposed, had not been named yet.

I recalled they had been recently sold, though to whom, or what, I knew not.

In any event, names, if they were to receive them, would be given to them by masters. The slave in her own right has no name, no more than any other animal. As a slave changes hands, she is commonly renamed.

I looked after the departing march.

It was no longer visible.

Then, to my surprise, I heard, from deep within the forest, what was, unmistakably, the roar of a larl.

I found this anomalous.

The larl is not indigenous to the northern forests.

I had let the march proceed without me, and none seemed to be concerned with that.

I was hungry.

I would now return to the hut of Pertinax.