Vagabonds of Gor

43 Marcus Finds a Woman of Interest

"Why have you brought me here?" asked Marcus, as he and I waited near the wagon of Ephialtes.

"You will see," I said.

We had changed the location of our small camp near the outskirts of the temporary slave camp, doing what we could to make it look as though it had been abandoned. We had then walked east a way on the Brundisium Road before, in a small wood, leaving the road and returning to the vicinity of the slave camp. In this fashion, we hoped that anyone, at least the idly curious, would assume we had broken camp and departed eastward, presumably to make a junction with one of the delta roads. On the way back we had cut through the temporary slave camp. It was quite large, some four or five square pasangs in area. Women were still being brought into it, in various fashions, for example, in slave wagons, in flatbed wagons, with tiny, tiered slave cages, and on foot, in coffle.

"This is the wagon of your friend?" asked Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

We had left Ina in the temporary slave camp, in a rented slave box. I had her climb into the small box in which she then lay down, on her side, her knees drawn up. We had left her in the hood, leash and bracelets. I had then closed the lid to the box, locked it and put the key in my pouch. The rental is a single tarsk bit but you give the keeper two tarsk bits, the second of which serves as a deposit, held against the return of the key. The box itself is of iron and very sturdy. It has various tiny holes in its front wall and in its lid, through which the occupant may breathe. These holes, or rather perforations, are in the shape of the cursive 'Kef', the first letter, as I have mentioned, in 'Kajira', the most common expression in Gorean for a female slave. Also, in a good light, one may use these holes, or perforations, to see if the box is occupied. Girls are normally kept nude in the slave boxes but Ina, of course, was a free woman. If the girl would look out of the box she must do so through the "Kef." Similarly, the light falling through the perforations forms a pattern of dots on her body, also in the form of the Kef. There were about a hundred slave boxes in this storage area. Ina was in 73. This number was also on the key.

"I do not understand why I have been brought here," said Marcus. "Too, I gather your friend, this Ephialtes, or whatever his name may be, is a Cosian. I am not inclined to hold converse with Cosians."

"If I were you," I said, "I wouldn't open my mouth so much in this area, at the perimeter of the Cosian camp."

"Why have you brought me here?" whispered Marcus.

"I told you before, early this morning," I said. "I want to show you something."

"What?" he asked.

"Be patient," I said. "You will see."

"It had better be good," he said.

"You are just in a bad mood," I said, "because I have brought you to the edge of the Cosian camp, thus needlessly placing your life in extreme jeopardy."

"Not at all," he said. "Who could be so small-minded as to object to that?"

"What, then?" I asked.

"I had a very difficult night," he said, "and the morning, thus far, save for too few Ahn sleep, has not been much better."

"Perhaps things will improve," I said.

"Perhaps," he grumbled.

Marcus normally tended, of course, to be a somewhat moody fellow, taking things somewhat more seriously, such as life and death, than seemed necessary. This morning, however, he seemed actually ungracious, and that was quite unusual for him. To be sure, he had had a difficult night, keeping his lonely, tense vigil in the alley behind the tavern, while I rested and sported about inside. I reminded myself, however, that such sacrifices are only to be expected in the course of true friendship.

"What is it that you wish me to see?" he asked.

"You will see," I said.

"I hope that it is worth waiting for," he said.

"I think you will find it so," I said.

"Perhaps," he said.

"At any rate," I said, "you can make your own judgment on the matter."

"Welcome, gentlemen, to the camp of Ephialtes," said my friend, Ephialtes, coming about the wagon. One could not see under the wagon as some canvas had been stretched from the upper, far side of the wagon bed to the ground. There was nothing unusual in this, as it is occasionally done in wagon camps for various reasons, for example, to form wind breaks, shield fires, and such. Also, of course; it may be done to increase privacy, for example, for pan bathing behind it, and so on. This time, of course, I assumed its purpose was in effect a rather dramatic one, to create a wall, or screen, from behind which something hitherto unseen might be brought.

"My friend, Ephialtes," I said, "I believe you have something to show us."

"Yes," he said. He then clapped his hands, twice.

From about the wagon, and about the concealing canvas, timidly, and yet beautifully, leashed, in a belly cord, a mere lace, and a narrow, yellow slave strip, her hands behind her, probably braceleted, came a beautiful young woman. She was utterly exquisite. Liadne was behind her, holding her leash. The young woman was slender, and extremely lightly complexioned, and with extremely dark hair and eyes.

"Aiii!" cried Marcus, stunned.

She looked at Marcus, startled, wildly, almost as though he might be the first male she had ever seen.

She looked then at me, wildly, too.

"Do not speak!" I warned her.

She came and knelt before us. She looked up at Marcus, as though in awe, as though seemingly unable to take her eyes from him.

"Aiiii," he cried softly to himself.

She trembled before him.

"Do you like her?" I asked.

"I have never seen such a woman!" he cried. "She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life!"

"I thought you might find her not without interest," I said.

"She is the sort of woman for whom a man might kill!" he cried.

"And suppose she were a slave," I said.

"Au!" he wept, bending over, pounding with his fists on his knees at the very thought of it.

"What is her status?" I asked Ephialtes.

"A free woman," he said, "though a captive, and a full servant."

"She could then be purchased, and imbonded!" cried Marcus.

"Of course," said Ephialtes.

"I must have her!" cried Marcus.

She looked up at him, from her knees, her lip trembling.

"She is doubtless very expensive," I said.

"I must have her!" he cried.

"How much do you have?" I asked.

"A few tarsk bits," said Marcus, "only that."

"Surely not enough," I said. "Let us be on our way." He reached to his sword, but I put my hand on his hand, that he not, in rage and frustration, draw, and perhaps finish off poor Ephialtes.

"Let's go," I said.

"Why have you brought me here!" he cried. "Is it only to torture me?"

"Not at all," I said. "I know you are fond of this sort of female."

" 'This sort of female'!" he cried. "She is unique, unparalleled! I have seen her in a thousand dreams!"

"She is very nice," I said. "Thank you, Ephialtes," I said. "I just wanted him to see her. He seems to find her not unpleasant to look upon, as I had expected."

"Certainly," said Ephialtes.

"I wish you well," I said.

"I wish you well," said he.

"Come along, Marcus," I said.

"I want her! I must have her!" he cried.

"You cannot afford her," I said. "Come along." I then took him by the arm, and drew him from the side of the wagon.

We had scarcely gone ten steps before he stopped, and tore himself free.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"You do not understand," he cried. "I have never seen such a female! She is my dream!"

"I am sure she is very nice," I said.

"I want her!" he said. "I must have her!"

"Yes, yes," I said. "Now let us be on our way."

"No!" he said.

"Forget her," I said.

From where I stood, looking behind Marcus, who faced me, I could see the wagon of Ephialtes. "No, do not look back," I said, soothingly. "It is better that way." indeed, I put my hands on his arms, to prevent him from turning. Liadne had now drawn on the girl's leash, and she was on her feet. Although Liadne was obviously intending to lead her to the far side of the wagon, she stood there, back-braceleted, looking wildly, unbelievably, after Marcus. Then, helpless, drawn by the leash, she was turned by force, and drawn, stumbling, after Liadne, behind the wagon, behind the canvas screen which had been fixed there. Marcus angrily put aside my grasp and turned, looking back toward the wagon. The girl now, of course, was no longer in sight.

"She is gone," I said.

I restrained him from rushing toward the wagon.

"Do you not understand?" he exclaimed. "I must have her!"

"Put her from your mind," I said. "She is not yours."

"Why did you even show her to me!" he wept.

"I thought you might find it pleasant to regard her, in passing, for a moment or so," I said.

"I must own her!" he said.

"You cannot afford her," I reminded him, perhaps unnecessarily.

He cried out with rage, and frustration.

"Some fellows," I said, "I suppose, might return at night and steal her, perhaps cutting a throat or two in the process, but that is not practical for one of the Marcelliani, one who is an honorable fellow, an officer and such."

"No!" cursed Marcus.

"Well," I said. "That is just the way some things are."

Marcus regarded me, wildly. I thought for a moment he might attack me.

"Come along," I said.

"He is a Cosian," said Marcus, looking back, murderously, at the innocent Ephialtes, who was puttering about the wagon, tightening one of the back latches of the wagon bed, I believe.

"But he is also my friend," I said, "and surety that should complicate matters."

"Yes," growled Marcus.

I suddenly felt a certain poignant regard for Ephialtes. I hated to think of him at the mercy of, say, a temporarily berserk Marcus. I recalled how he had once been bullied and bounced about by Borton, courier of Artemidorus, at the Crooked Tarn. That sort of thing, of course, tends to be an occupational hazard, so to speak, of fellows like Ephialtes. One of his regrets in life was that he was seldom abused by small men.

"And, independently," I said, "it would seem that the wanton slaughtering of Ephialtes, an innocent, unoffending sutler, and doubtless his slave, Liadne, as well, in the perpetration of what would seem to be for most practical purposes a mere act of theft, might raise delicate questions of honor."

Marcus glowered at me.

"Surely the matter would be at least controversial," I said.

"I should never have laid eyes on her," he moaned.

"Nonsense," I said. "Surely you are pleased that you did."

"My life is ruined," he said.

"Your prospects were not all that promising anyway," I said.

"I did not know that such a female could exist in reality," he said.

"She is very nice," I granted him.

"She is utterly, exquisitely beautiful!" he said.

"She is pretty," I admitted.

"Beautiful!" he said.

"You would like to own her," I said.

"Yes!" he wept.

"I wonder what she would look like, branded, and in your collar," I said.

"Do not torture me," he said.

"I suppose, sooner or later, she will make someone a lovely property," I said.

"Please, Tarl," said he.

"Sorry," I said.

"It is not just that she is a beauty," he said. "It is something else about her. I do not know what it is. She is unique. She is special."

"I must go to the slave camp," I said, "to get Ina. Why don't you go back to our new camp, and I shall meet you there."

"Very well," he said, despondently.

I watched him withdraw.

I was rather pleased with the proceedings of the morning, though it must now be noon, or after. I had expected that Marcus would be strongly attracted to Phoebe, for she was an extraordinarily lovely example of a type that he found almost maddeningly irresistible. I recalled, for example, his intense attraction toward the slave, Yakube, in Port Cos, on the wharf there. To be sure, suspecting her to be of Cos, I had feared he might attempt to kill her. Fortunately, as I have mentioned, she had only been from White Water, on the Vosk. But even though I had expected Marcus would find Phoebe of extreme interest, I had not anticipated that his interest would have been as arresting and profound as it apparently was. Also, I had not anticipated that Phoebe, on her part, would have had the profound reaction to him that she had apparently had. Kneeling before us, she had hardly taken her eyes off him. She had trembled in his presence. It had seemed that she, in a way, had recognized him, as it had seemed that he, too, in his way, had recognized her. Perhaps it was before one such as he that she, in her most secret, exciting and beautiful dreams, knelt in her chains, as in his dreams, too, perhaps it was one such as she who, in appropriate chains, knelt before him, looking up at him, to read her fate in his eyes. Yet their recognition of one another, I sensed, had been one which had far exceeded dreams. It had been a recognition in reality, the sudden sensing of a rightness, an appropriateness, an exact fittingness. This unspoken recognition of one another, startling to both, had been exact and real, unquestionable. There had been a recognition of a fitting together, of an indubitable congruence, of a perfection of coordinate realities. This was as real and perfect as the relationship of a lock and its key.

I then, whistling a soft tune to myself, left for the slave camp, to fetch Ina.