Witness of Gor

34

“What time is it now?” demanded the leader of the strangers.

“It is near the tenth Ahn,” said a man, inspecting the level of the water in the clepsydra. In the depths one cannot tell day from night, except by the clocks.

We had been returned to the quarters of the pit master better then two Ahn ago.

The officer of Treve and the pit master were sitting at the table, playing Kaissa, which is a board game of this world. They were absorbed in the game. I think they were both skilled.

The leader of the strangers paced the floor angrily. His lieutenant was sitting by, cross-legged. Gito was crouched in one corner, his knees drawn up under his chin. He looked about himself, furtively.

Five of the black-tunicked men had perished in or near the cell, two being struck by the chain and stone, two in swordplay, and one apparently thrust though, in the darkness, the peasant exiting from the cell.

Three more, since that time, as was determined from reports arriving at the quarters of the pit master, now the headquarters of the strangers, had perished. One had been pierced by a concealed spear, spring-released from the side of a corridor, another in crossing one of the narrow bridges over a crevice, it buckling as weight was placed at its center, another when an apparently solid portion of the corridor had fallen away beneath him, plunging him screaming, we heard the screams even where we were, into a nest of tiny, active serpents below, serpents called osts. They are, it seems, highly poisonous. The effects of the poison, too, I am told, are not pretty to watch.

In the case of the first man, the pit master had reminded the leader of the strangers that various security devices in the corridors were armed, especially in view of the incursion of the raiders earlier, and reiterated his offer to furnish expert guidance. “You will remain here,” the leader of the strangers had informed him. “As you wish,” said the pit master. In the case of the second man, it seemed that the had neglected to lock two small rods in place, toward the center of the bridge, before sliding it out, into place, without which action, it buckles and turns, as on a hinge. In the third case, the man had apparently not noted the small fanglike sign carved into the wall of the corridor, some two inches above the floor. Accordingly it was not surprising he did not locate the lever which would have secured the trap, disarming it. In both of these cases, too, the pit master’s expressed willingness to be of assistance was spurned.

“An excellent move,” said the officer of Treve, studying the board before him.

“What is the delay!” cried the leader of the strangers. “They should have taken him by now!”

“There are many passages,” said the pit master, looking up. The leader of the strangers spun away from him, in fury. The pit master then returned his attention to the game.

A watch of pit guards, as noted earlier, had been dismissed. A second watch, reporting in but a few minutes ago, had also been dismissed.

Where we were, in the headquarters of the strangers, there were, besides the pit master, the officer of Treve, the leader of the strangers, his lieutenant, Gito, and ourselves, the slaves, three men. The others, originally twelve in number, had been divided into four such parties of three men each.

I knelt by the wall. I was chained there, with the others, the ten of us, the pit slaves. I think they wanted all of us together, where we might, collectively, be easily observed. Too we might then easily be removed from the wall, individually, or together. In any event, the kennels were not in use. The slaves at the wall were normally fastened there by two chains, one on the left ankle, the other on the neck. Now, however, each of us wore but one chain. Mine was on the left ankle. In virtue of this arrangement, that of the single chain, we could be quickly, conveniently, removed from the wall. Our hands were still bound. Food had been thrown to us. We fed as we could.

“Capture of Home Stone,” said the pit master.

“It is the eleventh Ahn,” said a man, looking at the clepsydra.

The leader of the black-tunicked men made a noise of disgust.

His lieutenant was sharpening his sword. Three crossbows, armed, rested on the table.

I lay down by the wall, to rest.

The pit master and the officer of Treve reset the board, for another game. They had played very evenly, as I understood it, first one winning, then the other.

“Your move,” said the pit master.

I pulled a little at my bound wrists. The wonder and terror of this suddenly came to me. How was it that I should be here? I did not even know how I had come to this world! But I was here now, helpless, owned, where I must serve, and please and obey, a slave girl on an alien, exotic world. Who had first seen me, who had marked me out, who had first decided this? Who had speculated how I might look in a collar, who had conjectured my liniments, who had read my body, and my heart?

“The Turian opening?” asked the pit master.

“Perhaps,” said the officer of Treve.

I became suddenly angry. How could they play a game, now, at a time like this?

Sometimes I, and others, had served as prizes in such contests, between guards. Sometimes we must lie to one side, or even under the table, chained hand and foot, waiting to see who would be victorious, to whom we would be awarded for the evening.

“You are intent on the Turian,” said the pit master.

“Perhaps,” said the officer.

I was furious.

I hated the game.

How often I had had to wait for contentment, even such as might be granted to a slave, because of Kaissa! How often I had been uneasy, restless, in my kennel, pressing a tear stained face against the bars, grasping them, they damp from the sweat of my palms. How I would squirm with need, and must wait! Could they not understand my small cries and moans, and then I would be warned to silence, that I not distract them from their foolish game! Then I would crawl back in the kennel, my fists clenched, trying not to cry.

After a time one of the black-tunicked men said, “It is the twelfth Ahn.”

“Vanarik preceded us,” said a man, limping, he whose foot had been twisted in the stirrup of the crossbow, when the peasant had attacked him and the other. His fellow’s head had been almost ripped from his body by the stone on the chain. “Two gates fell, one before, one behind. A panel slid upward. Tharlarion entered the area. Before we could kill them Vanarik was pulled from the gate, he clinging to it, not inches from us.”

“That would be on level two, in passage eighteen,” said the pit master not looking up from the board.

Another of the black-tunicked men died where two passages had intersected. The crossbows had been armed, the men tense. The leader of the strangers, I recalled, had advised them to fire even at a shadow. That shadow had been one of their own men, brought down with three quarrels.

The black-tunicked men had had better fortune in another passage, where five urts had charged them. One of these sleek beasts had been directly killed, by bolts. Two others, wounded, had been turned back. Two others had been, wheeling about amongst them, slashing and biting, destroyed my swords. The men had then pursued the two wounded urts, following a trail of blood, until they had them cornered, quarrels hanging from their flanks, where they slew them, hissing and snarling, against a gate with further quarrels. One of the black-tunicked men had been seriously bitten, and another clawed, but none had perished. The bows had served, in their way, as shields, the urts snapping at them, clinging to them, permitting the defender to draw and hack at their stretched necks with his sword. Sleen would not have made that mistake. They go for warmth and blood.

I found it of interest that so many of the gates in the corridors had not been sealed.

The passages were armed, but they had not been, oddly enough, closed, their gates locked down.

“It is the fifteenth Ahn,” said a man.

Clepsydras are of two sorts, the inflow and outflow varieties. The inflow devices add water to a container and the level in the container measures a unit of time; the outflow devices drain water, the time measured then by the level of water remaining in the vessel. The device in the quarters of the pit master was an outflow device. Its accuracy is controlled by two major factors, its shape and the size of the aperture though which the water drains. It tapers toward the bottom to keep the water pressure constant, that being required to regularize the speed of the flow, a larger amount of water over a larger area exerting a pressure equivalent in its effect to that of a lesser amount over a smaller area. The second major factor is the aperture itself. This is a drilled plug which is periodically replaced. If this were not the case the passage of the water, over time, even in stone, would enlarge the aperture, deregularizing the device.

“We found these,” said one of the black-tunicked men, reporting back. He held chains.

“Come here!” said the leader of the black-tunicked men to the pit master who, accommodatingly, left his table and game.

“Yes,” said the pit master, examining the chains. “These are undoubtedly those which were worn by our prisoner. Surely you can recognize them as well as I.” There would be little possibility of mistake, at any rate, I supposed, about the chain with the plate and ring attached. Bolts were still loose in the plate.

“Where did you find these?” demanded the leader of the strangers.

“In a place where there were tools,” said the man.

“The workroom,” said the pit master. “There is an anvil there, a forge, hammers, chisels. Chaining, unchaining, the fitting with common shackles, and such, you understand, is done there. It is more convenient than going to the surface.”

“Are such places not guarded?” demanded the leader of the strangers.

“The guard was dismissed,” the pit master reminded him.

“He is now free of his chains,” said the leader of the strangers.

“I would assume he still wears the collar, and what is left of the neck chain,” said the pit master. “That would be difficult to remove by oneself, with the tools there.”

“There are no metal saws there, or files?”

“No,” said the pit master. “It would be dangerous to keep such things in the depths.”

Shackles, of course, and links of chain, if one wishes, may be forced apart, or even broken, given proper tools and sufficient strength. There are files and metal saws, too, which can do such work, though it takes more time. I had been in the workroom several times. The tools there were heavy toots. It was not regarded as advisable to have files and metal saws there, things which might be easily concealed.

“We know the prisoner is still in the depths,” said the lieutenant.

“There is no doubt about that,” said the leader of the strangers.

“It is only a matter of time then,” said the lieutenant, “until we have gone though every passage.”

“Are there missile weapons in the depths?” asked the leader of the black-tunicked men.

“Only yours,” said the pit master.

“Excellent,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.

“Take me to the surface!” suddenly cried Gito, from where he crouched by the wall. “I want to go to the surface!”

“We need not even close with him then,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men, paying Gito no attention.

“I want to go to the surface!” cried Gito.

“Call in the search parties,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men. “In the morning we will form a single, larger group. Even in the darkness we can blanket an area with quarrels.”

One of the men went out, into the corridor. From various points we heard him blowing blasts, on a reed whistle.

“You two will accompany us tomorrow,” said the leader to the officer of Treve and the pit master. “We have no intention of leaving you behind. Too, the slaves will be with us. I trust a concern for their safety, or for that of one or more of them, will ensure your diligence as guides. They will precede us, you see. In this fashion we will keep them in view, which will doubtless be pleasant for you, not of the black caste, and there will be no slipping of them away.”

Whereas the Gorean slave girl commonly heels her master, her master sometimes orders her to walk before him, for the pleasure of seeing her walk. And if she knows what is good for her she had best walk beautifully. This also gives him an opportunity to assess her interest to other men, for example, to see if men look after her, as she passes. This is useful if he should be thinking of selling her, but it is also tends to be of independent interest, and not only to the master, but also to the slave. We are very curious to know, vain beasts that we are, what men might pay for us, if we were to be offered for sale.

But, alas, some men, I fear, purchase girls largely for self-regarding, social reasons, for example, to impress others with their wealth, good fortune, or taste. But then, too, on Earth, do some men buy a certain car, or a certain house, or a certain painting, and such, largely to impress others?Too, on Earth some men will, in effect, purchase wives, so to speak, though the “exchange of coin” is less obvious. These women, as I understand it, are referred to as “trophy wives.” There are differences, of course. On Earth, it is the women who sells herself and, accordingly, keeps her own purchase price, so to speak. That is not the Gorean way, of course. I am happy to report that there is no Gorean expression which would be exactly equivalent to “trophy slave,” but I am forced to admit, in all honesty, that the concept, in effect, or certainly a similar sort of concept, is not unknown on Gor. In Gorean there is an expression which would rather literally translate as “display slave,” and it seems that that is much the same idea, namely, that the woman’s value is seen to lie more in the ranges of a decoration, an appointment, an appurtenance, or such things, than in herself, than in the heats, services, devotions, and loves of a whole woman, a living, breathing, loving, passionate, needful female. The palanquins of rich men are sometimes followed by strings of back-braceleted, briefly tunicked, neck-chained display slaves. When the slave is walked before the master, her head and eyes remain forward. She is not to look to the left or right. She is, after all, under the eyes of her master.

I suppose I am beautiful enough to be a display slave, but I do not think I would like it.

When the slave is walked before the master she may or may not be on a leash. It is up to the master.

Most often she is not leashed.

In this way the master may remain rather in the background. Perhaps he is just a fellow going in the same direction? But if the slave is accosted he will probably show up promptly enough, leash in hand.

She will then be leashed and there will be no doubt as to whose slave she is.

One might mention, in passing, that the “concept of the leash” may figure, as do a number of other concepts, in reference to bondage. Just as one might refer to a slave as “marked meat,” or as a “collar slut,” or a “vulo,” or a “tasta,” or as one might ask someone if a certain girl now wears a collar, or is garbed in the slave tunic, or has bared arms, or a bared face, or in whose bracelets or chains she finds herself, so, too, one might speculate that she is probably on a leash by now, or assert that she is on a given leash, say, so-and-so’s leash, or inquire of a slave her master, by inquiring, “Who leashes you,” “On whose leash are you,” “Who holds your leash,” and so on.

“Too,” continued the leader of the black-tunicked men, “the slaves may also serve as shields, if we are attacked, either by he whom we hunt, or by other beasts.”

“Take me to the surface!” cried Gito, leaping up, hurrying to throw himself on his knees before the leader of the strangers. “Take me to the surface!”

“You are free to leave,” said the leader of the strangers.

“Along?” quavered Gito.

“I have no intention of sparing men to conduct you to the surface,” said the leader.

“You are not going to stay here another night?”

“Yes,” said the leader.

“In the morning you will leave this place?”

“Yes, to conclude our hunt.”

“What of me?”

“You may remain here.”

“I will accompany you, of course,” said Gito. Then he returned to his place by the wall, crouching down there, watching the portal.

We expected ten men to return, answering the summons of the reed whistle, but only nine came in.

“Where is Emmertich?” demanded the lieutenant.

“Is he not with us?” asked the squad leader, looking back.

“He was following,” said a man.

“He may have taken a wrong turn,” said the pit master. “The passages can be confusing.”

“He will report in soon,” said another man, uneasily.

“He may be lost,” said another.

“He was only paces behind me,” said another. “Is he not here?”

“No,” said a man.

“Let us have supper,” said the leader of the strangers. “We shall then rest. In the morning we have much to do.”

“I shall set a guard,” said the lieutenant.

“Two men,” said the leader.

“Yes, Captain,” said the lieutenant.

“Loose three slaves to serve,” said the leader of the strangers.

“Of course,” said the pit master.

“That one, which seems to be your favorite,” said the leader, indicating Fina. “And this one,” he said. Tira, who was blond, whimpered, kicked.

He looked us over. None if us dared to meet his eyes.

“And this one,” he said, identifying another. I cried out, kicked.