Quarry of gor, p.14
Quarry of Gor, page 14
There must have been a hundred men or more on the corsair.
The long boat was swarming with men, in the craft and clinging to it. I saw more than one fellow in the boat slash with a knife at those trying to climb into it.
“There will be blood in the water,” I thought.
The long boat was low in the water, the waves lapping at its gunwales. Men began to fight in the boat and cast one another from the boat.
“Sharks,” I heard cry, a wailing sound, and a man disappeared, dragged under the water.
The corsair then settled under the waves.
I saw the long boat turn, tip, and capsize, twenty or more men then clinging to the inverted hull, another twenty or so about it.
I heard another scream, and another man disappeared beneath the water.
Men in the water, some cursing, struggled to right the boat.
“The Dorna does not linger, to pick up survivors,” said a man.
“No,” said another. “The lesson taught must be terrible and unmistakable.”
“Shall we pick up survivors, Captain?” asked a mariner, an oarsman.
“I do not think there will be any,” laughed a fellow.
I heard more screams from the water.
“There are too many,” said the captain. “It would be dangerous to do so.”
I saw the ship, that called the Dorna, depart, its mast now raised and its lateen-rigged sail billowing.
At the summit of the mast, on its line, I saw a broad flag unfurl itself. On it, shaking and fluttering, snapping in the wind, was figured the head of a massive, fearsome, horned beast.
An officer put down a glass of the Builders. “The sign of the bosk,” he said.
I heard Euphrosyne cry out in fear.
The long boat had now been righted, and some twelve or so men, perhaps as many as fourteen or fifteen, had climbed aboard. Of these, some with cupped hands or caps were bailing water while others, in water to their knees, stood at the gunwales and, with knives and clubs, were preventing others from boarding. Here and there a dorsal fin cleft the waves. Two men, with an oar, were striking, or thrusting at, fellows in the water. I heard another cry, and saw another man pulled under the water.
The keeper was standing near me.
“Surely we could save some, Master,” I said.
“Which ones?” asked he.
“Any,” I said, “surely any.”
“Those men are corsairs,” he said, “killers.”
“Still,” I said.
“Do not fear,” he said. “There will be survivors.”
“I heard speak,” I said, “of a lesson, terrible and unmistakable.”
“That is why there will be survivors,” he said. “There is no point in a lesson’s being given, if none survive to report the lesson.”
I was silent.
I looked out at the horror some yards away, at the rocking, awash, beleaguered long boat, the struggles, the knives and clubs, the bloodied waters, the screaming men, the stirrings about of inquiring sharks.
“And who will be the survivors?” I asked.
“Presumably,” he said, “the strongest and most ruthless amongst them, those most willing, expediently and without compunction, to kill their fellows.”
“I see,” I said.
“You are standing,” he observed.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, and quickly knelt by Euphrosyne, who, now kneeling, her arms about herself, was shaking with distress, and the two others, also now kneeling. The scarlet cloths we had worn were drawn from us.
“Now Cos and Tyros will have to pay for their jade,” said a man.
“What is wrong, Euphrosyne?” I asked.
“Now we are lost,” said Euphrosyne.
“We are saved,” I said.
“Ignorant barbarian,” she wept.
“Oars out,” called the Captain. “Slow stroke. Bring her about!”
Oars slid through the thole ports and entered the water.
Shortly thereafter the drum of the hortator sounded.
We felt the ship slowly come about.
The thunder of the hortator’s drum again sounded.
“Raise the yard, free the sail!” called the captain.
The long, slanting yard turned on the mast, and the open, dropped sail, with a snapping of canvas, responded, swelling and tautening, curving, and was filled to the “brim,” as the mariners sometimes put it, with the “wine of the wind.”
The cries of drowning and dying men behind us became more faint.
The prow, with its painted eyes on either side, was pointed northeast. Within an Ahn or two I supposed we should have the shore again in sight, a situation wont to be favored by Gorean mariners, and then we would return to our original course.
“Into the hold, lovely kajirae,” said the keeper. “You have had enough of deck privileges. You must not be spoiled. It is a foolish master who spoils a kajira. They are best when the bonds are tight and the switch is at hand.”
Euphrosyne was freed of her chain and then she and the rest of us climbed down the ladder into the hold. The keeper followed us and our left ankles were soon shackled to the common ring. The keeper then ascended the ladder and the hatch was closed and battened down. We could look upward, through its grating. The shadow of the grating was on our bodies.
“Why are you crying, Euphrosyne?” I asked.
“You do not know whither we are bound,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“We are kajirae, animals,” said another girl. “We are kept in ignorance. We are told nothing.”
“Curiosity is not becoming to us,” said the other girl.
Euphrosyne looked at me, tears in her eyes, the shadows of the high overhead grating on her body. “What do you think is our destination?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“I heard the men speak earlier,” she sobbed. “That is when I leapt from the ship, in a desperate and forlorn hope of attaining the shore.”
“What is our destination?” asked one of the two other girls.
“—Port Kar,” she whispered.
The two other girls cried out in dismay.
Euphrosyne broke out again in sobs.
I was puzzled. I did not understand their trepidation, their fear.
But I suddenly felt very naked on my chain.
Chapter Nine
Port Kar
I was tired and miserable.
I was sweating and hot.
My body ached.
I bent over the double basin, one of several in the large, low-ceilinged kitchen of the Golden Chain, one of the five or so prominent taverns in the city. I had no idea how many smaller such establishments might be in the city. There were presumably few who did not know the Golden Chain. It may be the largest tavern in Port Kar, or, surely, at least, one of the largest. There were ten of us in the kitchen. We were naked, and our ankles were shackled a few inches apart, presumably less for security than to help us keep in mind that we were slaves, as though, on this world, that might somehow slip our mind. My hands were immersed in the suds of the oven-heated water in the right-hand basin, its water, frequently replenished, heated on the long stove at the back of the kitchen. I held the metal plate in my left hand, under the water, wiping it with the cloth in my right hand. I lifted it, dripping, and rinsed it in the left-hand basin and then inserted it in the vertical rack, that it should drain dry. To my right was a basket of goblets. I could smell the residue of paga. When washed and rinsed, they would be inverted and placed on the horizontal rack. Some brushes were large and flat, for trays and flatware; others were narrower and rounded, for vessels. Scrapers were at hand; these were of wood and were widely bladed. The horrors that I had heard of Port Kar, either in Brundisium or on the voyage northward, largely from Euphrosyne, had turned out, happily, to my relief, and doubtless Euphrosyne’s, to have been muchly exaggerated. We were, of course, Gorean slaves, and were held under the perfection of Gorean discipline. But that would be much the same in any Gorean city. Gor is Gor, and a slave is a slave. The Gorean master is strict, and often demanding and severe, but is seldom cruel. We know we will be whipped if we are not pleasing, but we strive to be pleasing, and, accordingly, are seldom, if ever, whipped. Sometimes we beg to be whipped, if only to remind us that we are slaves. To us our bondage is precious, and we beg to be reassured of its reality. The Gorean master keeps us well on our knees, and we love him for it. To be sure, it was not pleasant in the kitchen. Euphrosyne, almost as soon as we arrived, coffled, at the Golden Chain, was thrown a paga tunic and put on the floor. Was she that much more beautiful than the rest of us? There is commonly something of a “turnover” in paga girls, as it is not unusual for one to be purchased “off the floor.” We all yearn for a private master, and the boldest of us for a “love master.” Who knows? When a girl is ordered from the floor to an alcove she may find herself in the arms of one who may later prove to be her master. To be sure, she is to please, and wholly in all ways, any patron who alcoves her. If she should in any way fall short of the customer’s expectations, and he expresses his dissatisfaction to the proprietor of the tavern, she may be close-chained and beaten, and may be sold to the laundries or fields, or even given to a free woman. Paga girls often vie, as far as they can, to put themselves before handsome masters. Sometimes this results in unpleasant interactions off the floor. It is not uncommon for a girl to begin in the kitchen, and, as time goes by, and girls are sold, to reach the floor. One “moves up,” so to speak. I looked to the side, apprehensively, at one of the large flat brushes. I had dallied at the double basin one day and the kitchen master, holding me by the hair, had flung me down on the wet floor and used it on me. It had been quite unpleasant, and instructive, but not really painful, nor did it harm me in any way. Gorean masters are careful not to mark or scar their girls. Such blemishes commonly lower a girl’s value. Even binding fiber tends to be flat and soft, as well as strong. Similarly, the soft, wide blades of the five-stranded Gorean slave whip commonly used on kajirae, so different from the “snake” used on men, are designed to prevent any sign of permanent damage. On the other hand, less happily, they are also designed to punish, and with terrible effectiveness. Only she who has never felt the attentions of such a device could think little of it, or surmise that her responses to its lavish caress would differ in any way from those of others. She who scorns the whip has never felt it. Let the slave strive to be pleasing. How better to see to it, that it remains on its peg? The sting of the switch is more likely to be felt. I had felt it often enough, particularly in my first days in the kitchen. Once I had not knelt quickly enough, twice I had forgotten to request permission to speak, and once, the worst time, I had dropped one of the metal plates and it had fallen, ringing and clattering, to the floor. I think that I had now been some fourteen or fifteen days in the kitchen. In this time, I had seen three new girls brought in from one market or another, and had seen two girls taken away, either to the floor or, perhaps, to be sold. I had also seen two girls brought to the kitchen from the floor, who had, I suppose, in one way or another, displeased one or more of the taverner’s men. The kitchen, thus, can serve as a venue of reprimand as well as a simple kitchen. The taverner, he who owned the tavern, was a man named “Ho-Tosk,” who had come from Ar to Port Kar years ago, supposedly under some cloud of obloquy. He was my master, and, I supposed, that of the others, as well. Interestingly the slave, Adraste, the arrogant, pretentious piece of collar meat whom I remembered from Brundisium, was also in the tavern, though amongst the floor girls. I had been told that she, on the side, was being trained as a tavern dancer. That amused me, that the proud Adraste, with all her airs, would be put on the dancing floor. I hoped that they would dance her naked, with a whip-bearing keeper at the edge of the floor, to assure that she would please the patrons, to see that she would well “dance her collar,” so to speak. I did not know how Adraste had come to Port Kar. I presumed she had come north, as I had, on a ship, but I was sure she had not been on our ship. She was here when Euphrosyne, I, and the other two girls, coffled and back-braceleted, had been brought to the Golden Chain. I gathered that we had all been purchased in Brundisium by an agent for the Golden Chain. She must have come on a faster vessel. Whereas most of the kitchen work, and the scullery work, in particular, was done by slaves, the cooking was done by free men.
“Beware,” whispered the girl to my right, she at another of the four double basins, “I hear steps!”
I tensed, waiting.
A moment later a voice called out, sharply, from outside the portal to the kitchen, “Kajirae, about, nadu!”
It was the voice of the kitchen master.
We all turned to face the voice, and knelt, back on our heels, our backs straight, our shoulders back, our heads lifted, the palms of our hands down, flat, on our thighs, our knees well spread.
The kitchen master then entered the kitchen.
“You are naked, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“That is appropriate for kitchen slaves, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“And you are kitchen slaves, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“Then it is appropriate for you, is it not?’ he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“And you are nicely shackled, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“And that is appropriate for kitchen slaves, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“Good,” he said, and he then turned away from us, to the cooks, inquiring about a number of dishes in preparation.
When he turned back to us, he said, “you may rise and return to your work.”
We rose to our feet.
“Not you, Zia,” he said.
Frightened, I turned back to face him, kneeling again, in nadu. I trembled. Tears came to my eyes. What had I done? Had one of the others lied about me? Was something amiss, for which I might be punished?
He came and stood near to me, before me.
“Look up,” he said.
I looked up, frightened, into his eyes.
“Ho-Tosk wishes to see you,” he said.
“May I speak?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“May I ask for what reason my master wishes to see me?”
“Lie on your belly,” he said, crouching down, “bend your knees, put your feet up, behind you.”
I complied, with a rustle of chain, and I felt, he beside me, through the clasping metal, a key inserted in the shackle locks. Then the shackles were removed. He rose to his feet and placed the shackles on the sill behind the double basin. In the kitchen the shackle locks all respond to a single key.
“May I ask for what reason my master wishes to see me?” I asked, again.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
I did not know what to do. A girl learns not to break position without permission.
“Rise up,” he said, “and report to Ho-Tosk.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
Chapter Ten
I Serve Paga
“Paga, Master?” I asked, kneeling beside the low, square table, at which two men had just been joined by another.
“Yes,” said the new guest, not regarding me.
One grows accustomed to being looked at and not seen. There is a time for slaves and a time not for slaves.
At other times we find ourselves looked upon with avidity, as might be savory dishes by a hungry man.
And Gorean males, I had discovered, were often hungry, so to speak. But I suspect they were seldom less hungry than their putative prey. Indeed, the mass of sexual tissue distributed so abundantly throughout the female body, once ignited, often flames in need. How often one hopefully ties the bondage knot in one’s hair! How often one kneels, frustrated and whimpering, at a male’s feet, fearing to speak, hoping to be caressed! Once one’s slave fires are kindled what can one be from then on but a begging slave? And do the beasts not know this, when they, to their amusement, put such fires unilaterally, whether we will it or not, in our vulnerable, helpless, owned bellies? I did not think that female passion, as I was coming to know it, was less than, or inferior to, male passion. Rather I suspected that it, in its unique and different way, in its biological complexity and breadth, in its preciousness of emotion, in its time and ramifications, far exceeded the soon-satisfied passion of men. Are not we, once our slave fires are lit, the most helpless and needful of the sexes? And yet the men are men. They decide, and we wait. They are the masters; we are the slaves.
Sometimes our bodies scream for satisfaction and we are ignored. Sometimes we go to our bellies and beg, and the men have no time for us.
Our needs make us theirs.
We are slaves.
I rose to my feet, and made my way to the paga vat, where a taverner’s man would fill a goblet that I might then bear to the table. According to the ringing of the bars, it was somewhere after the eighteenth Ahn. I passed a fellow who lowered his head, that it not strike against a hanging tharlarion-oil lamp. Many taverns, particularly in the north, are low-ceilinged, I suppose to conserve heat in the winter. On the other hand, this architectural feature, accompanied by darkness, shadows, warm colors, and dim lighting, also tends to produce a sense of comfort, intimacy, and security. I saw Euphrosyne pass, carrying a tray to another table. She smiled. Doubtless she hoped to please one of the men. I had no doubt he would be a handsome fellow. As I waited in line, for the filling of the goblet, I looked about. The Golden Chain was a very large tavern, but it did not really seem so, as it contained many sections away from the large central area, to the side of which was the dancing floor, each of which constituted a relatively enclosed, private area, an enclave, so to speak, with its own intimacy and ambiance. The alcoves, ubiquitous in such a tavern, were ranged at the back of the wider, general area. These were low-ceilinged, low-portaled, and leather-curtained. They can be buckled shut from the inside. Each was furnished with a number of custodial devices, bracelets, chains, shackles, and such, as well as various instruments of pleasure and discipline. The girls were tunicked. The Golden Chain was not one of those shabbier taverns where the paga slaves serve naked, and sometimes chained. To be sure, the paga tunic, like most other Gorean slave tunics, and as would be expected in a garment designed to display a woman as a slave, leaves little to speculation. She is, after all, a slave. I watched the girls moving about, serving. I noticed a man or two coming and going. A taverner’s man was collecting coins at a table, and putting them in the small, black coin box, slung from his belt, at his left hip. A goblet of paga is commonly a tarsk-bit, and the girl, if wished, comes with the price of the drink. Not all men, of course, come to a paga tavern for paga and the girls. Suppers may also be ordered, the prices of which vary with the nature and quantity of the provender. Too, some come and, for the price of a drink, linger, to talk with friends or hear the news; some come and play kaissa, or stones, cards, or dice. In some of the relatively removed, more private sections there are tables in whose surface, inlaid. are found the hundred squares of the kaissa board. In the tavern merchants may conduct business over a drink; mariners may regale rapt auditors with accounts of fabulous voyages; slavers may confer on sales and projected raids; at another table, a scribe may sit, ready to write or read letters. The Golden Chain, like most such establishments, opened at noon, the tenth Ahn, and remained open until the early morning. Commonly between the tenth and the twelfth Ahn restraint, quiet, leisure, and socialization characterized the Golden Chain. After the twelfth Ahn, or so, the tavern starts, gradually, to become quite different. It is roughly at that time that many markets and shops close, that work crews are dismissed, that passes are issued, that shifts change, and that many men, their day’s work finished, look forward to refreshment and diversion. By the eighteenth Ahn, the Golden Chain is crowded. It is easily accessed by means of several streets and canals. It is on Palace Street, on which street the Palace of the Council of Captains is located, from which, I suppose, the name is derived. The Palace of the Council of Captains is the usual meeting place of the Council of Captains, which body is sovereign in Port Kar. I listened to the music, supplied by a czehar player, which, now, was soft, slow, and sensuous. No dancer was now performing. Later the czehar player would be joined by his fellows, two with kalikas, two with flutes, and one on the tabor. The czehar player was the leader of the group. That seems to be common. Most paga taverns will have their dancing floor, most commonly oval or square, the Golden Chain’s was square, but not all can afford musicians, at least on a regular basis. A paga girl may be ordered, of course, to pose, roll, or writhe on the floor. It can cost a proprietor a goodly bit of coin to buy a fine dancer. They are not easily afforded. Many men will frequent a tavern for its dancer, or dancers. To alcove a dancer commonly costs more than to alcove a common paga girl. I am speaking, of course, of a trained, or fine, dancer. Any paga girl can be thrust on the floor. If the crowd is pleased, tarsk-bits may be cast to rattle on the floor, usually to be retrieved by a taverner’s man. If the crowd is not pleased, the girl may be whipped. The tarsk-bits are sometimes retrieved by the dancer herself. If she is silked, she deposits the coins in a loop, basketlike, of her silk. If she is not silked, she utilizes a shallow copper pan at the side of the floor. In both cases, she will deliver the coins to a taverner’s man, usually waiting on the other side of the beaded curtain. Some taverns do not have a dancing floor, but an area of sand, again, commonly, oval or square. Occasionally a taverner’s man will rake the sand, by means of which action the sand is smoothed and stray tarsk-bits may be detected and collected. I saw seven men enter. From their smocks and caps, I took them to be employees of the great arsenal, with its inner harbor, its docks, warehouses, and shipyard. Free women are not allowed in a paga tavern, which, I suppose, is just as well. Sometimes a free woman, perhaps curious, or adventurously bold, or resentful, rankling under the prohibition of such premises to her sex, will disguise herself as a slave girl, even daring to affect the degrading habiliments of the kajira, and enter. These, commonly, are soon detected, given their tone, bearing, carriage, or mien. It is difficult for the Gorean free woman, with her pride, assumptions, background, behaviors, and attitudes, to pass herself off as a slave. There are too many differences, too many difficulties. The free woman is not yet a slave; she has not yet been broken to the collar. The discovered imposters are politely back-bound and escorted from the premises. Then, their hands bound behind them, they must make their way home. How then can they return to their cached garments and dress themselves? Being so treated, of course, openly and publicly, is scandalous to the free woman, and may be ruinous to her reputation. Certainly her peers, afterwards, are likely to shun her, and look upon her as little more than the female slave she endeavored to counterfeit. If the free woman wishes to make a scene, she may be back-bound and ejected naked, with her tunic tied about her left, bound wrist. Sometimes she may be remanded to guardsmen and held for a public trial, on charges of conduct unbecoming to, and offensive to, free women. In such cases, at the mercy of a presiding female judge, she stands naked in the dock, waiting to learn her fate. Commonly her sentence is the collar. Why should some free women behave so? I suppose there might be many reasons. On the other hand, a common surmise is that they are “courting the collar.” Why else should free women risk lonely, ill-guarded districts after dark? Why else should they undertake distant journeys without a suitable escort? Why else should they, when alone, take lodgings in small inns on dangerous roads? Why else should they embark on perilous voyages? In the high cities of Gor, the “Tower cities,” why should they frequent high bridges, alone, at night? Do they wish, suddenly, to note the shadow of the silent, soaring tarn on the moonlit bridge, feel the quickly closing loop of the tarnsman’s capture rope? In some cities, it is said that, in some taverns, there is a particular alcove into which, detected and gagged, a free woman is thrust, which alcove, by a concealed panel, and corridor, communicates with a secluded street or alley. The free woman then, bound and gagged in a slave sack, is removed from the tavern, and transported out of the city, to some distant venue where she will be suitably marked, collared, and sold.
The long boat was swarming with men, in the craft and clinging to it. I saw more than one fellow in the boat slash with a knife at those trying to climb into it.
“There will be blood in the water,” I thought.
The long boat was low in the water, the waves lapping at its gunwales. Men began to fight in the boat and cast one another from the boat.
“Sharks,” I heard cry, a wailing sound, and a man disappeared, dragged under the water.
The corsair then settled under the waves.
I saw the long boat turn, tip, and capsize, twenty or more men then clinging to the inverted hull, another twenty or so about it.
I heard another scream, and another man disappeared beneath the water.
Men in the water, some cursing, struggled to right the boat.
“The Dorna does not linger, to pick up survivors,” said a man.
“No,” said another. “The lesson taught must be terrible and unmistakable.”
“Shall we pick up survivors, Captain?” asked a mariner, an oarsman.
“I do not think there will be any,” laughed a fellow.
I heard more screams from the water.
“There are too many,” said the captain. “It would be dangerous to do so.”
I saw the ship, that called the Dorna, depart, its mast now raised and its lateen-rigged sail billowing.
At the summit of the mast, on its line, I saw a broad flag unfurl itself. On it, shaking and fluttering, snapping in the wind, was figured the head of a massive, fearsome, horned beast.
An officer put down a glass of the Builders. “The sign of the bosk,” he said.
I heard Euphrosyne cry out in fear.
The long boat had now been righted, and some twelve or so men, perhaps as many as fourteen or fifteen, had climbed aboard. Of these, some with cupped hands or caps were bailing water while others, in water to their knees, stood at the gunwales and, with knives and clubs, were preventing others from boarding. Here and there a dorsal fin cleft the waves. Two men, with an oar, were striking, or thrusting at, fellows in the water. I heard another cry, and saw another man pulled under the water.
The keeper was standing near me.
“Surely we could save some, Master,” I said.
“Which ones?” asked he.
“Any,” I said, “surely any.”
“Those men are corsairs,” he said, “killers.”
“Still,” I said.
“Do not fear,” he said. “There will be survivors.”
“I heard speak,” I said, “of a lesson, terrible and unmistakable.”
“That is why there will be survivors,” he said. “There is no point in a lesson’s being given, if none survive to report the lesson.”
I was silent.
I looked out at the horror some yards away, at the rocking, awash, beleaguered long boat, the struggles, the knives and clubs, the bloodied waters, the screaming men, the stirrings about of inquiring sharks.
“And who will be the survivors?” I asked.
“Presumably,” he said, “the strongest and most ruthless amongst them, those most willing, expediently and without compunction, to kill their fellows.”
“I see,” I said.
“You are standing,” he observed.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, and quickly knelt by Euphrosyne, who, now kneeling, her arms about herself, was shaking with distress, and the two others, also now kneeling. The scarlet cloths we had worn were drawn from us.
“Now Cos and Tyros will have to pay for their jade,” said a man.
“What is wrong, Euphrosyne?” I asked.
“Now we are lost,” said Euphrosyne.
“We are saved,” I said.
“Ignorant barbarian,” she wept.
“Oars out,” called the Captain. “Slow stroke. Bring her about!”
Oars slid through the thole ports and entered the water.
Shortly thereafter the drum of the hortator sounded.
We felt the ship slowly come about.
The thunder of the hortator’s drum again sounded.
“Raise the yard, free the sail!” called the captain.
The long, slanting yard turned on the mast, and the open, dropped sail, with a snapping of canvas, responded, swelling and tautening, curving, and was filled to the “brim,” as the mariners sometimes put it, with the “wine of the wind.”
The cries of drowning and dying men behind us became more faint.
The prow, with its painted eyes on either side, was pointed northeast. Within an Ahn or two I supposed we should have the shore again in sight, a situation wont to be favored by Gorean mariners, and then we would return to our original course.
“Into the hold, lovely kajirae,” said the keeper. “You have had enough of deck privileges. You must not be spoiled. It is a foolish master who spoils a kajira. They are best when the bonds are tight and the switch is at hand.”
Euphrosyne was freed of her chain and then she and the rest of us climbed down the ladder into the hold. The keeper followed us and our left ankles were soon shackled to the common ring. The keeper then ascended the ladder and the hatch was closed and battened down. We could look upward, through its grating. The shadow of the grating was on our bodies.
“Why are you crying, Euphrosyne?” I asked.
“You do not know whither we are bound,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“We are kajirae, animals,” said another girl. “We are kept in ignorance. We are told nothing.”
“Curiosity is not becoming to us,” said the other girl.
Euphrosyne looked at me, tears in her eyes, the shadows of the high overhead grating on her body. “What do you think is our destination?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“I heard the men speak earlier,” she sobbed. “That is when I leapt from the ship, in a desperate and forlorn hope of attaining the shore.”
“What is our destination?” asked one of the two other girls.
“—Port Kar,” she whispered.
The two other girls cried out in dismay.
Euphrosyne broke out again in sobs.
I was puzzled. I did not understand their trepidation, their fear.
But I suddenly felt very naked on my chain.
Chapter Nine
Port Kar
I was tired and miserable.
I was sweating and hot.
My body ached.
I bent over the double basin, one of several in the large, low-ceilinged kitchen of the Golden Chain, one of the five or so prominent taverns in the city. I had no idea how many smaller such establishments might be in the city. There were presumably few who did not know the Golden Chain. It may be the largest tavern in Port Kar, or, surely, at least, one of the largest. There were ten of us in the kitchen. We were naked, and our ankles were shackled a few inches apart, presumably less for security than to help us keep in mind that we were slaves, as though, on this world, that might somehow slip our mind. My hands were immersed in the suds of the oven-heated water in the right-hand basin, its water, frequently replenished, heated on the long stove at the back of the kitchen. I held the metal plate in my left hand, under the water, wiping it with the cloth in my right hand. I lifted it, dripping, and rinsed it in the left-hand basin and then inserted it in the vertical rack, that it should drain dry. To my right was a basket of goblets. I could smell the residue of paga. When washed and rinsed, they would be inverted and placed on the horizontal rack. Some brushes were large and flat, for trays and flatware; others were narrower and rounded, for vessels. Scrapers were at hand; these were of wood and were widely bladed. The horrors that I had heard of Port Kar, either in Brundisium or on the voyage northward, largely from Euphrosyne, had turned out, happily, to my relief, and doubtless Euphrosyne’s, to have been muchly exaggerated. We were, of course, Gorean slaves, and were held under the perfection of Gorean discipline. But that would be much the same in any Gorean city. Gor is Gor, and a slave is a slave. The Gorean master is strict, and often demanding and severe, but is seldom cruel. We know we will be whipped if we are not pleasing, but we strive to be pleasing, and, accordingly, are seldom, if ever, whipped. Sometimes we beg to be whipped, if only to remind us that we are slaves. To us our bondage is precious, and we beg to be reassured of its reality. The Gorean master keeps us well on our knees, and we love him for it. To be sure, it was not pleasant in the kitchen. Euphrosyne, almost as soon as we arrived, coffled, at the Golden Chain, was thrown a paga tunic and put on the floor. Was she that much more beautiful than the rest of us? There is commonly something of a “turnover” in paga girls, as it is not unusual for one to be purchased “off the floor.” We all yearn for a private master, and the boldest of us for a “love master.” Who knows? When a girl is ordered from the floor to an alcove she may find herself in the arms of one who may later prove to be her master. To be sure, she is to please, and wholly in all ways, any patron who alcoves her. If she should in any way fall short of the customer’s expectations, and he expresses his dissatisfaction to the proprietor of the tavern, she may be close-chained and beaten, and may be sold to the laundries or fields, or even given to a free woman. Paga girls often vie, as far as they can, to put themselves before handsome masters. Sometimes this results in unpleasant interactions off the floor. It is not uncommon for a girl to begin in the kitchen, and, as time goes by, and girls are sold, to reach the floor. One “moves up,” so to speak. I looked to the side, apprehensively, at one of the large flat brushes. I had dallied at the double basin one day and the kitchen master, holding me by the hair, had flung me down on the wet floor and used it on me. It had been quite unpleasant, and instructive, but not really painful, nor did it harm me in any way. Gorean masters are careful not to mark or scar their girls. Such blemishes commonly lower a girl’s value. Even binding fiber tends to be flat and soft, as well as strong. Similarly, the soft, wide blades of the five-stranded Gorean slave whip commonly used on kajirae, so different from the “snake” used on men, are designed to prevent any sign of permanent damage. On the other hand, less happily, they are also designed to punish, and with terrible effectiveness. Only she who has never felt the attentions of such a device could think little of it, or surmise that her responses to its lavish caress would differ in any way from those of others. She who scorns the whip has never felt it. Let the slave strive to be pleasing. How better to see to it, that it remains on its peg? The sting of the switch is more likely to be felt. I had felt it often enough, particularly in my first days in the kitchen. Once I had not knelt quickly enough, twice I had forgotten to request permission to speak, and once, the worst time, I had dropped one of the metal plates and it had fallen, ringing and clattering, to the floor. I think that I had now been some fourteen or fifteen days in the kitchen. In this time, I had seen three new girls brought in from one market or another, and had seen two girls taken away, either to the floor or, perhaps, to be sold. I had also seen two girls brought to the kitchen from the floor, who had, I suppose, in one way or another, displeased one or more of the taverner’s men. The kitchen, thus, can serve as a venue of reprimand as well as a simple kitchen. The taverner, he who owned the tavern, was a man named “Ho-Tosk,” who had come from Ar to Port Kar years ago, supposedly under some cloud of obloquy. He was my master, and, I supposed, that of the others, as well. Interestingly the slave, Adraste, the arrogant, pretentious piece of collar meat whom I remembered from Brundisium, was also in the tavern, though amongst the floor girls. I had been told that she, on the side, was being trained as a tavern dancer. That amused me, that the proud Adraste, with all her airs, would be put on the dancing floor. I hoped that they would dance her naked, with a whip-bearing keeper at the edge of the floor, to assure that she would please the patrons, to see that she would well “dance her collar,” so to speak. I did not know how Adraste had come to Port Kar. I presumed she had come north, as I had, on a ship, but I was sure she had not been on our ship. She was here when Euphrosyne, I, and the other two girls, coffled and back-braceleted, had been brought to the Golden Chain. I gathered that we had all been purchased in Brundisium by an agent for the Golden Chain. She must have come on a faster vessel. Whereas most of the kitchen work, and the scullery work, in particular, was done by slaves, the cooking was done by free men.
“Beware,” whispered the girl to my right, she at another of the four double basins, “I hear steps!”
I tensed, waiting.
A moment later a voice called out, sharply, from outside the portal to the kitchen, “Kajirae, about, nadu!”
It was the voice of the kitchen master.
We all turned to face the voice, and knelt, back on our heels, our backs straight, our shoulders back, our heads lifted, the palms of our hands down, flat, on our thighs, our knees well spread.
The kitchen master then entered the kitchen.
“You are naked, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“That is appropriate for kitchen slaves, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“And you are kitchen slaves, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“Then it is appropriate for you, is it not?’ he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“And you are nicely shackled, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“And that is appropriate for kitchen slaves, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“Good,” he said, and he then turned away from us, to the cooks, inquiring about a number of dishes in preparation.
When he turned back to us, he said, “you may rise and return to your work.”
We rose to our feet.
“Not you, Zia,” he said.
Frightened, I turned back to face him, kneeling again, in nadu. I trembled. Tears came to my eyes. What had I done? Had one of the others lied about me? Was something amiss, for which I might be punished?
He came and stood near to me, before me.
“Look up,” he said.
I looked up, frightened, into his eyes.
“Ho-Tosk wishes to see you,” he said.
“May I speak?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“May I ask for what reason my master wishes to see me?”
“Lie on your belly,” he said, crouching down, “bend your knees, put your feet up, behind you.”
I complied, with a rustle of chain, and I felt, he beside me, through the clasping metal, a key inserted in the shackle locks. Then the shackles were removed. He rose to his feet and placed the shackles on the sill behind the double basin. In the kitchen the shackle locks all respond to a single key.
“May I ask for what reason my master wishes to see me?” I asked, again.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
I did not know what to do. A girl learns not to break position without permission.
“Rise up,” he said, “and report to Ho-Tosk.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
Chapter Ten
I Serve Paga
“Paga, Master?” I asked, kneeling beside the low, square table, at which two men had just been joined by another.
“Yes,” said the new guest, not regarding me.
One grows accustomed to being looked at and not seen. There is a time for slaves and a time not for slaves.
At other times we find ourselves looked upon with avidity, as might be savory dishes by a hungry man.
And Gorean males, I had discovered, were often hungry, so to speak. But I suspect they were seldom less hungry than their putative prey. Indeed, the mass of sexual tissue distributed so abundantly throughout the female body, once ignited, often flames in need. How often one hopefully ties the bondage knot in one’s hair! How often one kneels, frustrated and whimpering, at a male’s feet, fearing to speak, hoping to be caressed! Once one’s slave fires are kindled what can one be from then on but a begging slave? And do the beasts not know this, when they, to their amusement, put such fires unilaterally, whether we will it or not, in our vulnerable, helpless, owned bellies? I did not think that female passion, as I was coming to know it, was less than, or inferior to, male passion. Rather I suspected that it, in its unique and different way, in its biological complexity and breadth, in its preciousness of emotion, in its time and ramifications, far exceeded the soon-satisfied passion of men. Are not we, once our slave fires are lit, the most helpless and needful of the sexes? And yet the men are men. They decide, and we wait. They are the masters; we are the slaves.
Sometimes our bodies scream for satisfaction and we are ignored. Sometimes we go to our bellies and beg, and the men have no time for us.
Our needs make us theirs.
We are slaves.
I rose to my feet, and made my way to the paga vat, where a taverner’s man would fill a goblet that I might then bear to the table. According to the ringing of the bars, it was somewhere after the eighteenth Ahn. I passed a fellow who lowered his head, that it not strike against a hanging tharlarion-oil lamp. Many taverns, particularly in the north, are low-ceilinged, I suppose to conserve heat in the winter. On the other hand, this architectural feature, accompanied by darkness, shadows, warm colors, and dim lighting, also tends to produce a sense of comfort, intimacy, and security. I saw Euphrosyne pass, carrying a tray to another table. She smiled. Doubtless she hoped to please one of the men. I had no doubt he would be a handsome fellow. As I waited in line, for the filling of the goblet, I looked about. The Golden Chain was a very large tavern, but it did not really seem so, as it contained many sections away from the large central area, to the side of which was the dancing floor, each of which constituted a relatively enclosed, private area, an enclave, so to speak, with its own intimacy and ambiance. The alcoves, ubiquitous in such a tavern, were ranged at the back of the wider, general area. These were low-ceilinged, low-portaled, and leather-curtained. They can be buckled shut from the inside. Each was furnished with a number of custodial devices, bracelets, chains, shackles, and such, as well as various instruments of pleasure and discipline. The girls were tunicked. The Golden Chain was not one of those shabbier taverns where the paga slaves serve naked, and sometimes chained. To be sure, the paga tunic, like most other Gorean slave tunics, and as would be expected in a garment designed to display a woman as a slave, leaves little to speculation. She is, after all, a slave. I watched the girls moving about, serving. I noticed a man or two coming and going. A taverner’s man was collecting coins at a table, and putting them in the small, black coin box, slung from his belt, at his left hip. A goblet of paga is commonly a tarsk-bit, and the girl, if wished, comes with the price of the drink. Not all men, of course, come to a paga tavern for paga and the girls. Suppers may also be ordered, the prices of which vary with the nature and quantity of the provender. Too, some come and, for the price of a drink, linger, to talk with friends or hear the news; some come and play kaissa, or stones, cards, or dice. In some of the relatively removed, more private sections there are tables in whose surface, inlaid. are found the hundred squares of the kaissa board. In the tavern merchants may conduct business over a drink; mariners may regale rapt auditors with accounts of fabulous voyages; slavers may confer on sales and projected raids; at another table, a scribe may sit, ready to write or read letters. The Golden Chain, like most such establishments, opened at noon, the tenth Ahn, and remained open until the early morning. Commonly between the tenth and the twelfth Ahn restraint, quiet, leisure, and socialization characterized the Golden Chain. After the twelfth Ahn, or so, the tavern starts, gradually, to become quite different. It is roughly at that time that many markets and shops close, that work crews are dismissed, that passes are issued, that shifts change, and that many men, their day’s work finished, look forward to refreshment and diversion. By the eighteenth Ahn, the Golden Chain is crowded. It is easily accessed by means of several streets and canals. It is on Palace Street, on which street the Palace of the Council of Captains is located, from which, I suppose, the name is derived. The Palace of the Council of Captains is the usual meeting place of the Council of Captains, which body is sovereign in Port Kar. I listened to the music, supplied by a czehar player, which, now, was soft, slow, and sensuous. No dancer was now performing. Later the czehar player would be joined by his fellows, two with kalikas, two with flutes, and one on the tabor. The czehar player was the leader of the group. That seems to be common. Most paga taverns will have their dancing floor, most commonly oval or square, the Golden Chain’s was square, but not all can afford musicians, at least on a regular basis. A paga girl may be ordered, of course, to pose, roll, or writhe on the floor. It can cost a proprietor a goodly bit of coin to buy a fine dancer. They are not easily afforded. Many men will frequent a tavern for its dancer, or dancers. To alcove a dancer commonly costs more than to alcove a common paga girl. I am speaking, of course, of a trained, or fine, dancer. Any paga girl can be thrust on the floor. If the crowd is pleased, tarsk-bits may be cast to rattle on the floor, usually to be retrieved by a taverner’s man. If the crowd is not pleased, the girl may be whipped. The tarsk-bits are sometimes retrieved by the dancer herself. If she is silked, she deposits the coins in a loop, basketlike, of her silk. If she is not silked, she utilizes a shallow copper pan at the side of the floor. In both cases, she will deliver the coins to a taverner’s man, usually waiting on the other side of the beaded curtain. Some taverns do not have a dancing floor, but an area of sand, again, commonly, oval or square. Occasionally a taverner’s man will rake the sand, by means of which action the sand is smoothed and stray tarsk-bits may be detected and collected. I saw seven men enter. From their smocks and caps, I took them to be employees of the great arsenal, with its inner harbor, its docks, warehouses, and shipyard. Free women are not allowed in a paga tavern, which, I suppose, is just as well. Sometimes a free woman, perhaps curious, or adventurously bold, or resentful, rankling under the prohibition of such premises to her sex, will disguise herself as a slave girl, even daring to affect the degrading habiliments of the kajira, and enter. These, commonly, are soon detected, given their tone, bearing, carriage, or mien. It is difficult for the Gorean free woman, with her pride, assumptions, background, behaviors, and attitudes, to pass herself off as a slave. There are too many differences, too many difficulties. The free woman is not yet a slave; she has not yet been broken to the collar. The discovered imposters are politely back-bound and escorted from the premises. Then, their hands bound behind them, they must make their way home. How then can they return to their cached garments and dress themselves? Being so treated, of course, openly and publicly, is scandalous to the free woman, and may be ruinous to her reputation. Certainly her peers, afterwards, are likely to shun her, and look upon her as little more than the female slave she endeavored to counterfeit. If the free woman wishes to make a scene, she may be back-bound and ejected naked, with her tunic tied about her left, bound wrist. Sometimes she may be remanded to guardsmen and held for a public trial, on charges of conduct unbecoming to, and offensive to, free women. In such cases, at the mercy of a presiding female judge, she stands naked in the dock, waiting to learn her fate. Commonly her sentence is the collar. Why should some free women behave so? I suppose there might be many reasons. On the other hand, a common surmise is that they are “courting the collar.” Why else should free women risk lonely, ill-guarded districts after dark? Why else should they undertake distant journeys without a suitable escort? Why else should they, when alone, take lodgings in small inns on dangerous roads? Why else should they embark on perilous voyages? In the high cities of Gor, the “Tower cities,” why should they frequent high bridges, alone, at night? Do they wish, suddenly, to note the shadow of the silent, soaring tarn on the moonlit bridge, feel the quickly closing loop of the tarnsman’s capture rope? In some cities, it is said that, in some taverns, there is a particular alcove into which, detected and gagged, a free woman is thrust, which alcove, by a concealed panel, and corridor, communicates with a secluded street or alley. The free woman then, bound and gagged in a slave sack, is removed from the tavern, and transported out of the city, to some distant venue where she will be suitably marked, collared, and sold.
