Warriors of gor gorean s.., p.20
Warriors of Gor (Gorean Saga), page 20
“But he does not,” said Xenon.
“Few informers would know that,” I said.
Xenon and I were standing near the paused wagon. Seremides was in the wagon, on the bench, reins in hand, and Iris was back in the wagon. Xenon looked over to me. “Do you have friends or enemies in the city?” he asked.
“I suspect,” I said, “a few of each.”
“Ar is large city,” said Seremides. “In it, as in Turia, one will find adherents of many Home Stones.”
“Aetius of Venna, the bounty hunter, he of the scar, encountered near the village of Red Stream, by the camp of the great caravan, will have brought the false Talena to Ar,” said Xenon. “I do not think he will be well disposed towards us.”
“Of what should he complain?” asked Seremides. “We did nothing but tell him the absolute truth.”
“But in such a way that he would believe the opposite,” said Xenon.
“Let him be on his guard,” said Seremides.
“And us, as well,” said Xenon.
“Look,” I said, “there!”
“What is it?” asked Xenon.
“There, passing,” I said, “in betraying garb!”
“It cannot be,” said Seremides.
“What?” asked Xenon.
“There, in black,” I said, “openly, an Assassin.”
“I have heard of them, I have never seen one,” said Xenon.
The fellow then passed us.
“He is not hunting,” I said. “The dagger is not painted on his forehead.”
When the dagger is painted on the forehead, most Goreans will clear the way, standing aside, avoiding the Assassin, letting him be about his business. One often thinks of the Black Caste, the Assassins, as being little more than hired killers; but, in a sense, they are the nearest thing, on Gor, to an international police force. If a crime is committed in one city, say, a murder, and the murderer flees to a different city, the guardsmen of the first city are not going to pursue him, or at least not indefinitely and tenaciously. Their Home Stone is elsewhere. In this way, at least occasionally, the Assassin is a nemesis of the wrongdoer, and an instrument of, if not justice, at least retribution.
“You have never seen an Assassin before?” I asked Xenon.
“No,” he said.
“Assassins are not always easily recognized,” I said. “They are not always in the habiliments of their caste.”
“Interesting,” said Xenon.
“I do not understand it,” said Seremides. “The Caste of Assassins was outlawed in Ar, after the time of the horde of Pa-Kur.”
“Apparently something has changed,” I said.
“He has passed through the gate,” said Seremides. “He was not challenged.”
“Something has changed, indeed,” I said.
“The line is moving, let us move up a bit,” said Seremides.
We moved somewhat closer to the towering portal.
“Drums,” said Xenon.
“Yes,” I said.
“Soldiers, a column?” asked Xenon, who turned about, craning to see.
“I do not think so,” I said. “It appears to be guardsmen, clients, retainers.”
“Make way, make way, to the side, to the side!” called a guardsman.
The pounding of the drums was closer now.
Those in the line, and in the crowds about, began to divide themselves, opening a corridor leading to the gate.
“What is it?” asked Xenon.
“Civilians, and guardsmen, a retinue of some sort,” I said, drawing the tharlarion and wagon to one side.
“Who are they?” asked Xenon.
“I do not recognize the livery,” I said.
“I do not care to be delayed,” stormed Seremides.
“Be patient, gentle benefactor,” said Xenon. “I see the flash of sunlight on spear blades.”
The drums were now both insistent and close.
“Make way!” called a guardsman. “Make way!”
“What is it, who dares approach a gate with drums, who would press his way before others, who would pass?” I asked a fellow in the garb of the Bakers.
“Stand back,” he said. “It is a personage of preeminent importance, the noble Decius Albus, trade advisor to the Ubar.”
Several of those about pushed back even further, to better widen the passage for the oncoming entourage.
First came two ranks of five guards each; behind them came two ranks of five drummers each; behind them came four ranks of five spearmen each, and following that came an open palanquin borne by ten massive servitors. Reclining on the palanquin, in lavish robes of white and gold was a large, heavy-faced, closely shaven, saturnine man who stared ahead, not deigning to recognize the throngs through which he was being carried.
“Ai!” gasped Xenon, startled.
“Hold steady,” I warned him.
“What is that?” gasped Xenon.
The hirsute, bent, monstrous thing, belted and accoutered, as large as three men, was shambling beside the palanquin, the knuckles of its large paws, like knotted fists, almost touching the ground.
I was startled to see such a thing abroad in daylight, in public.
I also noticed, to my amazement, that its appearance seemed to arouse no dismay or panic in the crowd. Apparently it had seen it, or such things, before.
“It is a form of life,” I said, “a Kur.”
“I did not know such things existed,” said Xenon.
“They exist,” I said.
I did not tell him that such things, having ruined their native world, now coveted the fresh, green world of Gor.
I recalled the Assassin earlier seen, bold in his sable habiliments. I looked upon the passing beast. This was not the Ar I knew, not the Ar I remembered.
The beast turned and looked back at me, and curled its lip, revealing fangs.
Does he know me? I wondered. I do not think so. Perhaps it is merely surprised, or displeased, to find that its eyes were met.
Following the palanquin, back-braceleted and chained by the neck, barefoot and in brief livery, were two lines of display slaves, ten in each line. Display slaves are chosen for their grace and beauty. It is not unusual for a rich Gorean’s palanquin to be so followed. It is a display of wealth, for the female slave, as an owned object, is a form of wealth. Following the display slaves, bringing up the rear of the retinue, in a single rank, were five shield-bearing, heavily armed guardsman.
“Look upon the slaves, pretty Iris,” said Seremides, “see how beautiful slaves can be.”
“I may not be so beautiful as they, Master,” said Iris, “but I assure you that I am as much a slave as they, and perhaps even more so.”
I smiled to myself, pitying the women of my former world, so denied their sex. How they starved in a sexual desert. Few, it seemed, could wear their collars and be handled by masters as the slaves they were save in their dreams.
The sound of the drums then became more faint, and the line was once more formed, and began, bit by bit, to move toward the great gate.
“I fear we have much to learn anew of Ar,” I said to Seremides.
“The taverns will be more informative than the public boards,” he said.
The Baker, to whom I had spoken earlier, was quite close to us. “We near the gate,” he said. “You should have your tarsk-bits ready. The gatesmen do not care for dalliance.”
“What tarsk-bits?” I asked.
“You are a stranger,” he said.
“It is long since we have been in Ar,” I said.
“They will want ten tarsk-bits,” said the Baker.
“Absurd,” said Seremides.
“Two tarsk-bits for each free person,” said the Baker, “two for the wagon, and one each for the two beasts, the tharlarion and the slave.”
“Passage to and from the city is free,” said Seremides.
“Yes,” said the Baker, “officially, but, from some lesser folk, the gatesmen demand a gratuity.”
“We will not give it,” said Seremides.
“Then you will not enter,” said the Baker.
“We will pay it,” I said.
“You will have no choice,” said the Baker.
“That is corruption, bribery, graft,” said Seremides.
“Clearly,” I said.
“I do not know,” said the Baker. “I am not a Scribe of the Law.”
“Next,” ordered a gatesman.
I drew the tharlarion forward by its halter.
“Do you carry foreign Home Stones within the gates of Ar?” asked the gatesman.
“No,” I said.
“Do you intend harm to the Home Stone of Ar?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Ten tarsk-bits,” he said.
I counted out ten tarsk-bits, slowly.
“Hurry, be quick,” said the gatesman. “Others wait.”
“How much do you pay, to become a gatesman?” I asked.
“Do you wish to pay twenty?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Ten is more than enough.”
The Baker, following us, paid two tarsk-bits.
Inside the gate, and to the side, I spoke to him. “Surely,” I said, “the gatesmen do not keep all the money they collect.”
It seemed that, if so, they would be fabulously wealthy.
“Certainly not,” said the Baker. “It is others who grow rich.”
“Assassins,” I asked, “administrators, officers, beasts, trade advisors?”
“I do not know,” he said.
“And it is not wise to look into the matter?” I said.
“I wish you well,” he said, and hurried away.
“I wish you well,” I whispered, after him.
It was late afternoon.
“May I speak, Master?” called Iris from the back of the wagon.
“Yes,” I said.
“I am hungry,” she said.
“We will eat later,” I said. “And then, after that, you may feed.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Cuff her,” said Xenon.
“Lash her with your belt,” said Seremides. “She should know enough not to speak up in such a manner.”
Iris turned white.
“On her former world, she was a free woman,” I said. “It is only on Gor that she finds a brand on her thigh and her neck clasped in a locked collar.”
“Let her understand her brand,” said Seremides. “Let her learn the meaning of the collar on her neck.”
“Forgive me, Masters!” wept Iris.
“She is highly intelligent,” I said. “She learns quickly.”
“Forgive me, Masters,” she wept. “I am only a slave!”
“Where is Xenon?” I asked Seremides.
“I do not know,” said Seremides.
I was not pleased to hear this for, given my misgivings and suspicions concerning Xenon, I much preferred to keep track of his whereabouts.
“He approaches,” said Seremides.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“I have made inquiries,” he said. “I have asked about, pertaining to stables and other matters.”
“Try the Metellan district,” I said.
I was thinking of boarding in the Metellan district. In that district, it is easy to remain inconspicuous.
“I am uneasy,” he said.
“How so?” I asked.
“Do you not think it strange,” he asked, “that having arrived in the vicinity of Ar, and having approached, and passed through, the great gate, we have heard nothing of Talena?”
“I had not thought of it,” I said.
“Nor I,” said Seremides.
“I have made inquiries,” he said. “It is strange.”
“Speak,” said Seremides.
“All to whom I spoke,” he said, “believe Talena to be still at large.”
“No mention of Cos, or such?” said Seremides.
“No,” said Xenon.
“I think she is in the city,” I said. “I am sure of it.”
“But where? Why have we heard nothing of it?” asked Xenon.
“I do not know,” I said.
“I am hungry,” said Xenon.
“We will stable the tharlarion and store the wagon,” I said. “We will then have Iris prepare something.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
We had now been in Ar for three days.
“Kneel here, to the side,” I told Iris. “And do not interfere with the serving.”
The Silver Tarsk was in the Metellan district, on the Via Cora, sometimes referred to as Barrier Street, from an instance in the Occupation when some citizens of Ar had barricaded it against Cosian soldiery whilst most other districts, following decrees from the Central Cylinder, were welcoming Occupational forces with wreaths and flowers. This resistance, small and ill fated, had been brief and quickly crushed. Thanks to the indulgence of the Ubara, Talena, these indiscreet patriots were proclaimed to be misguided zealots more in need of pity and instruction than corporal chastisement, such as impalement. Thus Talena, in a notable act of clemency, to the relief and delight of most of Ar’s more accommodating citizens, remanded them to the care of selected physicians and scribes, in various facilities, to be cured of improper, unhealthy thoughts. Thus, they became not martyrs but proofs of the kindness and rightfulness of the Occupation. Thus, what might have proved to be an embarrassing, bloody contretemps was turned into a political coup. The prisoners, whose education had apparently not yet been completed, were released from prison at the outset of the brief, savage restoration of Marlenus, in which restoration they then played a fierce, vengeful role. The female prisoners had not been long in prison. They had been branded, collared, and sold out of the city. They would remain slaves. In the Gorean view, if a woman has once been a slave, she is always a slave. Once collared, they are no longer fit for freedom. The collar spoils them for freedom. Once a woman has knelt before a man, what more can she be then, but a slave? What free woman would have anything to do with a woman who was once a slave? They do not consort with slaves. They despise and command them. And the slave, interestingly, having been a slave, and having learned her womanhood, rejoices in service and submission. Many slaves would be terribly uneasy without their collars. They want to be in them, and know they belong in them. Their collars are precious to them. Their collars mean more to them than freedom and gold. They are slaves, and want to be slaves. And do not many women, even free women, long for their collars?
We had now been, as noted, in Ar for three days. Yesterday we had considerably, comparatively, replenished our meager resources by selling the tharlarion and wagon. We had received five silver tarsks. “Observe,” I had said to Iris, displaying the coins in my hand, “five silver tarsks. Most female slaves will sell for less than two silver tarsks, and many go for copper, not even a silver tarsk.” As Iris was a barbarian, I thought it well to call this to her attention. As a free woman she had been priceless, but now, as a slave, she was worth what men deemed her worth. It is instructive to barbarian slave girls, girls brought from Earth to the collar, and even to recently enslaved Gorean free women, to understand such things. They are commodities and are now valued as such. It is a sobering experience for many of them to learn that in an open market they may sell for less than a domestic tarsk. This can be a chastening experience for many of them, particularly for those who might, from the height of their freedom, have entertained a somewhat inflated view of their value. “That is undoubtedly true, Master,” had said Iris, “comparative prices and such, but, still, I suspect most men would prefer a girl, a needful, collared slave, at their feet to a tharlarion.”
“In the sul market,” I said, “I saw some men of Tharna.”
“The same as in Jad?” asked Seremides.
“I do not think so,” I said.
“It has been years,” said Seremides. “Their cause is hopeless. They will never find the lost child of Tharna.”
We heard the bar for the Eighteenth Ahn.
Were men watching us?
But I did not think so.
“I fear for you, noble benefactor,” said Xenon to Seremides. “You are wanted in Ar. I fear you may be recognized, even from the great gate.”
“That is unlikely,” I said. “We have been in Ar unassaulted, and, I suspect, unnoticed, for three days.”
“Perhaps they are waiting to strike,” said Xenon.
“Why?” asked Seremides.
“For you to first lead them to Talena,” said Xenon.
“I do not know where she is,” said Seremides.
“Others do not know that,” said Xenon.
“You do not know that,” I said to Xenon.
“I do not understand,” said Xenon.
“It is nothing,” I said.
“The tavern is crowded,” said Xenon.
“It is the Eighteenth Ahn,” said Seremides.
“I would that news was in the air,” said Xenon, “as well as the fumes of paga.”
“It is,” I said. “We must essay the inquiry.”
“Do so,” said Seremides. “This is an Ahn when men grow loquacious, having drunk enough to regale one another, but not enough to lapse into somnolence.”
“Be discreet,” said Xenon. “We are strangers here. It is dangerous.”
“The hunter who would snare game,” I said, “is well advised to leave the house.”
“Unless the sleen is abroad or the larl prowls,” said Xenon.
“Paga, Masters?” asked the auburn-haired paga slave who had approached the table, and knelt. Auburn hair, other things being equal, is likely to raise a girl’s price.
“Yes,” I said.
“Master is handsome and strong,” she said. “Shall I wind a lace for my wrists about the stem of his paga goblet?”
