Quarry of gor, p.26
Quarry of Gor, page 26
“Do not jump,” cried a voice. “Wait! Do not enter the water! Do not enter the water!”
A small canal boat was close.
I heard the hasty striking of Bruno of Torcadino’s crutch on the bridge, nearing me. I heard the running feet of men from the other side, approaching.
“Now, jump now, into my arms,” cried Addison Steele.
I sprang over the rail and was caught by Addison Steele.
Chapter Twenty-Two
What Occurred in an Apartment,
Somewhere in Port Kar
“She is reviving,” said a woman’s voice.
I whimpered, kicked in the left thigh by a woman’s street slipper.
“Awaken,” she said.
Dimly, through the walls, I heard the ringing of the bar for the Fourteenth Ahn. I was in some sort of apartment. There were three curule chairs in the apartment. In one, at ease, was Addison Steele. A small table was to one side, on which reposed a fire tray, a packet or two, and a decanter filled with a transparent liquid, presumably water. There was also a large, heavy, ornate screen at the side of the room. I sensed something might be behind the screen.
“On your knees, slave,” said the woman’s voice.
I was bound, hand and foot. I struggled to gain my knees. Then I was kneeling before her.
She was clad in the Robes of Concealment, and veiled.
“This is the one?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Addison Steele.
“You are sure?” she said.
“Yes,” said Addison Steele.
“Lower your head, slave,” she said.
I did so.
I sensed then the woman had seated herself.
“You may lift your head, slave,” she said.
I lifted my head, and regarded her, she now resting back, sitting.
“You do not know me, do you?” asked the woman.
“Mistress is veiled,” I said.
She relaxed the veil. She was quite beautiful. I wondered that there was not a collar on her neck.
“No, Mistress,” I said. “I do not know you.”
“But you have heard of me,” she said. “I am Dorna, Dorna, of Tharna.”
“No, Mistress,” I said.
“She is a barbarian,” said Addison Steele.
“How is it that Mistress is free?” I asked. I thought I saw her eyes cloud, angrily, for a moment. “I thought that all women of Tharna, save for the Tatrix, Lara, were slaves.”
“I was first of the Silver Masks in Tharna,” she said, “in the days of the Gynecocracy, second only to the Golden Mask, that of Lara. In time, I would have supplanted her, and worn the Golden Mask myself.”
“The Revolt occurred,” said Addison Steele.
“It seems Mistress was fortunate to escape in time,” I said, “to avoid the collar.”
“The capture of untold wealth,” she said, “offers consolation for the loss of a Silver Mask, even a Golden Mask.”
“May I ask what I am doing here, and why I am bound?” I asked. “I am the property of Ho-Tosk, of Port Kar, of the Golden Chain.”
I thought I saw Addison Steele smile.
Did it amuse him, I wondered, that I, a former free woman of Earth, indeed, one of his own acquaintance, the former Miss Margaret Henderson, whom he had held in such contempt on Earth, now collared, branded, kneeling and bound, should so unhesitantly, and promptly, identify herself as what she now was, in all rightfulness and legality, a property? Let him be amused if he wished. It was what I now was, and knew myself to be.
“I will be missed,” I said.
“What do you know of a slave named ‘Adraste’?” she asked.
“Very little,” I said. “She was purchased in Brundisium. She worked at the Golden Chain, but works there no longer.”
“That is little, indeed,” she said.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” I said. Certainly I did not wish to reveal the true identity of Adraste, that she was the former Lady Julia Leta, of Ar’s Street of Coins, now wanted for peculation.
“She is owned by Ho-Tosk, proprietor of the Golden Chain,” she said.
“As far as I know, Mistress,” I said. She need not know that Adraste was actually owned by someone else, whom I did not know.
“When did she disappear?” asked the woman.
“She has not been in the tavern for some days now,” I said.
It seemed clear to me that the Lady Dorna, like Bruno of Torcadino and the man with the scar, though now independently, sought the former Lady Julia Leta, presumably to return her to Ar’s Street of Coins, that an example might be made of her which would serve to deter others from succumbing to similar temptations. Presumably there would be some sort of recompense or reward for her return to the Street of Coins, but I did not understand the reference to “untold wealth.” There are many rumors on Gor. It is well known that stories may be enlarged and embellished from telling to telling. Even if the Lady Dorna were successful in her endeavor, as Bruno of Torcadino and the man with the scar had not been, at least until now, I expected she would be disappointed in the return realized on her investment of time and money.
“Where is Adraste now?” said the Lady Dorna.
“I do not know, Mistress,” I said. And this admission, at least, was true.
“You are going to tell us what you know, slave,” she said.
“I have done so, Mistress,” I said. “It is just that I know little.”
“We shall soon know what you know,” she said. “You will be unable to help yourself. There are the sensations, the powders, the fumes.”
“I will untie her arms,” said Addison Steele. “Her bound ankles will hold her in place. Else there might be severe rope burns.”
“What does that matter?” asked the Lady Dorna. “She is a slave.”
“And of some value as a slave,” said Addison Steele. “We do not wish her value, as little as it is, to be lowered.”
“Men are despicable,” said the Lady Dorna.
“Coins are coins,” said Addison Steele.
In a few moments my hands and arms had been freed. My ankles were still bound.
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
“First obeisance position,” he said.
I looked up. How I wanted to belong to him!
My left cheek burned, stung from his slap.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said. Did I not know that the response to a command is to be immediate and unquestioning? Did I think I was still a free woman?
I assumed first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the floor, the palms of my hands on the floor, on either side of my head.
How far away was Earth!
I sensed that the Lady Dorna had risen to her feet, and was busied at the table to the side, that with the fire tray, a packet, or so, and the decanter, a rather large decanter, filled with some transparent liquid.
“Noble Addison,” said the Lady Dorna. “The decanter is heavy. Perhaps you would pour?”
“Certainly,” he said.
Then, to my amazement, he began, slowly and carefully, to pour a portion of the fluid in the decanter over my back. It was cold.
“Master?” I asked.
“It is water, slave,” he said. “Be silent.”
Very little of the fluid fell to the floor. It seemed almost as if it were sucked into the tunic.
“On your back, slave,” he said.
He had not given me the “Sula” command, perhaps because the Lady Dorna was present. So I merely went to my back, my hands to the sides, palms upward. I did not spread my legs with a slave’s helplessness.
My back was wet, the tunic heavy with water. Yet little, it seemed, ran off on the floor.
He then, slowly, carefully, poured water on my body, limiting his attentions to that part of my body which was covered by the tunic. I felt the water move through the tunic. Again it seemed that little of the water drained away to the floor. The material of the tunic seemed unusually absorbent. At the same time the Lady Dorna had shaken some powder from a packet into the small fire tray.
“Master?” I asked.
He returned the now-emptied decanter to the table to the side.
“Second obeisance position,” he said.
Instantly I went to the second obeisance position. I did not wish to be again physically chastised for hesitation in responding to a free man’s command. I now lay on my belly, prostrate before him. My hands were at the sides of my head, palms down. He did not stand close to me. If he had done so, I would have pressed my lips, reverently, to his boot or sandal.
I began to experience strange feelings in my body, where it was covered by the tunic, and then, in a bit, the feelings spread more widely, affecting my legs, arms, and neck.
“Master,” I whimpered, in protest.
“I will hold her hands,” said Addison Steele, crouching down, and he drew my arms forward and held my wrists. I was then stretched out before him, my ankles still bound.
I understood nothing of what was occurring.
Then I screamed, for the tunic seemed to crackle, and come alive. A myriad tiny needles seemed to penetrate my skin. It seemed I was on fire. Threads parted, and pulled away from my skin, bristling and curling, blackened, rising, twisting. The air about me shuddered, trembled, and fled, as if from flame.
I screamed again and again and struggled to escape the grasp of Addison Steele. I wanted to tear the tunic from my body.
“Mercy!” I begged, but I was held, prostrate, squirming, writhing, stretched out before him, helpless.
“Silence,” he said.
“I am afire!” I cried.
“No,” he said. “You are not.”
It seemed to me as though I must be enveloped in a blaze of flame, but there was no flame, only, apparently, a sudden, fierce interaction of substances, freed or precipitated, I supposed, by the administration of water.
“Please!” I wept.
“In a few moments, it will pass,” he said. “It will have done its work.
He had hardly said this when the pain began to diminish.
I heard the snap of a fire-maker and became aware that the Lady Dorna was igniting some of the powder she had deposited in the small fire tray.
Fumes curled up from the tray.
“Put her on her knees,” said the Lady Dorna.
Addison Steele released my hands and lifted me to my knees. I was dazed, half conscious. The pain had muchly subsided.
I was aware that the Lady Dorna was approaching, holding the small fire tray by its handle. Within the fire tray there was now a small mound of powder, some of which was gray, like ash, which had apparently burned, and some of which, not yet burned, was blue. A strand of smoke rose sluggishly from the tray.
“You are on your knees,” said the Lady Dorna.
“Mistress?” I said, half conscious.
“When one wishes the truth from a woman,” said the Lady Dorna, “you should put her on her knees. It is hard for a woman on her knees not to tell the truth.”
I was silent.
“You are going to tell us the truth,” said the Lady Dorna.
“No,” I said, half conscious.
I tried to lift my hands a little, but it seemed I could scarcely raise them from my thighs.
The fire tray with its burning powder, and fumes, was held before me. With the palm of her hand the Lady Dorna gently wafted the fumes toward me.
I was aware that a large male figure had emerged from behind the screen at the side of the room.
“You are going to tell the truth, are you not?” she asked.
I felt I was slipping into unconsciousness.
“Are you not?” she said softly, soothingly.
“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered, and lapsed into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I Awaken in Unfamiliar Surroundings
The first thing I became aware of, even before I opened my eyes, was my right cheek on the damp, cold stone. I opened my eyes, and realized that it was night. In the light of a small lamp, hanging over a nearby portal, I could make out the edge of a nearby canal, to my right. I sat up. The experiences in the apartment swept back upon me. I was no longer in the tunic which had been so impregnated with some chemical or chemicals. I shuddered. I remembered the pain, and the fumes from the small fire tray. I had lost consciousness. At least I had revealed nothing of the secrets which had been entrusted to me. I was sure of that. I sensed that my body had been washed. I was groggy, presumably from some residue of the substances, or fumes, to which I had been exposed. Where was the Lady Dorna? Where was Addison Steele? Where was I? I was sure I was still in Port Kar, but I had no idea where. The surroundings were unfamiliar. I might be anywhere in the city. Port Kar is a maze of canals and islands. Where was Palace Street? Where was the Golden Chain? I was suddenly very frightened. It was late. I would be missed! I was not in my cage. I would miss night check. What had become of me? I had not attempted to run, or escape, but how could I prove that? Would Ho-Tosk, or his men, or guardsmen, believe my story of abduction and interrogation?
I felt oddly, cumbersomely, uncomfortably clothed. I felt unusual garments about me. Again I was frightened. A slave is to be clad as a slave. In some cities it can be a capital offense for a slave to don the garmenture of a free woman unless, for some reason, she is ordered to do so. She would be terrified to be found so, clad as a free person without permission. What a vengeance might be enacted upon her by outraged, scandalized free women! But the garmenture seemed to me eccentric, and odd. Surely it was not the Robes of Concealment, so rich, abundant, beautiful, and colorful. That relieved my anxiety. Would it not be terrible to place a slave in such garmenture, and then arrange to have her, so compromised, discovered? Who could so hate a slave? Perhaps a free woman? Perhaps the Lady Dorna? I pulled at the clothing, and feared I knew what it was, and then I rose and went closer to the small lamp at the portal. To my consternation I found that the garments that I now wore, which now seemed to me so unfamiliar, different, foreign, and strange, would have scarcely merited a second glance on my former world. I wore a large, loose, plaid, cotton shirt and a pair of jeans, the sort of commonly masculine clothing by means of which a woman of Earth might attempt to draw attention to herself, as though challenging men by donning their customary garmenture; or perhaps trying to prove that clothing is, or should be, indifferent to sex; or perhaps which might be affected by a young woman of Earth with ambivalent feelings toward her sex, or one who, for whatever reason, wished to pretend ambivalent feelings toward her sex, one who, for whatever reason, was, in effect, playing boy, or wished be thought to be playing boy, clothing more appropriately to be expected in a young, adolescent male, perhaps her younger brother. But one caveat might be lodged, for the jeans were tight, and form-fitting. It was as though one were to say, “I am not a girl, but I am a girl.” I had seen no clothing like this on Gor. Oddly, it now seemed to me “barbaric.” To be sure, I was still barefoot, and there were no underclothes, such as a brassiere or panties. I reeled. I strove to keep my senses, struggling against fear, disbelief, confusion, and bewilderment. Then I was even more frightened. I moved my head and neck. It could not be! What could it mean! In what danger might I now stand? Sick with fear, I put my hands to my neck. The collar was gone! I, though a Gorean slave, was not collared! I then sank to my knees, and then went to all fours, head down, trembling, and then, a moment later, shadows rising slowly about me, I lowered myself to the stones and lost consciousness.
“Lady,” said a voice.
It was light.
I looked up.
Two guardsmen were standing near me, over me, seemingly puzzled.
It must have been a strange sight they found before them, a woman so eccentrically garmented.
“Masters!” I wanted to cry, but, to my amazement and dismay, no sound, escaped my lips.
My distress and fear must have been obvious.
“Be at ease, Lady,” said one.
“Where are your veils?” asked the other.
“She has been robbed, and set upon,” said the first guardsman.
I clambered to my knees before them, fearing I had not done so quickly enough, and moved my head, vigorously negatively. My lips moved, wildly, but no sound came forth.
“She thinks she is a slave,” said the first guardsman.
I pressed my lips to his boot.
“She has no collar,” said the first guardsman.
“She is witless,” said the second. “Mad.”
I could not understand my inability to speak. I tried to speak in the Language, and then, even, in English.
Something must have been done to me in the apartment.
I must somehow get back to the Golden Chain!
“Rise up, Lady,” said the first guardsman, kindly.
I remained on my knees, shaking my head again, negatively. I tried again, unsuccessfully, to communicate.
