Quarry of gor, p.35
Quarry of Gor, page 35
“For whom do you work, who are your colleagues?” came from the metal thing.
“I work for myself, and have no colleagues,” said Bruno of Torcadino.
I wondered if this were true.
In any event, I feared that Bruno of Torcadino had made a false move. Are not even the wisest occasionally the dupe of their vanity?
“You claim to have men?” said the thing.
“They are ignorant of the purport of their fee,” said Bruno of Torcadino.
“What would you ask for your help?” asked the beast.
“Nothing, of course,” said Bruno of Torcadino, “other than the redemption of my name and the glory of contributing to so noble an end.”
“You would serve me without recompense?” inquired the beast.
“Yes,” said Bruno of Torcadino.
“There is nothing to fear from him, noble Pa-Kur, whose very name bespeaks confederacy with my people,” said the beast. “He is both a liar and a fool. You may kill him.”
“Spare the slave,” said Addison Steele, “her lineaments are not without interest. Do not cast away tarsk-bits, even so few.”
“Aim!” cried the man in the boat, he who had been addressed by the name ‘Pa-Kur’.
I heard the cry “Fire!” almost at the same moment that Bruno of Torcadino capsized the tiny rence craft and plunged us both into the water. There was a mad, incomprehensible moment in which the cold water of the marsh swirled about me and Bruno of Torcadino disappeared. I was blinded with water, and, emerging, spit water from my mouth. I could hear shouts, and I heard something tear through the rence of the capsized craft. Something else sped past me and entered the water not a yard away. “Light torches!” I heard. To my amazement, soaked and slipping, I had my feet under me. I was standing! The water was only to my waist! I saw no sign of Bruno of Torcadino, and I saw no sign of the metal monster, so like an aquatic tharlarion. “Look for him, look for him, kill him!” I heard, the voice of Pa-Kur. Some men, with torches and drawn swords clambered over the side of the canal boat and were wading about. Two others, with armed crossbows, surveyed the water from the canal boat. Pa-Kur was still at the bow. The oarsman and Addison Steele were toward the stern. One of the men with a torch was close to me. He prodded the turned, soaked, capsized rence craft with his sword, and thrust his blade through it several times. There was much stirring about. “Find him, kill him!” screamed Pa-Kur. Again I saw nothing of Bruno of Torcadino nor of the metallic monstrosity which had been visible but moments ago. I wiped my eyes and mouth. The water in the marsh, at this point, was mostly fresh, from the great Vosk river, feeding the delta. “Fetch the slave!” I heard, the voice of Pa-Kur. I saw one of the bowmen on the boat discard his bow and slip over the side of the boat. I turned wildly away. I would flee, moving through the water toward the encircling rence, within which I hoped to conceal myself. Then a man with a torch was before me, and I turned aside. In a moment I again saw the bright flare of a torch before me, and I turned aside again. I realized I was being forced back toward the canal boat. I looked wildly toward the rence. I then heard someone plunging through the water, close to me. I turned about. It was the fellow who had slipped over the side of the boat a few moments ago. He was almost upon me. I was frantic. I decided to throw myself into the water and try to swim. I turned about again, away from my pursuer. I had no more than cast myself forward into the water when a large, masculine hand gripped my ankle. I was captured!
I was drawn back, thrashing, twisting, my belly in the water. Then his hand was thick and heavy in my wet hair. He turned me to my back and held me before him. I put my hands on his wrist helplessly, futilely. I looked back, and up at him. I shuddered. He was Gorean, and I only a woman of Earth, here kajira. He then pulled me up by the hair, and I was half standing in the water, him behind me. I wanted to beg for mercy but could utter no sound. I then felt the sand of the marsh beneath my feet, and between my toes. He then bent me backward. I knew myself considered. I was held, as in the “slave bow.” I was assessed, as the slave as I was, a purchasable female, curvaceous, vendible meat, fit to be exhibited on the slave block. How vulnerable this makes a woman feel, and yet, startlingly, reduced to the raw female of her, how thrilled she is, so aware then of her enticements and excitements, her desirability, her worth, that men may buy her, steal her, even kill for her, anything to own her, to number her amongst their possessions. “Yes,” said he, “not without interest.” He then straightened my body, shook my head, cruelly, roughly, burning my scalp with pain, and thrust my head under water. I do not know how long he held my head under water, but I am sure it was a very short time. Yet I feared I might drown. Then my head was drawn up, out of the water, and I gasped for air. “You are going to behave, are you not, worthless, branded, collared slut?” he asked. I could not speak. Again he shook my head, causing me much agony. Tears burst from my eyes. I wept, bitterly. “Are you not?” he demanded. I was terrified to displease a free man, but I could not speak. I shook my head, wildly, the little I could, as it was held. Its tiniest movement caused me pain. “Speak!” he snapped. “She cannot speak!” called Addison Steele. “Bring her here!” called Pa-Kur. “Noble Pa-Kur,” said Addison Steele, “she cannot speak.” I was half carried, half dragged, to the side of the canal boat, and men reached down and hauled me aboard. I knelt amongst the feet of the men, my head down to the deck of the canal boat. I drew my sopped hair down, about my face, for I feared that he spoken of as Pa-Kur might recognize me from the apartment of Dorna, of Tharna.
“What of he who named himself Bruno of Torcadino?” demanded Pa-Kur of his men, who were now muchly returned to the canal boat.
“No sign,” said a man.
“He drowned,” said another.
“Bring me the body,” said Pa-Kur.
“We found no body,” said a man.
“He must have drowned,” said another.
“I want the body,” said Pa-Kur.
“Tharlarion, swamp fish, knife-teethed fish,” suggested another.
“He has escaped,” said Pa-Kur.
“Surely not,” said a man.
“We shall find him through the slave,” said Pa-Kur.
“She is impaired, she cannot speak,” said Addison Steele.
“Women speak freely when they are naked, on their knees, and chained, and in the presence of a whip,” said Pa-Kur. “Unfortunately we have no chains with us, as we did not anticipate encountering a kajira, particularly one so lovely, one who would look so well in chains.”
I trembled, kneeling, head to the deck.
The torches were extinguished, one by one.
“Women enjoy chains,” said a man. “They know they belong in them.”
“As for a whip,” said Pa-Kur, “a sword belt, wide and supple, double buckled, will do.”
“She cannot speak,” said Addison Steele.
“Strip her, kneel her before me, and hold her head up,” said Pa-Kur.
The tunic was torn from me. Even the miserable, shameful scrap of a slave tunic, so revealing and humiliating, is something. How precious it is to a slave, so little. I was lifted and placed, kneeling, before Pa-Kur. One man held my head up, his hand fastened in my hair. Tears ran down my cheeks. I knew enough not to try to shield my body or close my knees. “How kajira I had become!” I thought. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that one of the men had freed his sword belt, the sheath put aside. The belt, doubled, swung from his hand. I did not wish to feel its lash.
“Noble leader, great Pa-Kur, confederate of beasts, Lord of the Black Caste,” said Addison Steele, “the slave will be of little use, as she cannot speak.”
“She will know the habits and haunts of Bruno of Torcadino,” said Pa-Kur. “She will know more than enough to enable us to find him.”
I could not help, held as I was, but look up, into the face of Pa-Kur, leader of these men. His back was to the bow lantern. The stern lantern was some feet behind me. It was night and the light was poor. Clouds, too, now obscured the moons.
I feared to look into such a face, like ice and stone. The eyes shone almost as if light blazed through glass. It was hard to tell, in the light, the color of the skin. The complexion seemed neither fair nor dark. I did not think it could be as I seemed to see it. It seemed now, in the light, as though it might be gray. It was of no shade or color to be expected in human skin; it was of a shade and color to be expected only in fur, in the pelt of an animal, or in the hide of a shark. I wondered if what I knelt before, so helplessly, was wholly human.
“Release her hair,” said Pa-Kur, kindly, “lest you cause her discomfort.”
My hair released, I put my head down, and swept my wet hair about my face.
“Do not be foolish,” said Pa-Kur. “Do you think I do not recognize you, from the domicile of Dorna, once of Tharna? Look up.”
I raised my head. I had hoped he would not know me. I did not understand why he had spoken of the Lady Dorna, as “once of Tharna.”
“You are pretty,” said Pa-Kur.
“She is a barbarian slave,” said Addison Steele, “from the world, Earth.”
“I have heard of that world,” said Pa-Kur. “It is an excellent source of slaves. “Its women are taught to betray and deny their nature. They are without the masters for which they long, and without which they cannot be complete. They are starved for sex. Then some, selected from amongst the most beautiful, intelligent, and needful, are brought to the collars, chains, and whips of Gor.”
I feared for Bruno of Torcadino.
Surely he had perished in the marshes.
“You are unlikely to know me, kajira,” said he at whose feet I knelt. “Do not be concerned. Many do not know me. Many have not even heard of me, save for brief, whispered words, spoken in private. I am Pa-Kur, of the Black Caste, the Caste of Assassins, Master of a hundred Black Courts. The Black Caste is the noblest and most essential of castes. It eschews borders and repudiates Home Stones. It knows no city as its own, and thus claims all cities. Without it, how could justice be done and wrongs righted? Where law fails and judges err, what but the blade and quarrel can speak? Let insult be answered and slander avenged. The verdict of steel is sufficient and conclusive.”
I knew too little of Gor to understand this. I had heard of the sable caste, of the black caste, but, until this night, I had never knowingly met a representative of the caste. Do they not mingle amongst men unnoted, until the hunt is nearly concluded, until the black dagger is placed on the forehead? Certainly he who called himself Pa-Kur spoke highly of the caste. Why then, if its aim was so exalted and its ideals so high, was it so dreaded, feared, and shunned?
“Bruno of Torcadino,” said Pa-Kur, “has intruded into matters beyond his ken. His interference could be costly. He places in jeopardy a project of great moment. We must discuss matters of importance with him.”
I saw one of the men smile.
“You will help us find him, that we may speak with him,” said Pa-Kur. “He will have fled his domicile, but that is of little matter. You know him, are familiar with him, are aware of his doings, his movements, his tastes, his preferences, his choice of taverns, his routes and itineraries, the precincts he frequents, and so on.”
One light was at the stern of the canal boat, the other at its bow. We were much secluded in our small lakelike enclosure because of the thickness and height of the surrounding rence. On the other side of the rence, I doubted that the light of the lanterns could be seen. There was, of course, another direction, one seldom thought of, one which would be marked by no compass, one which would appear on no map.
“Now, pretty kajira,” said Pa-Kur, “you will tell us all you know of Bruno of Torcadino, his true identity, his antecedents and background, his Home Stone, his caste, his past, his business in Port Kar, his plans, how he came to the marshes tonight, what he was looking for, and what he might know of us, our intentions, preparations, and plans.”
I was terrified.
I knew almost nothing of what he wanted.
I was, perforce, silent.
“You will speak,” said Pa-Kur. “It would be easy, to begin with, to cut off your ears and nose.”
“She cannot speak, noble Pa-Kur,” said Addison Steele. “She is bereft of speech.”
“She will speak,” said Pa-Kur.
“She cannot,” said Addison Steele.
“She will,” said Pa-Kur.
“Noble Pa-Kur!” protested Addison Steele.
“Noble Addison,” said Pa-Kur, “be silent. You know nothing of what transpires here.” Then Pa-Kur bent down, seized my hair with two hands, and lifted my head to his fearsome visage. “Look into my eyes, fully, deeply,” he said.
Held, I could not turn my head away.
“There was a room by a canal,” he said. “You remember the room. You remember a tunic, the burning tunic, the tunic of fire, you remember the packets, the powders, and the fumes.”
I tried to force such terrible memories from my mind, but could not do so.
“You have heard my voice before,” he said. “You remember it, from before. Was it so long ago?”
Tears ran down my cheeks.
“It was I who forbade you to speak,” he said. “I now rescind my command, that command which only I could rescind. It is rescinded. You may now speak.”
My eyes opened, widely. I trembled. I had the odd sense, surely mistaken, that I could now once more speak.
At that moment it seemed chaos broke out havoc loose down striking gigantic form dreadful fierce scarcely glimpsed out of darkness descending splintering wood lantern struck aside sinking into marsh shouting men curses cries leather wings broad wide vast alive beating once twice long narrow jaw so quick hardly seen snapping seizing hideous scream water splashing a woman’s scream was it mine weapons brandished quarrels hissing from bows and the Ul’s wings smote wind torrent rushing about blasting hard to see now Yellow Moon emerging from clouds man held in jaws writhing it rose yards into the air slashed wounded blood like rain frame bristling with the metal fins of quarrels hung motionless save for beating wings yards from the canal boat hovering another flight of quarrels striking into the large body a man’s leg falling into marsh head gone body limp hanging from jaws shaken thing turns hissing darts away lost over the rence.
I found myself waist deep in the water.
I had slipped through the gouged, splintered wood, to the side, the boat tilting. I forced myself away, toward the rence.
The canal boat was then behind me, listing.
I must wade or swim.
I must reach the delta gate.
I forced my way through the rence.
I pressed on.
I was now elated for where I trod the water was only ankle deep. With such footing I could reach the gate in a quarter of an Ahn.
To be sure, I did not recall such shallowness on earlier ventures into the marsh.
Once again the moons were obscured by clouds. I welcomed this darkness as it made my recapture less likely. Too, the shallowness of the footing reduced, I was sure, the possible attacks of fish and tharlarion. I must try to reach the Golden Chain. I did not even think of obtaining freedom. How absurd that was! There was nowhere to escape to. Naked and collared, branded, I was only too clearly kajira. Too, I knew myself. I knew I belonged in a collar. How startling, precious, and welcome had been that insight! How grateful I had been to accept that recognition, so at odds with all I had been taught to profess and iterate! I did not want freedom but a strong, fine master whom I might submissively and helplessly love and serve, with my whole being and heart, forever, a master in whose keeping, he so strong and powerful, I could never forget I was a slave, only a slave, the slave I was and wished to be.
I was much pleased.
I remembered the scream I had heard.
It had been mine.
How startled I had been, to hear it, realizing only a moment after I had heard it, that it was mine.
I did not understand.
It had been mine!
It was the first sound I had uttered in many days.
How could it have been that I could scream?
Suddenly my right foot sank to the knee and I nearly fell. I tried to pull my foot free but my left leg then sunk to the thigh. I tried to remain upright. Then I was in the marsh to my waist. I became alarmed and struggled and I sank further. I was held fast. I could not free myself.
The clouds parted and the light of the moons again bathed the marsh and rence. To my right, some feet away I saw a wand, a tufted wand. I knew the meaning of that marker. I could not well tell the color in the light, but I was sure it would be yellow. Rencers sometime set such markers in the marsh to warn of quicksand.
I was alone.
I could see nothing about which I could grasp.
I sunk no further.
My arms and hands were free.
Given the comparative densities, the physics of displacement, and such, I was in no danger of slipping beneath the surface. Initially, of course, I was less sure of that than later. The longer one remains held fast, of course, the greater is the danger. One is in the most immediate danger from long tharlarion whose body shape distributes its weight in such a way that it has little to fear from quicksand. A second danger has to do with tidal levels. In my situation the rising tide in Thassa and the Tamber Gulf will wash back into the marshes. In such a case, depending on the levels, which I did not know, it might be possible to drown. A more remote possibility, but not one to be ignored, was death by exposure or from a simple lack of sustenance.
Then, again, clouds obscured the moons.
My feelings, after my first terror, were less of alarm than of frustration and futility. I was angry with myself and the marsh. I felt helpless, and stupid. I had managed to escape, I was sure, from terrible danger. How fortunate I had felt. How elated I had been! And now I might as well have been publicly caged, in a cage others might open but one in which I was a helpless prisoner, in a cage at the mercy of whomsoever might happen by. And then I was very afraid, and for the first time since I was trapped. What if no one should happen by?
