Quarry of gor, p.40
Quarry of Gor, page 40
Secondly, in the context of these background remarks, I think some reference to espionage would be in order. Espionage is ancient; it may antedate the human species. What predator does not acquaint himself with the habits and gathering places of prey? Might not keen-eyed, shambling creatures before humans have looked in secret on one another, noted comings and goings, scouted numbers, weapons, and defenses; does the pleasant beast, feigning amity, have more in mind than trading shells and claws? On Gor, there were, as far as I knew, no concealed cameras, no electronic listening devices, no reconnoitering satellites, or such, but, as in the ancient world, espionage, in its quiet way, was pervasive and rampant. Pharaohs and emperors, kings and caliphs, had their secret forces, their networks of spies and informants. Knowledge is often more precious than gold, information more valuable than jewels. Who means you well, and who means you ill? What are the parameters of time and space? How swiftly may troops be moved, and over what distances? Where is water in the desert? When, given ice and storms, can mountain passes be negotiated? Should one attack or defend, advance or withdraw? The dark is dangerous; one seeks to buy light. The gambits of espionage are many and ancient. Among them, often unnoted, are the meretricious diversion, the false trail, the calculated deceit, the sowing of lies, the deliberate misdirection. Markers can be turned or moved; maps can lie. Falsity believed can draw blood and conjure disaster. The role of the spy or informant, witting or unwitting, is not always the acquisition of information; it can extend, as well, to the propagation of misinformation.
Thirdly, lastly, one might speak of inaction, presumably, in this case, as the result of a misplaced satisfaction or complacency. I think that I mentioned earlier, that the mysterious Bosk of Port Kar, a high captain in the Council of Captains, he in whose holding I now wore my collar, was not now within the holding. He was presumably somewhere at sea, and had been, for some time. I did not know the import of his absence, the nature of his voyage. I had heard several conjectures, which convinced me that no one knew anything more about it, really, than I did. Also, I did not wish to pry into the matter. Already, due to some earlier inquiries I had made, mostly having to do with other matters, I feared I might be taken as a spy. Certainly I would not be the first slave to be inserted into a household for the purposes of obtaining information. Too, I was under no delusion as to what might and might not be becoming to a kajira. One conjecture was that Bosk of Port Kar was off to Brundisium, on a trading venture, dealing with amber; another was that he had gone to Torvaldsland, to the north, to buy furs; other conjectures had him inspecting the arsenal reserve in the great northern forests, establishing a trading station at Skjern, even mapping the coastline and taking soundings south of Kassau. It was also speculated he might be “fishing,” namely, doing the business of piracy, scouring the seas for shipping to seize and loot. Another had him engaged in burning and raiding towns amongst the Farther Islands, west of Cos and Tyros. He seemed, by repute, a formidable man. I did not know his true nature. Within some men there are many men. I had never, personally, seen him, at least to my knowledge. His men spoke highly of him, sometimes in awe. His ship, interestingly, the Dorna, had departed from the arsenal sea gate several days ago, before I was brought to his holding. I do not know, of course, if what soon occurred, which was not anticipated, would have eventuated as it did, if the master of the holding, this Bosk of Port Kar, had been present. What if he had been present? Would things have turned out differently? How could one know? Some men look deeper into things than others. Some men are more wary, more suspicious, than others. Some men accumulate and prepare more assiduously than others. And some men, when the twig snaps and the branch moves, when birds rise unexpectedly from the grass, when the calls of the marsh kite and the Vosk gull cease, are more attentive than others. What might an unfamiliar scent or step portend? When an unseen hand casts the dice, who will read them first? Men differ. How is one to conduct oneself, when the flames break out, when the earth trembles and shakes, when the predator appears? Men differ.
Would what soon occurred have turned out differently, if Bosk of Port Kar had been present. One does not know. How could one know? But he was not present.
As mentioned, it had come as a great surprise to me to discover that she whom I had taken to be the Lady Dorna of Tharna, when her hooding and veils were torn aside, and her robes pulled down to her shoulders, was collared. She, in fury, standing amongst the men, lost no time in drawing her robes up, again, about her throat, and rearranging her hooding and veils. “Free me, return me to my domicile, instantly,” she said. “Do you not know who I am? I am Dorna, Dorna the Proud, first of the Silver Masks of Tharna! You will be roasted alive on spits, and your flesh cast to sleen! You will be thrown alive to leech plants! You will be fed to tharlarion, boiled in honey, caged with starving urts!”
“Take her to her cell,” had said Florian.
I was one of three slaves who had been assigned to attend the prisoner.
Dorna’s cell was comfortable, if not large: it was well-lit, and airy. It was on the fifth floor of the holding. It contained certain amenities, including bedding and a couch. It was clearly the sort of incarceration chamber which might be occupied by a free woman, not a slave. Despite her collar, she was not chained, penned, or caged. I think we, the slaves, were not clear as to how to relate to her. She spoke as, and behaved as, a free woman. Too, in the beginning, she was permitted the raiment in which she had been captured, the hood, veils, and robes. The first time I attended upon her I was cuffed afterward by Florian, for I had knelt in her presence.
“She is not First Girl to you,” had said Florian. “Why did you kneel?”
“She seems so much like a free woman,” I had said, looking up at him from my knees, my hand to my stinging cheek.
“She is a slave,” said Florian.
“I was present when she was captured,” I said. “How she was handled, scarcely like an apprehended free woman. Did you suspect, then, she was not free?” I could not conceive of a Gorean male treating a free woman in the rude, efficient fashion she had been handled and subdued.
“Surely you noted, instantly, that her hands were bare,” said Florian.
“I did not think about such things,” I said.
“Stupid barbarian,” he said.
“Many free woman,” I said, “do not wear clothing on their hands.”
“Particularly amongst the less affluent,” he said. “But she was in street robes, and consider their sumptuous nature. In such regalia to be without clothing for the hands is much the same as being barefoot. Her master did not want her to forget she was a slave.”
“I see,” I said, learning more of the subtleties of Gor.
One item in the cell of Dorna I neglected to mention. It was a holding pole, which, in the case of Dorna, served as a feeding pole. Whereas holding poles differ amongst themselves, depending on accouterments, such as belly chains, neck collars, and bracelets, and the purposes to which they may be applied, the device in Dorna’s cell was rather typical. It was some five feet in height and four inches in diameter. It was anchored solidly, vertically, in the stone flooring of the cell. It lacked a collar arrangement, but it did have a belly chain and adjustable bracelets. The pole in Dorna’s case served primarily as a feeding pole. As it was used, in her case, the slave is knelt and her back is fastened closely against the pole by the belly chain. Her wrists are then lifted, and fastened well back, and well over her head by the bracelets. In this way she is knelt, held in place, and cannot feed herself. In its way the pole is a rather severe reminder of one aspect of a pervasive understanding in Gorean culture—slave dependence. For example, consider merely three aspects of slave dependence. One, the slave may not speak without the permission of the master, and though many slaves have a standing permission to speak, that permission may be revoked at any time. Two, the slave has no control over her own clothing. If she is clothed, at all, it will be when the master permits, and as the master directs. Three, the slave has no control over her own food. Although she commonly prepares and serves the food, she must wait until the master permits her to eat. The first bite, of course, the first sip, and such, will be taken by the master. Needless to say, it behooves the slave to prepare ample, nourishing, and tasty meals. Commonly the slave participates in, and enjoys, the same meal as the master, he sitting and she kneeling. Occasionally she must be content with porridge or slave gruel, and water, these taken from bowls placed on the floor, to which she must address herself on all fours without the use of her hands.
When a slave would attend on Dorna, a man, usually Florian or Miles, was always present, even when they were not putting her at the pole or relieving her of its restraints. I only realized the reason for that later.
“I will not eat!” had cried Dorna, kneeling, fastened to the pole, her wrists shaking the bracelets high above her head.
“Do as you please,” said Florian.
This was the third time I had come to feed her.
“Bring me water!” she said.
“No,” said Florian.
“No?” she said.
I knew little of the plans and intentions of the masters, but I suspected they had something in mind, and would not care to spend a great deal of time with Dorna.
“No food, no water,” said Florian.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“It requires very little time to thirst to death,” said Florian. “Three or four days should be sufficient. Enjoy the indescribable horrors and torments of thirst, such as the desiccation of the body and the agony of cramping muscles.”
“I have changed my mind, you monster,” she said.
“Excellent,” said Florian.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“Removing your hood and veils,” he said.
“The veils need only be lowered slightly, modestly, and delicately, for a slave, a female slave, to administer me food and drink,” she said.
“Nonetheless,” he said.
She shook and squirmed angrily in her restraints.
Veiling is common with Gorean free women in public. The removal of a veil or veils without the owner’s consent is referred to as “face stripping.” In some cities this is a crime punishable by death, particularly if the woman shares one’s Home Stone. Bodies tend to be similar, but features tend to be individual, personal, and unique. Many Gorean free women, interestingly, if forced to choose, would prefer body stripping to face stripping. In a sense, to them, body stripping is more impersonal and less revealing than face stripping. Doubtless this is a cultural matter. One of the reasons that Gorean men tend to think of the women of my former world as at best uncollared slaves is the blatant and brazen way in which so many of them allow their features to be looked upon. Is not a face, with its delicacies and subtleties, its myriad expressions, a thousand times more revealing than a body?
“You were discourteous,” he said.
“Sleen!” she cried.
“Again,” he said.
He removed the knife from his belt.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“As you are in a collar,” he said, “you are doubtless pleasant to look upon—in all ways.”
“Stop! Stop!” she screamed.
I gasped, waiting, standing to the side, with the tray of drink and provender for Dorna.
Florian, with his knife, had cut away her outer robes, and now had them looped over his left arm.
Dorna was fuming but had the wisdom not to provoke Florian further, at least at that time. She was now in two or three light, sliplike garments. I saw enough to realize that she would doubtless bring a high price in a market.
“You may now feed the prisoner,” said Florian.
“Get on your knees, slave!” said Dorna.
“Do not,” said Florian.
“I may not,” I said to the prisoner.
I then began to serve Dorna.
The food was of the finest in the holding, from the tables of the masters themselves. There was even a white ka-la-na. I was not permitted to sample the food and drink myself, and I refrained from doing so, even when Florian, or another, was not looking. It was not so much that Dorna might have called this act to the attention of her jailer, whoever he might be, as that I found satisfaction in my obedience. I wanted to obey. I was a slave. It pleased me, and fulfilled me, to obey.
It was on her third day of captivity that I think I learned why slaves were not left alone with Dorna, why a male of the house was always present. Florian had been called away, as I understood it, and I found myself alone with Dorna. I was gathering up the plate from which I fed her and the cup from which I gave her her wine, and was about to return these wares to the carrying tray, when she spoke to me. “Slave,” she said, “seek out the men of Pa-Kur, he of the Black Caste. You know the place, the dwelling near the place of my capture. Inform them of my captivity, that I am held prisoner in the holding of Bosk of Port Kar. They will seize hostages or bribe me free. I will then be safe!”
I regarded her, startled.
“Do this,” she said, “and you will be richly rewarded. I will see to it personally. You will receive your freedom, and a gold tarn disk, of Ar, of double weight! Many men do not see that in a year. You will be free, and can buy yourself a house, a business, and slaves.”
“You need not respond to that solicitation, slave,” said Florian, reentering the cell. “There is no point in doing so.” I gathered that he had been listening, that he had been close, unseen, immediately behind the wall, to the right of the bars.
Dorna shrank back in her restraints.
“I think it will be best for you, sweet, pleasant prisoner,” said Florian to Dorna, “if the noble Pa-Kur does not know your location. Let him think you the victim of a pedestrian abduction, and on your way to a market. If he knew you were in the keeping of his enemies, what would your life be worth? In such a case, I would avoid the windows, for a quarrel, sped from the saddle of a gracefully soaring tarn might slip between the bars. Too, you might receive a packet of poison, with instructions as to how to make use of it. And might not an ost, so small and deadly, move one night toward the warmth of your body while you sleep?”
“I am indispensable to Pa-Kur!” she said.
“Are you?” asked Florian.
“He loves me!” said Dorna.
“He loves blood, steel, and power,” said Florian, “and you, while beautiful, are only a slave.”
Dorna regarded Florian. In her eyes were doubt, and terror.
Florian then turned to me. “You have permission,” he said, “to deliver the message requested by the prisoner to Pa-Kur.”
“No, no!” said Dorna. “Do not do so. I must think! I must think!”
“You may remove the tray, the plate, and cup,” said Florian.
“Yes, Master,” I said, head down, putting things in order, “Thank you, Master.”
“Would you have complied with the prisoner’s request?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“I did not think so,” he said. “Too, it is unpleasant, I would suppose, to have your chest cut open and, while you live, have the molten gold of a tarn disk, of double weight, poured upon your heart.”
I hurried from the cell.
I knew I would not have complied with the prisoner’s request. Dorna had wanted me dead, and I feared her, and did not trust her. Of what value would my life be had I had complied with her request? Too, even if I could be free of the house to wander about, there would have been terrible dangers attendant on such an action. Even if successful, I would live in fear. I might be hunted down and, after my capture, find myself subject to an intolerable vengeance. Too, I did not hunger for freedom. I had known freedom, its loneliness and emptiness. I did not want freedom. I wanted a master, a master whom I might love and serve, wholly and devotedly, who would subject me to the authority, warmth, passion, strength, and domination which I, a slave, wanted so much, for which I so much longed.
I looked back once, and then hurried down to the kitchen.
After Dorna would feed, Florian, Miles, or another, would free her of her restraints. It was difficult for Dorna to control her temper, with the masters, and certainly the slaves. Too often she spoke abruptly, and failed to be pleasing. By the fourth day of her imprisonment her slippers and hose had been removed, and her garmenture had been reduced, piece by piece, to a short sliplike garment that might easily have been mistaken for a slave tunic. As this gradual diminution of garmenture took place it became more and more evident that slavers would be likely to find her of more and more interest, if not for keeping for themselves, for a sales item on which they would be likely to realize a handsome profit.
“It will begin shortly,” had said Florian. “I expect you will be interested in watching.”
Something in his voice or mien had made me uneasy.
