Quarry of gor, p.47
Quarry of Gor, page 47
“I do not like the sea,” said Vas of Anango. “We will ship water. We will be swamped. We will founder.”
“It is as dangerous to go back as forward,” shouted Seremides.
“Ask the men!” demanded Vas of Anango.
“Ask my sword, and weigh its response,” said Seremides.
“You are mad,” said Vas of Anango.
“Turn back then, to decorate an impaling post,” said Seremides.
Vas of Anango, with his leaning weight and two arms, struggled to keep the tiller steady.
“Yes,” said Seremides. “Do you think we are making off with a trinket, a bauble hidden in our purse, a vulo tucked beneath our arm? You do not understand the gravity of the venture in which we are embarked. You do not grasp what deed we are about. More ensues than you suspect.”
“Speak!” demanded Vas of Anango.
Seremides hesitated, and then said, quickly, “We rescue a high-born maid of Cos, even a cousin to great Lurius of Jad.”
“She is in a collar, sell her,” growled Vas of Anango.
“Great Lurius will pay well for her safe return,” said Seremides.
“She is in a collar,” said Vas of Anango. “They are no good for freedom after that. Once a slave, always a slave.”
That was a common Gorean saying. I knew it true of me. I knew I was born for the collar and now I wore one, on Gor. I wanted more than anything to love and serve a master, helplessly and rightlessly, one who would own me and treat me as the slave I was.
“We shall let great Lurius decide,” said Seremides.
It then, in the darkness and wind, began to rain, heavily.
In the instant before it began to rain, I detected, it frightening me, what I took to be a momentary flash of sinister illumination on the coarse features of Vas of Anango, and then it vanished, as deliberately as the closing of a drawer, the descent of a panel, the locking of shutters, the closing of a door, the dropping of a curtain.
“Vas of Anango suspects,” I thought. I was sure, as well, that this was recognized by Seremides.
“It is true that some slabs of collar meat sell for more than other slabs of collar meat,” said Vas of Anango, offhandedly.
“True,” agreed Seremides, apparently unconcerned, squinting his eyes against the rain. He returned his sword to its concealed sheath.
“But I do not like the darkness, the sea, the rain,” said Vas of Anango.
“Rejoice,” said Seremides. “It obscures vision, it impedes pursuit.”
Somewhere behind, I supposed, the handicapped canal boat of Decius of Venna struggled in our wake. I wondered if it had stopped to take aboard the men in the water, the crew of the boat which had sought to block our passage through the Southern Gate. That would cost time, but would gain him men who might later prove to be sorely needed. Too, I was sure that, by now, boats from Port Kar, and perhaps even vessels from the arsenal harbor, would have passed the Southern Gate, intent upon our apprehension.
“You are shivering,” said Seremides.
I could not control the trembling of my body. I was cold and drenched. I could hardly see for the rain. My hair was about my eyes, disheveled and sopped; rain ran down my cheeks, and over my face and gag. The thongs which bound my wrists and ankles were soaked. The canal boat was not only tormented by the rain and spray, but, from the splash of the waves, had shipped water. As I knelt my knees were in water.
“I will take the tiller,” said Seremides. “You, wretch of Anango, put her under the canopy with the cousin of great Lurius and the tunicked slave, Euphrosyne.”
“Surely,” said Vas of Anango, with mock skepticism, “you do not wish slaves to share the shelter of a cousin of great Lurius of Jad.”
“Do not concern yourself,” said Seremides. “As you noted earlier, the noble cousin of great Lurius is in a collar.”
“Ah,” I thought, “on this world men put us in collars, as it pleases them to do so. They put us in collars for they like us that way. We have nothing to say about it. They seize us, and put us in collars which we cannot remove. Does this not tell us what we are? We must wear them, for masters will have it so. They put us in collars, where we belong. We are then in our place, at their feet. We are thrilled then, owned, rightless, helpless, subject to their whips. We are obedient, content, fulfilled, and happy, and hope for their caress. If they are not men, how can we be women? If they are not master, how can we be slave?”
Seremides pulled himself to the tiller. “Under the closure of the canopy,” he said, “there are blankets. See that she is covered, and warmed.”
“Solicitation,” asked Vas of Anango, “for a slave?”
“As for a sleen or kaiila,” said Seremides.
I doubted that the canopy would afford much relief from the elements. Its drenched sides were shaking and snapping in the wind, and water must have seeped under its curtains. Nonetheless, I would be grateful for any attention. I would be particularly grateful for a blanket, even if, as was likely, it would be damp.
Vas of Anango lifted me, carried me, unsteadily, almost losing his balance, to the canopy, and deposited me within its folds. Talena, free of bonds, covered in a blanket, was sitting to one side, her knees drawn up under her chin, her arms about her knees. Euphrosyne, bound hand and foot, and gagged, covered, half lay to my right. Vas of Anango put a blanket about me, rudely, roughly, and withdrew through the rain-pelted curtains. I lay on my side, on the thick, flat mat which floored the canopied area. Talena did not speak to me, and Euphrosyne, misery in her eyes, looked away. I, too, though grateful for the warmth of the blanket and the shelter of the canopied area, was, as was Euphrosyne, miserable. I was desolate with fear and grief. I was to be carried to far-off Cos, to be a woman’s slave, the slave of proud Talena, once a Ubara, whom we had had the foolish temerity, unwitting as it was, to treat as an equal in Port Kar. How terrified are slaves of free women! How they hate us! How it pleases them to make us suffer! What would be done with us? I was aware of the storm, the pouring of rain, and the shaking of the curtains of the canopied area.
Twice I heard Seremides call, “Pause, wait, be ready, lads, now, now stroke,” when, I suppose, the rhythm of the oars had begun to lapse from some desiderated regularity.
I heard Seremides once inquire as to pursuit.
“None that I can see,” called Vas of Anango.
“Watch for the pier lantern of the Skerry of Lars,” said Seremides.
I think I then, helpless in my bonds, exhausted, forlorn, and frightened, racked with fatigue, fell asleep.
I awakened to a cheer, and, half an Ahn later, our canal boat scraped against wood.
I heard oars being brought inboard, and several oarsmen clambered ashore. Lines were being fastened to mooring cleats.
“The Skerry of Lars,” said Talena.
Outside, and above, presumably on the pier, I heard Seremides say, presumably to a confederate who had been awaiting our arrival, “Raise a blue lantern and a yellow lantern, on the pier pole.”
The wind and storm had abated. It was cool and cloudy, but calm.
“I see no pursuit,” said Vas of Anango.
“It will come,” said Seremides.
“Are we not to be met?” said Vas of Anango.
“We are met,” said Seremides.
“I see no ship,” said Vas of Anango.
“It is there,” said Seremides. “Green, difficult to detect, low in the water, long-oared, swift, two masts down, to be raised and mounted, if the wind for Cos be fair.”
“The lanterns, one blue, one yellow, ascend the pier pole,” said a man.
“I see no ship,” reiterated Vas of Anango.
“They have a glass of the Builders,” said Seremides. “The lanterns will be easily noted. Even now oars are outboard and enter the water.”
“I hear no beat of the keuleustes,” said Vas of Anango.
“She approaches,” said Seremides, “as silent as the sea sleen.”
“Should not your lads be rewarded?” asked a voice, that which I had taken as that of a confederate of Seremides. “I have arranged free paga at one of the taverns here.”
“I have no objection,” said Seremides. “Go lads, drink now, if you will, and return soon. In the meantime, I will draw your pay, that waiting for you at the Coin House, good pay, a gold stater of Brundisium for each.”
I heard the men leaving the pier.
“Are you not going along?” asked Seremides.
“I think not,” said Vas of Anango. “The paga will be drugged.”
“Of course,” said Seremides. “But each will awaken with a gold stater of Brundisium in his wallet.”
“Why waste the gold?” said Vas of Anango.
“I was once of Ar, even captain of the Taurentian guard,” said Seremides.
“And you might meet one of these men again, somewhere, on one day or another, at one Ahn or another,” said Vas of Anango.
“Scan the sea,” said Seremides. “Look to the horizon, whence we came.”
“Ho!” said a voice, that of he whom I took to be a confederate of Seremides, who had been waiting on the Skerry of Lars. “A ship approaches, from the west. It is unmarked. It flies no flag or pennons.”
“It is a knife ship of Cos,” said Seremides, “built for reconnaissance and speed.”
“It turns,” said the man. “It remains away.”
“Wise, wary captain,” said Seremides. “It will lower a longboat.”
Almost at the same time, Vas of Anango called out, “Boats! Canal boats! Six! Others, I think, behind them. I can see them! Many! Far off! They approach!”
I heard the crutch of Seremides strike on the pier, four times, as he must have changed his position to reconnoiter.
“The near ship lowers a longboat!” called the confederate of Seremides.
“Excellent,” said Seremides. “We have ten Ehn, at least.”
“Worthy officer, noble Seremides,” called Talena, putting aside her blanket and parting the curtains of the canopied area.
“Glorious, revered Ubara,” intoned Seremides.
“Give me a knife,” she said. “I wish to teach these sorry personal slaves, both of whom I have found displeasing, that it is not a light thing to displease their mistress.”
“A knife, Ubara?” said Seremides.
“I have a score to settle with these worthless sluts,” she said. “Both esteemed me too little in the Golden Chain. Each dared to think themselves my equal.”
“Officious, pretentious she-tarsks, indeed,” said Seremides. “But is not owning them enough?”
“No,” said Talena.
“Would not a sound lashing be sufficient, to inform them of their foolish error?”
“The knife,” she said. “A lashing might be forgotten. I want something they will not forget, something they will remember every time they look in the mirror.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Seremides. “Scar them, to lower their value?”
“I am not satisfied so easily,” said Talena.
“Ah!” said Seremides, “you will cut off the ears and nose of each, a punishment worthy of a free woman of high caste.”
Vas of Anango uttered a harsh laugh.
Euphrosyne and I recoiled in horror and struggled, but could not free ourselves.
Seremides bent down and handed his belt knife, handle first, to Talena, who then withdrew into the canopied area, and closed the curtains.
“Kneel up, worthless sluts,” she said, and dragged us up, with her left hand, one at a time, by the hair, to our knees.
We were then, terrified, gagged, bound hand and foot, helpless, our scalps wild with pain, kneeling before her, she, too, on her knees before us, in the low canopied area.
“The longboat approaches!” called the confederate of Seremides.
“So, too, the boats from Port Kar,” said Vas of Anango.
“We have at least five Ehn,” said Seremides. “The men from Port Kar are unaware of the longboat. There is time.”
Talena, kneeling, held the knife.
“I am less than fully pleased with you,” she said.
We could not speak. We shook our heads, desperately, negatively. As we could, we pleaded for mercy. Tears ran down our cheeks.
She lifted the knife.
Chapter Forty-Four
What Use Talena Made of the Knife of Seremides
“Do you really think I would keep slaves such as you, mere she-tarsks?” asked Talena.
We looked at her, stunned.
“I do not understand how either of you were accepted as paga girls at the Golden Chain,” she said.
I think neither of us could have spoken, even if we had not been gagged.
“And you are both so stupid,” she said. “Sometimes I could not sleep for Euphrosyne crying out the name of Florian in her sleep, begging for his touch. Were you so afraid, Euphrosyne, of your need of a master that you treated him dismissively, so haughtily, with coolness and rudeness? Did you know that he wanted to buy you, to own you and punish you, but Ho-Tosk, seeing his infatuation, is holding out for a higher price? How do you think you would fare then, in a leash at his feet? And you, Zia, an ignorant barbarian, untutored and illiterate. Were you to dance, you would be whipped from the floor. You cannot play the kalika. You are bereft of songs. What is to be said for you other than the fact that you, like Euphrosyne, look well in a collar, and obviously belong in one?”
Euphrosyne and I, astonished, exchanged mystified glances.
“Men from Port Kar will soon be here,” said Talena, “perhaps within Ehn, and I, before their arrival, will be embarked in a Cosian longboat, to be freed and honored in Cos, the guest of noble Lurius of Jad, my former ally and now my benefactor. At last I shall be safe, and occupy a rightful high station. You two, of course, as is proper, will remain what you are, worthless, meaningless slaves. Now I shall sever your bonds, and cut away your gags. Give no sign of this, lest the men on the pier suspect my action. When the opportunity presents itself, flee onto the Skerry of Lars. Seremides is a cripple and he cannot catch you. The others will have no time to pursue you. Time is short. The men of Port Kar are near. The rendezvous must be kept. When I am finished, be silent and wait your chance to run.”
Talena then, with the knife, which was exquisitely sharp, freed us, even of our gags, and we crouched in the canopied area, waiting, frightened, shocked, trying to understand what had occurred.
Chapter Forty-Five
What Occurred on the Skerry of Lars
“Men gather, curiously,” said the confederate of Seremides, uneasily, “attendants, employees of the Skerry, itinerant licensed swordsmen.”
“Go back,” shouted Vas of Anango. “Nothing here concerns you.”
“We must depart, glorious Ubara,” called Seremides. “Come forth, with your punished slaves, to the longboat.”
“Leave them here,” said Vas of Anango. “Who would want them now, without noses, without ears? Next she will have their heads shaved.”
“They will do nicely as a woman’s slaves,” said Seremides. “Their mutilation will serve as a warning to other women’s slaves, encouraging them to be more diligent in their service. Too, so ugly, their appearance will pose no threat to the beauty of their mistress, and, by contrast, will even enhance it. Too, so ugly, they will not be attractive to men, always an inconvenience for a mistress. And, too, lastly, they will not suffer from the airs of a good-looking collar slut. They will have nothing to live for, but to humbly and lovingly serve their mistress.”
“A moment!” called Talena, from within the canopied area. Then she turned to us, whispering. “I shall try to draw the men to the side,” she whispered. “Part the curtains in the rear of the canopied area. When I give the signal, flee.”
“Noble passenger,” said Seremides, earnestly.
“I am coming,” said Talena.
We watched Talena exit the canopied area. We crept to the back of the area. I held one fold of the curtains there, and Euphrosyne the other. We were tense, ready to leap forth, and spring to the pier.
“How shall I clean this knife?” asked Talena.
“Clean it later,” said Vas of Anango.
I gather she must have held the knife in such a way that it could not be well seen.
“No,” said Talena. “It is soiled with the blood of slaves. It must be cleaned now.”
“I shall wipe it clean on your hair!” cried Vas of Anango, and he must have rushed to her side.
“Hurry!” wailed the confederate of Seremides.
“There is no blood on this knife!” cried Vas of Anango.
“Run, run!” screamed Talena.
Euphrosyne and I, as one, leapt through the rear curtains of the canopied area, were amongst the stern thwarts of the boat, and scrambled over the rail, and onto the pier. I heard Vas of Anango cry out with rage. Talena’s stratagem had well drawn him and the confederate of Seremides to the side. But, ela, no way was open before us! We had scarcely sped three or four mad, wild, desperate yards when we were intercepted by the gathered men, seized by the arms, and faced back, toward the moored boat. I struggled futilely. How well reminded I was then of the difference between my slightness and its dramatic contrast with the size and strength of men. Sometimes Gorean males, in the absence of Gorean free women, speak of the Master Sex and the Slave Sex. When one is in a collar and on one’s knees one well understands this. Perhaps free women understand it as well. Nature had decided long ago which was to be the Master Sex and which was to be the Slave Sex. Should the master not be a master and the slave a slave? How can one be fulfilled, if one cannot fulfill one’s nature?
“Hold them!” called Vas of Anango. “I will cut their throats.”
