Quarry of gor, p.9
Quarry of Gor, page 9
How horrifying, I thought, to be a paga girl.
Yet I thought, as I had heard, how zealously they compete to please the masters! They were desperate to have about them the arms of masters, and those who might be less zealous would be whipped, until they, too, later, their slave fires kindled, and raging, would compete as well, and desperately, to draw themselves, as the others, to the attention of free men, hoping and begging to be chained at their mercy.
Perhaps some might so interest a man that he might buy them.
What slave does not wish to kneel at the feet of a private master?
It is permissible for a slave to beg to be purchased.
What slave is not familiar with the “Buy me, Master” call?
I lay in the furs, seemingly neglected.
I thought it must be in an Ahn or so before dawn.
I could feel the weight of the shackle on my left ankle. I moved my leg, pulling on it a little, and gauged that its chain was fastened to the wall to the left of the alcove as it would be entered. I did not know who bore the key to that shackle. I was in no danger, on such a chain, of being again stolen. The thieves who had taken me had assured themselves that I would remain in the alcove, secure from being carried away, hooded and bound, as I might be, by another.
“The guardsman did not return?” asked a male voice, softly, on the other side of the leather curtain.
“No,” he was told, “nor are there others about.”
“There is no sign of suspicion, or pursuit?” asked the first voice.
“None,” said the second voice. “We can move her, safely.”
“Best before light,” said another.
“I would be done with this,” said a voice. “Let us proceed. I am anxious to collect the balance of our fee.”
“Why should anyone pay so much to reclaim a single slave, particularly one sold only in the house of Anesidemus?”
“Do not inquire,” said another. “The world is filled with mad men. Fill your purse, and be content.”
I heard someone at the curtain, apparently preparing to draw it aside.
“Your mask,” he was told.
There was a moment’s pause, and then the curtain was pushed back.
Someone entered the alcove. Then a key was thrust into the shackle, and it was parted, and put aside.
At this point, from outside, presumably from within another alcove, I heard a woman cry out with misery, and then I heard, again and again, the fall of a lash.
Some slave, I gathered, had failed to be fully pleasing. Perhaps she had spoken without permission; perhaps she had uttered a tart word; perhaps she had seemed the least bit cross, impatient, or critical; perhaps she had been hesitant to obey or, demurring, had questioned a command. Perhaps her manner had suggested something of the haughtiness of the free woman. Perhaps her fault lay in her diction or in some subtle lapse of deference.
I heard the lash fall, six times more.
Perhaps she had dared to put on airs.
I supposed that she was now well reminded that she was a slave, not a free woman.
I lay very quietly.
I felt the hands of a man unbuckle the lined, canvas hood I wore, and then it was thrust up, and pulled from my head. He who had removed the hood was masked. He brushed away the bit of the sheet which had been trapped within the hood. I blinked my eyes against the feeble light, from the small lamp in the alcove. I dared not meet the eyes of a free man. Then to my relief he undid the gag’s binding from behind my neck and drew the detestable gag, with its wadding, away. I had a foul taste in my mouth.
He stood up, standing over me, and put the gag and the hood in his pouch.
I had some sense of the alcove, the depth of the furs, the leather curtain, the tiny lamp in its niche, to the left as one would enter, chains, manacles and shackles, strands of leather, a coil of rope, a whip, a switch, such things.
Paga girls, I knew, could be ordered to such an alcove.
How much they were at the mercy of free men, but are not all slaves at the mercy of the free?
The curtain was open. I could see men and tables outside.
I saw a flash of silk and a lithe, collared beauty, bearing a goblet, moved past the opening of the alcove, and, having approached one of the tables, knelt before it, and, her head down between her extended arms, proffered the goblet to a fellow sitting cross-legged at the table, who took the cup, scarcely noticing her, and continued his conversation with two other fellows, similarly seated. She then withdrew, gracefully, rising and backing away.
The flute was still playing.
The fellow in the alcove had not moved.
I lay on my right side before him, naked, bound hand and foot.
I had been an arrogant, proud woman of Earth, selfish and vain, inpatient and demanding, one fond of exploiting and taunting men. I now lay at the feet of a Gorean male. I rolled to my stomach and pressed my cheek softly against his boot. I then, my head down, pressed my lips to his boots, and kissed and licked them.
He drew me to a sitting position, and, kneeling a bit behind me, drew a vial and a soft cloth from his pouch. From the contents of the vial he dampened the cloth.
“You are going to take a little nap, kajira,” he said.
He then held the cloth over my nose and mouth, and shortly thereafter I lost consciousness.
Chapter Seven
What Occurred on Board a Moored Ship;
The One-Legged Man;
A Case of Mistaken Identity
I awakened.
I had again been hooded.
My right shoulder was sore and my right hip, from how I had been placed, on my right side, on the boards.
I was still naked. One thinks little of such things with a slave. Masters are often fond of keeping their girls naked. Too, naked, the slave, in her collar, contrasts nicely with those who are fully clothed. But, too, of course, the tunic, the camisk, the ta-teera, or slave rag, and such, serve much the same purpose. Such things, such habiliments, mark the slave, as well as her collar and brand. Many things distinguish the slave from the free.
On Gor that distinction is momentous.
My hands and feet were still bound.
I was no longer gagged.
I felt a slight movement of the floor, a subtle rocking motion, and realized I must be on some ship. The ship was, I conjectured, from the movement, not at sea, but moored, presumably one of a great many ships berthed at the wharves of Brundisium.
“He will be here shortly,” said a voice. I recognized it. It was that of one of the men who had removed me from the coffle of Anesidemus.
“Is he on board?” asked one of the men who had abducted me.
“I think so,” said another.
I suspected that I, while unconscious, and being transported to this point, had not been hooded. If there were alarms, monitions, or notices about, pertaining to a stolen slave, surely a hooded girl might arouse suspicion. On the other hand, one carried openly, boldly, about, would be likely to attract little attention. By not hiding her she might be best hidden, so to speak. But here, it seemed, on this moored craft or barge, the hood had been replaced. I suspected this was because the men were not now masked, and did not wish me to see their faces. I recalled that the fellow in the alcove had masked himself before entering the alcove. On the other hand, the explanation might be simpler.
We are slaves. They like to keep us helpless.
How better to remind a girl that she is a slave?
“I wish he would hurry,” said a man. “I want our second silver stater before the tide turns.”
“What a fool he is,” said another, “to give two silver staters for the recovery of a single slave. One might buy six for such a price, even in Brundisium.”
“Perhaps he misses her, and is fond of her,” said a man.
“Fond,” asked another, “of a slave?”
“Some men are such,” said another.
“Fools,” said the first.
I sensed there were more men in the chamber, or cabin, than the four I had conjectured earlier.
“I think vengeance is involved,” said a man. “She must have strayed, or run away, and then been picked up and subsequently sold to the house of Anesidemus. I would guess he wants to cut off her nose and ears, and feet, and then cast her into a public garbage pit, where she may then compete with urts for the peels of larmas and suls.”
“He is late,” said a man.
“His pace is measured,” said a man, “and I think he does not care to be noted.”
“Hold,” said a fellow. “I think he is coming.’
I tried to listen.
Someone, or something, was approaching, perhaps through a nearby corridor or companionway.
There would be a silence, and then, a moment later, a sound, as of wood striking wood, coming ever closer.
“Masks,” said a man.
The masks, I suspected, were for my benefit.
“How shall we address him?” asked a man.
“As he wishes,” said he whom I conjectured was first amongst my abductors, “as Bruno of Torcadino.”
“He is no more of Torcadino than I am,” said a man.
“No,” said another. “Suspicious, I referred to the drought-threatened reservoir of Torcadino, and he did not respond or gainsay me.”
“Not everyone knows,” said another “that the fountains of Torcadino are fed from an aqueduct, its waters drained from the heights of the Voltai.”
“He comes from the World’s End,” said one of the men.
“Yet his accent suggests Ar,” said another.
I heard a door open. I sensed the men had risen to their feet. There must have been at least ten in the room.
“Tal, noble Bruno of Torcadino,” said he whom I took to be chief amongst my abductors.”
“Tal,” said a harsh voice, enflamed with eagerness.
“I report the successful completion of our charge,” said he whom I took to be the leader of my abductors. “Indeed, we did not even need to fire a building last night as planned, that the slaves of the house of Anesidemus be brought into the street. Chance bestowed upon us a signal advantage, as, delightfully, an independent fire broke out on the wharves, originating in the house of Flavius Minor. It was easy to take advantage of this felicitous coincidence. Our confederates in the house of Anesidemus, suborned employees of the house, as directed, put your slave, Luta, toward the back of the coffle and put the marked sheet over her, that she be easily recognized. Six of us staged the diversion you prescribed at the head of the coffle and while the attention of the men of Anesidemus was thus engaged, the rest of us obtained your Luta, who now lies before you, returned to you, helpless, hooded, and bound.”
“Excellent, excellent!” cried the newcomer, and I heard wood strike wood, sharply, thrice, as, I gathered, he approached more closely.
“We now claim the balance of our fee,” said he whom I took to be chief amongst my abductors.
“Another silver stater,” said another of the men.
“Haste is important, time is short, the tide,” said another.
“Yes, yes!” said the newcomer. “You shall have it!”
I heard two more strokes of wood on wood. I conjectured that the newcomer carried a staff, which he, for some reason, saw fit to strike on the floor before him, as he moved. Sometimes it scraped on the boards.
“The stater,” said a man.
“Something is awry,” said the newcomer, suddenly, wildly.
“Bring her more into the light,” said he whom I took to be the leader of my abductors.
I was dragged, by a bound arm, some feet across the floor, close now, I thought, to the newcomer.
“Fools, fools!” cried the newcomer.
“Unhood her!” said he whom I took to be chief amongst my abductors.
The hood was hastily unbuckled and drawn away.
“There is your Luta,” said he whom I took to be first amongst my abductors.
I gasped, helpless, trembling.
The men were masked, with the exception of the newcomer, whose visage, as he glared down at me, was terrible with rage. He was bearded, fierce- eyed, wolf-eyed, and mighty of mien. Seldom had I looked upon features more forbidding; seldom had I sensed greater menace in a countenance. Too, this looming figure, so fierce in aspect, had but one leg. What I had heard striking on the floor was the base of a heavy, rounded crutch, whose height was fitted into a stout, rounded crosspiece. That aid to balance, that support, in itself, might have constituted a formidable weapon. I sensed that this large figure, terrifying even now, must, before the loss of its limb, have been an unusually quick, intelligent, active, dangerous man, and surely the remnants of such features yet lingered in the frame before me.
“That is not she!” he cried. “The hair is brown, not black, not like the sheen of sable tarn; the complexion is wrong; the eyes are wrong! That is not she!”
“It was she who was covered in the marked sheet,” said a man.
“Impossible,” said the one-legged man. “What game is this? Do you think me a fool?”
“Do you think we are fools?” asked a man.
“Here are the remains of the marked sheet,” said he whom I took to be first amongst my abductors, at the same time drawing a goodly portion of the sheet from his pouch. “I brought it to confirm our catch.”
“And to guard against your reneging or betrayal,” said another man.
“This is she whom the sheet bedecked,” said another man. “Give us our money.”
“This is not the slave,” said the one-legged man.
“I do not understand,” said he whom I took to be first amongst my abductors. “What happened?”
“You have been tricked! We have all been tricked!” said the one-legged man.
He then lifted his head and howled with rage and disappointment.
“He is mad,” said a fellow, uneasily.
“We have done our work,” said another. “Give us now our stater, a silver stater, one of Brundisium.”
“Would I had my leg, and a sword!” cried the one-legged man. “You would pay me ten gold staters, to be permitted to live!”
“Take this slave, instead,” said he whom I took to be the leader of my abductors, brushing me with his boot. “She is comely, a likely slut, a pleasant item, an attractive piece of collar meat. Surely she will squirm and kick, as well as another.”
So, I thought, this is the light in which men think of slaves. But is it not one of the things that slaves are for? I had little doubt but what, in time, in the arms of a master, I, once of Earth, now a Gorean slave, would squirm and kick, uncontrollably, helplessly. Slave fires had begun to burn in my belly. I would be unable to help myself, nor would I wish to do so. How free a slave is, to be a woman! How could one be more a woman, than a slave?
“My Luta,” screamed the one-legged man, “was sold last night! By now she has doubtless been picked up and might be anywhere.”
“No slave, Luta, was sold last night,” said a man.
“Fool,” cried the one-legged man. “She was not sold under that name, but another!”
“What name?” asked he whom I took to be the leader of my abductors.
“Adraste!” cried the one-legged man.
“Ah,” said a fellow, “I remember that one, a beauty, but not yet broken to her collar.”
“That can be done with any woman,” said a man.
“Who bought my Luta?” snarled the one-legged man. “I want his name, his caste, his city!”
“The House of Anesidemus does not keep such records,” said the man. I took it that he had not only been present at the sales last night, but was familiar with the practices of the house. Indeed, I wondered if he might not be an employee of the house, though I had not seen him amongst the slaver’s men. I surmised that he, at least, must be in contact with someone in the house. I was not surprised, given what I knew of the House of Anesidemus, that they kept no records. It was a dingy, poorly located house. I would not have been surprised if they handled stolen and contraband slaves. It would be difficult, I gathered, to trace a slave marketed through such a house.
“Show me the sheet,” said the one-legged man.
This was done.
“See the mark?” said he whom I took to be the leader of my abductors.
“It is the mark, it is the right sheet,” said the one-legged man. “The sheet was changed.”
“Why would that be?” asked he whom I took to be first amongst my abductors.
The one-legged man looked down, angrily.
“There is more here, I suspect,” said he whom I took to be chief amongst my abductors, “than you have made clear to us.”
“It is a private matter,” said the one-legged man, looking from face to face. I sensed that, if he had been whole, and armed, he might have moved with a terrible swiftness, and that none of my abductors, though they were ten in number, would have left the chamber, which I now saw to be a cabin, alive.
