Mariners of Gor (40 page)

I wondered if Lord Nishida knew of Pertinax’s interest in the slave in question. I hoped not. On the other hand, as I understood it, Lord Nishida had no great personal interest in the slave, other than her political value, as a gift to a greater lord. Indeed, I was given to understand that he had, at least originally, reservations concerning the personality and character of the slave. Given the length of her hair, then, it might have been, once or more, shaved, perhaps as an indication of his encouragement that she hasten to improve herself. And, in any event, the hair might be used for catapult cordage. Indeed, in one of the storerooms, there were rolls of woven female hair, ready for cutting and fastening in the engines. Some was blond, and perhaps some of that had been harvested from the slave. The female slave who is a female, and the most female of all females, is often a vain creature, and will do much to avoid her shearing. The mere threat of shearing often does much to improve a girl. Female hair, incidentally, is much stronger, and more pliant, than common cordage. Too, it is weather resistant, as common cordage is not. Thus it is preferred on the walls of cities, at bridgeheads, in the fields, on the decks of warships, and such.

If Lord Nishida knew of the interest of Pertinax in his slave, he had not, at least as yet, as far as I knew, brought his disapproval, doubtless subtly, to the attention of Tarl Cabot, the commander of the tarn cavalry, who then, presumably, as Pertinax’s friend, and commanding officer, would advise him of his possible indiscretion. Lord Nishida, of course, as I read him, was a highly intelligent, patient, rational man. He would doubtless proceed indirectly, and politely. If the girl was the property of Lord Okimoto, the matter might proceed differently. His Pani would be likely to set upon Pertinax, strip him, tie his feet together, and cast him, on a rope, over the stern, for the few sharks which tend, even in the open sea, to follow a ship, for the garbage. In any event, I thought Pertinax would be well advised to forget the slave. Surely there were many others he might consider with less risk, and several of these others, at least in my view, would bring a higher price off the block than the blonde, not that there was anything in particular wrong with her.

I will mention one anomaly, however, something that did not seem to fit into the common routines and practices of slave management on the great ship. It had to do with a particular group of slaves, from the Venna keeping area, where higher slaves were commonly housed. The anomaly was that this group was always brought to the deck hooded. The hoods were common slave hoods, opaque, enclosing the head completely, and fastened about the neck with a buckled strap, except that each buckle, once fastened, was secured in place by a small padlock, joining the buckle and a deep-sewn collar ring. The hood, thus, could not be casually removed. I did not understand the necessity, or advisability, of the hooding. It was explained to me that the slaves were of such beauty that hooding was a precaution against loosening the larls of desire amongst the crew, even the Pani, with the result of anticipated bloodshed, but I found this hard to believe. Whereas many women are beautiful, and many more beautiful than others, I doubted that amongst truly beautiful women there was that much difference. I was familiar with the markets in Jad, in Temos, in Brundisium, and Ar, and had seen enough beautiful slaves, indeed, women who had brought gold from buyers, rather than silver, to know that amongst beautiful women extraordinary differences, at least of figure and features, did not exist. Differences in price would be more commonly a function of origin, education, intelligence, training, and such things, than beauty. For example, a woman of high-caste origin would be likely to sell for more than a similar girl of a humbler origin. This was not to deny that the hooded slaves were doubtless beautiful, and, certainly, as they were tunicked, there was no doubt about the attractiveness of their figures. Indeed, most seemed at, or near, ideal block measurements, those measurements sought by professional slavers before bringing their merchandise to the large, sawdust-covered pedestal from which they would be vended. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the hoods were emplaced to conceal the identity of the slaves, but there seemed no point to this as there would be few on the ship, or, presumably, at its destination, to whom their identity would be of any interest. As it is said, the identity of a slave is given to her by the collar. In this sense, there is only one identity for a slave, that she is a slave. The hoods would not be worn, of course, in the privacy of the Venna area itself. Perhaps that was why the observation panel in the door of the Venna area was fastened shut, and could not be slid aside, as that of the Kasra area, below. They would be hooded before leaving the area, and unhooded after their return to the area. It might also be noted that this group, when brought through the corridors and up the companionways to the open deck was in belly coffle. In this way, a single rope, tied snugly about their bellies, held them together, a rope which, given the delight of their figures, even though their hands were free, could not be slipped. All in all, I did not understand the nature of the group, or the reasoning behind the hooding. The belly coffle, of course, given the hooding, was a sensible arrangement. It tended to keep the girls together, and would reduce the likelihood of accidents. In their exercising, the two free ends of the rope were usually fastened about masts, commonly the third and fourth mast. The deck of a ship, the structures and paraphernalia about, the footing often uncertain, sometimes difficult, is a venue no rational person would choose to traverse blindly. Even were one not hooded, the open deck might be dangerous; the great ship, after all, despite its breadth, was a narrow, moving platform, little more than a pitching twig, so to speak, in the midst of a wide, deep, capricious sea.

As mentioned, of late, ropes had been strung about the deck, rather in the fashion that such ropes are used in rough seas. This seemed puzzling to me, as the weather was clear. I have also mentioned the closure of hatches, and the restriction of the open deck primarily to officers and the duty crew. All of this, given the weather, made no sense to me. As I was soon to relieve Aeacus at the foremast’s platform and ring, I felt entitled to come early to the open deck. As mentioned, it was close below decks.

I looked about.

Tarl Cabot was at the bow, below the stem castle, scanning the horizon with a Builder’s glass. There were some dark clouds, or what I took to be dark clouds, on the horizon, both to the north and south. As I had frequently served with the commander, largely at his assignment, prior to the fate of Seremides, whom I no longer regarded as a threat, I decided to stand near to him, at the rail. As it did not seem appropriate that I address him, I remained silent, hoping he might recognize me. He looked about, and smiled. “Tal, Callias,” he said. I gathered I had been less subtle than I had intended, but he did not seem offended. “Tal, Commander,” I said. He understood, I suppose, that I hoped to speak with him. He made things easy. It was his way.

He handed me the glass. “What do you see?” he asked. “I see little,” I said, “three dark clouds, one to starboard, two to port.”

It pleased me that he had asked my opinion.

“Rain?” he inquired.

“I see no curtain of darkness beneath the clouds, and thus it is not rain,” I said, “but doubtless they are rain clouds.”

“Do you anticipate a storm?” he asked.

“I think not, from the sky,” I said. Surely that was evident.

“You think they are rain clouds?” he said.

“Certainly,” I said.

“I am told,” he said, “by Lord Nishida that they are not clouds.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Smoke?” he said.

“Impossible,” I said. “There is nothing to burn, there is only the sea.”

“I am told,” he said, “that such things are not smoke.”

“Clouds, then,” I said.

“No,” he said, taking back the glass. “Ash,” he said.

I recalled the coating on the sails some days earlier, the staining on the canvas, the granular, sootlike darkness on the deck, the brief sense of something stifling about, how, for a moment or two, it had been hard to breathe.

“There was ash before,” I said.

“What might be its source?” he asked.

“I know not,” I said. “I am afraid. Perhaps from the Sardar, a sign of the displeasure of Priest-Kings.”

“The Sardar is far,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“No natural origin?” he said.

“No,” I said, “there is nothing to burn in the water.”

“Do you know the name of these waters?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“There are various names,” he said, “the Raging Sea, the Sea of Fire.”

“The sea is calm,” I said. “Thassa sleeps.”

“She may awaken,” said Cabot.

“I understand little of what is occurring,” I said. “Why, in a gentle sea, are the storm ropes strung, why must the hatches, in warm weather, remain closed, why are few now allowed on deck?”

“I too know very little about these things,” said Cabot.

“At least,” I said, “we are no longer pursued by the fleet of Lord Yamada.” This seemed clear, from the reports of the mizzenmast watch.

“Why?” asked Cabot.

“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps they cannot match our speed.”

“Surely,” he said, “you note we have spread no more than a fifth of our canvas, and are moving slowly.”

“True,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“We are proceeding with caution,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.
 

“I do not know,” he said.

“The sea is calm, the sky clear,” I said.

“There is ash in the distance,” he said.

“It is far away,” I said.

“True,” he said.

“I see no danger,” I said.

“Nor I,” he said.

The bar sounded.

“The watch turns,” I said. “I must relieve Aeacus.”

“Do not neglect to fasten the safety rope,” said Cabot.

“The sea is calm,” I said, “unusually so.”

“Do it,” he said.

“Yes, commander,” I said.

To be sure, this was a matter of routine with me.

“Following the recall,” he said, “a count of weapons was made.”

“Yes?” I said.

“Several are missing,” he said.

I nodded. I was not surprised.

“Callias,” he said.

“Commander?” I said.

“If you were the admiral of the fleet of Lord Yamada,” said Cabot, “and you outnumbered your enemy ten or more to one, would you not press on, hoping to bring about an engagement, even if weeks later?”

“Yes,” I said, “I would press on.”

“And yet the fleet soon desisted in its pursuit.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“I fear,” he said, “we will soon learn.”

I then ascended the ratlines, to relieve Aeacus.

Chapter Eighteen

I Converse with a Slave

“Doubtless you are pleased to see me so?” she said.

I pointed to the deck and she knelt, angrily, before me.

“Head down,” I said.

She put her head down.

“Yes,” I said, “I like to see you as you are.”
 

She was in a light, brown, soiled work tunic, of simple rep-cloth, little more than a rag, which clung about her beauty.

The light yoke was still across her shoulders, and, suspended from it, on two short chains, each culminating in a hook, were two pails. As she knelt, the pails could rest on the deck.

I had accosted her from behind, as she had approached the rail, with her burden. “Slave,” I had said, sharply.

“Master!” she had said, the instantaneous, unthinking response of a collar girl. That pleased me.

“Turn about,” I had said.

She complied, the pails swinging on their short chains.

“Stand straightly,” I said. She was not a free woman. Did she not know she was a slave before a free man?

I walked about her.

She knew herself considered.

It is common to so scrutinize slaves.

They are familiar with this sort of thing from the first chain that is put on them.

“You recognized my voice,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, bitterly.

I approached her, with master closeness.

This did not please her.

“Lift your chin,” I said.

I then adjusted her collar. I lifted it up, against the bottom of her chin, and then put it back, and pulled it a bit, straightening it, against the back of her neck. She was thus reminded that she wore it.

“You may lower your chin,” I said.

She regarded me, her eyes flashing with fury.

I smiled, amused, and this further enflamed the small, lovely property.

A slave is permitted the pride of a slave, of course, but not that of a free woman. She is not a free woman. In her, such pride is a travesty, a joke. Its may also be a cause for discipline.