Mariners of Gor (55 page)

“Be silent,” I told the slave. Surely she knew she was not to speak in coffle. I was entitled to strike her, but I did not. Any free person is entitled to administer discipline to an errant slave. It is, so to speak, a favor to the master. To be sure, I had no idea where Pertinax might be, save that I supposed him with the tarn cavalry, wherever that might be. Might not the slave have supposed as much? But perhaps not. Slaves are commonly kept in much ignorance. Would you, for example, spend time imparting information to kaiila, tarsks, and such?

Too, what was her interest, that of a slave, in the whereabouts of a free man? What might Pertinax be to her or she to him?

A bit later I gathered that her indiscretion had caught up with her, for I heard her cry out, in misery, several yards ahead, almost at the end of the wharf, near the beginning of the trail. One of the Pani youth had come up behind her, probably unnoticed, caught her speaking, and struck her, several times, swiftly, about the left arm and neck. She had her head down then. She looked neither to the right nor left. And I supposed she would now be silent, appropriately so, perfectly so, forbidden speech. And she might hope that she had not been noted in such a way that she might be whipped at the journey’s end.

What might Pertinax be to her, or she to him?

I should mention one thing which I found of great interest, in the matter of the coffle. It may be recalled that amongst the slaves of the Venna keeping area, supposedly the area of higher slaves, there had been a certain number of slaves which, when brought to the open deck, had been invariably hooded. I had supposed, originally, as I saw no hooded slaves disembarked from the ship that those slaves were retained on board. On the other hand, I had heard a fellow remark, as one of the large cargo nets swung out from the rail again and once more began its descent to the wharf, “That is the last ten, the last of the slaves.” “Surely not,” I said. “How many are there?” he asked. “Two hundred, some two hundred,” I said. “Well,” said he, “when that ten is added, there will be twenty tens.” “It cannot be all,” I said. “There were hooded slaves.” “I know fellows in the kitchen,” he said. “They tell me two hundred, give or take two or three.” “Where are the hooded slaves?” I asked. “Perhaps they have been cast overboard,” said a fellow. There was laughter at this, so merry a jest, a form of humor likely to be less amusing to slaves than others. To be sure, who would jettison such lovely cargo, goods so pleasant to behold, and hold? “Mixed in,” said another. “Yes,” I said. “Mixed in!” “I do not see any who seem all that different from others,” said a fellow. “No,” said another. “Why were they hooded, anyway?” asked another fellow, scrutinizing the passing coffle. “Pani are strange,” said a man. “It was a Pani madness.”

I suddenly understood, or thought I understood, the rationale for the hooding. It was truly important to hood one slave only, the former Talena, of Ar. I had recognized her, to my astonishment, in the private area within the Venna keeping area. To hood several was merely to suggest that any particular one was not of paramount importance. A single hooded slave might have provoked a great deal of speculation. The nonsense of extraordinary beauty, though the slaves were clearly high-quality merchandise, was to conceal the identity of one slave, Talena, of Ar. If it was understood that she was on board, considering the bounty on her in Ar, the men might have become unmanageable, and insisted on putting about, and returning to the mainland. Pani, and some others, might have resisted, and the enterprise of the great ship, whatever it might be, would doubtless have come to an end. And the Pani, of course, would brook no temporary return to the mainland, no delay in their venture to the World’s End. The outcome of the war might be soon decided, had perhaps already been decided. That Talena’s presence on board might have been disruptive was clear, and that the concealment of her presence was prudent was also clear. What was not clear was why the Pani would have her on board, at all. I assume, given the precautions exercised, and such, that they were well aware of her political and economic importance. There must then be some additional reason for her presence, perhaps in the camps in the northern forests, of which I had heard, on the ship, and here, at the World’s End. Indeed, why would she have been so mysteriously swept from the height of the Central Cylinder in Ar, long ago? She must have some importance to Pani, or to someone, or something, but what it might be, I did not know.

There had been twenty slaves in the private section of the Venna keeping area, those who had regularly been hooded. Alcinoë and I had seen them, even examined them, in the light of the lamp. It had been then that we had encountered amongst them, frightened, now only one slave amongst others, she who had been Talena, the Ubara of Ar, in the time of the Great Treason. I supposed that she had been given a name, as is usual with slaves, but I did not know what it was. I was sure that Seremides could recognize her, but I doubted that he knew she was about. I could recognize her, of course. And Alcinoë. But, as far as I knew, we might be the only three other than, presumably, some of the Pani, who could do so. I had no intention, of course, of revealing her identity. It might be worth one’s life to do so. I envied many of my fellow armsmen, who could simply look upon her, as a man looks upon a slave, as merely another slave. To be sure, that was how she should now be looked upon, as that is all she now was. Let a woman be looked upon as a slave. She is then looked upon as a woman.

I saw whip slaves, in their turn, moving past.

They were wrist-shackled identically with the others, and were similarly clad, and were barefoot. Gone were their switches. Gone now was their authority. As slaves they were poor stuff. I doubted that, stripped and exhibited, they would bring much off the block. To be sure, some men might like them. Perhaps some Peasants might buy them, to hoe suls, to pick beans, to swill tarsks, to draw the plow, to warm their feet in the winter.

I did not expect to recognize all the slaves from the private section of the Venna keeping area, having seen them but once, in poor light, but I had little doubt I could recognize some of them.

The last ten had, as noted, been joined to the coffle.

“See the pelt on that one,” said a fellow.

That was one, one from the private area, for sure. Her reddish hair, like a flame, burned to her very calves.

I then saw another I recalled.

Excellent, I thought. They are here, mixed in.

It was interesting to see them in the light. I remembered some six or seven.

Talena, I supposed, would be here somewhere.

“Keep your head down,” said one of the Pani youth to a slave, and struck her, stingingly, once on each calf, below the hem of the tunic. “Yes, Master!” she said. “Forgive me, Master!”

I was pleased.

Slaves should well understand themselves as slaves, for that is all they are.

It was a great temptation, of course, for them to look up, and ahead, toward the castle of Lord Temmu, far above.

Curiosity may not be becoming in a
kajira
, but they are inveterately curious. How they will wheedle and plead for the least tidbit of information, kissing one about the knees, looking up, hopefully. Their curiosity reminds one of that of the tiny, agile, scampering saru, hurrying about amongst the branches of the forests of the Ua.

Then I saw her, rather toward the end of the coffle, perhaps seventeenth, or eighteenth, from the end.

She did not see me, of course, for she kept her head down, as the slave she was, and, I gather, now knew herself to be.

If she had any doubt as to the matter, a bout with the lash would soon convince her.

It is an excellent, and beautiful, moment when a woman realizes that that is what she is, a slave.

She is then whole within herself, content, and loving.

The pain is ended.

She is the property of her master.

Yet she had no private master. She was the property of the ship, which is very different. The Pani, of course, could give her to anyone. Perhaps she might even be given to Lord Yamada, among other gifts, in a petition for peace, or mercy, or as a token of esteem or good will.

I watched her approach.

It was interesting to me. She might be now struck, no differently from any other slave.

Who, at one time, would have dared to think of striking Talena, Ubara of Ar?

Now, a slave, she was subject to the whip of a child.

Had she had true power in Ar, had she been a true Ubara, and not a puppet of the occupation, her word might have created and destroyed fortunes, humbled generals and exalted common armsmen; armies might have been marched at her word, and tarn cavalries launched, wars begun and wars ended, but she had had, for the most part, only the trappings of power, not power itself. Yet she had sat upon the throne, presided on public occasions, issued the decrees prescribed, and made the appointments recommended. She had seemed to have power, and I do not doubt but what the unastute thought it hers.

Now she was approaching, coffled.

I had attended, as a guardsman, many of her fetes and banquets, and had attended her, and others, at the theater, at concerts, and song dramas. Her regalia had been complex and sumptuous, rich and colorful, the envy of every free woman in the city, each pleat and fold carefully arranged by slaves; her slippers had been laced with pearls, her veils had shimmered with jewels. Cast flowers and sprinkled perfumes, drummers and flautists, preceded her chair, borne by mighty slaves, flanked by liveried guardsmen.

“There is a pretty one,” said a man.

“No, look at that one,” said a fellow, indicating another.

Men may look upon slaves appraisingly, as upon other beasts. If one may admire the silken coat, the flanks, of a kaiila, one may, as well, admire the pelt, the flanks, the curvature of a calf, the trimness of an ankle, the roundedness of a forearm, the delight of a shoulder and throat, the lissome figure, the exquisite features, of a lesser animal, a slave.

Talena had been said to be the most beautiful woman on all Gor. There was no doubt she was quite beautiful. I thought she might bring as much as four silver pieces off the block. To claim however that she was the most beautiful woman on all Gor seemed absurd. A similar claim might have been made of thousands of free women, and with considerably more justification, given their revelatory garmenture, their total lack of veiling, and such, of tens of thousands of slaves. Who is to assess the complementarities, and mysteries, of such matters? A woman who is a pot girl to one fellow may be a dream to another, worthy of a diamond collar and a chain at the foot of a Ubar’s throne. There was no doubt that the traitress, the former false Ubara, Talena, was lovely. I myself, however, would have preferred to have the lips and tongue of another on my feet.

She who had worn the medallion of power in Ar now passed me, far from the city, far from her flatterers and servitors, far from the throne, merely another slave, wrist-shackled, tunicked, and barefoot.

The climb to the castle would be lengthy, and arduous.

Looking up toward the rail from the wharf, I saw Seremides, watching the Pani below.

I supposed that he would remain on the ship.

On the wharf, I saw Tereus. A mariner, assigned the wharf watch, in charge of order here, posted to discourage loitering and prevent pilfering, spoke to Tereus, and he began to ascend the trail.

I thought it wise for Seremides to remain on the ship.

Many were those who wished him dead.

Some of the lesser Pani were already returning to the wharf. Some bore sedan chairs, by means of which contract women might be carried to the castle.

I waited about.

A light rain began to fall.

Such rains, I would learn, are common in the area, and, not unoften, rains far more severe.

I supposed that Philoctetes had preceded me.

Licinius Lysias passed, and we exchanged greetings. I was uneasy in his presence. Early in the voyage, when a galley was launched, he had often been chained to his bench. As we had no bench slaves on board, such fellows usually found on round ships, I supposed him a recreant of sorts, spared for his strength at an oar. Later he had sat his bench not otherwise than the rest of us. More than once we had drawn oar together.

I was not eager to ascend the long climb alone.

Men passed me, and I thought of joining them, but one prefers fellows one knows.

Leros, and Aeacus, whom I knew from the high watches, had been in the first contingent and were doubtless already within the castle, or its walls.

I had turned about, finally, to join others, to make my way upward, when I heard my name called, “Callias!”

I turned about, and, to my surprise, one not pleasant, I saw Seremides hobbling toward me, the crutch striking on the wharf planks.

“Noble Rutilius,” I said.

“You know me from Ar,” he snarled.

“So who are you?” I asked.

“Rutilius, Rutilius, of Ar,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“There are no bounties here,” he said.

“Clearly,” I said.

“You saved my life,” he said.

“I had not thought the matter through,” I said.

“It is a life worthless enough, as it is,” he said.