Rebels of Gor (79 page)

“I think, perhaps,” I said, “you did not wish to leave the palace, that you were afraid to do so, and, accordingly, neglected to bring your belongings, this providing an excuse to return for them, and, incidentally, to lose contact with your supposed escape group.”

“Surely not!” she exclaimed.

“What of your ornaments?” I said.

“Peasants took them,” she said, bitterly.

“And, it seems, your clothing, as well.”

“Yes!” she said.

“Most slaves are better clothed than you,” I said.

“I was at the mercy of ravaging, greedy beasts,” she said.

“Perhaps you would prefer a garment which might be somewhat more concealing,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “please, please!”

“The tunic of a slave,” said Tajima.

“No!” she said. “Never, never that!”

Pertinax laughed, and Lady Kameko, shrinking back, looked at him, uneasily.

“Body!” I snapped.

Instantly she straightened her body.

The responses of a female captive, as those of a female slave, are to be unquestioning and immediate. Men have little patience with a female captive, and, less, indeed, little or none, with a female slave. I conjectured that the Lady Kameko may have owned slaves, and would have promptly attended to their condign punishment, given the least infringement of her will or pleasure.

Tears had sprung to her eyes.

“What do you conjecture to be the fate of your ornaments, and, say, your silks?” I asked.

I thought it well for Pertinax and Tajima to be apprised of certain matters, extracted from the recent biography of Lady Kameko, and how better could they be so apprised than by means of Lady Kameko herself. Too, I thought it well for Lady Kameko, on her knees, and clad as she was, to supply this information. Let her, so situated and so clad, despite what trepidation she might feel, speak openly and clearly of these matters, of her fate at the hands of peasants, of what had been done to her, of her reduction, humiliation, and debasement, of her treatment as no more than a slave, knowing full well how free men might then view her, particularly free men of the enemy, how they might, say, glance at her now-bared throat, seeing it inevitably as an attractive mounting point for a suitable, circular metal enhancement.

“I do not know,” she said. “They may have been sold in the far towns. Some of the ornaments may have been buried, to be sold later. Perhaps both the ornaments and silks now adorn uncouth tarsks, the homely, gross women of doltish peasants.”

I recalled Aiko.

She had not seemed to me homely, gross, or such. To be sure, I did not know her antecedents. In her village she had been one of Eito’s work slaves. He had unclaimed her, before Nodachi. As a slave, then, she was subject to the claim, and possession, of any free person who might care to make such a claim. To be sure, few knew her to be unclaimed. We had left her with Ichiro, that she might not compromise certain efforts upon which we might venture.

“The interests and appetites of the peasants, as I understand it,” I said, “were not to be fully satisfied by the mere appropriation of jewelry, clothing, and such.”

“No!” she said.

“Speak,” I said.

“Please, no!” she said.

“Now,” I said.

“My back and belly, and knees, are sore from the tiles on which I was used,” she said. “I was stripped, put to the floor, handed about!”

“Excellent,” said Tajima, “high lady, of the hated house of Yamada.”

“Tarsk!” she said.

He jerked her from her knees to her belly, and drew her to him, turning and twisting, thrashing about, across the floor, by the rope leash. He then seized her hair, and forced her head up, to regard him. She was terrified. “Beware,” he said, “I may not be pleased.”

“I am a free woman!” she said. “Ai!” she sobbed, his hand twisting in her hair. “Forgive me,” she said.

I lifted her away from Tajima, and replaced her before us.

She was shaken.

She pulled a little at her wrists, thonged together behind her back. The rope leash was still on her neck.

“You are fortunate, that you are not a slave,” I said, “not yet a slave.”

Pertinax laughed, and she cast him a frightened glance. I wondered if he might want a Pani slave. She was quite beautiful. If he did not want her, he could always sell her. I thought that Tajima’s disparaging conjecture as to a secondary, or tertiary, block in a village market was less than realistic.

“Are there others, like you, hiding in the palace?” I asked.

It seemed likely to me that this might be the case. Some, I supposed, might have feared to join the escape parties, risking the open country, and, surely, might not have anticipated the entry of peasantry into the august corridors of the shogun’s palace.

“I think so,” she said. “The palace is vast and the rooms many.”

“Free women?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “the slaves were taken away.”

“There will be collars enough for all of them,” said Tajima.

“Please, let me go,” she said.

“You are too beautiful to free,” I said.

“Surely you know what you are,” said Tajima.

“What?” she said.

“Booty,” he said.

“No!” she said.

“Suppose,” I said, “the holding of Temmu had been overrun. What do you think the fate of its free women would be?”

“They are lesser women,” she said.

“Surely as high, or higher, than you,” said Tajima, annoyed.

“No!” she said.

“Collars are not fit for such as you?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” she said.

“You have heard of the Lady Sumomo?” he inquired.

“Surely,” she said.

“Perhaps she is as high as you?” he asked.

“A thousand times higher,” she said. “She is the daughter of the shogun.”

“She who was the Lady Sumomo,” said Tajima, “is now a slave.”

“I do not believe it!” she said.

“She is now in a collar,” said Tajima, “my collar.”

“No!” said the Lady Kameko.

“Perhaps I will put you at her disposal,” said Tajima, “that you may be as a slave’s serving slave.”

The Lady Kameko regarded Tajima, and shuddered.

“It pleases men,” said Tajima, “to take high women and make them slaves.”

This was true. Even the daughters of Ubars had been put in collars by raiders and conquerors.

“Do not put her at the disposal of a woman, even a slave,” said Pertinax. “Let her petition her life, on her belly, at the feet of a male.”

“Free me!” she wept.

“You are too beautiful to free,” I reminded her.

“A kettle-and-mat girl, a pot girl,” said Tajima.

“Be serious,” I said.

“Who would want her?” said Tajima. “She has been in the hands of peasants.”

“Do not be overly fastidious,” I said.

“You could always have her scoured, and brushed, and combed,” said Pertinax.

“We could give her to an Ashigaru, when the men of Temmu arrive at the palace,” said Tajima.

I was not sure, personally, that men from the holding would be committed this far south.

“We thank you, noble lady,” I said, “for the information you have furnished. As noted, we have been out of touch for several days.”

“May I speak?” she asked.

Pertinax laughed.

She cast him an angry glance.

It is common for slaves, not free women, to ask for permission to speak, before daring to speak.

Free women, at least on the continent, commonly speak boldly, as, when, and how they wish. To be sure, it was common amongst Pani women to be deferent in the presence of males, those, of course, of their own level, station, or class.

“You may,” I said.

“I have spoken, as I have heard,” she said. “I have seen little of this with my own eyes. Is it true that the iron dragon flew?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Where is it now?” she asked, trembling.

“It disappeared,” I said.

“Vanished?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Will it return?” she asked, frightened.

“That is a subject for speculation,” I said.

“Let the men of Yamada, in terror, fear the sky,” said Tajima.

“If it came once,” said Lady Kameko, “surely it may come again.”

“Let the shogun sit uneasy upon his dais,” said Pertinax.

“It might come again, with fire and destruction,” said the Lady Kameko.

“It seems so,” I said.

“Why would it fly for the house of Temmu?” asked Lady Kameko.

“Or why for the house of Yamada?” I asked.

“Who,” said Tajima, “can look into the heart of a dragon?”

“I have served you well,” she said. “I have spoken fully, and freely, and to the best of my ability. Surely you are satisfied. So untie me, take from my neck this coarse, horrid leash, and let me go.”

“Remove the leash,” I said to Tajima.

“If you wish,” he said.

Lady Kameko cast him a look of disdainful triumph.

“And unbind her wrists,” I said.

“Very well,” said Tajima.

“Hurry,” she snapped.

“Now,” I said, “with the leather which bound her wrists fasten her ankles together, shackling her, allowing her steps of only three or four horts in length.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Keeping you in the vicinity,” I said. “If you take a step, even a small step, beyond the length permitted by the leather, you will plunge awkwardly to the tiles. Do not fear. You will soon learn to measure your movements in such a way as to respect the limits imposed by your restraints. As Tajima is a warrior, you would find it difficult to undo the knots. On the other hand, if you should either try to do so, or seem to try to do so, you will be beaten. If you attempt to hobble away, to escape, or struggle unseen with the leather, you will be leashed again. When not under direct observation, your wrists will be tied behind your back and your ankles will be crossed and bound. At night this arrangement will be in place, and you will be tied by the neck to some post, or convenient object, as well.”

“I see,” she said, angrily.

“You might also understand,” I said, “that if any unwelcome or displeasing sounds should escape your lovely lips, we may, at our discretion, prevent the future escape of such by a suitable, effective, and unpleasant application of leather and cloth.”

“I understand,” she said, frightened. “May I speak?”

“Surely,” I said. She was, after all, a free woman.

“What is the purpose of all this?” she asked.

“We are men,” I said. “We wish a woman to serve us, to look after us, to clean, dust, launder, prepare bedding, cook, and such.”

“I am not a slave!” she said.

“But we have no slave,” I said.

“I am the Lady Kameko!” she said.

“But a woman,” I said.

“But not a slave!” she said.

“Make her a slave,” said Tajima.

“No!” she said.

“How do you think women become slaves?” I asked. “Some by birth, but, commonly, by appropriation, by seizure, by capture.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Surely the men of Yamada,” I said, “as well as those of Temmu, not to mention a common practice across the sea, do this all the time.”

“But I am the Lady Kameko,” she said.

“It makes no difference,” I said. “You are a woman. You are captured, and can be pronounced a slave.”

“Do not so pronounce me!” she begged.

“I can fashion a collar from leather, or rope,” said Tajima. “We can always, later, brand her, search out a lock collar, and such.”

“No!” she said.

“Captives are subject to discipline, are they not?” asked Tajima.

“Certainly,” I said.

“Approach me, Lady Kameko,” said Tajima. “Closer.”

With tiny movements she came and stood before Tajima. “Keep your hands at your sides,” he said. He then fastened his hand in her hair. “A bit ago,” he said, “when I was to untie your hands, you told me to hurry. Perhaps you remember. I was displeased. Be sure to keep your hands at your sides.”

He then cuffed her, twice, the palm of his right hand, and then the back of the same hand.

He then released her hair.

“Please lie on your stomach, Lady Kameko,” I said, “with your hands at your sides, the backs of your hands on the floor.”

“Obey quickly,” snapped Tajima.

“Forgive me!” she said.

We regarded her, prone, before us.

“She is pretty is she not?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Pertinax.

“Poor stuff,” said Tajima.