Vagabonds of Gor (55 page)

Chapter 28 - LABIENUS

"The camps will be small, scattered, and carefully concealed," I said, "even from the air. They will serve primarily for rest and sleep. There will be no stirring from them during the day, and little or no motion within them. The eyes of men and tarns can detect even a tiny movement within a large visual expanse."

The men looked at one another. Labienus, their captain, whose rank was high captain, and had been commanding officer in the vanguard of the central columns in Ar's entry into the delta, sat upon a rock.

Ina knelt in the background, her head down, her hands bound behind her back, fastened to her crossed, bound ankles. In binding her hands I left a yard or so of fiber loose, wrapped about her left wrist, that it might serve, at my discretion, as convenient ankle binding. It was with this length of fiber that her ankles were now secured to her wrists. A cord was about her waist, snugly. It was fastened with a bow knot on her left. The knot, being on the left, was not only convenient for her, reaching across her body, perhaps at a captor's or master's command, but was readily at hand, as well, for the attentions of a right-handed captor or master. In either case, the bow knot, of course, loosens with a casual tug. Over the cord, in front and back, were two narrow slave strips. These, too, of course, may be jerked away at the discretion of a captor or master.

The nature and control of a captive's or slave's clothing, and even if she is to be given any, is an additional power of the captor or master. Indeed, some masters seem to think that that is one of the major reasons for permitting a girl clothing, to make possible the exercise of this additional power over her. It may be denied to her, for example, as a discipline. Few girls desire to be sent shopping naked, through busy streets. To be sure, in such a case, they would probably be put in the iron belt.

I myself tend to see the disciplinary aspects of clothing as interesting, and not to be overlooked, but minor. More important reasons, in my opinion, are such things as to mark the girl as captive or slave, to enhance her beauty, to heighten her sexuality, and stimulate the master.

The major reason I had put Ina in slave strips, of course, was rather different yet. I wished to make it somewhat easier for the men of Ar to control themselves in her presence than it might otherwise have been. It would not do at all, for example, to have to fight off several fellows a few moments after entering the camp. Another reason for permitting a girl clothing, incidentally, is that she may have at least one veil, so to speak, which the captor or master may at his will, and for his pleasure, remove.

I had, however, it seems, seriously miscalculated in one matter. The men of Ar, sullen, hungry, defeated, resigned, exhausted, miserable, terrorized, sick, scarcely seemed to notice her. I was much surprised by this. Had Ina been a slave, I think she might have been disturbed by this lack of attention to her, and active consideration of her not inconsiderable charms. As a mere free woman, however, she probably did not understand how unusual this was, and, if anything, was more than pleased to be allowed to remain inconspicuously in the background. She knelt with her head down, incidentally, of her own will. I think this was partly because she was frightened, and partly because she had now begun to learn her womanhood and knew herself to be among strong men, thus appropriately submitted.

"We will move at night," I said, "feeding ourselves from what the marsh offers."

"It offers nothing," said a fellow, sullenly.

"This is your choice," I said.

"How shall we see?" asked another man.

"By the stars, the moons," I said. "The difficulties you experience would be experienced as well by any who would seek you, and most such, not even knowing you in the vicinity, will be abed at such times. Too, if attacked, it is easier to scatter and slip away in the darkness."

"There is the sand," said Plenius.

"There is not so much of it," I said, "really, and we may, if you wish, go roped together, and closely enough to one another that even soft cries may be heard, to summon succor."

I cut into the small tharlarion I had killed, its leathery hide already stripped away. I had brought it with me, over my shoulder, when I had announced myself at the camp's periphery, calling Plenius forward to assure my safe entry into the camp. It had been my supposition the men of Ar might be appreciative of food, even of such a nature.

I took a bit of the raw flesh and held it toward the fellow who had expressed his disinclination to believe in the delta's ready provender.

"No," he said.

"You are hungry," I said.

"I cannot eat that," he said.

I ate the bit of meat myself, and cut another.

"It is not even cooked," said another.

"You will make no fires," I said. "A line of smoke can mark a camp. At night the flame of a tharlarion-oil lamp can be seen hundreds of yards away, even the flash of a fire-maker. Such things, spotted from the air, for example, I assure you, will not be neglected by a tarn scout."

"Who wishes this viand?" I asked, holding up the next piece of tharlarion meat.

"Not I," said a fellow, warily.

"Nor I," said another.

"It makes me sick to look at it," said another.

"I cannot eat that," said another.

Perhaps if they were hungrier, I thought, they might be less fastidious. Yet I reminded myself that men had tragically starved where abounded food aplenty, perhaps from ignorance, perhaps from fear, perhaps from an irrational reluctance to seize the necessities of survival.

"Do you think you can bring us out of the delta?" asked Labienus, sitting on the rock. He was staring ahead, out over the marsh.

"I think so," I said.

"There are fifteen of us," he said.

"I do not think it will be easy," I said.

"Yet you would give us hope?" asked Labienus, looking out, over our beads.

"Yes," I said.

"There is no hope," said a man.

"Eat," I said, proffering him the morsel I had most recently severed from the tharlarion.

"No," he said, drawing back.

"We are doomed," said another.

"Yes," agreed another.

"Such sentiments," said I, "do not bespeak the spirit that made Ar the glory and menace of Gor."

"Ar," said one, "is no more."

"She perished in the delta," said another.

"I am surprised to hear such sentiments," I said, "from those who must once have held and kissed the Home Stone of Ar." This was a reference to the citizenship ceremony which, following the oath of allegiance to the city, involves an actual touching of the city's Home Stone. This may be the only time in the life of a citizen of the city that they actually touch the Home Stone. In Ar, as in many Gorean cities, citizenship is confirmed in a ceremony of this sort. Nonperformance of this ceremony, upon reaching intellectual majority, can be a cause for expulsion from the city. The rationale seems to be that the community has a right to expect allegiance from its members.

"Ar is not dead," said a man.

"She did not perish in the delta," said another.

"No," said another. "Ar lives on."

"It is not Ar who is dead," said a fellow, wearily. "It is we who are dead."

"You are not dead," I said.

"Ar cannot be Ar without her armies," said a man.

"Without her military might," said a man, "Ar can be little more than a cultural beacon, a recollection of a golden time, something to look back on, a school to others, a lesson to men."

"Perhaps she, in defeat, can culturally conquer her conquerors," said another fellow, gloomily.

"That sort of thing has happened often enough," said a fellow.

"In that way," said a fellow, "the final victory will be hers."

There was something to what these fellows were saying. It is a common occurrence that barbarians sweep down on a softer civilization only to later, in their own turn, be softened, for the encroachments of new barbarians, with new whips and chains. To avoid this fate, of course, some barbarians take care to preserve their barbaric heritage, training their male youth in arms and hardship, and keeping themselves aloof from the subject population, that as befits its sovereign over-lords, indeed, keeping the subject population much as herdsmen might keep herds, commanding and controlling them, helping themselves to their riches, taking those of its women who might please them for themselves, and so on.

"With all due respect," I said, "there are a few other cities and towns on this planet, and some of them hold their own culture in higher esteem than that of Ar."

Some of the fellows looked at me, skeptically.

"Ko-ro-ba," I said, "Telnus and Jad, on Cos, Turia, in the south." To be sure, the cultures of the high cities were much the same. To find truly different cultures one might have to travel to Torvaldsland, to the Tahari, to the Barrens, to the Land of the Wagon Peoples, to the interior, east of Schendi, and so on.

"Such places cannot compare with Ar," said a man.

"I beg to differ," I said.

"What do you know," said a man. "You are a Cosian."

"I am not Cosian," I said.

"Why have you come here to torment us in our misery?" asked a man.

"Have some tharlarion," I said, offering him the piece of meat.

He drew back.

"Many folks," I said, "think of Ar not in terms of her musicians, her poets, and such, but in terms of administrators, engineers and soldiers."

"That, too, is Ar," granted a fellow, generously.

"Kill him," suggested a man.

"The Cosians say the laws of Cos march with the spears of Cos," said a fellow.

"So, too, it is with Ar," said a fellow.

"But today it is Cos who marches," said the first man.

"Ar is doomed," said a man.

"No," said another fellow, "it is only we who are doomed."

"You are not doomed," I said.

"Her Home Stone survives," said another.

"We do not know that," observed another.

"Ar lives," insisted another.

"Ar must live!" said another.

"The immediate problem," I suggested, "is not profound historical speculations but survival."

"That problem," said one of the men, "has already been solved for us, by the delta."

"Not at all," I said. "Have a piece of meat."

"No thank you," said he.

"Do you bear us ill will?" asked Labienus, staring toward the marsh.

"Yes," I said, "I bear you considerable ill will."

"Why have you come here then?" he asked.

"My reasons, of whatever value they might be, and I think their value may be slight, are my own."

"Are you of the Warriors?" asked Labienus.

"Yes," I said.

"Hear," said Labienus to his men. "He is of the Warriors."

"He says he is," said a fellow, glumly.