Vagabonds of Gor (8 page)

"My hair is grown out a little now," she said, looking up, frightened, at the burly fellow. "It was shaved off before. It is grown out a little now!"

"Speak, slave," said Philebus. "Where do you know him from?" He snapped the whip again, angrily.

"From the Crooked Tarn, Master!" she cried, but looking, frightened, at the burly fellow.

"You!" he cried.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"The free woman!" he cried.

"But now a slave, Master," she said, "now a slave!"

"Ho!" cried he. "What a fool you have made of me!"

"No, Master!" she said, fearfully.

"You fooled me well!" he said.

"No, Master!" she wept.

"An amusing little slave," he commented.

She dared not respond, nor meet his eyes.

"A gold piece for her," said the burly fellow.

The slave moaned.

"Two," said the burly fellow. "Ten."

"Do you think you are a special slave, or a high slave?" asked Philebus of the girl, moving the coils of the whip near her.

"No, Master!" she said.

"Twenty pieces of gold," said the burly fellow.

"You are drunk," said Philebus.

"No," said the burly fellow. "I have never been more sober in my life."

The girl shuddered.

"I want you," said Borton to the girl.

"May I speak?" she asked.

He nodded.

"What would Master do with me?" she asked, quaveringly.

"What I please," he said.

"Do you have twenty pieces of gold, Borton?" called out one of the fellows nearby.

Borton scowled, darkly.

There was laughter. His finances, I gathered, may have been somewhat in arrears since the time of the Crooked Tarn.

"Ten silver tarsks," said Borton, grinning.

"That is a superb price, Philebus," said a fellow. "Sell her!

"Yes, sell her!" urged another.

"She is not for sale," said Philebus.

There were some cries of disappointment.

"But perhaps," said Philebus to Borton, "you would care to use her for the evening?" This announcement was greeted with enthusiasm by the crowd. The girl, kneeling and small, trembled in her collar, in the midst of the men. Philebus handed the whip to Borton, who shook out the coils. "She is, you see," said Philebus, "merely one of my paga sluts."

There was laughter. It was true, of course.

"And there will be no charge!" he said.

"Excellent, Philebus!" said more than one man.

The girl looked at the whip, now in the hand of Borton, with a kind of awe.

"May I speak?" she asked.

"Yes," said Borton.

"Is Master angry with the slave?" she asked.

He smiled. He cracked the whip once, viciously. She drew back, fearfully.

"Use it on her well, Borton, my friend," said Philebus. "It is well deserved by any slut and perhaps particularly so by one such as she. Did she not part her silk without permission? Did she not put herself to the dirt before you, unbidden? Did she not speak at least once without permission, either implicit or explicit?"

"May I speak, Master?" asked Temione.

He indicated that she might, with the tiniest flicker of an expression.

"Forgive me, Master," she said, "if I have angered you. Forgive me, if I have offended you in any way. Forgive me, if I have failed to be fully pleasing."

He moved the whip, slowly. She stared at it, terrified, mesmerized.

"Am I to be beaten?" asked Temione.

"Come here," he said, indicating a place on the dirt before him. She did not dare to rise to her feet. She went to her hands and knees that she might crawl to the spot he had specified.

"Hold," I said, rising.

All eyes turned toward me, startled.

"She is serving me," I said.

There were cries of astonishment.

"Beware, fellow," said a man. "That is Borton!"

"As I understand the common rules of a paga tavern, under which governances I understand this enclosure to function, I have use of this slave until I see fit to relinquish her, or until the common hour of closing, or dawn, as the case may be, unless I pay overage. Alternatives to such rules are to be made clear in advance, say, by announcement or public posting."

"She was not serving you!" said a fellow.

"Were you serving me?" I asked the slave.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And have I dismissed you from my service?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"That is Borton!" said a man to me.

"I am pleased to make his acquaintance," I said. Actually this was not entirely candid on my part.

"Who are you?" asked Borton.

"I am pleased to meet you," I assured him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"A pleasant fellow," I said, "one not looking for trouble." Borton cast aside the whip. His sword left its sheath.

Men moved back.

"Aii!" cried a man. My sword, too, had left its sheath. "I did not see him draw!" said a man.

"Let us not have trouble, gentlemen," urged Philebus.

"Wait!" cried Borton, suddenly. "Wait! Wait! I know you! I know you!"

I glanced quickly to my left. There was a fellow there. I thought I could use him.

"It is he, too, who was at the Crooked Tarn!" cried Borton, wildly. "It is he who stole the dispatches, he who so discomfited me, he who made off with my coins, my clothing, my gear, my tarn!"

I supposed Borton could not be blamed entirely for his ill will. The last time I had seen him, before this evening, I aflight, astride his tarn, hovering the bird, preparing shortly to make away, he had been in the yard of the Crooked Tarn, chained naked there, still soaked wet from the bath, to a sleen ring. It had been strong enough to hold him, despite his size and strength, even when he had seen me, which occurrence had apparently caused him agitation. I had waved the courier's pouch to him, cheerily. There had been no hard feelings on my part.

I had not been able to make out what he had been howling upward, crouching there, chained, what with the wind, and the beating of the tarn's wings. Several of the fellows at the Crooked Tarn had intercepted him, rushing through the yard, I suppose on his way to inquire after me. Coinless, chained, naked, utterly without means, absolutely helpless, he would have been held at the Crooked Tarn until his bills were paid or he himself disposed of, say, as a work slave, his sale to satisfy, as it could, his bills. He had been redeemed, I gathered, by other fellows in the command of Artemidorus, and then freed. Certainly he was here now, not in a good humor, and with a sword in his grasp.

"He is a thief and spy!" cried Borton. Men leaped to their feet.

"Spy!" I heard.

"Seize him!" I heard.

"Spy! Spy!"

"Seize him!"

I suddenly lost sight of Temione, buffeted aside, falling among the men. Borton was pressing toward me. I seized the fellow to my left by his robes and flung him across Borton's path. Fellows pressed in. Borton was in the dirt, expressing dissatisfaction. With my fist, clenched on the handle of the sword, I struck a fellow, to my right. I heard bone. He spit teeth. There was no time to apologize. I spun about and fell to my hands and knees, men seizing one another over me. I rose up, spilling three or four fellows about. I then pushed and struck my way through men, most of whom I think could not clearly see me in the throng, broke free, and vaulted over the low railing, to hurry through the darkness toward the Vosk.

"There he goes!" cried a fellow. I heard some girls crying out and screaming, in terror, some probably struck, or kicked or thrust aside, or stepped on, or trampled, in the confusion. Slave girls seldom care to find themselves, helpless curvaceous obstacles, half naked, collared and silked, in the midst of men and blades. It is their business to please men, and they well know it, not to prove impediments to their action.

"He is heading toward the Vosk!" called a man. But by the time I had heard this I was no longer heading toward the Vosk. I had doubled back through the environing tents, most of which were empty, presumably thanks to the sounds of the paga enclosure and various hastily spreading rumors, such as that of Borton's generosity, that there was to be a parade of slaves, and that a curvaceous woman was now dancing her slavery before strong men. It is appropriate for a slave to express her slavery in slave dance, of course. It is one of the thousands of ways in which it may be expressed. I did, however, as soon as I was among them, sheath my sword and begin walking, pausing here and there to look back, particularly when in someone's vicinity, as though puzzled by the clamor coming from the vicinity of the enclosure.

"What is going on back there?" asked a fellow.

"I do not know," I admitted. After all, I was not there. I supposed, however, that dozens of men, perhaps some carrying torches or flaming brands, or lanterns, would be wading about, slipping in the mud, parting reeds, and so on, swords drawn, at the bank of the Vosk, looking for me. I did not envy them this task. It is difficult enough to find a fellow in such a place during the day. It is much harder at night. Too, if he is not there, the task becomes even more difficult.

"I think I will go down there and see what is going on," said the fellow.

"Could you direct me to the tent of Borton, the courier?" I asked.

"Certainly," he said.

"Thank you," I said.

I watched him making his way, curiously, down toward the paga enclosure. He was joined by a couple of other fellows. They, too, were presumably curious. I could not blame them. From the higher part of the camp, now, I could see several torches flickering along the river. Too, there seemed some small boats in the water, torches fixed in their bows, much as are used for hunting tabuk and tarsk at night, from behind blinds. They were probably commandeered from local folk.

I then began to make my way toward the encampment and cots of Artemidorus, the Cosian mercenary. These were located at the southern edge of the camp, that direction in which lay, presumably, the main forces of Ar. In this way the location was convenient for reconnaissance flights. They could come and go, largely unobserved. Too, it would not be necessary to cross the main camp's air space, which is usually, and for obvious reasons, kept inviolate. The cots and defenses there, too, supplied something of a buffer between the main camp and the south. It is difficult, as well as dangerous, to move in the vicinity of unfamiliar tarns, particularly at night. The tents of the couriers, were supposedly near the headquarters tent of Artemidorus himself. That made sense. So, too, were their cots. Then I was in the vicinity of the encampment of Artemidorus. I avoided guardposts. Some, however, were not even manned. In moments, not challenged, I was among the tents.