Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Twelve



I had, of course, put the thought of her from me, or, at least, intended to do so. Surely the only reason I had taken ship north was from curiosity, or an intriguing sense of possible adventure. Too, I had, somehow, not made my way to Daphne, of the farther islands, to rendezvous with one of the sky ships. I trusted it had made its departure successfully. If there is a blockade, it seems porous. It is almost as though the attention of the guardians of the clouds, if they exist, is intermittent, or differs in its severity, from time to time. It is pleasant, of course, to scout the offerings of the slave world, to consider them, and make selections, limited, of course, by the number of capsules in the slave hold. How innocent they are, and how naive, and unsuspecting. Some are vain, pretty little things. Some are unusually beautiful, and sophisticated. It is hard to be sophisticated, of course, when one is kneeling, head down, and one’s throat is clasped in the slave band. I suppose that many never think of the block, though I am not sure of this, or what, turned about and exhibited, they might bring. I suppose few consider themselves as they might be, as a belonging, suitably marked, fittingly collared, though it is hard to be sure of this, as they are obviously slaves. Perhaps, being slaves, they consider such matters frequently. It is hard to know. In any event, it is pleasant to pick slave fruit, to net shapely slave beasts, and bring them to market. We commonly veil and protect our free women. Those of the slave world display them for our assessment, and acquisition. Perhaps if they realized they were slaves, they would collar them themselves, and then protect them better. It is hard to know. At any rate, I had surely not come north to track a slave, a meaningless slut, even a barbarian. That would be unthinkable. She was nothing to me. Who would want her? She was cheap goods. She had not even sold for a full tarsk. Probably I had come north for the coin, or for curiosity, or, at least, for adventure. Certainly not for a slave. Perhaps she was not even here, and, if not, what would it matter, and who would find that of interest? Why, I wondered, had I signed articles, to ply the trade in such a far place, again and again. What had I hoped to find? Why, I wondered, now, was I unconcerned, even indifferent to the matter, that my unaccountable dalliance in Brundisium had resulted in my failure to keep the rendezvous on Daphne? Usually I am reliable, even scrupulous, in such matters. One could always, again, of course, later, consider the perusal of the slave orchards, the culling of the far slave herds. Undoubtedly I would do so. There are pleasant aspects to the work, and it pays well.

But perhaps I would not do so.

I did not know.

I had seen no sign of her in Tarncamp.

I wondered if she were here. What did it matter?