Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Twenty



I tried to slip the shackle from my ankle. It was held with perfection, of course, as was doubtless the intention of the masters, the brutes and beasts who owned us.

“What are you doing?” inquired Janina, turning toward me, with a rustle of her own chain. It was muchly dark in the log kennel. The kennel was low-ceilinged, windowless, and some twenty paces, master’s paces, in length. There was a small hanging lamp at each end. We are stripped in the kennel, but we have our blankets. My shackle, with its short chain, was attached to the long chain, which was fastened at each end of the kennel. “Nothing,” I said, angrily.

“You will scrape your ankle doing that,” she said.

“The masters will not be pleased if you mark yourself,” said Relia, across the kennel, on the other long chain. “They like us smooth, to their touch.”

“Do they!” I said, angrily.

But I could remember, only recently, how concerned I had been, that I would be smooth to the touch of masters. Slaves are concerned with such things. They hope to be desirable, and pleasing. After all, they are slaves.

“In the last few days,” said Relia, “you have been so different, so surly, petulant, and unhappy. What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“It was after she returned from the dock,” said Relia, to Janina.

“What happened?” asked Janina.

“Go to sleep,” said another slave, turning in her blanket.

I wept. “You cannot slip your shackle,” said Relia.

“She knows that,” said Janina. “It is symbolic, if anything, something to do, frustration.”

“She could still mark herself,” said Relia.

“She is a barbarian,” said another.

“Sleep,” said the slave, who had turned away from us.

“Day after day,” I said, “carrying water, back and forth, doing errands, running, fetching, cooking, serving, the kitchens, the shops, the ironing, the laundering, the sewing of rent tunics!”

“What do you expect?” asked a slave.

“She is a barbarian,” said another.

“But a pretty barbarian,” said another.

“They are all pretty,” said another, “else they would not be brought here.”

“Some are beautiful,” said another.

“Not as beautiful as we,” said another.

“No,” said another.

“You are not in a rich man’s house, a pleasure garden, the palace of a Ubar,” said Relia, “with little to do but sing and play the kalika.”

“More likely,” said another, “with little to do until it was time to adorn your master’s slave ring.”

“I do not know how to sing and play the kalika,” I said.

“She cannot even dance,” said another slave.

“All slaves can dance,” said another.

“How is that?” asked another.

“They are women,” said another.

“Some are better than others,” said a slave.

“Of course,” said another.

“If she were more intelligent,” said another, “she might be educated, to be a more interesting chattel.”

“I am educated,” I said.

“How many breeds of kaiila are there?” asked a slave.

“I do not know,” I said.

“When do talenders bloom?” asked another.

“I do not know,” I said.

“How many eggs does the Vosk gull lay?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Children know such things,” said a slave.

“Surely she has more serious opinions,” said another, “as to the ranking of the nine classic poets, the values of the Turian hexameter, should prose be allowed in song drama, the historicity of Hesius, the reform of the calendar, the dark geometries, the story of the czehar, the policies of the Salarian confederation, the nature of the moons, the sumptuary laws of Ti, the history of Ar.”

“Some men enjoy a conversation with a slave,” said another, “until they remind her that she is in a collar, and put her to the furs where she belongs.”

“I am educated on my world,” I said, “not yours!”

“This is now your world,” said a slave.

“And on it you are uneducated,” said another.

“She is illiterate and stupid,” said a slave.

“I am not stupid!” I said.

“Ignorant then,” said another.

“Yes, ignorant and illiterate,” said another.

“But she is pretty,” said Janina.

“She might look well, roped at a man’s feet,” said another.

“As Earth sluts go,” said another.

“So, too, might a she-tarsk,” said another.

I shook my ankle, angrily, with a rattle of chain.

Two of the girls laughed.

“It is on you, little vulo,” said a girl.

“Do not demean me!” I said.

“How can one demean a slave?” asked a girl.

“I am not a slave!” I cried.

“We are all slaves,” said a girl.

“Not I!” I cried.

“Do you think we do not know a slave when we see one?” asked a girl. “Consider your figure, your desires, your needs, what you most want.”

“A collar,” said another.

“No!” I cried.

“It is obvious,” said another, “even to look upon you. You are a natural slave, a slave in your very nature, a needful chattel, one miserable and unfulfilled otherwise, a needful chattel requiring a master.”

“No!” I said. “No!” I pulled at the chain. How I feared what they said was true! How I feared I might be a slave! And surely I had understood myself as, and accepted myself as, a slave, a rightful slave, even on Earth. But that was before, before!

“For days you have been different,” said Relia.

“What happened?” asked Janina.

“Nothing,” I said, angrily.

“You will soon feel better,” said Janina.

“It is not like you had been sold from a beloved household,” said another.

“Do not fret, Laura,” said Relia. “You need only the proper master, and a touch of his whip.”

“I am going to escape,” I said.

There was at that point a great crash of thunder, and several of us cried out. I had cried out for I was startled. I suppose we all were. I, however, unlike, I am sure, several of the others, took the mighty crash, which seemed to shake the very logs of the long kennel, as no more than a natural thing, a simple, if impressive, disturbing, harsh, violent manifestation of suddenly fierce, unusual weather. Some of the girls, however, particularly those of the First Knowledge, deemed lightning, at least upon occasion, the cast, fiery missile of angered Priest-Kings, and its successor, thunder, as proclaiming, for all to understand, the fact of its terrible passage. A moment later we heard a torrent of rain beat against the low roof of the kennel.

“To where?” asked a girl.

“I do not know,” I said, “to anywhere.”

“When will you escape?” asked a girl.

“Sooner or later,” I said, “I will be assigned away from the dock area, to root out vegetables, to pick berries, to gather firewood, something.”

“Do not run,” said a girl.

“There is nowhere to run,” said another girl.

“You are collared,” said another.

“You will be hamstrung, fed to sleen,” said a girl.

“Fear the forest,” said another.

“You will not be able to find your way, and what way might you try to find?”

“You are kajira. You will have no way to find.”

“The only way for you is to the feet of a master.”

“You will wander in circles,” said another.

“You will be lost,” said another.

“You will starve,” said another.

“Winter is coming,” said another.

“There are animals,” said another. “Sleen, panthers.”

“I am not afraid,” I said, though I was afraid, very afraid.

“You do not want freedom,” said a girl. “You want a master. You want to kneel naked before a man, and bend down and kiss his feet. You want to lift your head, and lick and kiss his whip. You want to be owned, to belong wholly, to submit, to obey, to be dominated, to be mastered, to be possessed as only a slave can be possessed, to grovel, to selflessly love and serve.”

“No, no, no!” I said.

“Whatever man sees you will bring you back, or keep you,” said another.

“Perhaps they will free me!” I said.

“You are too pretty to free,” said another.

“You will be taken in hand, and thrown to a man’s feet,” said another, “where you belong.”

“And where you want to be,” said another.

“No, no!” I said.

“Avoid the wands,” said Janina.

“There are larls,” said another.

“I am not afraid of larls,” I said. I would count them, in the cages, and make away, and would have so great a start that they could not catch me.

“Then you are a fool,” said Relia.

“Larls are not men,” said Janina. “They will not care that you are clever, or pretty. They will not ravish you or shackle you, or beat you, or sell you to another. They will eat you.”

There was another crash of thunder, and the rain continued to fall heavily.

“It is a terrible night,” said a girl.

“None will be about this night,” said another.

“May the roof hold,” said another.

A drainage ditch had been dug about the kennel, and I did not fear that water would be likely to seep into the kennel. The roof was sturdy, and caulked with ship’s tar.

“It may rain for days,” said a girl.

“It is the season,” said another.

“Then snow,” said yet another.

“Ice was in the river yesterday,” said another. “I saw it.”

“The great ship must soon leave,” said another. “Otherwise it will be frozen fast.”

“What is to be done with us?” asked a slave.

“We have served our purpose,” said another, “in Tarncamp, and now in Shipcamp. They do not need us any longer.”

“Perhaps they will kill us,” said a slave, apprehensively.

“Do not be foolish,” said another. “We will be sold south.”

“We may know of secret things,” said a girl. “They may kill us.”

“We might talk,” said another, frightened.

“Not I,” said another.

“You will speak quickly enough on the rack,” said another.

“True,” said another.

“They will kill us then!” cried a girl, and jerked wildly at her chain.

“Men do not kill kajirae,” said Relia, “no more than they would kill pretty birds or kaiila.”

“What then?” asked a girl.

“Is it not obvious?” said Relia.

There were cries of misery, and consternation, in the kennel. We were all familiar with the great ship. We had seen it, often enough. It was looming, awesome, and mysterious. It was unlike other ships. It was almost a floating city. For what had it been built? For what waters had so mighty a keel been laid? What storms had it been framed to withstand? What broad, trackless, landless wildernesses might it hazard? What strange harbors might so monstrous a vessel seek, by what unfamiliar, far ports of call might it be lured?

“No, no!” cried several of the girls.

The rain continued to beat heavily on the roof. The wind began to howl. Thunder sounded again, and again.

We drew our blankets more closely about us.

“You have been to the dock, all of you,” said Relia. “You have seen the loading of cargoes, the great casks, the bags of sa-tarna and suls, crates of bitter tospits, paga and ka-la-na packed in straw, medicines, salves and unguents, endless streams of supplies.”

“And the objects of war,” said another, “timbers, hurling stones, cordage, jars of pitch, finned darts, spears, glaives, javelins, varieties of blades, masses of shields, bucklers, wrappings in which are bound a thousand arrows.”

“But, too,” said Relia, “coffers which might contain pearls, gems, jewelries, golden wire, weighty coins.”

“Vessels of rare metal, black-and red-figured potteries, candles and lamps, perfumes and silks,” said Janina.

“I saw siriks, shackles, slave harnessing,” said a slave, uneasily.

“What,” asked Relia, “do you think the likely object of the projected voyage?”

“War,” said a slave.

“Trade,” averred another. “Consider the cargos, rep-cloth, wool of the hurt, candles, mirrors, lamps, such things.”

“War with whom, trade with whom?” asked Relia.

We were silent.

“What do men prize most,” asked Relia, “after gold, after victory in war, after fine kaiila, and loyal sleen?”

“Beautiful, fearful, obedient, docile slaves,” said another.

“How many of you have been sold?” asked Relia.

“Everyone in the kennel has been sold,” said a slave, “and some of us many times.”

“What are you then?” inquired Relia.

“Slaves,” said a girl.

“Articles of commerce, objects for vending, stock, properties, wares, commodities, goods, merchandise,” said Relia.

“I do not understand,” said a girl.

“Our role in this is clear,” said Relia. “We need not fear being left behind. Dismiss such thoughts. We are cargo, as much as suls or paga, as much as would be nose-ringed kaiila, penned tarsks, or tethered verr.”

“No, no!” cried a slave.

“They will take us with them,” said Relia, “if not for the common purposes of slaves, the services and delights derivable from our ownership, then as goods, objects for sale, for barter, and trade.”

“No!” cried another slave.

“We are cargo,” said Relia, “the one cargo you wish to overlook.”

“I am afraid,” cried a slave.

“We all are,” said Relia.

“I have heard a mariner whisper in terror,” said a slave, “for he fears Tersites, the shipwright, is mad, and would do war against Thassa, would contemplate a journey to where the world is no more, where the seas, like a waterfall a thousand pasangs in width, plunge over the cliff of the world, to fall a thousand pasangs to the rocks of fire, from whence, as boiling steam, they arise until, chilled by the moons, they form clouds and fall again to the earth, as rain.”

“It is true,” whispered a girl.

“It is raining even now,” said a slave, frightened, as the precipitation, turning like a whip in the hand of the wind, struck at the roof and then at the sides of the kennel, one side and then the other, and then, more steadily, fell again upon the roof.

“I do not want to be taken to the World’s End!” cried a girl.

“Then slip your shackle,” said Relia.

There was then another great crash of thunder.

“In the morning, or soon,” said a girl, “when we are loose, let us all run away.”

“There is nowhere to run,” said a slave.

“The masters would be displeased,” said another. “What would be done with us?”

“We cannot escape,” said another. “We are collared. There is no escape for us. We are kajirae!”

“Relia,” I said.

She turned toward me.

“The rains will wipe out scent trails, will they not?”

“For a time, yes, I think so,” said Relia.

“Good,” I said.

“Do not do anything foolish,” said Relia.

“Stay away from the wands,” said Janina.

“Perhaps,” I said. I then rolled myself in the blanket, and lay down.

I listened for a time to the rain, and then fell asleep. I was awakened, from time to time, by bursts of thunder, but, each time, I went back to sleep. In the morning the day’s roster would be posted, and Relia, as was customary, would read it, aloud. I was not the only one in the kennel, incidentally, who was unable to read. It is not that unusual to find individuals, particularly in what are spoken of as the “lower castes,” who cannot, or do not, read. Indeed, some Goreans are too proud to read, even some of the “higher castes.” Many men at arms, for example, pride themselves on their illiteracy, regarding reading as a pursuit more appropriate to merchants and scribes than to those of the “scarlet caste.” Rich men, too, may hire a reader, or one to write letters for them, and such. Some of the lower scribes set up awnings, or set up shop under a trellis, near a market, or in an inn or tavern, or such places, at given times, and make themselves available to read letters, write them, and so on. Many mariners, too, incidentally, do not read, despite the fact that many are of fine mind, and are the masters of much lore and remarkable skills. It is enough, they say, when one can read the currents, the clouds, the winds, the skies, and the stars. The barks to which they trust their lives, the skies, even Thassa herself, they note, do not read.