Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Twenty-Three



“Where have you been?” asked Relia.

“About, Mistress,” I said. Relia served as First Girl in our kennel. One addresses the First Girl as “Mistress.” She needed not know where I had been. I had conducted a similar inquiry each morning, following the great storm.

“There is a large stand of Tur trees, west of the dock, near the wands, well twined with Tur-Pah,” said Relia. “Men with climbing tools have freed much of it. It has been drying on racks since yesterday. Fill one basket, and no more. Deliver it to our kitchen.” Our kitchen was Kitchen Five. Shipcamp, as Tarncamp, was divided into various sections, each with its own administration area, officers’ quarters, barracks, dojo, eating halls, kitchen, slave kennels, and such. Our kennel was Kennel Five. Some facilities were shared, such as the Slave House.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. I fear I trembled.

“How are you this morning?” asked Relia, concerned.

“Fine, Mistress,” I said.

“I worried about you, the night of the great storm,” she said. “Are you all right now?”

The night of the great storm was four nights ago.

This was the first morning I would be in a less-frequented area of the camp. I had been assigned so. Relia did not have control of the schedule.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “I spoke foolishly. I am in a collar.”

“What sort of collar?” she asked.

“A slave collar,” I said.

“Do not forget it,” she said.

“No, Mistress,” I said. Did she not know that her pretty neck was locked in one as well?

“You will be in the vicinity of the wands,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Stay away from them,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

Shortly thereafter, I was making my way down the dock. I held the basket on my head as I had been taught. This is one of the first things a slave learns. It lifts the breasts nicely. The men like it.

I must not hurry. I must not stumble. I must give no indication of the fear, and tumult, within me.

The ground would be soft from the rains. The worst had been four nights ago, the night of the great storm. I would be near the wands, permissibly so.

The weather had turned warm the last two days. There was much humidity in the air. The planks of the dock felt warm to my bare feet. A light breeze blew my tunic back against me. One could feel the moist air through it. It was of rep-cloth, a not uncommon material for the garments of slaves. It is light, porous, loosely woven, and clinging. The garment was sleeveless, and came high on my thighs. Such tunics leave little to the imagination. The disrobing loop, for I now wore one, was at my left shoulder, where it would be convenient to the hand of a right-handed man. Such garments, too, of course, lack a nether closure. We are to be at the convenience of our masters. In such a tunic it is said that a woman is more naked than naked. This is untrue, of course, and we treasure whatever scraps of cloth we may be permitted, but the saying has a point, which is that the tunic proclaims the woman a slave. It says, in effect, “I am a slave; I am such that you may do with me as you will.” Is she not then, in her way, naked before the free, more naked than naked in her tiny tunic, naked psychologically, societally, socially? The morning was bright, and my heart was beating rapidly. I could see the end of the dock before me. On Gor, a slave, tunicked and collared, I was far more aware of my surroundings and their multiple ambiences than I had been on Earth, where noise and glitter, and clutter and filth, and garments which I was beginning to feel were outlandishly barbaric, seemed to shut away the natural world. Here, muchly bared, and owned, I was keenly aware of a gentle wind, the splash of rain, the feel of wet grass on one’s feet, the scent of a flower, the texture of a piece of cloth, than I had ever been on my former world. How fresh and clean was the world, this world, how rich and sensuous it was. And there were other textures, and feelings, too, the knowledge that one is owned, and must obey, and the realization that one will be punished if one is not satisfactory, and little things, like the feel of wood on one’s knees as one knelt before the free, the sense of a strap cinched tight on one’s body, the clasp of slave bracelets, the weight of a shackle, the fiber of cordage in which one lay, bound, and helpless.

“Tal, vulo,” said a man.

“Tal, Master,” I said.

“Tal, tasta,” said another.

“Tal, Master,” I said.

“Tal, collar-girl,” said another.

“Tal, Master,” I said. One of my first instructresses had told us the difference between a woman and a girl. The girl is in a collar.

I was careful not to meet the eyes of a free man. That can be presumptuous. A slave girl will usually not meet the eyes of a free man unless she is commanded to do so. And that can be frightening. We are slaves. And I am told that it can be even more frightening to meet the eyes of a free woman. I had never met a free woman, and I did not care to do so. Meeting the eyes of a free woman, uncommanded, I am told, is likely to result in the stroke of a switch, which many of them carry with them. They hate us. And we, of course, our bodies muchly bared, our necks in collars, owned, helpless animals, are much at their mercy. It is our hope that the masters will protect us.

I stopped to look up at the great ship, like a mountain of wood beside the dock. High above, I could see a man looking over the rail. He was watching a line of men, on my level, climbing a boarding plank, carrying sacks.

It was early in the morning.

The ship, in the current, tugged at its moorings. I understood that it would soon depart. If so, there was little time to lose. If I dallied until nightfall I would be chained in the kennel, and, in the morning, I might be coffled with others, and put aboard, in one of the slave holds. I must act! I had waited days for such an opportunity! The rack of Tur-Pah was near the wands, beyond the dock.

Past the ship I looked across the river. The light was bright on the water. I shaded my eyes. I could not well see the buildings there, for the glare, but I could see some of them, and there were others there, as well. I could see, a hundred man’s paces or so back from the river, the closely set, pointed timbers of a palisade. This was all a portion of Shipcamp, I supposed, though across the river, apart from the main buildings. The palisade, I understood, marked the outward perimeter of a maximum security area, a holding area, one housing high slaves. Supposedly these slaves were so extraordinary that one did not dare put them amongst the men, lest discipline be lost, and sedition and chaos ensue, men killing one another to possess them. I did not believe this, but I was willing to suppose that the slaves might be of high quality, such as might do for officers, and perhaps, in some cases, might be acceptable in the pleasure gardens of a Ubar. On the other hand, I did not think they would be so different from the rest of us. Certainly here in Shipcamp, or primary Shipcamp, there were many beautiful slaves, quite beautiful slaves, which might do quite well for officers, and who might not disgrace the shackles of a Ubar.

I was now at the end of the dock, and looked back at the great ship. How strange I thought that such a vessel would be built here, in this wilderness, in this remote place, so far from the sea. Could this be madness? Some said the ship was a creation of madness. I wondered if some terrible secret was housed here, in this strange place, seemingly lost in the northern forests. I might have wondered too if the Alexandra could even offer so mighty a keel a feasible passage to the sea had I not realized that her depth and course would have been well scouted in this regard. Too, I knew of the men in small boats, coming and going so frequently, with their charts, weights, and marked ropes, mapping, testing, and sounding that lengthy, broad, twisting, flowing road of water. But even so, all was not at ease, and peril was afoot. A river is not the open sea. A river is treacherous, with its shifting channels, its differential siltings, its vagaries of current, given changes in the configuration of the shore, its varying depths depending on the rainfall upstream, the occasional impediments of floating debris, the countless ridges and bars which might form overnight and be washed away, to form themselves anew, in a matter of Ahn.

I must be away I thought, and swiftly, though I must show no haste now, not now. There would be time for that later. I feared there might be guards near the wands. Yet I had been told this was not likely to be so. I wondered why that might be. Surely what lay beyond the wands, whatever it might be, could not in itself deter the flight of one who was sufficiently resolved, and one clever enough to count the larls.

How I hated he who had brought me to the collar, who had scorned me on the dock! How I had demeaned myself before him, kneeling as though in the presence of my master, as though I, Margaret Alyssa Cameron, of Earth, might be a slave! He had not even recognized me, he who had brought me and others like cattle to this world, to chains and collars!

I hated him. I hated him! And I wanted to kneel before him, and press my lips to his feet. Could I, Margaret Alyssa Cameron, be a slave, his slave? No! No, I cried to myself. Then I realized that name was no longer mine. I was no longer Margaret Alyssa Cameron. I had been a number, 119, and I was now “Laura,” because I had been so named! I felt the collar on my neck. It was there. I was then indeed “Laura,” or whatever masters might choose to name me, should they give me a name. But Laura could run! She could flee! I was not such a fool as to suppose I was not now a slave, for in the perfection of the law it was so, but I could run. Laura could run!

I looked beyond the end of the dock. Somewhere out there, in the forest, within the wands, there would be racks of Tur-Pah.

My legs almost failed me. I feared I might fall. Briefly I feared I might faint. For a moment I was terribly afraid. I had heard more than one slave say she would die of fear, even to think of running. I did not understand this. Surely they knew no more than I of such things. What fools they were, such ignorant barbarians! How stupid they were. I had counted the larls. I had even had the presence of mind to put my blanket into the vat for laundering.

I looked back, again, at the ship.

It was quite different from the other Gorean vessels I had seen, which tended to be numerous, graceful, slender, and beautiful, low in the water, long in keel, and narrow in beam, even the “round ships.” And the vessels of war were like knives in the water, swift, low, multiply oared, and concave prowed, armed with deck engines, rams, and crescent-like blades, which might shear away timbers and oars. Many of those were painted green, that they might be difficult to detect on the billows of Thassa, until, mast down and oar-propelled, it was perhaps too late. How different then was the ship of Tersites. Doubtless it was seaworthy, but it was broad and towering, six-masted, and single-ruddered. It would be like a city at sea, a dangerous, armed city, walled with wood, with sails which might challenge clouds. It seemed less a ship than a fortress, or castle, which might for some mad reason have chosen to disguise itself as a vessel. It could house a small army. Rumors had it that she would seek the World’s End. It was easy to see why even sturdy men, harsh fellows, callous fellows, mercenaries, even seasoned mariners, might flee. Parts of some had been returned to Shipcamp, to be held, guarded, under the paws of sleeping larls, until the beasts might once again awaken, hungry. But clearly, I thought, those fellows had not been wise enough to count larls. And perhaps some had escaped. Fewer, I had gathered, had tried to escape from Shipcamp than Tarncamp. I supposed that most of the disgruntled, those which might be the soonest dismayed, had chosen to cross the wands earlier, in Tarncamp. Too, at Shipcamp, there was the river.

How imposing was the ship of Tersites! But how frightening, too, it was, in its brooding size, its vastness, darkness, and mystery. I would never be put on that ship as a slave, another coffled beast, a shapely article on an inventory! How terrified had been several of my chain sisters even to think of being embarked on such a vessel. But they would be, as the lovely, helpless animals they were! But not I! I would not be so treated. I was different. I was from Earth! So let them be chained in their stalls, or holds, to be carried away as the meaningless goods they were, but not I! I would escape!

I then left the dock. I wanted to run, my heart cried out to run, but I forced myself to move unhurriedly, gracefully. I must be only another girl, another slave girl, about the business of her masters. The ground was soft beneath my bared feet. I soon came to the racks on which Tur-Pah, harvested yesterday, had been left to dry. I looked about, carefully. There were no guards about. I then concealed my basket and darted between the wands.