Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Twenty-Four



“Hold!” cried Tyrtaios.

I stopped, angry.

“What is it?” he called. “Where are you going?”

“I have business to attend to,” I informed him.

“Within the camp, I trust,” he said.

“I fear not,” I said.

“You are not to leave Shipcamp,” he said. “It is unauthorized. It is forbidden. None are to leave Shipcamp.”

“We left two nights ago,” I told him. “Do not attempt to stop me.”

“We are associated,” he said. “It is daylight. You will be seen. It will arouse suspicion. Others may investigate. I might be implicated. The business might be jeopardized.”

“There is something to attend to,” I said.

“The departure of the ship is nearly upon us,” he said. “Already bunks, quarters, are assigned. Men will soon board. Slaves from across the river are being readied. Kennel One, here in Shipcamp, may be boarded tonight. The ship could leave tomorrow, or the next day.”

“It is my intention to return in time,” I said.

“My blade could stop you,” he said.

“Why?” I asked. “Might that not arouse suspicion, as well? Might that not provoke curiosity, and perhaps an investigation?”

“Stay,” he said, menacingly.

If the ost could choose a human form I thought it might choose one much like that of Tyrtaios.

“I have no doubt you can redden your blade with my blood,” I said. “I trust you are wise enough not to do so.”

He slammed his blade, half drawn, back into the scabbard.

“You fear to take ship?” he said. “You are going to run?”

“I fear of the edge of the world, the sea beyond the farther islands, the plunging cliff, as much as the next fellow,” I said.

“But no more?” he said.

“I think no more,” I said.

“You are not running?” he said.

“No,” I said, angrily, “I am hunting.”

“There is provender aplenty in the kitchens,” he said, “forest tarsk, long-haired bosk, even tabuk. The Pani hunters provide well.”

“That is not my prey,” I said.

“Ho!” he said, suddenly, delighted. “You have found the fellow you have sought, he who is your debtor, or he who insulted you, he for whom you have ventured this far, even to the northern forests!”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I commend you,” he said. “How noble, how sweet, is the flavor of vengeance.”

I did not respond.

“You encountered him,” he laughed, “and he cried out, and fled!”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Would that I could have witnessed that,” he said. “To see terror on the countenance of one’s prey is an exquisite pleasure.”

“A pleasure, perhaps,” I said, “familiar to those of the dark caste, when the victim first sees the dagger painted on the hunter’s brow.”

“Perhaps,” said Tyrtaios. “I would know nothing of such things.”

“No,” I said.

“Beware the larls!” he said. “They have been released.”

“Already?” I said.

“A slave has fled,” he said, “this morning.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“A barbarian, a little fool,” he said.

“I must be to my hunt,” I said.

“Let him go,” said Tyrtaios. “The larls will find him. You could not improve upon their work.”

“But it would be their work, not mine,” I said.

“Ah,” said Tyrtaios. “You are of the dark caste.”

“No,” I said.

“You are determined?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I do not like it,” he said. “The moorings will soon be cast.”

“Not for days,” I said.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” he said.

“I expect to return soon,” I said.

“Do so,” he said.

“You can understand the urgency of the matter,” I said.

“If it is blade business, yes,” he said. “It is blade business, is it not?”

“I am to the hunt,” I said.

“It is unlikely you can apprehend your quarry before the larls,” he said.

“One must attempt to do so,” I said.

“Return by tomorrow morning,” he said. “Boardings are scheduled. Those reluctant to board will be put to the sword.”

“I understand,” I said.

“When did your quarry depart?” he asked.

“This morning,” I said.

“He will have too long a start on you,” he said.

“The quarry,” I said, “is not swift. It is small. It is likely to tire easily. It will be unacquainted with woodcraft. It may even be lost, it may unwittingly, inadvertently, wander about, even move in a circle.”

“You seek the slave!” he said.

“I have some interest in her,” I said. “Her flanks please me.”

“Let her go,” he said. “By now panthers and sleen, if not the larls, will have her.”

“It is not nightfall,” I said.

The sleen, in the wild, is predominantly nocturnal.

“Her remains, by now, will be the feasting of urts and forest jards,” he said.

“I think,” I said, “she will be safe until dark, unless for the larls.”

“Let her go,” he said, “and buy another, or ten others.”

“She needs to be taught her collar,” I said.

“She should have learned it by now,” he said.

“She ran,” I reminded him.

“When a woman has learned her collar, she fears to crawl from her master’s feet without permission,” he said.

“It is pleasant to have absolute power over a woman,” I said, “to own her, to have her at your feet, naked, collared, trembling and obedient.”

“And you would have this one so?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “she, or another.”

“You know her from Brundisium?” he said.

“Even earlier,” I said.

“Why did you not buy her in Brundisium?” he asked.

“I am fighting the wanting of her,” I said.

“Then have her, and beat her, and tire of her, and sell her,” said Tyrtaios.

“I shall,” I said.

“She is only a slave,” he said.

“I will teach her what it is to be a slave,” I said.

“And then, when she has well learned her collar,” he said, “and is whimpering for your least touch, cast her aside as the meaningless garbage she is.”

“I shall,” I said.

“Do not pursue her,” he said. “The larls are out. Do not be a fool.”

“The day is pleasant,” I said. “I think that I shall stroll in the forest.”

“Rent a sleen,” he said.

“I shall,” I said.

“And you will need rope.” he said, “a good deal of rope.”

“Of course,” I said.

“And a whip,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.