Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Thirty-Three



I lay at the side of the camp, with Tula and Mila. We were bound, hand and foot. We had been freed of the gags when the campsite had been determined, toward evening, but silenced by the will of the mistress, so that we might utter no sound. They did not fear that we might be heard, in such a way that their presence might be detected. Rather, this was now a convenience for the mistresses, who did not wish to hear the discourse of slaves. Would herdsmen, or drovers, care to hear the discourse of kaiila? Slaves, of course, save in critical situations, as in emergencies, may not speak without permission. To be sure, most slaves have a standing permission to speak, particularly when alone with their masters, but it is always clear to them that this standing permission is a permission, and that it may be revoked at the master’s pleasure. Slaves, of course, as other women, love to speak, and suffer when not permitted to do so. They are denied one of the loveliest and most precious of their pleasures, and gifts. It is a torment to a slave to not be permitted to speak. Most masters love to hear their slave speak, are interested in her slightest thoughts, and often attend to her views. But, when all is said and done, she may be simply bound and thrown to the furs.

Naturally I had tried the knots on my wrists and ankles, but found them, as I had anticipated, of Gorean efficiency. Struggle would be futile.

In one sense, the slave is helpless and defenseless, for she may not so much as touch a weapon. In some cities it is a capital offense for her to do so. In another sense, of course, she is not wholly defenseless; she obviously has the weapons of her sex, her desirability, and beauty, and, it should be noted, as well, and not negligibly, those of her wit and tongue. How often her speech, with her submissive posture, her tearful eye, her extended hand, her trembling lip, serves to placate, to divert wrath, to enable her to escape the switch and whip! Then suppose she is denied speech. How then is she to explain herself, to supply details which may have been overlooked, to call attention to extenuating circumstances, to explain how she was misunderstood, to make clear what she truly intended, or was trying to do, to wheedle, beg, cajole, solicit indulgence or mercy, and so on?

It was toward evening when we were grateful that the mistresses would make camp. How ironic, I thought, that I had managed to escape Shipcamp, but only in this fashion. We hoped to be permitted to rest, certainly I did, but, linked together, by our neck rope, we were soon set to labors on behalf of our mistresses, and were seldom out of the sight of one or another of them. Certainly we dared not speak to one another. Do pack beasts speak?

We were first to prepare the ground for the camp, and so we gathered up forest debris from the site, stones, leaves, and sticks, and, with branches, swept the ground smooth. I did not think men would be so particular. We were also put, in the preparing of the site, to the gathering of a plenitude of soft boughs on which our mistresses, to rest more comfortably, might spread their blankets. Then, given cloths, to be fashioned into sacks, we were sent into the woods to gather gim berries, under the supervision of short-haired Hiza. We did not dare eat any. We hoped we might be permitted some. I had no thought of running away. I was on the rope, and Hiza had her small spear, or javelin. Too, as I now understood, with much misery, the forest was dangerous, formidable, and lonely, and there was really nowhere to run. Well then was I convinced of my condition, which was helpless, and slave. Too, my chances of survival were much higher here than if I were alone, here with these armed, skilled, dangerous, and mighty women, almost like creatures of the forest themselves, who could detect sign and move with stealth, whose passage would be little marked by the forest floor, who could read the sun, the moons, the growth on trees, the declivities of the Alexandra’s basin, signifying the drainage of water, the seasonal flights of birds. After we had poured our berries onto the mat, Tula was removed from the rope and her ankles were fastened together, some horts apart, by rope shackles. She could walk with care, but not run. Then she was given a stick and set to the digging of a fire hole.

“Mila, Vulo,” said Hiza. “Fetch water.”

We were each given a pitcher, and we then went down to the shore, on our rope, filled our vessels, and returned to the camp. Hiza observed us, from the camp. It was not necessary. We would not run. We were slaves, obedient slaves.

“Mila, Vulo,” said Hiza. “Gather fire wood.”

This task was much less difficult than I had anticipated. Whereas last night it had rained fiercely further east on the Alexandra, it had rained less heavily in this area, and the day had been sunny and warm. The best wood would be gathered on the shore of the Alexandra, which was quite close, where debris was exposed to the sun.

Mila and I, bending over, roped together by the neck, filled our arms at the shore. We were accompanied by Hiza and Emerald.

“You can sell Mila,” said Emerald to Hiza. “I will sell Vulo.”

“Darla will decide,” said Hiza.

“I caught Vulo,” said Emerald.

“Darla will decide,” said Hiza.

“It does not matter,” said Emerald. “All is shared.”

“I trust so,” said Hiza.

“I can exhibit her better,” said Emerald.

“Only men know how to exhibit a slave,” said Hiza.

Mila and I could scarcely bear more wood. Hiza then, with a gesture of her javelin, indicated that we should return to the camp.

The fire hole had been dug, and soon Darla, with a fire drill and shredded tinder extracted from a pouch in one of the packs, and a number of small sticks removed from a wrapper in the same pack, had ignited a small blaze. She then, after adding some of our wood to the blaze, placed four stones about the blaze. On these stones she placed a small iron fire rack. Soon, then, a pot of sullage, tended by Tula, was bubbling over the fire. Emerald put some dried meat from her pack into the brew, and Hiza cast in two handfuls of our picked berries into the brew. When the provender was ready, Tula, with a ladle, filled four shallow, golden bowls with the sullage, and, humbly, head down, as a slave, served the mistresses. I was surprised at the golden bowls, which were, I supposed, some sort of loot. Sometimes, in concert, bands of Panther Women will attack a small caravan in the forest or an outlying trading post on the coast. On the other hand, perhaps the bowls were payment of a sort, or a token of more to come, from the mysterious “employer” Darla had mentioned.

When the mistresses had satisfied themselves with sullage, Tula was returned to the rope, and the rope shackles she had worn were removed. We then knelt to the side, hungry.

Tuza carefully returned the golden bowls to the pack.

“There are four,” said Darla.

Tuza angrily thrust the fourth bowl into the pack.

Emerald then drew three shallow, porcelain cups from several others in another pack. She then dipped these into the pot, filling them with sullage, and then placed them on the ground, near the fire.

She observed us, to note our reaction. We knew enough not to move.

She then handed each of us one of the cups. Mine was chipped. I looked at it, held in my two hands. I could feel the warmth of the sullage. I was desperately hungry. I supposed we all were. We looked up at Emerald. I took it her name was from her greenish eyes. I did not regard her as bad looking. I thought there would be men who might find her acceptable as a slave. I imagined her, deprived of talmit and ornaments, briefly tunicked, with a collar on her neck. She might do, I thought. Perhaps very well.

“Feed,” she said, and we gratefully lifted our cups to our mouths.

“Enjoy it,” she said. “But do not hasten. It is all you will receive. We must be careful of your figures. You are, after all, to be sold.”

Then she bent down, near me, and whispered. “I am going to sell you,” she said. “You may speak.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered. She then placed her finger before her lips, and I knew I had been again silenced.

I again lifted the small porcelain bowl to my lips. The meat was gone, but there were some berries left. I had had such berries, from time to time, in Kennel Five, mixed with the slave gruel. Slave gruel is not that different from some pottages I had known on my former world. As slave feed, however, it is commonly served plain and bland, served without spices, sugars, salts, or other flavors. It is apparently quite nourishing. I am told that in public eating houses, not brothels or taverns, slaves, when admitted, and not chained to rings outside, may kneel beside their master’s bench, and while he eats from the plates, and such, on the table, if it be his will, may be given a bowl of slave gruel, which will be placed either on the bench beside him, or on the floor near his place. Should he bring a sleen with him it might be similarly fed, though with a different provender, one suitable to its digestive system. Some eating houses object to admitting sleen, but the matter is sensitive. Sleen are dangerous.

“Ho,” said Tuza, reaching into a pack. “Now that we are safe, ka-la-na!”

Hiza uttered a sound of delight, and Emerald clapped her hands in delight. I gathered that this was a welcome surprise.

“You sly she-sleen,” said Darla.

Small golden goblets, matching the bowls, emerged, and Tuza poured ka-la-na into each. I noted she was particularly generous with Darla. Perhaps she wished to mollify her. Too, of course, Darla was leader.

I had never tasted ka-la-na but I had gathered there were a great many varieties, differing much in quality. Some Ubars might barter a city or a hundred slaves for a given flask of the beverage. Others were so cheap and common that, as the joke goes, they might be mixed with the swill of tarsk. The word itself, which is generic for several wines, derives from the ka-la-na trees, or wine trees, of Gor. But wines, as is well known, may be derived not only from the clustered fruits weighting the branches of the ka-la-na tree in the autumn, but, as on my former world, from vine fruit, tree fruit, bush fruit, even from some types of leaves.

“Have more wine,” said Tuza to Darla, holding the bottle toward her. “There is more.”

“You are a sly she-sleen,” said Darla, smiling. But she drew back her cup. “Bed the animals,” she said.

Tuza corked the bottle, rose up, and loosed the switch from her belt. We kept our heads down. Our hands were on our thighs.

“Bara!” she snapped.

Instantly we turned about in the neck rope, with its three knotted double loops, and went to our stomachs, our heads to the left, our wrists crossed behind us, and our ankles, as well. It is not advisable to hesitate in responding to a command. The bara position was, I suppose, the first slave position in which I had been placed. Of course I did not at that time understand it, or know its name. I had been in that position when I had regained consciousness in what appeared to be a warehouse, long ago, on my former world. I had been in that position, tied helplessly, when a foot had turned me over, to my back, and I had seen him, the man by whom I had known myself, for the first time, looked upon as what I had always suspected myself to be, a slave. I knew nothing of Gor, save uneasy rumors I had heard whispered about in the employee’s cafeteria, when men were not present, and in the female employees’ locker room at the store. How I had dismissed their whisperings as absurd, and yet, at the same time, wondered if I might appeal to the slavers of such a world. What would it be, I had wondered, to stand naked on a block, and be sold? I would learn. Then I had found myself turned to my back, and, bound hand and foot, looking up at him, he from whom I had fled in consternation in the store. I knew little, if anything, of Gor, but I knew I was looking up into the eyes of a man who was a natural master of women, one to whom a woman could be but a slave.

“They are prepared,” said Tuza.

One is quite helpless in the bara position. One is on one’s stomach and one’s hands are behind one, so one cannot use them to rise, and one’s body is extended, with one’s ankles crossed. One cannot easily rise from that position. Too, psychologically, one feels oneself submitted, and at the mercy of others. One knows one is at the feet of free persons, prostrate, perhaps even as a mere slave might be. Too, obviously, so positioned, one may be conveniently and easily tied.

“Hiza,” said Darla, “secure our little beasts for the night.”

In a few moments, with light cords, we had been bound for the night.

We lay very still, helpless, waiting, frightened.

We knew Tuza was behind us.

Then we cried out with pain as Tuza gave each of us, with her long switch, two strokes across the back of our thighs.

“Sleep well, sluts,” she said. “We have a long trek ahead of us, in the morning. By the next Passage Hand you will be bound naked to selling poles on the beach, awaiting passing galleys.”

She then returned to the fire.

“Have more ka-la-na,” she said to Darla.