Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Thirty-Five



I squirmed a little in my bonds. I am not sure why I had awakened. Tula and Mila were asleep. I was uneasy. I moved my neck a little in the coarse, knotted, double loop which encircled my throat, which held me to the others. We were lying as we had been placed, facing away from the fire, and the mistresses. They had been drinking for some time before retiring. They had not posted a guard. They apparently thought themselves safe. Certainly they were now far from Shipcamp. Tuza had plied Darla with ka-la-na, even more than the others. Perhaps she wished to better ingratiate herself with the leader, for I had sensed some tension, if not animus, between them. Darla, Hiza, and Emerald had, long ago, retired to their blankets, spread on the mattresses of soft boughs we had gathered for them. They, of course, were free. We, on the other hand, lay in the dirt, bound. On my former world I could have scarcely grasped the chasm which separates the slave from the free. On Gor it was easy to grasp. There was an insurmountable division, a separation into kinds. How unbridgeable is the gap which separates the free from property, from goods, from merchandise, from the owned animal, from the slave!

Why had I awakened? I did not know.

I turned to my left side, and turned about, careful not to draw on the rope, which might have awakened Mila, and Tula, beyond her. I propped myself up on my left elbow, and twisted about, to where I might see the remains of the fire, now muchly burned down. I could hear the Alexandra several yards away, soft in its banks.

I could see Hiza and Emerald, asleep. Darla, too, was asleep. I did not see Tuza. This frightened me, for if she were about, and saw me turned about, it might earn me a thrashing. Tuza was short-tempered. She was impatient. Her switch was supple and cruel. I think she enjoyed beating slaves, at least lovely slaves, for some reason. Was she jealous of us, even though she had the glory of freedom on her and we were no more than docile, servile, collared beasts? Did it have to do with the fact that men found us of interest, and would buy us, and own us? Was it our beauty, if beauty it was, which so infuriated her? Why should she be concerned with us? Did she not know we were slaves, simple beasts, and could be sold? I dreaded the morning, when I would be again at her mercy. Why did she use the switch so upon us? What if we might be attractive to men? What did it matter? We were no more than simple beasts, animals, at her mercy. Our bodies were rich with the stripes of her displeasure. Did she not know we were desperate to please her? She was so different from a man. We would hardly ever be struck by a man, unless we were somehow displeasing. To be sure, we might sometimes be lashed, if only to remind us that we were slaves. The lash well confirms our bondage upon us.

I had had the sense, from the evening, though to be sure I was facing away, my head to the left, my right cheek on the dirt, that Tuza may not have drunk as deeply as the others. I had conjectured this from various remarks, from chidings, from jokes, from laughter, protests, and such. She had seemed to be pouring wine, and pressing it on others. I was not sure she was as eager to drain her own goblet, certainly not again, and again. I had wondered about this, and even wondered if it was the case, but I had then fallen asleep. Such things were not my concern. They were the business of the mistresses. Curiosity, as I recalled, was not becoming in a kajira.

But where was Tuza? She was not in her blankets.

Perhaps, I thought, she has fled, has perhaps robbed and deserted the band. But would she not have taken one of us with her, gagged, to carry her loot? The packs seemed much to me as they had been earlier.

I then saw Tuza emerge, like a shadow, from the forest. In her hands she carried some object.

I could not have called out even had I wished to do so. It was not that I was simply afraid to speak, though I was, or because I had been silenced by the will of the mistress. It was different. I watched in horror. I could not make a sound. I was too frightened. I tried to call out. But no sound came from my throat.

Too, it was finished in an instant. Nothing would have been different, even had I managed to cry out.

Tuza had slipped to her knees beside Darla, lifted her hands over her head, grasping the dark object, which was a heavy stone, and struck downward. Darla made a small noise, and then, apparently, lapsed into unconsciousness. Tuza put the stone to one side, and drew out her knife. I realized clearly that Tuza, had she wished, might have broken open the skull of her victim, killing her instantly, but had controlled the blow, for, it seemed, she had other plans for the leader of the band of Darla.

I saw Tuza look toward me, but she did no more than smile. With her knife she cut the skins from Darla, and removed her weapons, and ornaments, one by one, with several of which she decorated her own body. She then jerked the bloody talmit from Darla’s head. She then fetched some articles from one of the packs. I heard a rustle of chain. She then knelt beside the unconscious Darla, and moving her inert body about, encircled it with a waist chain, which she drew back, snugly, about Darla’s belly. The chain, as is common with such chains, contained its associated slave bracelets, by means of which a slave’s hands may be cuffed before her body, or behind it, in both cases being held close to her body. A slave’s hands are helpless in such a constraint. For example, if she is front-cuffed, she may not even lift her hands to feed herself. But the unconscious Darla’s hands were pulled back, and cuffed closely together, at the small of her back. Tuza then snapped a pair of ankle shackles on the unconscious Darla. They would permit her ankles a play of less than a foot.

Tuza then, apparently muchly satisfied with herself, stood up, stirred the fire, and threw upon it much of the fuel we had gathered earlier in the preceding evening. Soon a hardy blaze was illuminating the clearing, brightly. It was bright enough for a man’s paga feast, the sort at which stripped free women must dance as slaves and, to their shame, though they are still legally free, will be put to use as sluts before their collaring and branding.

Hiza sat up in her blankets. Emerald rubbed her eyes.

“Awaken, slothful sisters!” cried Tuza. “Donna is avenged! Welcome to the band of Tuza.”

Hiza leaped up, drawing her knife, but Tuza faced her, her own knife drawn, and ready. Tuza crouched like a panther, the blade of her knife at her knee, blade upward.

Emerald was now on her feet as well. She, too, had drawn her knife.

“Darla is defeated,” said Tuza. “I am first. I am leader. Victory is ours. More gold for us. See the armlets, the bracelets, and anklets I have left for you. Rich booty. I share! Donna is avenged.”

Hiza and Emerald stood near the fire, uncertain.

“Do you wish to do contest?” asked Tuza. “Alone, together?”

By now Tula and Mila, too, were awake, and turned about, frightened. To be sure we, as slaves, would abide the outcome.

“What Darla did to Donna,” cried Tuza, “I have now done to Darla! Let it be so. Let the strongest, the fiercest, the mightiest, command the band.”

“Do not speak of vengeance,” said Hiza. “You had no care for Donna. You hated her, as you hated Darla. You collaborated with Darla, to oust Donna, that you should receive the gift of the lieutenancy!”

Tuza fixed her eyes on Hiza. “Do you have your blade drawn before your leader?” she asked.

Hiza thrust her dagger back into its sheath. And Tuza turned her attention to Emerald. “Well, pretty Emerald,” she said, “do you care to carry an unsheathed blade before your leader?”

“No,” said Emerald, and resheathed her weapon.

“Who is leader?” asked Tuza.

“You,” said Hiza.

“You,” said Emerald.

“Perhaps,” said Hiza, “you should have fought, in the way of the Panther Women.”

“I did not choose to do so,” said Tuza.

“No,” said Emerald. “Darla was dangerous.”

“It is not our way to kill a leader in her sleep,” said Hiza.

“Of course not,” said Tuza. “I did not kill her.”

“She lives?” said Hiza.

“Of course,” said Tuza. “Killing her would not satisfy me. I have something much better in mind.”

Hiza and Emerald exchanged puzzled glances.

“I do not understand,” said Emerald.

“You will fetch her, both of you,” said Tuza, “but first arrange the slaves. Get them up. The little beasts are already awake. Kneel the sluts, heads up, so that they see what ensues.”

Shortly thereafter we were kneeling in a line, on our neck rope. Our ankles were still bound together, and our wrists, as well, behind our back.

“Lift your heads, slaves,” said Hiza.

Tuza regarded us. “You are no longer silenced by the will of the mistress,” she said.

We took ourselves then to be in the common modality of the slave, subject to no more than the usual restraints on our speech.

But still we did not speak, not daring to do so, not even to request permission to speak.

Masters and mistresses do not always care to hear the speech of slaves.

“Changes have occurred in the camp,” said Tuza. “There is a new leader. It is Tuza. You will find her less indulgent than the former leader, who was weak. It is a long trek to the coast. You will be expected to work well for your gruel. If you are found unsatisfactory, you will be tied in the forest, and left for the beasts. If all goes well, you will be stripped and sold on the coast. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” we whispered.

Our voices trembled. It had been long since we had been permitted to speak. It seemed strange to enunciate sounds. I feared momentarily I might not be able to say words. But I had heard myself whisper, “Yes, Mistress.”

“You are poor stock,” said Tuza. “I am thinking of being displeased with you. What shall I do with you?” She glared at each of us, in turn. “Please do not beat us, Mistress,” said Tula. “Please be kind, Mistress,” said Mila. “Please be merciful, Mistress,” I said. “You, Vulo,” she said. “Mistress?” I said. “You writhe nicely under the switch,” she said. “Men will like that.” “Please be merciful, Mistress,” I said. Surely we all responded similarly under the switch, for we were all slaves. Tuza, I feared, bore me some particular animosity. That was probably, I surmised, because I had been captured by Emerald, who expected to sell me.

Tuza then spun about, and faced Hiza. “Do you question the will of the leader?” she asked.

“No,” said Hiza.

She then faced Emerald. “Do you question the will of the leader?” she asked.

“No,” said Emerald.

She then faced us, and said, “Do you question the will of the mistresses?”

“No, Mistress,” we said.

“Good,” said Tuza. She turned back to Hiza and Emerald, and gestured to the side of the camp, contemptuously, where Darla lay, unconscious and chained. “Fetch the garbage,” said Tuza. “Both of you! Now!”

“She is not dead?” asked Hiza.

“No,” said Tuza. “Be quick!”

Hiza and Emerald went to the side of the clearing where Darla lay. It was now morning, and fully light. It was easy to see why Hiza had been uncertain as to whether Darla was alive or not. The body was inert, and there was a considerable amount of blood about the head. The blanket, too, was dark with blood. Hiza and Emerald, half lifting, half dragging, brought the inert body of Darla to the center of the camp, and put it where Tuza indicated, at her feet. I saw a tiny movement of Darla’s hands, clasped behind her back in the steel of slave bracelets, the slight opening and closing of fingers. A small sound escaped her, as though she might be stirring in her sleep.

“See,” said Tuza, “she is alive. I planned it so. I want you to see her as she is, and should be. And I want her to understand what she is, and should be.”

“She may die,” said Hiza.

“No,” said Tuza. “More is planned for her.”

“Should we not wash the blood from her head and body?” asked Emerald.

“That is work for slaves,” said Tuza.

“But she is free,” said Hiza.

“Let her be washed by slaves, as a slave,” said Tuza. “Yes, yes! Excellent! Unbind our tunic girls; have them wash the chained she-tarsk, that she be less offensive to our eyes. Then set our little beasts about their tasks, let them sweep and clean the camp, let them tidy things, let used boughs be cast aside, let them fetch water and wood, and berries, let them serve us, let us have a fine breakfast. I want our former leader to see that even tunic sluts are freer than she!”

“The rope?” inquired Emerald.

“Remove it from Tula, but put her in rope shackles,” said Tuza. “She is an excellent cook. Let the other two address themselves to less demanding tasks.”

“But on the rope?” said Emerald.

“Certainly,” said Tuza, “for one would not wish them to stray, to be eaten by panthers.”

“We shall have a splendid time,” said Tuza, “before we begin the trek.”

“What will be done with Darla?” inquired Hiza.

“You will see,” said Tuza. “Quickly now, unbind the sluts, that they may be put to work!”