Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Thirty-Seven



Mila and I, with dampened cloths were wiping the blood from the head, face, neck, and left shoulder of Darla.

She opened her eyes, suddenly, wildly, and jerked at her cuffed hands, held behind her, the two, narrow, snug, circular restraints attached to her waist chain. Mila and I, alarmed, leaped back. Darla struggled to her feet, crying out with rage, as a storm might rise. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, jerking at the restraints.

“Behold!” called Tuza, from across the site. “The mighty Darla wakes!”

“Remove these chains!” cried Darla.

“Or is it,” said Tuza, approaching, “merely an escaped slave, wandered in from the forest?”

“Release me!” demanded Darla. She struggled wildly in the bracelets, linked to the snug waist chain. Did she not know her efforts were useless? Had she not, often enough, put captured free women, or free women hoping to join her band, in just such impediments, before delivering them naked to buyers? “Where are my garments!” she cried. “Give them to me! I demand to be released! I demand my clothing! Remove these constraints! Give me my weapons! Where are my ornaments?”

“Some are here,” said Tuza, lifting her left arm, with its armlets and several bracelets, while, with her right hand, she lifted and fingered, exhibiting them, the strings of claws which she had looped about her throat.

Darla took an angry stride toward Tuza but, beside herself with rage, had either failed to notice, or had forgotten, the shackles which bound her ankles, and she fell into the dirt, before Tuza.

“Get up,” said Tuza.

Darla struggled to her feet, and stood facing Tuza, shaking with fury.

“I wonder if men would like her,” said Tuza, regarding her former leader.

“She-tarsk!” cried Darla.

“She is still filthy,” said Tuza. “Mila, Vulo, clean her. I find her appearance offensive.”

“Slaves!” cried. Darla. “How dare you touch me?”

Mila and I stepped back.

“Clean her,” said Tuza. “As you might a shackled slave, waiting to be put upon the block.”

Carefully, frightened, with our cloths, dampened in the Alexandra, we wiped away the blood and dirt which adhered to the body of the former leader. We were much afraid to do this, for she was free, and did not wish it. We trusted she would understand that we did not do this of our will, but as slaves. It is common for a slave, in her training, to be taught the bathing of masters, the sponging, the oils, the strigil, the rinsings, the towelings, and such. To be sure, we are also instructed in various ways we may please the master while bathing him, and in the manner of the slave. On the other hand, as I understand it, the matter is commonly quite different with free women. Certainly Darla did not wish to sustain our ministrations. Contact with a slave may be regarded as sullying by a free woman. She is, after all, free. In the case of the bath of a free woman, as I understand it, the slave commonly does little more than prepare the bath, test the temperature, for this may vary from mistress to mistress, place the oils, and such, scent the water, ready the towelings, lay out the after-bath gowns, and such. To be sure, she may assist her in and out of the bath, as well. Whereas I suppose a woman might have a personal serving slave of whom she is fond, being a woman’s serving slave is commonly regarded as the most dreaded of bondages. Most free women despise, and hate, female slaves, and own, and treat them, accordingly. Often they will not allow them to so much as cast a glance on a male. A good female serving slave, of course, particularly one of taste and discretion, may be invaluable to a free woman. There are some free women of the upper castes, wealthy women, who from childhood have never dressed themselves, who do not even know the intricate clasps and closures of the robes of concealment they wear, let alone their blendings and drapings, the best colors for the time of day and the season, the arrangements ideally in order for receivings, visitings, promenades, attendance at the readings, the theater, the song drama, and so on. In any event, few of us are trained as women’s slaves. Perhaps there are other schools, or courses, in this sort of thing. I have heard that free women, if they have a serving slave, or slaves, often purchase pretty ones, ones of a sort they particularly hate, in this way denying such a slave a master, which gratifies the free woman, and denying a master the slave, which, I suppose, gratifies her as well. It is also rumored that some free women purchase beautiful slaves in order to attract men to themselves, the fellow hoping to see more of the slave. But woe to the slave should she so much as dare to meet the eyes of the visitor. It is then, afterwards, the lash for her. The female serving slave, too, is apparently useful in the affairs of her mistress, carrying messages, arranging meetings, standing watch, and so on. Given the common loathing of the free woman for the slave, Darla’s reluctance to be washed, and publicly, by two slaves, was understandable. Clearly it was intended by Tuza as an insult. Similarly, a captured free woman may be profoundly insulted by her captor, if he has her stripped and exhibited in his presence by female slaves, while he ponders her value. Is she to be kept for a time, or sold? Is she a pot girl, or a kettle-and-mat girl, or does she have the makings, suitably trained, of a pleasure slave? Perhaps, if nothing better, she might be used for sleen feed. In any event, I knew nothing of being a woman’s slave. I had been trained for men.

“Get away from me!” screamed Darla, and Mila and I, disconcerted, drew back.

“Continue,” said Tuza, and we resumed our ministrations, however reluctantly. Darla held her head up, angrily, proudly, and stared out, toward the Alexandra.

“Good,” said Tuza. “Much better. Now brush and comb her hair.”

Hiza located a brush and comb, and I brushed Darla’s hair, and Mila combed it.

“Good,” said Tuza, “you are almost as presentable as a naked slave.”

“Free my hands, free my ankles,” cried Darla, “and give me a dagger, a javelin!”

“I like you as you are,” said Tuza.

“Let us do contest,” cried Darla, “in the manner of the Panther Women!”

“I would not soil my javelin on you,” said Tuza, “pretty Darla.”

“‘Pretty’!” screamed Darla.

“Now that I look upon you, better groomed,” said Tuza, “I think men might find you of some interest.”

“She-sleen!” cried Darla.

“If you had a collar on your neck,” she said.

“She-tarsk!” cried Darla, pulling at the bracelets, with a rattle of metal.

“Look,” said Tuza, “she is crying!”

“No, no, I am not!” wept Darla.

I was startled to see this, but tears ran down the cheeks of Darla. Could it be, I wondered, that she was a female, truly a female?

Tuza drew forth her dagger, and put its point to the bosom of Darla. The former leader drew back a little.

“You are afraid,” said Tuza.

“No,” said Darla.

But I saw she was afraid. She trembled. She turned white. Tears were in her eyes.

She looked then much less like a Panther Woman, than a woman. Darla, I conjectured, in this unexpected, and unusual situation, was suddenly coming to grips with her sex, its slightness, its softness, its helplessness, its weakness, its sensitivity, its limitations, its jeopardy, its fearful and glorious flood of rich and profound emotions, emotions over which she, to her consternation, found she could exercise not the least control, in whose grasp she found herself the lifted and transported prisoner of parts of herself a thousand times stronger than her conscious will, and its depth, its vulnerability, its dependence. Did this situation, chained before Tuza, I wondered, give her some sense of what it might be to be a woman before a man, or, say, a slave before a master?

I feared Tuza would ram the blade into the former leader, to the hilt.

“Do not kill her!” begged Hiza.

“Stand straighter,” said Tuza. “Get your back straight, your belly in, your shoulders back, your head up!”

Tears in her eyes, Darla obeyed.

“Excellent,” said Tuza, “you are standing almost as well as a slave.”

“Please!” said Darla.

“Do you wonder what has become of you, what has been done to you?” asked Tuza. “You are now exhibited as what you are, and should be, a naked, worthless slut, no more than a chained slave!”

“I am free! Free!” cried Darla.

“I thought free women were clothed,” said Tuza.

“Please, Tuza!” wept Darla.

“Do not dare to speak my name!” said Tuza.

“Do not kill her!” cried Hiza.

Tuza stepped back, and indicated Darla with the point of her knife. “There is the one you feared,” she said to Hiza and Emerald. “The mighty leader! See her helpless, see her without her talmit, without her skins, her weapons, her ornaments. Is she so mighty now! See her as she is, stripped, chained, and shackled, frightened, in tears, only a woman!”

Then Tuza turned back to Darla. “Get on your knees,” she said, “where you belong.”

Darla knelt, and looked up at Tuza. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked. “What is to be my fate?”

“You will learn later,” said Tuza. “First we will have breakfast. Busy yourself, Tula. Mila, Vulo, lay out the mats, the plates, the goblets and utensils, and then kneel, prepared to serve your mistresses. Hiza, fetch the talmit once unworthily worn by our pretty prisoner, and tie her ankles together.”

“Please,” said Darla.

“Will it be necessary to gag you?” asked Tuza.

“No,” said Darla.

“You might look well in a gag,” said Tuza, “pretty one.”

“It will not be necessary to gag me,” said Darla.

“You have gagged enough slaves,” said Tuza. “Why should you not be gagged, and as a slave?”

“I will be silent,” said Darla.

The breakfast was prolonged, doubtless by intent. It was served by Tula, returned to the rope, Mila, and myself. We were even, following the meal of the mistresses, allowed to feed ourselves with our own hands.

“Eat well, kajirae,” said Tuza. “We have a long trek to the coast before us.” I recalled we were to be sold on the coast. Darla knelt to the side, unable to rise, her ankles tied together. She had not been fed.

After breakfast, we cleared the mats, extinguished the fire, washed the gear of cooking and feeding in the Alexandra, and tidied the camp. Our bundles had been arranged and put to order by Hiza and Emerald.

We were standing by our burdens, I think about the eighth Ahn, awaiting the command to bear them, when Tuza drew out her knife, went to Darla, seized her by the hair, bent her head back, and put the blade of the knife to her throat.

“What is to be done with you?” asked Tuza.

“Sell me,” whispered Darla.

Hiza and Emerald gasped.

“Do my ears deceive me?” laughed Tuza.

“Sell me,” she said. “The sham is done. The charade is complete. The pretense is over. I am a woman, and a slave.”

Tuza sheathed her dagger, slapped her thigh, and turned, laughing, to Hiza and Emerald. “Hear that,” she laughed, “hear that!” But neither Hiza nor Emerald was laughing. Tula, Mila, and I stood near our burdens, frightened, mere women, feminine women, so unlike the mighty Panther Women, so unlike that we could be to them as naught but despised slaves, women of the sort which men immediately think of in terms of a brand and tunic, women of the sort which men think little of enslaving, and seek for their chains, their cords, their ropes, and straps, their collars. We dared not meet the eyes of the mistresses. I had thought that Darla, who was large and strong, was the fiercest, the mightiest, the most formidable of women, the bold and daring leader of a dangerous band of Panther Women, women to look up to, women before whom other women might kneel in fear, women not unlike the masters themselves, women not unlike men, but here was mighty Darla, naked, on her knees, chained and shackled, her ankles bound together with her own talmit, begging to be sold. Darla, I then realized, was a woman, and perhaps not so different from other women. Who knew what her thoughts had been, and her dreams? Perhaps she did have something in her of the woman, the blood, the instincts, the hopes, the needs, the fears, the desires, the longings, of the woman, the secret understanding, however hysterically denied, of her true place in nature, out of which she could not be herself. It was as though some image, some proud, contrived, clay encasement of a reality had finally broken apart, separating, revealing, hitherto hidden within, something quite unlike the image, or encasement, something not hard but soft, not artificial but real, not false but true, and needful. Yes, I thought, she was a woman, a true woman, but, as yet, was incomplete, for she had no master. How I remembered much of this from my former world, when I had lain in my bed for hours at a time, restless and miserable, knowing myself a slave, but a slave without a master. So, I thought, the sorry wallet has been opened, and it contains a coin of gold; the dingy wrapper has been unrolled, and within it we find rare silk; the uninspiring amphora has been unsealed, and within it we find a splendid wine, the sort men might prize, and for which they might bid, and heatedly. Yes, I thought, regarding Darla, a collar might look well on her neck. Yes, I thought, it belongs there.

Tuza then was no longer laughing but, furious, she freed her switch from her belt, rushed upon Darla, and switched her, again and again. Though we were not struck, Tula, Mila, and myself cringed, reacting to each stroke, for we had felt the switch of Tuza, and well knew its air-parting hiss, its crack, and sting.

“Please stop, please stop, Mistress!” cried Darla. I supposed it was the first time she had ever been switched.

“Do not call me ‘Mistress’!” screamed Tuza, and gave her another stroke. “You are free, free!” she screamed, striking her twice more.

“Sell me,” begged Darla.

“No,” said Tuza.

“We sold Donna!” said Darla. “You helped me defeat her. You became second! We sold her together!”

“I have something else in mind for you,” said Tuza. “Do you think I would permit you the ignominy, the degradation, the raptures, of the kajira?”

Darla, laying on her side, miserable, her body well inscribed with the bright records of Tuza’s displeasure, looked up at her, confused, and frightened.

“Put her on her knees, that she may hear her fate,” said Tuza.

Hiza and Emerald positioned Darla before Tuza.

“Prepare to hear your sentence,” said Tuza.

Darla looked up at her.

“You have been defeated,” said Tuza.

“Treachery,” said Darla.

“No more than when we leapt upon Donna in her sleep, and bound her,” said Tuza.

“I am not to be sold?” said Darla.

“No,” said Tuza.

“What then?” asked Darla, trembling.

“I am now ready to pronounce your sentence,” said Tuza.

“I am free,” said Darla. “Let me speak.”

“Speak,” said Tuza.

“It was I,” said Darla, “who in disguise at a trading point on the Laurius became first apprised of solicitations by the employer, seeking informants and scouts, to investigate rumors of a great ship being built near the headwaters of the Alexandra. He found few who would essay this task, for a great raiding party had recently been decimated in the northern forests. Many sent had failed to return, and those who had returned had nothing of substance to report. Ships sent to the mouth of the Alexandra had discovered nothing, and some apparently had fallen to pirates. It took me little time to discover that the employer had considerable, if finite, resources at his disposal. Indeed, he had, in the absence of other intelligence, organized a small army, recruited from a dozen cities, to close the mouth of the Alexandra, to prevent the exiting of this ship, should it exist. But even for his resources, this would be an expense which might ruin cities, and leagues of cities. He was thus in desperate need of intelligence. He must discover if the ship existed, and, if so, ascertain its location. Once this was done a stout raiding party might attack and destroy the ship, and withdraw with little, if any, loss. The mouth of the Alexandra then need not be closed, and its numerous guardians, in effect an army, might be paid and dismissed. Men talk much in their cups and I, posing as a free brothel mistress, shopping for brothel slaves, in various taverns, learned these things. It was then only necessary to contact the employer, and convince him that we might serve his purpose. Who would suspect a handful of Panther Women? Indeed, who might even know they were about? We know the forests, and their ways. We can move as quietly as the night. We can live off the land, like the beasts. We can hunt like the panther, and strike like the ost. We could well succeed where men, unfamiliar with the woods and woodcraft, would be likely to fail. Too, Panther Women do not range that far north, and it is late autumn. We would not be anticipated. Few would think of us, at all, if they did, certainly not that late in the season. Would we not be ideal for his purposes? So I must contact the employer and did so, with a hurled, note-bearing knife, cast from the darkness, which lodged itself in the center pole of his tent, not two horts from his head. By means of this device I conveyed our proposal and specified, as well, a secret meeting place, should he be interested. He was. And your wallets bulge with gold, a pittance compared to what we will receive upon our return and our imparting of our information. And it was I who brought you through the forest, for many days, far from our range, to spy upon the mysteries of the Alexandra. We have done our work well. We located the ship, and we have determined it might soon depart its wharf. Accordingly we must hurry to the Laurius, make our report, and gather in our riches. I have done much. I have led you well. Much skill and risk were involved in this. Free me and return to me the talmit of command.”

Tuza looked at Darla, thoughtfully. Then she said, “Relieve her ankles of the knotted talmit, with which we have bound them together.”

Hiza untied the talmit from Darla’s ankles, and handed it to Tuza.

“These chains and shackles, as well!” said Darla. She moved her knees. She pulled at her wrists, behind her back, held in the cuffs, attached to the waist chain. How well secured she was, I thought. How helpless we are in such things!

Tuza spread the talmit out.

Darla made as though to rise.

“Stay on your knees,” said Tuza, and she then wrapped the talmit about her own brow.

“I do not understand,” said Darla.

“When a Panther Woman has been found displeasing to her leader,” she said, “it is our way that she be punished, and you have not been found pleasing to your leader.”

“Sell me,” begged Darla.

“Prepare to hear your sentence,” said Tuza.

“Sell me,” begged Darla, “to anyone, even a woman, if you so hate me.”

“You will be driven from the camp,” said Tuza. “Get her on her feet.”

Hiza and Emerald lifted Darla to her feet.

“Relieve me of my chains, my shackles!” cried Darla.

“Get out,” said Tuza, lifting her switch.

“Free me!” wept Darla. “Give me a weapon, if only a knife!”

“Away, slut,” snarled Tuza, lifting the switch.

“I am helpless,” said Darla. “I am naked. I cannot use my hands. I am shackled. I can barely move. The beasts will have me.”

Tuza turned back to face Hiza and Emerald. “So it is,” she said, “that the talmit may pass from one to another in the band. It is not uncommon. Surely such things are familiar. Do not concern yourselves. It is our way. Let the strongest and wisest, the fiercest, the most clever, rule. She is not needed. She could not be trusted. She betrayed, and sold Donna. We can find our way back. There will be more gold for all of us. Gather your weapons. We are breaking camp.”

“Have mercy!” begged Darla.

“Must you be switched from the camp?” inquired Tuza.

Darla backed away, in misery, but she stopped, at the edge of the camp.

“Bundles up,” said Hiza, and Tula, Mila, and myself, on our rope, bent down, and lifted our bundles to our head, steadying them with our hands.

Darla fell to her knees. “Do not leave me here,” she begged. “Take me with you! Have mercy! You are now the mighty, indisputable, and noble leader. I acknowledge it. Take me with you, if only as bearer of burdens! Keep me if you wish. Sell me if you wish! Take me with you! I beg mercy!”

“Who begs mercy?” said Tuza.

“I beg mercy!”

“Who?” inquired Tuza.

“Darla begs mercy!” she wept.

“Darla,” said Tuza, “the properly deposed, worthless, meaningless slut?”

“Yes,” said Darla, “Darla, the properly deposed, worthless, meaningless slut begs mercy!”

“If you attempt to follow us,” said Tuza, “your throat will be cut.”

Darla then collapsed, weeping, at the edge of the camp. She lay in the dirt, sobbing.

“Prepare to trek,” said Tuza, lifting her hand.

We steadied our bundles. When she lowered her hand, and indicated the trail ahead, we would move. The first step is taken with the left foot.

“Seize them!” I heard. A woman’s voice.

We looked about, startled, wildly, to our right. A woman had emerged from the forest, pointing toward us. She was a sturdy woman, but one clearly worthy of a slave block. Her hair was black, and undone. She was barefoot. She wore a brief tunic, of bright scarlet. In the forest that would be easily marked. She was collared. There seemed much motion behind her, rapidly moving shadows amongst the trees. I saw the gleam of a weapon.

“Seize them!” she cried again, standing, pointing to our group.

“Donna!” cried Tuza.