Plunder of Gor (36 page)

I strove, disconcerted, to hold back tears.

“Please do not sell me,” I said.

“Where did you get the paga girl?” asked a fellow nearby. He had doubtless conjectured thusly, given my tunic.

“At the Slave Whip,” said Kurik, my master.

“Cheap?” asked the fellow.

“Yes,” said Kurik, of Victoria.

“I will give you twenty copper tarsks for her,” said the fellow.

“I would hope for a tarsk-bit or two more,” said Kurik.

Doubtless I am vain, but what woman, free or slave, is not? I was quite angry. Twice in Ar, on the streets, a whole silver tarsk had been offered for me, and I thought I might, in a decent market, go for even more. Surely I had seen the eyes of masters on me, a slave is aware of such things, surely as much as a free woman with a slackened veil or an exposed ankle, when we, I heeling my master, had approached the market, when we had entered the market, when we had climbed the tiers and found our place, even as I knelt beside my master during the sales.

“Put me up for sale,” I said, angrily. “I am not so cheap! I am beautiful, very beautiful! I will show you I am worth more!”

Kurik laughed.

“Perhaps I will do so,” he said.

“No!” I cried. “Do not sell me! Please do not sell me!”

How vulnerable are slaves! How easy it is to hood and bind one, and lead her, on her leash, to a market!

“Not until at least the second Ahn,” he said.

Another girl had now been conducted to the height of the block, a short, sweetly thighed blonde. I no longer saw she who had been sold for a silver tarsk fifty. Doubtless she had been back-braceleted and leashed, and, possibly hooded, led away. How helpless we are, the goods of masters!

“It must be past the twentieth Ahn,” said Kurik. “We must be away.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

We then left our place, descended the stairs, and took our leave of the house of Anesidemus.

Chapter Thirty-Two

It was now well past the twentieth Ahn.

I took it that my master well knew the location of the house of Flavius Minor. Surely he would endeavor to be at the house by the first Ahn.

The “southern piers,” as the district is spoken of, is lonely at night. There were few, if any, guardsmen about. There were rumors, I recalled, as to why this area was less supervised or patrolled. It scarcely seemed a part of the harbor authority's jurisdiction. In Brundisium, as in many cities, much may depend on where one is, and the time of day or night. The southern piers, as we shall speak of them, were now muchly deserted. Surely the clamor and bustle of the day was absent. The walkway from which the piers extended was heavily planked and broad, several yards in width, the piers and water on the one side and the maze of warehouses, and shops, separated by alleys, on the other, leading up to the higher districts. The many crates, barrels, boxes, bales, and such piled about the walkway and piers during the day were no longer in evidence, having been stowed on the ships or shut away in the warehouses. Unprotected objects, as is well known, if deemed of value, may find themselves relocated during the hours of darkness.
Ela
, they are wont to vanish. This absence of the usual diurnal clutter, such a massive jumble of goods, attendant on these obvious mercantile precautions, made the walkway and piers, of course, seem even more spacious, lonely, and frightening. On the other hand, my master, I am sure, welcomed such an arrangement, particularly this night. In any event, we stayed near the center of the walkway, away from the buildings and shadows. In such a way it is not easy for one to be approached, unnoticed. There were several galleys moored in the area, at the piers, and at the edge of the walkway itself. On the knife ships the masts were down; on the round ships no canvas was slung to the yards. The ships, the long ships, or knife ships, and the round ships, the freighters and coasters, seemed dark in the night, and disquieting, like quiet, watching, lurking things. On some of the ships, the knife ships, canvas was stretched between the bulwarks, to shield the deck. Sometimes mariners sleep beneath such canvas. Occasionally we saw a lantern, usually at the stern. One could hear the water lapping against the pilings, and hear the occasional creak of ropes and timber, vessels pulling against their moorings. It was windy and cloudy. A rope would dip beneath the water, and then, as the ship rocked, and moved, it might lift, taut and dripping. Occasionally one saw, in the light of the moons, the shimmering droplets, shed from the tautened rope, fall to the water. A rain, scarcely noticeable, was falling. The paga tunic, now damp, afforded little comfort. Two of the three moons were in the sky, occasionally visible through the clouds, the white and yellow moons. The smallest moon could not be detected, and it was not always easy to note, even under better conditions. The smallest moon is called the Prison Moon, but this name made little sense to me. How could a tiny moon, or any moon, be a prison? Perhaps it was called that because it seemed prisonlike, small, remote, forbidding, cold, and desolate.

I was little more than a pace behind my master. I suspect I clung about him more closely than propriety would suggest for a suitable heeling distance, but I was uneasy. Thankfully he did not warn me away. He seemed tense, and vigilant. This did not decrease my apprehension. A slave, as other animals, I suppose, is likely to be quite sensitive to the emotional states and moods of her master. Sometimes her life might depend on that. Had he not feared a slave's looseness of tongue or her defection, I might have been left to the comfort of some kennel or cage, or to the security of a chain and ring, nicely sheltered, wrapped in an ample, pleasant blanket, warm and dry. But had I been given a choice, and who gives a slave a choice, I would have chosen to be with him. I had been in the arms of Kurik of Victoria. I was his slave. I did not wish to languish for him, fearing for him, suffering in his absence. I was his. I wanted to be with him.

“That is the house of Flavius Minor,” said Kurik, pointing to a large, dark warehouse. It must have been seventy yards wide, and it extended back into the darkness, perhaps as far. The front of the building was some ten yards in height, suggesting that the building contained levels. Its huge gate had two leaves, and, were it opened, it would easily accommodate the passage of a double-harness tharlarion wagon. Within this larger gate, in the right leaf of the gate, as one would face the building, there was a smaller opening, a door, by means of which individuals might come and go. Near this door, to the side, on the right, as one would face the building, on the wall of the building, was a small, lidded tharlarion-oil lamp. This illuminated a flat sign under the lamp on which there was some lettering that, I supposed, identified the structure. When we approached the building more closely, I noted that there was a small, sliding panel in this door, which, if opened, would allow someone within the building to peer outward without opening the door. During the day I supposed that the larger door, the two-leaved gate, would be open, allowing access to and from the interior of the large structure. But it would not be so at night. The lamp on the wall was so situated that the would-be visitor, or whosoever might seek admittance, by means of the door, would be illuminated in its light.

Kurik hesitated some yards before the small door, and looked about.

“All seems quiet,” he said.

“And lonely,” I said.

“We may not be alone,” he said.

“I see no one,” I said.

“Nor I,” he said.

“It must be nearly time,” I said, “for the ringing of the first Ahn.”

“No,” he said, “not yet.”

“What is the nature of the package, the delivery, its contents?” I asked.

“It is a gift,” he said.

“For whom?” I asked.

“You need not know that,” he said.

“Doubtless the package is of value,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Its origin is far away, a steel world.”

He then approached the door within the right leaf of the closed gate. He looked about, again. I think he was uneasy to stand within the compass of the lamp, as small as this compass was.

Kurik rapped lightly on the door, and then stepped to the side, into the shadows.

We waited.

“Perhaps Master should knock more loudly,” I said.

“Perhaps you should be bitted,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said. I had no desire to be fastened again in that horrid device. A girl, bitted, is in no doubt she is a slave.

“A light knock is more than adequate,” he said. “One or more will be within, listening. They will have been alerted to expect a claimant.”

The small, narrow, rectangular panel slid back.

“Stand in the light,” said a voice.

Kurik stepped into the light.

“What do you want?” said the voice.

“A package has been delivered,” said Kurik, “perhaps recently. I come to claim it.”

“Many packages are delivered,” said the man. “Return in the morning. Bring your claiming disk.”

“I have no claiming disk,” said Kurik.

“How then can you claim the package?” asked the voice, narrowly.

“As the package for which there is no claiming disk,” said Kurik.

“From whence is this package?” asked the voice.

“From far away,” said Kurik.

“From farther than Torvaldsland, from farther than Schendi?” said the voice.

“Yes,” said Kurik.

“Perhaps,” said the voice.

“You are expecting me,” said Kurik.

“We are expecting someone,” said the voice.

“Admit me,” said Kurik.

“Surely, Master,” said the voice.

The panel slid shut, and the door opened partly, and Kurik slipped through.

“Not the slave,” said the voice. “Chain her outside, there is a ring.”

“And risk having her cry out?” asked Kurik.

“True,” said the voice, “there must be no noise, nothing to attract attention, nothing to stir curiosity. Better to bring her within then, where, if she dares to murmur, her throat can be cut.”

I was not pleased, nor was I reassured, in any way, to hear such a remark.

Quickly I entered, and hid myself, as I could, behind my master.

A lantern was lifted, by a second man within.

He regarded my master, carefully, saying nothing. He then turned to me and I, illuminated and before a free person, knelt, my head down.

“A paga girl,” he said, he with the lantern.

I stiffened, angrily. How dare he think of me as a paga girl!

“Yes,” said my master.

I dared not cry out.

But, surely, I thought, if my master can assume some guise, why not I? But why, I asked myself, that of a paga girl? Did my master so think of me? Did he think of me as no more than a paga girl, if that? Who could look at me, and think I was a mere paga girl? But then I realized that any master, even my master, Kurik of Victoria, might sell me so, and then I would be no more than another paga girl.

“I like paga girls,” said the fellow with the lantern. “They are hot on the end of their chain.”

“So is any slave,” said my master.

“They had better be,” laughed he with the lantern.

It was not our fault what men had done to us! Too, I hoped my master would soon touch me. How alive, and needful, I was on Gor, helpless in my collar.

“It is not a badly curved slave,” said the first fellow, he who had peered through the sliding panel.

“She will do,” said Kurik.

“Where did you get her?” asked the second fellow.

“At the Slave Whip,” said my master.

“Cheap?” he was asked.

“Of course,” he said.

I did not think such an asseveration was necessary to support our imposture.

“Follow me,” said the man with the lantern, turning, and beginning to make his way deeper into the interior of the warehouse.

I rose, unbidden, and followed the men.

The space we traversed through the center of the warehouse was muchly open, but there were many boxes, crates, and such, stacked about the walls.

“The crate to be surrendered without a claiming ticket?” said he with the lantern, leading the way.

“That is my understanding,” said Kurik.

One could not see a great deal in the light of the lantern, for the shadows about us, and above us, to the sides, but even a small light, in a darkness, may seem surprisingly bright. It would have hurt my eyes to look directly at it. I could sense darknesses about us, and above us, and sensed, on the sides, and at the back, two tiered, interior balconies, presumably leading to rooms beyond. The first balcony level could be reached by a ramp, and ladders. A similar arrangement, I supposed, characterized the second, higher balcony, beginning from the level of the first. The roof over the central area of the house was lost in shadows. To the side, against a wall, on the ground level, I saw two carts, and detected another on the first balcony. There was also, on the first balcony, and, I supposed, also on the second, though it was difficult to tell, a projecting beam, from which descended an apparatus of ropes and counterweights.

The tread of the three men, the heels of their high-laced, bootlike sandals, marked our passage in the gloom.

I was barefoot.

I had not been given sandals.

We envied those who were permitted sandals.

“It is there,” said the fellow who had admitted us, pointing to a large crate, against the back wall. The fellow with the lantern stood to the side, the lantern lifted.

“It is large,” said Kurik. “I did not know it was so large.”

“Claim it,” said he who had admitted us, moving a bit to the other side.

“I would not stand so close to us, Phyllis,” said my master.

I then knelt, somewhat puzzled, uneasily, to the side.

I did not understand my master's instruction, but it is not necessary that I do so. It is enough for a domestic beast to obey. The domestic beast does not hesitate, or question. She obeys.

The switch and whip are not pleasant.

“It has no markings,” said Kurik, peering at the crate.

“Nor has it a claiming ticket,” said he who had admitted us.

“You are sure it is the one?” asked Kurik.

“It is the one,” said he who had admitted us.

“Good,” said Kurik.

“Claim it,” said he who had admitted us.

“No,” said Kurik.

“‘No'?” asked the man.

“No,” said Kurik.

“It has been delivered,” said he who had admitted us. “It is here. That is it. Claim it.”

“I decline,” said Kurik.

“I do not understand,” said the man.

“I decline,” repeated Kurik.

“Do not try our patience, nor waste our time,” said the fellow. “If you want it, claim it. The transaction may be done in an instant.”

“Doubtless,” said Kurik.

“The house is closed,” said the man. “Claim it, or not. Do you wish to be put out? If you do not wish to claim it now, return in the morning.”

“I would not be able to do so,” said Kurik.

“Why not?” asked the fellow.

“I would not be alive in the morning,” said Kurik.

“I do not understand,” said he who had admitted us.

“I suspect you understand quite well,” said Kurik. “If you do not, seek for enlightenment from the fellows on the first balcony, doubtless employees of the house, who have crossbows trained on me.”

“You are observant,” said he who had admitted us.

“Not really,” said Kurik. “Rather, I conjecture.”

“Oh?” said he who had admitted us.

“Why else,” asked Kurik, “would you and your friend have so subtly separated yourself from me, and from what better vantage point might one fire than from the first balcony?”

“And you conjecture more than one?” said he who had admitted us.