Kajira of Gor (37 page)

evening, at campsites, as I did now, I wore ankle chains. At night, my tunic

removed, he would lock me in what served as my kennel, the trunk.

“Does he rent you out?” asked Tina. “Sometimes a man can get an offer on a girl

that way.”

“No,” I whispered.

“The whole matter seems very puzzling,” said Tina.

“Yes,” I said.

I was suddenly becoming terrified. Speusippus, I feared, however absurdly,

sensed that I might be a slave. He seemed concerned, then, apparently, that I

not be permitted to enter too deeply into my slavery.

But, why not? Most men certainly do not interfere with the natural growth, the

progress and development of a woman in her bondage.

Most men, at least of Gor, permit her to achieve this self-fulfillment; some of

them, within certain latitudes of discipline, even permit her to proceed largely

at her own pace, gradually coming to understand, incontrovertibly, that she,

loving and obedient, has always been a slave to the core.

I was not a slave, of coursel But, if I happened to be, why was Speusippus

acting as he was? I doubted that he would deny me the collar out of spite. More

likely he would put it on me and then try to make me regret I wore it. Too, if I

were not a natural slave, was it not now time that he put me in a collar? I, a

free woman, had been forced, to my humiliation and shame, to serve as though I

might be a slave.

Surely the next natural step in his vengeance would be to make me a legal slave

and own me. Would it not be a splendid jest, now, to take Sheila, the Tatrix of

Corcyrus, to the shop of a metal worker, to see her writhe and scream under the

iron, to have her fitted with a collar and then lock it on her throat, to make

her an actual slave? But he did not seem to have any intention of doing so. What

fate, then, I wondered, might Speusippus of Turia have in mind for me? I wrung

out the last tunic, and rolled it up, and put it with the others. They could be

unrolled and laid out to dry on the wagons.

“What is the news, Tina?” I asked.

“About what?” she asked.

“About anything,” I said.

“There is not much,” she said. “There is some fear for the Sa-Tarna crop,

because of the great deal of rain. There is going to be a celebration in Ar

because of the birthday of Marlenus, the Ubar there. Lactantius thinks that is

important.”

“Is there any news from the west?” I asked.

“The usual,” she said.

“What is that?” I asked.

“You have heard about the escape of the Tatrix of Corcyrus?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“That is strange,” she said. “It happened some days ago. There is a great search

on, for her.”

“I did not know that,” I said. “Where do they think she went?

“No one knows,” said Tina.

“Oh,” I said.

“There is now a reward of a thousand gold pieces for her,” she said.

“That is a great deal of money,” I said. I felt sick.

“Tina,” I said.

“Yes?” she said.

“Lactantius, your master, is from Ar’s Station. What is he doing on this road?”

“He picked up freight in Ar,” she said. “He is taking it west.”

“Where?” I asked.

“To Argentum,” she said. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said. “What is he doing on this road?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “He is doing exactly what he is supposed to be

doing.”

“What road is this?” I asked.

“It is the road to Argentum,” she said.

I pretended to be dissatisfied with one or two of the tunics I had washed. I

dallied by the stream until Tina had finished her work and returned to the

vicinity of her master’s wagon. Then, when no one was looking, I bent down and

picked up a small, sharp stone from the edge of the stream. This I inserted in

the hem of my slave tunic. Later I would hold it in my mouth, for the tunic

would be taken from me before I was put in the trunk. The trunk, though sturdy,

was not an iron or steel slave box. It was a trunk, made of wood, banded with

iron.

21
   
The Road

I fled along the stone road, eastward, back toward the Viktel Aria.

The road was wet. The night was cloudy.

It had taken me two nights, with the sharp stone, to cut through the wood, under

the blanket, in the trunk. I had begun by drawing deep, even scratches. The

scratches had then, repeatedly, been deepened, slowly and carefully. I had

worked only with great caution, and very silently, and even then only when I was

assured that Speusippus was asleep. By day I hid the stone in the blanket, and

the blanket itself covered the traces of my work. I rejoiced that Speusippus was

not more fastidious about the conditions of my confinement. Yesterday morning,

before dawn, the bottom of the trunk bail been loosened and, rolling to one

side, I could get my fingers beneath it. Tonight, a few Ahn ago, I had lifted

it, inside the trunk. I had then, tipping and lifting the trunk, been able to

slip between the two iron bands which reinforced its strength, bands which

joined with the hardware of the two locks, making it impossible to cut or saw

around the locks. I had then eased the trunk back into place, slipped from the

wagon, sneaked from the camp, and run.

I was naked again, as I bad been, in the camp of Miles of Argenturn. I did not

know where my slave tunic was, as, each night, would put it somewhere after I

had been locked in the trunk. There was no clothing of a free woman in the camp

as far as I knew. It was a camp of free men and slaves.

I made my way eastward, gasping, and walking and running, on the Argenturn road,

back toward the Viktel Aria. I did not think they would expect me to keep to the

road. Yet, of course, on it, I could make my best time. Too, I did not think

they would expect me to retrace the route to the Viktel Aria. Not only would

this bring me into areas of greater population concentrations but, too, it would

take me closer to, Ar.

This would be almost as bad from my point of view, they would suppose, as moving

toward Argentum itself. They’ would expect me, I supposed, to follow the stream,

wading in it, and then, a few pasangs later, strike out northward. Speusippus

would recall that I had, on my knees, begged him not to take me to Ar.

I hurried on.

An additional reason for keeping to the road was that I thought, on the hard,

wet surface, it might be more difficult to follow my sign, if sleen were later

used. Also, of course, my sign would be confused, or I hoped it would, with that

of other travelers. To be sure, there were no sleen at the campsite and

Speusippus might not be able to rent one for days. By that time, especially with

the rains, it might be impossible, even for such fine, tenacious hunters as

sleen, to follow my scent. Too, I did not think he would have anything that

would be particularly useful for setting sleen on my trail. I had deliberately

left the blanket in the trunk.

It would bear not only my own scent but that of numerous other women as well.

The tunic I had worn, too, bad been worn by others, presumably slaves, before

me. Also, in the evening I had washed it thoroughly and, not donning it, handed

it humbly to Speusippus before I had entered the trunk, presumably to be locked

helplessly in it.

It was becoming more cloudy. I felt a few drops of rain.

Speusippus might not even rent sleen. By the time he could do so, he would

recognize, as a rational man, that the scent presumably would have faded. Too,

he had little of practical value in giving such beasts the initial scent. Too,

it is expensive to rent sleen, and Speusippus, who was a poor man, might even

lack the means to do so. It is much more expensive, for example, to rent a sleen

than a slave. Sleen are often rented by the Ahn. Slaves are commonly rented by

the day or week. One of the greatest advantages I had, I thought, was that

Steusippus, being an intelligent man, would presumably keep the secret of my

identity. It would do his coin box little good if I fell to the chain of some

burly huntsman from the foothills of the Voltai. Besides, who would believe that

he had ever had the Tatrix of Corcyrus in his keeping? They would surely think

him mad. if authorities should search for me, I was sure it would be only as the

girl of Speusippus, a runaway slave named Lita.

It now began to rain more heavily. I welcomed the rain, hoping it would diminish

and wash away the scent my body and bare feet might be leaving behind me.

There was another reason I was retracing our steps on the Argentum road.

Yesterday I had seen another open slave wagon, a long, wide wagon much like I

had seen a few days ago. It, too, had contained several girls, their individual

neck chains strung to a common central chain, their hair cropped as insolently

short as mine. The similarity of the two wagons and the chaining arrangements

suggested that a single company was involved. I had made inquiries. These were

girls of the sort sometimes referred to as female work slaves. It is a very low

form of slave, indeed, perhaps the lowest. Seldom can they aspire even to the

status of the kettle-and-mat girl. They do not bring high prices. They are

usually sold in multi-item lots in cheap markets and are usually purchased to be

used in such places as the public kitchens or laundries, and the mills. From

these applications, they are sometimes referred to, naturally enough, as

“kitchen girls,” “laundry girls,” “mill girls,” and so on.

These particular girls, it had been conjectured, had been obtained from markets

in the north, where prices are often cheaper. They were now being brought south

and cast, probably, from their shearing, for work in the mills. It was my hope

that I could make secret ‘contact with these women, and obtain food, and perhaps

advice, from them. I was naked, ignorant and illiterate. I was little better off

than when I had escaped from the yard of the inn several days ago. Surely they

would feed me, and be kind to me. Even though I was far superior to them, as I

was free and they were mere slaves, it was my hope that they would be kind to me

in my need. We shared a common sisterhood in the sense that we were all

ultimately helpless women on a world where men had never relinquished, their

sovereignty.

Toward morning the rain stopped and I, fearful of discovery as it grew lighter,

left the Argenturn road.

22
   
The Wagon; Caught!

“Please, do not make any noise,” I whispered.

“Who is there!” said the woman, frightened. I heard the movement of a chain.

“Please be quiet,” I whispered. “I will not hurt you.”

“What is going on?” whispered another woman. I heard the movements of bodies, of

chains.

“Be quiet, please,” I said. I had crawled over the side of the slave wagon. I

had lowered myself, in the darkness, to the interior. I felt the wood of the

wagon bed, beneath a blanket, or blankets, beneath my knees. The wagon,

unhitched, was drawn among some trees. Two tharlarion were tethered nearby. Also

a few yards away there was a tent.

“Please be quiet,” I whispered. I lowered myself to my belly in the wagon. I did

not wish to risk my upper body being seen over the side of the wagon.

Although the wagon was normally open when on the road it was now, on this night

on which it had rained off and on, rigged with a temporary,

now-partially-rolled-up cover. The cover consisted of a tarpaulin sewn about

long poles on two sides. This cover was placed over a frame which consisted of

five poles; two of these poles, braced, crossed and tied together near the top,

were at the front of the wagon; a similar pair was fixed at the back of the

wagon; between these two pairs of poles there lay, across them, parallel to the

long axis of the wagon, like a ridgepole, a fifth pole. The tarpaulin, then, was

laid over this long pole and held in place by its own two poles, resting against

the sloping sides of the crossed poles at the front and back of the wagon. The

tarpaulin was rolled up and tied about its poles in such a way that there was a

gap of about a yard between itself and the side of the wagon.

huc “Please,” I begged. I lay on my stomach in the wagon. My body was wet; my

feet were muddy.

“Who are you?” whispered a woman.

“I am one who is hungry, and in desperate need of help,” I said

“But we are naked slaves,” said a woman.

“And we are chained,” said another.

“Give me some food,” I begged. “I must have foodl” I had not eaten in more than

twenty Ahn, indeed, since I had received a feeding from Speusippus, and a rather

sparing one, on the evening preceding my escape. He had on the whole fed me

intelligently, but seldom generously. It seemed to be his intention, through

diet and exercise, in so far as he could, to see to it that my body became as

shapely as that of a pleasure slave.

“There is no food in the wagon,” said a woman.

I moaned in misery.

“Our food is measured out to us in small, exact quantities,” said a woman, “and

then we must, under supervision, consume it entirely.”

“There must be food,” I said.

“There is food within the tent,” said a woman, “but the drivers are there, and