Rogue of Gor coc-15 Page 6

  Then, from the window, I saw her run to the center of the street. She turned from the left to the right, uncertainly. She was sobbing.

  “Hold, Slave!” I heard. Men had entered the street. I saw they wore, as I had thought, the uniforms of Ar.

  The girl turned wildly in the street and started to run from the men. But she had gone only a step or two when she saw some five other men at the end of the street, also approaching her. She stopped, uncertainly, confused, in the street. The men, not hurrying, then surrounded her.

  “I am not what I seem!” she cried. “I am not a slave!”

  One of the men seized her by the hair and bent back her head. “Her name is ‘Darlene’,” he said.

  “No!” she said. “I am the Lady Tendite, a free woman of Vonda!”

  One of the men then was drawing her hands behind her back. He snapped her wrists in slave bracelets.

  “I’m not a slave!” she said.

  “‘Darlene’ is an excellent slave name,” said one of the men. “I am hot for her already.”

  “Wait until we have her in the camp,” said their leader.

  “A nice catch,” said another.

  Another man was snapping a leash on her collar.

  “Are you an Earth wench?” asked one of the men.

  “No,” she said, “no!”

  “Nonetheless I wager you will whip as well,” said another.

  “I am not a slave!”

  “See,” she cried, moving her hip to throw back the shreds of the ripped Ta-Teera, “I am not branded!”

  “Only a slave would so expose her hip to free men,” said one of the men.

  “She is not branded,” observed another.

  “That technicality can be swiftly remedied by a metal worker,” said one of the men.

  “Why are you not branded, Darlene?” asked a man.

  “I am not a slave!” she said. “And my name is not ‘Darlene’!”

  “You speak much, Darlene,” she was told.

  “Bring her along,” said the leader. “We must finish our patrol.”

  The Lady Tendite felt the leash grow taut at her collar. She hung back.

  “I am not a slave,” she said. “My name is not ‘Darlene. I am the Lady Tendite of Vonda!”

  “Do all the women of Vonda run about the streets half naked, clad in the rag of a slave, wearing collars?” asked the leader.

  “No,” she said, “of course not. I was caught and abused, tied even upon a table and forced to give pleasure as a slave. Other things, too, were done to me. I was forced, even, to yield to my captor, as though I might have been a slave and he my master.”

  “Splendid,” laughed one of the men.

  She glared angrily at the fellow.

  “I bet I, too, can make her yield,” said one of the men.

  “Later, at the camp,” said the leader. Then he again turned his attention to the Lady Tendite. He bowed low before her, in mock courtesy. “I invite you, if you wish, Lady Tendite, to accompany us,” he said. “We shall be returning to our loot camp shortly, which is east of Vonda. There you will discover that the women of Vonda are not entirely unknown to us. Many of them have already kindly consented to give us their thighs for branding, their throats for collaring. We trust you will be no less generous.”

  “She will look well on the slave block,” said one of the men.

  “True,” said another.

  “And, Lady Tendite,” said the leader, “until you are properly and legally enslaved you will be known by the capture name of ‘Darlene’. Say It!” he snapped.

  “Darlene!” she cried. “My capture name is Darlene.”

  “And,” said the leader, “in virtue of your collar, and in anticipation of your impending enslavement, you will address us and behave towards us as a slave towards free men.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Then she was struck across the back with the haft of a spear, cruelly.

  “Yes, Master!” she cried.

  The patrol then continued on its way. I watched the Lady Tendite, her hands braceleted behind her, on her leash, dragged behind the men. She turned once, after about twenty yards, to look back. She saw me. Then she was turned about by the leash and was again dragged, stumbling, down the street.

  Chapter 5 - I CONTINUE MY SEARCH FOR MISS BEVERLY HENDERSON

  The proprietor of the tavern took the red-haired dancing girl by the arm, she crying out, and thrust her in her costume, ten slender silver chains, five before and five behind, depending from her collar, from the sand. She fell at the side of the sand and, crouching, turned about, looking back.

  “This is Jason!” called the proprietor, indicating me. “He wagers ten copper tarsks he can best any man in the house!”

  “It is true,” I called, stepping to the sand, pulling off the tunic.

  “I wager he cannot!” called a large fellow, a peasant, from north of the river.

  The proprietor’s man, an attendant in the tavern, held the coins.

  Bets were taken by the fellows in the tavern.

  Men crowded about. Among them, naked, in collars, were paga slaves, with their bronze vessels on leather straps.

  The big fellow lunged toward me. I let him strike me. Yet I drew back with his punch in such a way that its impact was largely dissipated. I reacted, however, as though I might have been sorely struck. The men cried out with pleasure. Jabbing, moving, I kept him away from me.

  “He fights well,” said one of the men.

  I then, recovering myself, seized the fellow, that he might not have the free use of his hands. It was not appropriate that I appear too accustomed to this form of sport. I had made that mistake once before, in Tancred’s Landing, and there had then been no more eager respondents to my raucous challenge. Rather guardsmen had encouraged me to leave the town with alacrity. I had, as a consequence, picked up only ten copper tarsks at Tancred’s Landing.

  “Fight!” cried more than one man.

  “Clumsy,” cried another.

  “Coward!” cried another.

  “Coward!” said the peasant.

  This irritated me. I relinquished my previous determinations with respect to the manner of handling him. Caught in a swift combination he buckled to the sand. I pretended that I was exhausted, dazed, scarcely able to stand.

  “What lucky blows!” cried more than one man.

  I looked down at the big fellow who, groggy, was sitting in the sand. I tried to appear as though incredulous that he was down, as though I could not believe that I had somehow struck him from his feet.

  “Get up!” cried more than one man.

  By the arms he was pulled to the side.

  “Ten tarsks,” cried another peasant, “that I can best you!”

  “Can you fight further, Jason?” anxiously asked the proprietor. Such brawls, supervised, were good for the business of his tavern.

  “I will try,” I said.

  The second fellow, tearing off his tunic, rushed to the sand and then, scarcely hesitating, rushed upon me, fists pummeling. I think he was startled that he managed to strike home so seldom. Soon his arms were sore. I carried him longer than the first fellow. Then, when some interest seemed to lag in the contest, I finished it. He was dragged by his heels from the sand.

  “I do not see how one so clumsy, and who fights so poorly, can win so often,” said a fellow near the sand.

  “He has not yet met Haskoon,” said someone confidently.

  “I am Haskoon,” said a bargeman, stepping to the sand. Haskoon carried his hands too high.

  The next fellow, after Haskoon, was more of a wrestler than one who fights with the fists. But I did not break his back.

  The fifth fellow was an oarsman on a grain galley. He was strong, but, like the others, was not trained. That his jaw was broken was an accident.

  “Jason is surely now exhausted,” said the proprietor cheerily. “Who will next step upon the sand?”

  But none more, as I had expected, ventured f
orth to meet me.

  I lifted my hands and then drew on my tunic. I was not breathing heavily. I was in a good mood. I bought paga for the five fellows who had helped me earn passage money downriver to the next town. This seemed to assuage their disgruntlement. My financial resources, the ten silver tarsks, obtained from the sale of my former Mistress, the Lady Florence of Vonda, to the slaver, Tenalion of Ar, had been severely depleted. Normally such a sum would last a man months on Gor. In these times, however, given my requirements and the prices, particularly those in Lara, I had been forced to have recourse to alternative sources of income.

  “You are no common brawler,” said the first fellow to me, the large peasant. “Do not speak it too loudly,” I begged of him. “Very well,” he said. “I have not felt like this,” said one of the other fellows, “since I was trampled by five bosk.”

  “I am grateful to you all.” I assured them.

  Slave girls crowded about me, to pour my paga. The collars were lovely on their throats.

  The proprietor approached our table and I stood up, holding my goblet of paga, to welcome him. “You fought well, Jason,” he said. “Thank you,” I said. I looked down. Kneeling at my right knee, her cheek against my knee, was the red-haired dancing girl. She looked up at me timidly, her eyes shining. As she knelt the slender chains at her collar depended to the polished floor. “You fought well, Jason.” said the proprietor. “She is yours for the night. Use her for your pleasure.”

  “My thanks, Kind Sir,” I said. I lifted the paga which I held, saluting the proprietor and, too, those at the table. “My thanks to you all,” I said. Felicitations were exchanged. I then transferred the paga to my left hand. I then snapped my fingers and held my right hand, open, at my hip. Swiftly the girl rose to her feet and, half crouching, put her head by my hand. I fastened the fingers of my hand deeply and firmly in her red hair. She winced, and kissed at my thigh. I then, the goblet of paga in my left hand, her hair in my right, dragged her beside me, her slender chains rustling, to the nearest empty alcove.

  Chapter 6 - I HEAR OF THE MARKETS OF VICTORIA;I WILL TRAVEL THERE

  Women are almost always auctioned naked. That way a man can see what he is buying.

  I turned away from the block in the barn-like structure in Fina, one of the many towns on the Vosk. I heard the auctioneer’s calls fading behind me. I thought he would get a good price for the pretty brunette. She was one of the last items of the evening. Before she had been dragged to the surface of the block, I had examined the remaining girls in the ready cage. She whom I sought was not among them.

  Outside the barn-like structure I was stopped by two guardsmen.

  “You are Jason, the brawler?” asked one.

  “I am Jason,” I admitted.

  “You will leave Fina by tonight,” advised the guardsman.

  “Very well,” I said.

  It had been my intention, anyway, to leave Fina before morning. This had not been the first time, incidentally, that guardsmen had suggested that I leave a town. It had happened once before, at Tancred’s Landing.

  Several days ago I had departed from Lara. The troops from Ar, tarnsmen, had not burned Lara. Indeed, perhaps surprisingly, they had done little but clear the town of river pirates and, here and there, gather in a bit of loot and some women, mostly female refugees from Vonda who fell into their hands. Their action, however, the strike to Lara, had caused considerable consternation among the forces of Lara, marching toward Vonda. Things, in this sense, had worked out well for the men of Ar, for the troops of Lara had, in consternation, hesitated in their march northward. They were not, thus, involved in the action which took place shortly afterward northeast of Vonda.

  In this action, however, the forces of Port Olni had been, unexpectedly, abetted by troops from Ti, under the command of Thandar of Ti, one of the sons of Ebullius Gaius Cassius. The battle had been sharp but indecisive. At nightfall of the second day both armies had withdrawn from the field. Ar’s committed infantry had been outnumbered but its mobility and its support by their tarn cavalry had compensated to some extent for its lack of weight as a striking force.

  Thandar of Ti, interestingly, had not challenged Ar in the skies, but had deployed the mercenaries of Artemidorus of Cos in actions against Ar’s supply lines. Eventually, after several days of uneasy encampments, the haruspexes of Port Olni, Ti and Ar, meeting on a truce ground, had, determined, by taking the auspices, read from the liver and entrails of slaughtered verr, that it was propitious for both armies to withdraw. In this sense, no honor, on either side, was sacrificed. The readings on these auspices had been challenged only by haruspexes of Vonda and Cos.

  It was generally understood, or felt, that neither the Salerian Confederation nor the city of Ar desired a full-scale conflict. Vonda, it was clearly understood, conspiring with Cos, had initiated hostilities. In burning and sacking Vonda, Ar had, for most practical purposes, satisfied its sense of military propriety. Similarly, in stopping the advance of the troops of Ar, the Salerian Confederation could feel that it had maintained its own respect.

  The tarnsmen of Artemidorus, incidentally, had not molested the slave wagons moving southward. The drivers of these wagons, with their escorts, had only thrown back the canvas to reveal that they carried chained women. The tarnsmen of Artemidorus, then, had flown past, overhead, heedless of the uplifted hands and cries of the women. There is a general Gorean feeling that if a woman has fallen slave she may remain a slave. The women were then silenced with whips.

  I think there is little doubt that the cessation of hostilities in the north was in no little part a function of the generosity of the men of Ar, a not impolitic generosity in my opinion, in sparing Lara the fate of Vonda. They had demonstrated that they could have destroyed Lara, but they had not seen fit to do so. This was taken as an expression of disinterest on the part of Ar in all-out warfare with the Salerian Confederation. Also, of course, in the future, this action might tend to divide the confederation in its feelings toward Ar.

  When it had become clear, incidentally, that Ar had, for most practical purposes, spared Lara, the troops of Lara, not bothering to join with those of Port Olni and Ti, had returned to their city. There would now be sentiment in Lara favoring Ar. This would give Ar political leverage at the confluence of the Olni and Vosk, a strategic point if Cos should ever choose to move in force eastward along the Vosk. Lara was the pivot between the Salerian Confederation and the Vosk towns.

  “Hurry!” called the guardsman.

  I lifted my hand, acknowledging that I had heard him, and continued my pace toward the wharves of Fina.

  For several weeks I had moved from one river town to the next, examining slave markets and attempting to obtain information on the whereabouts of the pirate, Kliomenes. Understandably I encountered few willing informants. Many people, I was sure, knew more of this fellow than they admitted. His name, and that of his captain, Policrates, were apparently feared on the river. These river pirates were not, it must be understood, a few scattered crews of cutthroats. Various bands had their own strongholds and ships. It was not unusual that a single captain had as many as three or four hundred men and eight to ten ships. Similarly there were relationships among these bands, divisions of territory and alliances. They were a power on the river.

  I stepped aside to let a free woman, veiled, and a child pass.

  I had gone from Lara to White Water, using the barge canal, to circumvent the rapids, and from thence to Tancred’s Landing. I had later voyaged downriver to Iskander, Forestport, and Ar’s Station. Ar’s Station, incidentally, is near the site where there was a gathering, several years ago, of the horde of Pa-Kur, of the Caste of Assassins, who was leading an alliance of twelve cities, augmented by mercenaries and assassins, against the city of Ar.

  This war is celebrated, incidentally, in the Gorean fashion, in several songs. Perhaps most famous among them are the songs of Tarl of Bristol. The action is reputed to have taken place in 10,110 C.A., Contasta Ar,
from the Founding of Ar. It was now, in that chronology, the year 10,127.

  Ar’s Station, incidentally, did not exist at the time of the massing of the horde of Pa-Kur. It was established four years afterward, as an outpost and trading station, on the south bank of the Vosk. It also commands, in effect, the northern terminus of one of the great roads, the Viktel Aria, or Ar’s Triumph, leading toward Ar. This is also the road popularly known as the Vosk Road, particularly by those viewing it from a riverward direction.

  West of Ar’s Station on the river I had visited Jort’s Ferry, Point Alfred, Jasmine, Siba, Sais and Sulport. I had stopped also at Hammerfest and Ragnar’s Hamlet, the latter actually, now, a good-sized town. Its growth might be contrasted with that of Tetrapoli, much further west on the river. Ragnar’s Hamlet began as a small village and, from this central nucleus, expanded. Tetrapoli, on the other hand, began as four separate towns, Ri, Teibar, Heiban, and Azdak, as legend has it founded by four brothers. These towns grew together along the river and were eventually consolidated as a polity. The four districts of the city, as might be supposed, retain the names of the original towns. The expression ‘Tetrapoli’ in Gorean, incidentally, means ‘Four Cities’ or ‘Four Towns’.

  I made my way now toward the quays of Fina. Here and there men passed me. I was then near the water-front district. I stepped aside as a string of chained girls, stripped to the waist, was herded past me. They were being taken to one of the stout log warehouses, whose doors were marked with the Kajira sign, to be held for sale. They were sullen in their chains. Some of them looked at me, wondering perhaps if a man such as myself would buy them. The log warehouses for slaves are commonly double-walled and the girls are kept stripped within them, and commonly wear ankle chains, except when the guards wish otherwise. Escape, for all practical purposes, is a statistical impossibility for the Gorean slave girl. Too, the penalties even for attempted escape are often severe. Hamstringing is not uncommon. The hope of the Gorean slave girl is not escape, but to please her master. I inspected the girls as they passed me. She whom I sought was not among them.