Mercenaries of Gor (9 page)

"She is pretty," said a fellow. "Yes," said another. It was true. She had a lovely figure. It had been hitherto muchly concealed from detection by the leather and furs she had worn, though even beneath them its subtle and tantalizing lineaments had been clearly suggested. "Come, see Boabissia," called a fellow, "trussed like a tarsk!" Some more fellows, (pg. 62) and even some free women, came over to look. Boabissia now permitted to kneel upright, squirmed, fighting the fiber. She was helpless. "Feiqa will now again dance," I said. "If you wish, you may be hooded or blindfolded. She looked down, sullenly, angrily, and shook her head. "If you cry out," I said, "you will be gagged. Do you understand?" "Yes," she said.

I looked at Boabissia's throat. About it, tied on a leather thong, was a small, punched copper disk. "What is that?" I asked, pointing to it. She did not respond. I then put her to her back, her knees drawn up, her wrists behind her, under the small of her back. I then bent over her and lifted up the disk, examining it in the firelight. She did not resist. Bound as she was, there was little she could do. Too, resistance might have earned her perfunctory, disciplinary cuffs. The punched copper disk, threaded on its thong, was not large. It was about an inch or so in diameter. On it was the letter Tau and a number. "What is this?" I asked Genserix, indicating the disk. "We do not know," he said. "It was tied about her throat when we found her, years ago, a tiny infant, wrapped in a blanket, in the wreckage of the caravan."

"Surely you must have wondered about this?" I said to Boabissia.

She looked away, not responding.

"It must be a key to your identity," I said.

She did not respond.

I let the disk fall back, just below her neck. It, on its thong, was now all she wore, except for her bonds.

I looked to Feiqa, still kneeling, her back bright with the memory of the free woman's attentions.

"You may now continue to dance, Feiqa," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

The men cried out with approval, and smote their left shoulders with pleasure. In a moment Feiqa, vital and sensuous, liberated now from the fear of the free woman, and having felt the whip, in that perhaps being reminded of what might be the consequences of failing to please free persons, addressed herself once more, eagerly and joyously, marvelously and subserviently, to the pleasures of masters. I was so (pg. 63) aroused I was in pain. I could hardly wait to get her back to the camp of the wagoners. From time to time I glanced at Boabissia. She was on her side, trussed, watching Feiqa. In her eyes there was awe, understanding what a woman could be.

After some Ahn, in the neighborhood of dawn, I returned to the camp of the wagoners. Feiqa walked behind me, slowly, weary, healing me, her body sore, her tiny tunic held over her left shoulder. Near the wagoners' camp I turned to face her. "Before you retire," I said, "I have business for you in my blankets. After that I will tether you for the night."

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

In a few moments we had come to the wagon of the fellow who had given us a ride earlier. Near the wagon, naked, chained by the neck to the back, right wheel, was the peasant girl, Tula. In the moonlight I examined her. Under her neck chain was a slave collar. (pg. 64)

5
     
We Are on the Genesian Road

"What are you doing here?" I asked Hurtha.

"I am coming with you," he said. "I am interested in seeing the world, and will seek my fortune."

"You have no mount," I observed.

"Nor do you," he observed.

"That is true," I smiled.

"I sold it in the camp," he said, "for some coins. It did not seem practical to bring it. There seem to be few such mounts with the wagons. Too, I do now know where we are going, nor what we will do."

"The road I project is a difficult one," I said, "and it may be dangerous."

"Splendid," he said.

I looked at him.

"I am easily bored," he explained.

"Oh," I said.

"You do not mind if I accompany you, do you?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"The matter is then fully settled," he announced.

"But you must feel free to part company from me at any time," I said. I had no wish to bring him into danger.

"If you insist," he said.

"I fear I must," I said.

"I accept your condition," he said.

"Good," I said.

"You drive a fierce bargain," he observed.

"Thank you," I said.

(pg. 65) "Half of my coins are yours," he said. "You are welcome to them."

"That is very generous," I said.

"Just as half of yours are mine," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"As we will be traveling together," he said.

"How many coins do you have?" I asked.

"About seventeen copper tarsks," he said, "and two tarsk bits."

"That is all?" I inquired.

"Yes," he said.

"But you sold your tharlarion," I said, "and last night Genserix gave you, as he did me, a silver tarsk."

"True," he said, "but I used most of that to pay off a few debts. You would not wish for me to have left the wagons owing debts, would you?"

"Of course not," I said.

"Too," he said. "I purchased this splendid sword," He unsheathed it and swung it about. He handled it lightly. It nearly decapitated a passing wagoner. It was a long, cutting sword, of the sort called a spatha among the wagons. It is more useful than the gladius, from the back of a tharlarion, because of its reach. He also carried among his things the short, stabbing sword, similar to gladius, and doubtless related to it, called by his people the sacramasax. It is much more useful on foot, particularly in close combat. "Accordingly," he said, sheathing the sword, "I have with me only some seventeen, two. How much do you have?"

"Somewhat more than that," I said.

"Splendid," he said. "We may need every tarsk bit."

"What?" I asked.

"I have expensive tastes," he explained. "Further, I am an Alar, and we Alars are generous, noble folk."

"That is a known fact," I granted him.

"We have a reputation to uphold," he said.

"Doubtless," I said.

"If we run short," he said, "I may always strike some good fellow on the head and take his purse."

"Surely you do not behave so in your own camp," I said.

(pg. 66) "No, of course not," he said, rather surprised. "But they are Alars."

"I see," I said.

"Not outsiders, not city folks," he said.

"I must warn you," I said, "that even outside the wagons striking fellows on the head and taking their purses is often frowned upon."

"Oh?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Many folks have strong opinions about such matters."

"Interesting," he said.

"You would not like to be struck on the head, would you?" I asked.

"Of course not," he said.

"There you are," I said.

"But I am an Alar," he said.

"What difference does that make?" I asked.

"It makes all the difference in the world," he said. "Can you prove it does not?"

"No," I admitted.

"There you are," he said.

"I assure you," I said, "folks would not like it, and you might find yourself impaled, or cut to pieces."

"I am not impervious to such considerations," he said, "but I thought we were discussing purely moral issues."

"You should not behave in such a manner," I said.

"But it is not unseemly for me to do so, I assure you," he said. "Besides, such behavior lies well within my entitlements."

"How is that?" I asked.

"I am an Alar," he said.

"While we are traveling together," I said, "mainly because I do not wish to be impaled, or fed in bits to sleen, I would appreciate it if, as a favor to me, if nothing else, you would consider refraining from the exercise of certain of your Alar rights."

"Surely you would have no objection if fellows wished to make me loans or bestow gifts upon me?" he asked.

"Of course not," I said. "No one could possibly object to that."

(pg. 67) "Splendid," he said.

I relaxed.

"I was afraid you might be prone to eccentric reservations," he said.

"Not me," I said.

"Splendid!" he said, warmly.

We were in the camp of the wagoners, one of those associated with the supply trains of the soldiers of Cos and the Cosian mercenaries. It was in the neighborhood of dawn and now, after their breakfasts, wagoners were readying their wagons and harnessing their tharlarion and, indeed, some had already taken to the road. There seemed no numbering to their vehicles nor camp marshals in attendance. The trains, in spite of their length and numbers, and their diverse cargoes, seemed to me most casually organized. This differed considerably from the disciplines I would have expected to attend arrangements pertaining to the transportation and protection of such stores. I could not understand the apparent reluctance on the part of Ar to exploit these weaknesses.

"Are you ready?" inquired Mincon, our wagoner, he with whom Feiqa and I had traveled yesterday, jerking tight the harness of his tharlarion.

"In a moment," I said. "Hold still Feiqa."

Quite near to him, as he worked, knelt Tula. She tried to put her cheek against his left thigh. He brushed her away. Properly handled, women become as subservient and affectionate as dogs. They all desire to be totally prisoners of love, and they will never be fully content until they become so.

"Would you make me so much a slave, Master?" inquired Feiqa.

"Yes, I said.

"Then do so," she said.

Tula now wore a tunic. Mincon had fashioned it for her from her former garments, those she had worn yesterday as a free woman. It was brief and sleeveless, and of white wool. She had excellent legs. Another part of her former garments he had cut into a sort of shawl which she might clutch about her when the winds blew chill. Some other bits of them he had cut up and she had fashioned them into a form of (pg. 68) footwear, which she had tied on her small feet. The stones of the Genesian Road, in Se'Kara would be cold. I considered again Tula's legs. They were well bared by her new tunic, as was appropriate for a slave.

On Gor it is commonly only slaves, incidentally, who bare their legs, and although they usually do so eagerly, proudly and beautifully, they realize that, in the final analysis, whether they wish it or not, they will generally have little, if any, choice in the matter. Such things are up to the master. One need not speculate overly long, either, on the usual decision of the master, for most Gorean masters are vital, strong, dominant males. It is thus common for the enslaved females, and it is usually implicit in the only modes of garmenture most masters will permit them, that their legs, with all the delicious excitements of their thighs, calves and ankles, will be exposed to the gaze of free persons.

Contrariwise, almost no free woman would bare her legs. They would not dare to do so. They would be horrified even to think of it. The scandal of such an act could ruin a reputation. It is said on Gor, any woman who bares her legs is a slave. Indeed, in some cities a free woman who might be found with bare legs is taken in hand by magistrates, tried and sentenced to bondage. After the judge's decision has been enacted, its effect carried out upon her, reducing her to the status of goods, sometimes publicly, that she may be suitably disgraced, sometimes privately, by a contract slaver, that the sensitivities of free women in the city not be offended, she is hooded and transported, stripped and chained, freshly branded and collared, a property female, slave cargo, to a distant market where, once sold, she will begin her life anew, fearfully, as a purchased girl, tremulously as the helpless and lowly slave she now is.

"Oh," said Feiqa.

"Steady," I said to her. I wiped the needle. I then returned it to my sewing kit.

"Do not touch the wounds," I said.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were moist, and she seemed slightly afraid. In her eyes there was a sort of wonder, and (pg. 69) awe. It seemed she found it hard to understand, truly, what had been done to her, from the Gorean point of view, the enormity of it.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"No," she said.

I wiped the tiny drops of blood away. I then fastened the tiny objects upon her.

"They are beautiful," said Hurtha, admiringly.

"They are cheap," I said.

"That is all right," he said.

I did not want free women attacking the girl in rage, and perhaps tearing the objects free.

I turned Feiqa's head from side to side. Yes, they were lovely. She looked up at me. She now wore earrings.

I again regarded Tula's legs. True, the baring of the legs in that fashion, by so short a tunic, was truly an indication of slavery. Only a slave would be so bared. Mincon, of course, was proud of her. He owned her. He enjoyed showing her unmistakably as a slave. To be sure, it was not of the same degree of momentousness as certain other indications of slavery, irrefutable, irreversible, unmistakable indications,, indications and degradations so fundamental that they would be likely to be inflicted only upon the most delicious and lowest of all slaves. It did not begin to compare, for example, with such things as the piercing of the ears.