“Have you ever seen the Home Stone of Port Kar?” he asked.
“How is it that I, one not of Port Kar, should have seen her Home Stone?” I asked. “Have you?”
“Of course,” he said.
“I have heard,” I said, “that it is large and well-carved, and inlaid with silver.”
“With gold,” he said.
“I am not surprised,” I said. “In the cupboards of Port Kar, it is said, one is as likely to find gold as bread.” It was a saying. The corsairs of Port Kar venturing at sea, prowling the merchant routes, unannouncedly visiting coastal towns, and such, often returned to port well freighted with various assortments of goods, fruits and grains, weapons, vessels, tools, leathers, viands and wines, precious metals and stones, diverse jewelries, unguents, perfumes, silks, women, and such. These women are often wholesaled, given their numbers. Not infrequently they are wholesaled south to Schendi, for those of Schendi are fond of white-skinned female slaves. Slavers, of course, come from various cities to bid. Port Kar is well known for the high quality of her “fresh collar meat.” Many of these women, of course, on the other hand, are distributed as gifts by the captains or, more likely, retailed locally, for example sold to various local taverns. The women are usually of high quality or they would not be taken. When they are stripped, if ashore, before embarking, before returning to port, it is determined whether or not they are, as the saying is, “slave beautiful.” If they are not, they are freed and dismissed. If they are, they are taken aboard and chained, sometimes on deck, sometimes in the hold. If at sea, those who are less than “slave beautiful” are separated from the others, as though they might contaminate them, and kept for pot girls, laundresses, kettle- and-mat girls, and such. Interestingly, a kettle-and-mat girl, or such, in the collar, often becomes beautiful. In my view this far exceeds the matter of diet and exercise. In bondage a woman, even a beautiful woman, becomes more beautiful. The collar, it seems, has a remarkable and lovely effect on a woman. It softens her and, in it, in her place in nature, she becomes, as she must, doubtless for the first time in her life, a total woman. Mastered, at a man’s feet, she discovers fulfillments which were beyond her ken as a free woman. She finds an inward meaning and happiness and this is inevitably expressed in her features, bodily attitudes, and behaviors.
The free woman is to be sought and wooed; the slave is to be summoned, and instructed.
“It is surprising to encounter one here, for the beach is lonely,” I said.
“I was passing,” said he, “and noted you.”
“And one from Port Kar,” I said, “as well.”
“That is not so surprising,” he said, “for one of the major precincts of Port Kar is close, one of her major timber reserves.”
“Of course,” I said.
The ship of Peisistratus, I was sure, had not set us ashore at random. Coordinates would have been supplied, presumably as long ago as the Steel World.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Tarl,” I said.
“A Torvaldslander name,” he said.
“It is a name not unknown in Torvaldsland,” I said.
“My name,” said he, “is Pertinax.”
“Alar?” I said.
“Perhaps in origin,” he said. “I do not know.”
“Is there a village nearby?” I asked.
“Some huts,” he said, “foresters, guards.”
“Why are you not armed?” I asked.
“The huts are nearby,” he said.
Whereas brigands, assassins, and such will strike an unarmed man, the common Gorean would not be likely to do so. It seemed clear to me that his unarmed approach was not then merely to reassure me but, in a way, to diminish, if not preclude, the possibility of himself being attacked. In Gorean there is only one word for “stranger” and “enemy.” Too, in the codes there is a saying that he who strikes first lives to strike second.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“You were put ashore, marooned?” he asked.
“Perhaps I am to be met,” I said.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
He looked about warily.
“You asked earlier, if I were ‘one of them.’ Who are they?”
“Brigands, assassins, mercenaries,” he said. “I think they are from the wars, from the south, even from Ar. Hundreds have come, in many ships.”
“To this remote place?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“They cannot be from Ar,” I said. “Ar has fallen, and been garrisoned by Cos and Tyros. Ar lies under the heel of Chenbar of Tyros and Lurius of Jad, of Cos. Ar is looted, bled, and chained. Ar is beaten, subdued, and helpless. Her riches are carted away. Many of her women are led naked in coffles, to Brundisium, to be put on slave ships bound for Tyros, Cos, and the islands. Myron of Temos, of Cos, is
“Perhaps things have changed in Ar,” he said.
“Impossible,” I said. I had been in Ar. I had seen her helplessness and degradation, even how her citizenry was being taught to acclaim their conquerors, to blame themselves for the faults of others, to seek forgiveness for crimes of which they themselves were the victims. Wars could be fought with many weapons, and one of the most effective was to induce the foe to defeat himself. And so men, defeated and disarmed, must learn to rejoice in their weakness, and commend it as virtue. Every society has its weaklings and cowards. But not every society is taught to celebrate them as its wisest and noblest, its boldest and bravest.
“The strangers, hundreds of them, disembarked, from ship after ship, trek in long lines through the forest,” he said. “They are the dregs and rogues of Gor. I do not know their destination.”
“You,” I said, “have not come to meet us?”
“Certainly not,” he said. “And if others are to be here, to meet you, I am apprehensive.”
“You are afraid?”
“Yes,” he said.
“But you do not fear me?”
“No,” he said. “Were we not together on the 25th of Se’Kara?”
“Give me your hand on that,” I said.
“No,” he said. “I fear my hand is harsh, from the ax.”
“Forgive me,” I said.
“You will share my hospitality, of course,” he said, “for the 25th of Se’Kara?”
“With pleasure,” I said.
He who designated himself as Pertinax then smiled, and looked upon the kneeling slave, who, as was suitable, had been silent, as she had been unaddressed, and in the presence of free persons.
“Can she speak?” he asked.
“She has a general permission to speak,” I said. Such a permission, of course, at a word or gesture, may be revoked.
“You are generous with a slave,” he said.
“Many allow their girls that liberty,” I said. To be sure, the slave is to speak as a slave, and act as a slave, with suitable deference in words, tone of voice, physical attitude, and such. They are not free women. Sometimes a new slave thinks she may hint at insolence, or even manifest the barest glimmering, or thought, of disobedience, say, in a tone of voice, or a tiny gesture, or fleeting expression, but she is seldom going to repeat this infraction, even in the most transitory and petty manner. She is likely to find herself instantly under the switch or whip, put in lock-gag, be forbidden human speech, be put in the discipline of the she-tarsk, or worse.
“Girl,” said Pertinax to the slave.
