One thinks of “Thentis, Famed for her Tarn Flocks,” rather as one thinks of “Glorious Ar,” of “Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning,” of “Port Kar, Jewel of Gleaming Thassa,” and so on.
“How do you know they were not mounted?” I asked.
“They are raised, but are young, and not trained,” he said. “Few but hardy tarnsters, or tarnsmen themselves, would dare to approach them in their present state. They are linked together by long ropes. They are being delivered to a rendezvous, in the forest.”
“Near the Alexandra,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, startled.
“There is a mystery here,” I said. “What is its nature?”
“I know little of it,” said Pertinax, “but I can link you with those who do.”
“As you did not discourse with me of these things,” I said, “I gathered that there were others who could, for whom you were waiting.”
“They are in the forest,” he said. “They will not be coming here. I will take you to them, in two days.”
“Your slave,” I said, “is badly in need of discipline.”
“As she has been treated this evening,” he said, “I think she is more aware than hitherto that she is a female.”
“It is unfortunate,” I said, “that some women must be reminded of that.”
“She thinks of herself as a man,” he said.
“She is mistaken,” I said. “Her thinking must be corrected.”
One could see clearly she was woman, even if she did not understand that, except perhaps in some peripheral sense.
Certainly she was nicely shaped. And I thought she might, given some instruction, and a sense of what it was to be a slave, sell well.
It is interesting, I thought, the Book of Woman. How few have opened that book. Is the seal, I wondered, so securely fastened? Is it truly so hard to break? How many women themselves have feared to open that book and read what is written there. But some do open the book, with whatever trepidation, and read what is written there. And then, page by page, they peruse the ancient text, and in it, ever more deeply, page by turning page, discover themselves, and I think there is no final page for that book, for the book is without an end, for it is the Book of Woman.
“She is from Earth, is she not?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“As are you?”
“Yes,” he said. “But so, too, I gather, are you, and your slave. Your accents.”
“English,” I said.
“It seemed so,” he said.
“You are Canadian, or American?” I surmised.
“Canadian,” he said.
“Your slave,” I said, “is Canadian?”
“No,” he said. “She is American, from the eastern seaboard of America.”
“An excellent area for slaving, I understand,” I said.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I would not know.”
I recalled Peisistratus, who had sampled women from various nations and continents, had spoken highly of several areas, Canada, Australia, England, France, Germany, Japan, Taiwan, Hawaii, the southwest of the United States, its west coast, its eastern seaboard, and such. It was pleasant, he had remarked, to take beautiful, highly intelligent, sophisticated, civilized women, so often unhappy, some even stupidly at war with their sex, and teach them their collars.
“She is from New York City,” said Pertinax.
“Not originally,” I said. “Her accent is different. I lived there for a time.”
“Then from elsewhere,” he said.
“An immigrant to that metropolis,” I said, “perhaps from Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco, or somewhere.”
“I do not know,” he said.
“Perhaps one determined and ambitious, and one not too scrupulous, one intending to achieve wealth and success at any cost.”
He smiled. “Yes,” he said.
“As many others,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“And now,” said I, “she is in a collar on Gor.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But it seems she does not yet know the meaning of her collar,” I said.
“No,” he smiled.
“Teach it to her,” I said.
“You do not understand,” he said. “She is my superior. There are riches behind her. It is she who recruited me.”
“A slave has such power?” I asked.
“It would seem so,” he said.
“In two days, as I understand it, you are prepared to unravel this mystery for me?”
“We will leave in two days,” he said. “There is to be a rendezvous. I will conduct you to the place.”
“You think you will then be through with the matter?” I asked.
“Surely,” he said.
“You are entangled here,” I said.
He regarded me, uneasily, startled.
“No,” he said.
“We shall see,” I said.
“Should we not free Constantina?” he asked.
“Leave her where she is,” I said. “Let her squirm in the darkness and leaves, for a time. It will do her good.”
“Is that appropriate?” he asked.
“Quite,” I said, “as she is a slave.”
“Perhaps she will work herself free,” said Pertinax.
A small sound of mirth escaped Cecily.
Pertinax looked at her, puzzled.
“She was bound by a warrior,” I explained.
“I see,” said Pertinax.
“She might, of course,” I said, “be stolen, say, by some of the brigands to whom you have occasionally alluded, or, say, be dragged away, by a sleen, to be eaten in some secluded place.”
“We must bring her in, instantly,” said Pertinax, “and free her!”
“Shortly,” I said. “You know who I am, I take it.”
“You are a tarnsman,” he said, “one known as Tarl Cabot.”
“You have read my girl’s collar?” I inquired.
“No,” he said.
“You have been waiting for me,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I am Tarl Cabot,” I said. “That is of less interest, I take it, than the fact that I have ridden.”
“That you are a tarnsman, yes,” he said. “I think so.”
“Master!” said Cecily. “I hear a stirring outside.”
“Yes,” I said, “it is a sleen.”
“Master!” she cried.
“It has been there for a time,” I said.
