Mariners of Gor

“Alcinoe has been very helpful,” she said.

“Beware her accent,” said Callias. “It is of Ar.”

“It is a beautiful accent,” said my slave.

“Doubtless,” said Callias, “but there are places where that accent might earn you a blow.”

“I listen carefully in the market, on the streets, and about the piers,” she said, “and do my best to speak as those about me.”

“I have a western, coastal accent,” I said. “Callias, not surprisingly, has a Cosian accent.”

“East Cos, Jad, I am told,” said Callias.

“It seems then,” said Alcinoe, “that I am the only one without an accent.”

“That is the vanity of Ar,” said Callias.

“Someone must speak correct Gorean,” she said.

“I trust,” I said to Alcinoe, “that your kind efforts to assist my slave with her Gorean are not completely unrequited.”

“No,” she said.

“Perhaps she does some of your chores for you?”

“No,” she said.

“What then?” I asked.

“She has informed me of certain tricks of the alcove,” said Alcinoe, “unlikely to lie within the repertoire of the average free woman, which I once was.”

“Good,” I said.

“Interesting,” said Callias. “That explains much.”

Shortly thereafter the slaves rose to their feet and, a bit later, I could smell the fumes of freshly brewed black wine. It shortly made its appearance. Alcinoe, as she was Gorean, had the honor of bringing forth the vessel and cups, and my slave, as she was a barbarian, and thus subordinate, unless it was otherwise specified, brought forth the small pitcher of cream, the tiny spoons, and the small, flat bowls of sugars and spices. Later, each slave brought forth, as well, a tray of assorted cakes and pastries.

I thought the slaves served well.

Both wore only their collars.

This is not that unusual, at small suppers, and such, in the absence of free women.

It is pleasant for a fellow, of course, to be so served, by naked, beautiful slaves.

The mastery is characterized by many such delights.

After supper, and the slaves had cleared, and then washed, dried, and stored the dinnerware, and such, we addressed ourselves, each with his own slave, to the pleasures of the furs.

Later the slaves slept, lying beside us.

“Callias,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. He was not asleep either.

“There is interest in many of these things,” I said, “in Tersites, the great ship, in Talena, of Ar, in Tarl Cabot, the Pani, the World’s End, and such. Would you mind, if I might, as I could, tell your story?”

“No,” he said. “But no one will believe it.”

“There was Captain Nakamura,” I said, “and the River dragon.”

“A strange ship,” he said, “from faraway. What might that have to do with the things you mention?”

“It came from the World’s End,” I said.

“All people will know,” he said, “is that it is an unusual ship, and it is not clear from whence it came.”

“Is it important,” I asked, “whether people believe it or not?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“You do not mind,” I said, “if the story is told?”

“No,” he said. “I would like for it to be told.”

“You will be leaving in a few days,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I shall not ask where,” I said.

“I am not as yet sure myself,” he said.

“I conjecture that names, and such, will be changed.”

“Quite possibly,” he said. “That would seem judicious.”

“I will wish you well,” I said.

“And I, too,” he said, “will wish you well.”

I now conclude this tale.

It may be recalled that my slave had long been nameless. For example, she had had no name given her in The Sea Sleen, and had been purchased by Callias as a nameless slave, much as one might purchase any nameless animal. Still slaves like to have names, and it is convenient that they should be named, obviously, for a variety of reasons, for ease of referring to them, instructing them, and such. Her collar, in The Sea Sleen, had simply identified her as a paga girl of that tavern, to be returned there if found strayed, or fled. Her name now, with mine, identifying me as her master, appeared on her collar. It seemed she had hoped to be given a beautiful name, and had long hoped that a particular name, one which much appealed to her, would be given to her. It was with fervency that she had knelt before me, her head to my feet, and timidly asked that she might be given a name, and informed me of the one she hoped might be hers. I thought her choice lovely. It is a name not unknown in Brundisium, and one often encountered amongst the islands. It is ‘Helen’.

So let this tale be concluded.

I wish you well.

Calisthenes,

Office of the Registry,

Harbor Administration,

Port of Brundisium,

Scribe.