were unusually beautiful, or some of them, at least, were in some way special, perhaps being reserved for particular masters at the voyage’s end. Perhaps she for whom it seemed that the commander’s friend, Pertinax, might be alert was confined within, on her chain. Too, I suspected that, for whatever reason, Alcinoe might now be amongst the Kasra area’s occupants. Did someone realize her possible political importance? Seremides, perhaps? Or was she confined this deeply within the ship because she had incurred the displeasure of masters, having been apprehended in a lie? She had, it seems, been discovered to be lash-worthy, and had been put under the lash. Perhaps her wearing her chain here, then, was an additional punishment. Surely she was learning what it was to be a slave, and be at the mercy of men. Having seen many women exhibited, on the public shelves, in the exposition cages, on the block itself, it did not seem likely to me that the women of the Venna keeping area would be more beautiful, or really that much more beautiful, than those I had seen in the Kasra holding area, those heeling private masters about, those exercising on the deck, and such. I thought the Pani, whom I took it were responsible for the purchases, had shown excellent judgment. Although many of the slaves were now filthy, and ill, and frightened, I had no doubt that, scrubbed and groomed, they would prove to be excellent merchandise. Certainly I had seen worse sold even in the Curulean, in Ar.
Some of the women, from the Kasra area, had, in former weeks, been put in the public pleasure chambers, chained beside their mats, for the use of the crew, but this availability had, at least for the time, been discontinued. This had much to do with the discontentments of Thassa, with the wind and weather, the towering waves, the plunging about of the ship, and the water she was taking in, some from opening seams, at different levels, forced inside, some draining down to the lower decks, when a hatch must need be opened, and then forced shut. One hatch had been snapped away, and washed overboard, the upper deck awash. That accident alone had brought water to a dozen companionways. When I had slid back the plate on the observation panel of the Kasra keeping area, particularly of late, a number of its occupants, those who could stand, and not merely roll miserably about in the soiled straw, had not only flung aside their blankets and hurried forward, until stopped by their ankle chains, holding out their hands to me, begging to be freed of their chains and their wretched housing, but writhed and exhibited their charms, and bucked and swayed before me, hopefully, desperately, piteously, that I might be moved to call for them, and take them from their chains and current keeping area. I did not blame them for wishing to be relieved of the miseries of their chain and housing, and at almost any price, but, too, I had seen such behavior even in calmer weather, when Thassa was pleased to be serene, or seemingly so, perhaps meanwhile planning her next onslaught on men so foolish as to breast her waves in seasons unwise, if not forbidden. Several of the slaves, you see, could not but help, now, to belong in their collars. In their bellies the slave fires, so resisted by, and so scorned by, free women, had been callously and mercilessly ignited by heartless masters. They now belonged to men, and needed men. The victim of such fires will crawl naked to the feet of even a hated master, begging him piteously and desperately for his least caress.
I snapped shut the observation panel, and heard cries of misery.
The free woman has much to bargain with, her wealth, her position, her caste, her possessions, but once enslaved what has she but her beauty, and that does not even belong to her. She is helpless, and cannot bargain. Even to suggest such a thing is to invite the lash. Her beauty, like the whole of her, is the property of her master. And it, like the whole of her, may be easily ignored, or scorned.
Is not the most helpless of women the slave girl?
Slave girls often find themselves confined, or chained or roped, bound in one fashion or another. Such things, of course, are not necessary, but are imposed upon them, that they may better understand themselves as slaves. The total and irrevocable bond, of course, is that they are slave, only slave. This is clear in a hundred ways, from their brand, their collar, their clothing, if permitted clothing, their behaviors, their demeanors, their diction, their deference, their expressions, their place in society, and, once they are broken to the collar, their softness, their radical femininity, their insistent and irresistible feminine needs, their piteous and helpless need to surrender to a master, their desire to serve and love, and so on, but, still, all in all, there is a role for the bracelet, the shackle, the chain, the thong, the lace, the rope, and such, which not only impresses upon them their bondage, but arouses them, bringing them to slave heat. It is a rare slave who does not sometimes kneel before her master, and whimper, “Your slave, my Master, would be chained. Please, my Master, chain your slave.”
It is a common belief amongst Goreans, though seldom voiced in the presence of free women, that men are masters and women slaves. As it is said, all women are slaves, only some are in collars, and some are not. Thus, it is thought that women are the properties of men, that women are property, even free women. They have yet, of course, to be claimed, and meet their master. It is a rare Gorean who does not speculate what even a free woman, bundled in her stiff, ornate robes, concealed within her layers of veils, would look like, stripped, collared, and at his feet, perhaps on all fours, looking up at him, frightened, the whip or switch between her teeth, hoping it will not be used upon her. It is only in the mastery that the male achieves his full manhood, and it is only at his feet that the female finds the fulfillment of her womanhood, in surrender, in submission, in service, in love. The answer to an unhappy, dissatisfied woman is a master, whom she must hope to please, lest she be lashed.
Many were the murmurs against Tersites. Why had he not performed, or had performed, the simple ceremony of pacifying Thassa, of seeking to smooth her waves with a bit of oil, of mingling man’s salt with hers, to plead kinship, friendship, even alliance, of giving her some wine, that she might be warmed, and pleased? Would it not have been acceptable to mollify Thassa? Why not? Would it have cost so much? Might she not be insulted at such an omission, such an oversight, even such an insolence? Would she not remember such a slight, and bide her time, gathering her clouds and winds, waiting until one was far at sea, far from shore, alone? Had not hundreds of ships and thousands of men departed from one port or another, never to be seen again? It was not for no reason that most Gorean mariners seldom ventured from the sight of shore, even beaching their ships at night.
“Let Thassa rage,” had cried Tersites. “Let her do what she can, and be mocked by my work. Let lesser men grovel to her might, crave her indulgence, beg her favors! I fear her not! No oil, no salt, no wine for her! Let cowards proffer such gifts, such petitionary offerings! I do not! The stoutness of my timbers defies her. Let her seethe and hiss, unflattered, and uncourted, and whistle and roar, snarl and growl, and lift and fall, and pitch, and howl and tower, and squirm and buck as she will, she will not say no to my will, nor stay the passage of my ship. Fierce, green Thassa has met her match in my ship, met her master! Tersites teaches men how to sail in all seasons and weathers! Tersites goes where he wills; he asks no permissions, solicits no favors, dreads no threats, and fears no rebuke. Let Thassa shrink and tremble before Tersites and his mighty ship! He subdues her! He humbles her! He breaks her to the yoke of his will! Yea, I, Tersites, whom men scorned, whom men ridiculed and banished, whom men despised and mocked for years, now, first of all men, at last, mighty and glorious, conquer dreaded Thassa. I dare you, violent Thassa, to do your worst. Tersites and his ship invites your enmity, that men may marvel that so mighty a foe he has reduced to such futility. My ship cleaves your waves, braves your winds, and scorns your storms! We tread upon you, mighty Thassa, passing as we will and please! Do your worst, mighty Thassa! You are mocked! You are scorned!”
Dusk came early, and it seemed the cold never left.
Sometimes the waves struck the hull like hammers, and we feared, within those ribs of wood, that the sea might burst in upon us.
It was now the fifth week following the Eighth Passage Hand. Tomorrow would be the first day of the Ninth Passage Hand, at the end of which is the winter solstice, and the first day of Se’var-Lar-Torvis, the month of the Second Turning of
“Do not slacken!” called a fellow, Torgus, from the steps of the companionway, behind us, and to our right.
He was of the tarn cavalry.
He had his marked pole, testing the water. He seemed satisfied, the water had not inched higher in the last Ahn.
“Good fellows!” he called.
The ship was six-masted, square-rigged, seven decked, carvel-built, and single-ruddered, not guided by a steering board, or the double rudders of the typical Gorean ship. The nested galleys, on the other hand, were typical of most Gorean vessels, long or round ships, oar-banked, double ruddered, single-masted, and lateen-rigged. The long ships are commonly open to the weather, like the dragons of Torvaldsland, and the round ships, larger and slower, are commonly decked, this to shelter passengers, if there be passengers, and protect cargo.
The fellow, Torgus, turned about and, with his pole, ascended the steps.
We were not the only pumping crew at work, as there were several others, I knew not how many, these
