Mariners of Gor

of these spoke to me. A number of probes, reconnaissances, or inquiries had been conducted following our arrival. Doubtless some of these were intended to locate and ascertain the numbers and dispositions of Lord Yamada’s forces in the vicinity, but others were apparently of a much subtler nature, some to instigate apprehension which might spread naturally to the enemy, with appeals to fear and superstition, and others of a more prosaic, diplomatic nature. Rumors were being spread by Lord Temmu’s men, disguised as fishermen, herdsmen, and such, of new allies for Lord Temmu, strange warriors, arrived from far off, and, terrifyingly, of dragon birds, which might fly forth and destroy armies. I had no doubt that our mercenaries were formidable, but they were no more so, or less so, one supposed, than the forces likely to be arrayed against them. If nothing else, the ambush and fighting in the defile and at the beach would make that clear to the generals of Lord Yamada. The tarns were another matter. I gathered that these folk had never seen a tarn, and might not even, at first, understand such things to be a natural, vulnerable form of life. They might take it as a dragon bird, whatever that might be. Terror, of course, can be as dangerous a weapon as the sword or spear. Not only would tarns be new to these islands, but they were unfamiliar as well, as far as I knew, with the swift, lofty, silken kaiila, common in the Tahari, on the southern plains, in the Barrens, and such. An army could move only as fast as its slowest man could march. The Pani did have, however, one swift mode of communication. I gathered this from my friends amongst the lower Pani. To be sure, it was available only to a few. It was the swift-flighted, message-carrying Vulo, released, seeking its familiar cot and roost. The overtures of diplomacy were addressed to minor daimyos, of which there were many. The taxes of Lord Yamada were high, the agricultural confiscations were large, to feed his army, often leaving starvation in their wake. The contumely of his officers was oppressive, and their appropriations severe, enforced quarterings, sons impressed for the navy and army, daughters taken for training in the contract houses, or, as likely, simply caged for the girl markets. The rule of Lord Yamada was one of iron. Crucifixion was a common punishment, and might be inflicted for so small a cause as an indiscreet expression, a careless word, a bow deemed insufficiently prompt or deep, insufficiently ingratiating. A warrior might remove the head of a Peasant, to try the quality and stroke of a sword before its purchase. I did not know, were the situation reversed, if Lord Temmu would be much different. But the situation was not reversed. The fifty some slaves taken from the compound were an ingredient in these various diplomatic missions. They were apportioned, along with other gifts, among the daimyos.

In passing, one might mention the blond, barbarian slave, Saru. It may be recalled she was not a ship slave, but the personal slave of Lord Nishida. On the other hand, as far as I know, supposedly because of certain reservations pertaining to the nature and quality of her character, he had never deigned to honor her with slave use. It seems he regarded her as unworthy to be his slave.

In any event, she was stripped and danced before Lord Temmu, after which Lord Nishida, as was apparently his original intention, gave her to him. Lord Okimoto, then, perhaps not to be outdone, gave ten slaves to the shogun. Of our original store, or cargo, of slaves then, we retained something like one hundred and forty.

“It was you, in Ar, who threw me the rag of a slave!” hissed Adraste.

“It fitted you well!” said Alcinoe.

“I was naked, save for it!” said Adraste.

“I would not have given you so much,” said Alcinoe, “despicable traitress!”

“I am Ubara!” said Adraste.

“Go back to Ar and claim your throne!” said Alcinoe.

“I am Ubara!” wept Adraste.

“You are a collared slave!” said Alcinoe.

Adraste clutched the collar on her neck, and shook it, as though it might be removed.

“See?” said Alcinoe.

“You, too, you slut,” said Adraste, “are collared. You, too, are a slave!”

It may be recalled that I had taken Alcinoe by the hair, bent her over, and thrust her into same small kennel with Adraste, and had then swung shut the gate, it locking with its closure. In this way, the two former highest, richest women in Ar, both traitresses, both muchly involved in the Great Treason, both wanted in Ar, both now slaves, were forced to confront one another, in their current humiliation, shame, and degradation. I had thought this would be of interest, even amusing, to put the slaves together.

“Slave! Slave!” said Alcinoe.

“Slave, slave!” cried Adraste.

I had earlier sought out Adraste’s kennel, and stood before it. I had not spoken. Adraste, within, kneeling, in the rather generous tunic, given to the slaves by the Pani, looked out, through the bars. “Master?” she said, uncertainly.

“Do you know me?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

I thought it likely she had not recognized me in the private area of the Venna keeping area, some nights ago, for the light of the lantern had fallen full on her face, perhaps half blinding her, not on mine, and not on that of Alcinoe, who stood back, rather out of the light. Too, soon in position, she had scarcely dared to do more than stare ahead. Some masters do not permit the eyes of the slave to meet theirs, unless commanded to do so, or given permission. To me, that seemed absurd. Surely one of the pleasures of the mastery is to look directly into the eyes of the slave. Are their eyes not often beautiful, brown, blue, hazel, green, so delicate, so soft, so moist? Why should one not in all ways enjoy one’s property? And is it not pleasant to hold her face in your hands, and look deeply upon it? Does her lip tremble? Has she committed a fault of which you might be unaware? Is she afraid of your switch? Or are her eyes pleading for the chains and fur?

“Look closely upon me,” I said. I stepped more into the light.

Suddenly she shook with fear.

“You recognize me,” I said.

“No, no!” she said.

“I recognize you,” I said.

“I think not, Master,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I am only a slave,” she said, “only a humble slave. My name is Adraste! I am Adraste, Adraste!”

“If it pleases Master?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, “if it pleases Master.”

“It pleases me, muchly,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“You speak truly,” I said.

“Master?”

“You are the slave, Adraste.”

“Yes, Master!”

“And,” I said, “once Talena, of Ar.”

“No!” she said. “No!”

“You are no longer a free woman,” I said. “You may now be punished for lying.”

“Please, no, Master,” she said.

“Have you ever felt the lash?” I asked.

“I?” she asked, disbelievingly.

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” she said.

“Some time with it would doubtless do you good,” I said. Thousands, I supposed, would be pleased to think of the once-proud Talena, of Ar, now a slave, bound, and writhing under the lash, the slave lash, now appropriately to be applied to her. I had little doubt that the imperious and demanding Talena had put her own slaves under it, often enough. Now she, too, as they, a mere slave, was subject to it.

“I beg mercy,” she said.

I did not deign to respond. Let her consider what might be done to her.

“Please do not punish a poor slave,” she said.