'I will,' I told her. Then I turned and left her.
2
The Message Of The Scytale; I Converse With Samos
'The arrogance of Kurii may yet prove their undoing,' said Samos.
He sat, cross-legged, behind the low table. On It were hot bread, yellow and fresh, hot black wine, steaming, with its sugars, slices of roast bosk, the scrambled eggs of vulos, pastries with creams and custards.
'It is too easy,' I said. I did not speak clearly with my mouth full.
'It is a sport for them,' he said, 'this war.' He looked at me, grimly. 'As it seems to be for some men.'
'Perhaps to some,' I said, 'those who are soldiers, but surely not to Kurii in general. I understand their commitment in these matters to be serious and one involving their deep concern.'
'Would that all men were as serious,' said Samos.
I grinned, and washed down the eggs with a swig of hot black wine, prepared from the beans grown upon the slopes of the Thentis mountains. This black wine is quite expensive. Men have been slain on Gor for attempting to smuggle the beans out of the Thentian territories.
'Kurii were ready once,' said I, 'or some party of them, to destroy Gor, to clear the path to Earth, a world they would surely favor less. Willingness to perform such an act, I wager, fits in not well with the notion of vain, proud beasts.'
'Strange that you should speak of vain, proud beasts,' said Samos.
'I do not understand,' I said.
'I suppose not,' said Samos. He then drank from his cup, containing the black wine. I did not press him to elucidate his meaning. He seemed amused.
'I think the Kurii are too clever, too shrewd, too determined,' said I, 'to be taken at their face value in this matter. Such an act, to deliver such a message, would be little better than a taunt, a gambit, intended to misdirect our attention.'
'But can we take this risk?' he asked.
'Perhaps not,' I said. With a Turian eating prong, used in the house of Samos, I speared a slice of meat, and then threaded it on the single tine.
Samos took from his robes a long, silken ribbon, of the sort with which a slave girl might bind back her hair. It seemed covered with meaningless marks. He gestured to a guardsman. 'Bring in the girl,' he said.
A blond girl, angry, in brief slave livery, was ushered into the room.
We were in Samos' great hall, where I had banqueted many times. It was the hall in which was to be found the great map mosaic, inlaid in the floor.
She did not seem a slave. That amused me.
'She speaks a barbarous tongue,' said Samos.
'Why have you dressed me like this?' she demanded. She spoke in English.
'I can understand her,' I said.
'That is perhaps not an accident,' said Samos.
'Perhaps not,' I said.
'Can none of you fools speak English?' she asked.
'I can communicate with her, if you wish,' I told Samos.
He nodded.
'I speak English,' I informed her, speaking in that intricate, beautiful tongue.
She seemed startled. Then she cried out, angrily, pulling downward at the edges of the livery in which she had been placed, as though that would hide more of her legs, which were lovely. 'I do not care to be dressed like this,' she said. She pulled away, angrily, from the guard, and stood before us. 'I have not even been given shoes,' she said. 'And what is the meaning of this?' she demanded, pulling at a plain ring of iron which had been hammered about her throat. Her throat was slender, and white, and lovely.
Samos handed the hair ribbon to a guardsman, gesturing to the girl. 'Put it on,' he said to her, in Gorean.
I repeated his command, in English.
'When am I to be permitted to leave?' she asked.
Seeing the eyes of Samos she angrily took the ribbon, and winding it about her head, fastened back her hair. She blushed, angrily, hotly, knowing that, as she lifted her hands gracefully to her hair, she raised the lovely line of her breasts, little concealed in the thin livery. Then she stood before us, angrily, the ribbon in her hair.
'Thus it was she came to us,' said Samos, 'save that she was clad in inexplicable, barbarous garments.' He gestured to a guardsman, who fetched and spilled open a bundle of garments on the edge of the table. I saw that there were pants of some bluish, denim-type material, and a flannel, long-sleeved shirt. There was also a white, light shirt, short-sleeved. Had I not realized them to have been hers, I would have assumed them the clothing of an Earth male. They were male-imitation clothing.
The girl tried to step forward but the shafts of two spears, wielded by her flanking guardsmen, barred her way.
There was also a pair of shoes, plain, brown and low, with darker-brown laces. They were cut on a masculine line, but were too small for a man. I looked at her feet. They were small and feminine. Her breasts, too, and hips, suggested that she was a female, and a rather lovely one. Slave livery makes it difficult for a girl to conceal her sex.
There was also a pair of colored socks, dark blue. They were short.
She again tried to step forward but this time the points of the guards' spears prevented her. They pressed at her abdomen, beneath the navel. Rep-cloth, commonly used in slave livery, is easily parted. The points of the spears had gone through the cloth, and she felt them in her flesh. She stepped back, for a moment frightened and disconcerted. Then she regained her composure, and stood before us.
'This garment is too short,' she said. 'It is scandalous!'
'It is feminine,' I told her. 'Not unlike these,' I said. I indicated the brassiere, the brief silken panties, which completed the group of garments on the table.
She blushed redly.
'Though you imitated a man outwardly,' I said to her, 'I note that it was such garments you wore next to your flesh.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said.
'Here,' I said, 'You wear one garment, which is feminine, and where it may be seen, proclaiming your femininity, and you are permitted no other garments.'
'Return my clothing to me,' she demanded.
Samos gestured to a guardsman, and he tied up the bundle of clothing, leaving it on the table.
'You see,' said Samos, 'how she was.'
He meant, of course, the ribbon in her hair. She stood very straight. For some reason it is almost impossible for a woman not to stand beautifully when she wears slave livery and is in the sight of men.
'Give me the ribbon,' said Samos. He spoke in Gorean, but I needed not translate. He held out his hand. She, lifting her arms, blushing, angrily, again touched the ribbon. She freed it of her hair and handed it to a guard, who delivered it to Samos. I saw the guards' eyes on her. I smiled. They could hardly wait to get her to the pens. She, still a foolish Earth girl, did not even notice this.
'Bring your spear,' said Samos to a guard. A guard, one who stood behind, gave his spear to Samos.
'It is, of course, a scytale,' I said.
'Yes,' said Samos, 'and the message is in clear Gorean.'
He had told me what the message was, and we had discussed it earlier. I was curious, however, to see it wrapped about the shaft of the spear. Originally, in its preparation, the message ribbon is wrapped diagonally,
