The long chain of women had been permitted to kneel after the last additions had been made to it. An auxiliary guardsman had come back up the line making certain that the women knelt with their knees widely apart. The heavy chain came to the belly of each, and then lay over the right leg of each, as she knelt, passing back then to the woman behind her. Their wrists, held closely together, were before their bodies. When they were to move out they would pass through a certain station where a Cosian slaver's man, with a marking tape, would measure them for their collar size. This number then would be written by another fellow, with a grease pencil, on their left breast, for the convenience of the fitter. The left breast is the usual place for the temporary recording of such information, presumably because most men are right-handed. In the Street-of-Brands district over a hundred braziers would be waiting, from each of which would project several irons. They were all to be marked with the cursive Kef, as common girls. That is the most common brand for female slaves on Gor. Claudia Tentia Hinrabia had already been branded, of course, long ago, so she needed only be recollared. Her brand, if it is of interest, was also the cursive Kef. It had amused Cernus to have that put on her, such a common brand, she a Hinrabian. But I did not think she objected to it. It is not merely a familiar brand, but, more importantly, a particularly lovely one.

  I heard, from several yards away, perhaps fifty yards away, the sound startling me even so, the crack of a whip. Several women in the chain cried out, and some wept. Yet I did not think the leather had touched any of them. To be sure, the fearsome sound of it undoubtedly informed them of what might befall them later, hinting clearly of the rigors of discipline, and the attendant sanctions, to which they were to be soon subject. The women then, with the sounds of chain, began to get to their feet. It was interesting to see the varying alacrities of their response to this signal. Judging by those nearest to me, those who seemed to be the most female were the quickest to respond. It was almost as though they, somehow, in some hitherto untapped portion of their brain, or in some hitherto concealed, or suspected but perhaps not explicitly recognized, (pg. 160) portion of their brain, were prepared for, and understood, certain relationships, relationships which might be exemplified by, or symbolized by, such things as the chains on her wrists, or the sound of the whip. By contrast certain others of the women, who seemed to me simpler, or more sluggish in body, or perhaps merely, at this time, less in touch with themselves, were reactively slower. Slavery, of course, is the surest path by means of which a woman can discover her femininity. The paradox of the collar is the freedom which a woman experiences in at last finding herself, and becoming herself. She is a woman, really, you see, not a man, and not something else, either, also different from a woman, and she will never be fully content until she finds her personal truth, until she becomes, so to speak, what she is.

  "What is to become of us?" asked the blonde of me, she who had been the last to be added to the chain.

  I stayed my hand. She shrank back.

  "You may beg forgiveness," I said.

  She looked at me wildly.

  I had not struck her, at least yet. She was, after all, a free woman.

  The whip then, again, further ahead, down the line, cracked.

  "I beg forgiveness!" she said.

  "You beg forgivenessa€”what?" I asked.

  "I beg forgiveness, Master!" she said.

  I lowered my head.

  I thought it well for her to accustom herself to such uterances.

  She still had her hands lifted. She had lifted her wrists, as she could, in the manacles, to fend the blow which I had not struck.

  "Put your hands down," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Stand Straight," I said. "Shoulders back."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I regarded her.

  She had tiny, fine hair on the back of her wrists. One could see it, in its golden fineness, extending toward the dark, clasping iron, beneath which it vanished. She was nicely curved. I thought she would bring a good price. I continued to regard her and she became acutely aware of my scrutiny. She stood even straighter, and more beautifully. Yes, I thought to myself, she is starting to understand. Doubtless in time she will do quite well at a man's slave ring. The whip cracked again, this time quite close, as the fellow with the device had been approaching, stopping here and there. Another fellow with him was checking the manacles and joining rings.

  "The beads are on the string," said the second fellow, he who was checking the security of the chain. This was an oblique allusion to the "slaver's necklace," as a coffle, of female slaves is sometimes called. To be sure, the women on this chain, as they were merely free women, had only been referred to, in rude humor, as «beads» and not "jewels. I did not doubt, however, but what in a few months time these same women, properly disciplined, trained and brought into touch with their most profound and fundamental realities would also, in the same fashion as other female slaves, become "jewels."

  "Bring the extra chain back through the coffle," said the fellow with the whip. There was coil of unused chain near my feet, left from the coffling. We could probably have added forty or fifty more women to the coffle had we wished. My fellow guardsman lifted the far end of the chain and threaded it through the arms of the blonde. I then drew it forward and put it through the arms of the next woman. Then, in time, with the help of three or four other fellows, locating themselves along the coffle line, most of the weight being shortly borne by the wrist chains of the lovely «beads» themselves, we had doubled the chain, bringing it forward. In this way we distributed the weight of the unused length of chain over the wrist chains of the last forty women or so, this constituting no unusual burden to any one of them. We did not wish to cut the chain. Moreover it would be needed the next day. Coffle chains are usually adjusted, of course, to the number of women to be placed in it. To be sure, women can be spaced more or less closely on such a chain. A slaver's joke, one which free women are likely to hear with apprehension, has it that there is always room for another female on the chain.

  In a few Ehn I had returned to my place at the end of the line.

  The chain, ahead, to the crack of a whip, began to move. The blonde, however, at the end of the chain, given the length of the chain, did not move until at least two Ehn later.

  Some of the women at the front of the chain had probably had to be informed that the first step taken in coffle is with the left foot. Later, of course, such things would become second nature to them.

  As we moved from the Plaza of Tarns the streets seemed muchly deserted. Among the people we did pass, or who were passing by, few seemed to take much interest in the coffle. Many even looked away. It now had little, or nothing, to do (pg. 162) with them. Its contents, in effect, were no longer of Ar. Some fellows in Turian garb did stand by a wall, their arms folded, considering the coffle, much as might have assessing slavers. Twice some children addressed themselves to the coffle, jeering its captives, spitting upon them, stinging them with hurled pebbles, rushing forward, even, to lash at them with switches. Already, it seemed, to these children, the women were no more than mere slaves.

  When I had threaded the chain back through the arms of Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, incidentally, I did not mention to her that she had been selected to entertain at a late supper to be given by Talena of Ar, her Ubara, in the room of the Ubar, in the Central Cylinder. She would find out, soon enough.

  10 The Sword is Thirsty

  "I can remember when the men of Ar, those I saw of them in the north, walked proudly," said Marcus.

  The city was subdued, save for some idealistic youth, who seemed to take pride in its downfall.

  "Yes," I said.

  It was now some months after the entry of Myron, polemarkos of Temos, into Ar. The systematic looting of Ar had proceeded apace. More levies of women, free and slave, had been conducted. Work on the destruction of the walls had continued. Marcus and I were on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, the major thoroughfare in Ar.

  "The major blow," said he, "was doubtless the movement of the Home Stone to Telnus."

  This had been admitted on the public boards at last. Originally it had been rumored, which rumors had been denied, that only a surrogate for the stone had appeared in the Planting Feast. Later, however, when the ceremony of citizenship, in which the Home Stone figures, was postponed, speculation had become rampant. There had been demands by minor Initiates, of smaller temples, outside the pomerium of the city, first, for the ceremonies to be conducted, and, later, these ceremonies not taking place, for the Home Stone to be produced. In the furor of speculation over this matter the secular and ecclesiastical authorities in the city had remained silent. At last, in view of the distinct unrest in the city, and the possible danger of riots and demonstrations, a communication was received from the Central Cylinder, jointly presented by Talena, Ubara of Ar; Seremides, captain of the guard; Antonius, executive officers of the High Council; Tulbinius, Chief Initiate; and Myron, polemarkos of Temos, to the effect that Ar might now rejoice, as in these unsettled times Lurius of Jad, in his generosity and wisdom, at the request of the governance of Ar, and in the best interests of the people and councils of Ar, had permitted the Home Stone to be brought to Telnus for safekeeping. A surrogate stone was subsequently used for the ceremony of citizenship. Certain youth refused then to participate in the ceremony and certain others, refusing to touch the surrogate stone, uttered the responses and pledges while facing northwest, toward Cos, toward their Home Stone.

  Marcus and I, with the armbands of auxiliary guardsmen, saluted a Cosian officer whom we passed.

  "Tarsk," grumbled Marcus.

  "He is probably a nice enough fellow," I said.

  "Sometimes I regret that you are a dear friend," he said.

  "Why is that?" I asked.

  "It makes it improper to challenge you to mortal combat," he said.

  "Folks have occasionally slain their dearest friends," I said.

  "That is true," he said, brightening up.

  "Just because someone is your mortal enemy," I said, "does not mean that you have to dislike him."

  "I suppose not," said Marcus.

  "Of course not," I said.

  We walked on.

  "You are just in a bad mood," I said. Such moods were not uncommon with Marcus. "Perhaps," he said.

  "Does Phoebe have her period?" I asked.

  "No," he said.

  "You were out late last night," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Frequenting the taverns?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "I was wandering about."

  "It is now dangerous to walk the streets of Ar at night," I said.

  "For whom?" he said.

  "For anyone, I suppose," I said.

  "Perhaps," he said.

  "Where did you walk?" I asked.

  "In the Anbar district," he said.

  "That is a dangerous district," I said, "even formerly." It and the district of Trevelyan were two of the most dangerous districts in Ar, even before the fall of the city.

  "Oh?" he said.

  "Yes," I assured him. "It is frequented by brigands."

  "It is now frequented by two less than yesterday," he said.

  "Why do you do these things?" I asked.

  "My sword," he said, "was thirsty."

  "I am angry," I said.

  "I made a profit on the transaction," he said.

  "You robbed the brigands?" I asked.

  "Their bodies," he said.

  "We do not need the money," I said. Indeed, we had most of a hundred gold pieces left, a considerable fortune, which we had obtained last summer in the vicinity of Brundisium.

  "Well, I did not really do it for the money," he said.

  "I see," I said.

  "Not all values are material," Marcus reminded me.

  "You should not risk your life in such a way," I said, angrily.

  "What else is there to do?" he asked.

  "I am sure you could think of something," I said, "if you seriously put your mind to it."

  "Not it is you who seem in an ill humor," he remarked.

  "If you find yourself spitted in the Anbar district that will not much profit the Home Stone of Ar's Station," I said.

  "You told me that the Home Stone of Ar's Station would be exhibited again," he said.

  "I am sure it will be," I said.

  "That was months ago," he said.

  "Be patient," I said.

  "I do not even know where it is," he said. "It may be in Telnus by now."

  "I do not think so," I said.

  "At least those of Ar know where their Home Stone is," he said.

  "Do not be surly," I said.

  "You do not think it is in Telnus?" he asked.

  "No," I said. "I think it is still in Ar."

  "Why?" he asked.

  "I have an excellent reason," I said.

  "Would you be so kind as to share this reason with me?" asked Marcus.

  "No," I said.

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "You are too noble to take it seriously," I said.

  "Thank you," said her, "perhaps."

  We paused to drink, from the upper basin of a fountain.

  "Listen," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  We turned about.

  Some twenty men, stripped, in heavy metal collars, these linked by heavy chains, their hands behind their backs, presumably manacled, prodded now and then by the butts of guards' spears, were approaching. Behind the line came a flute girl, sometimes turning about, playing the instrument. It was this sound we had heard. Some folks stopped to watch.

  "Political prisoners," said Marcus.

  That could be told by the fact that the ears and noses of the prisoners had been painted yellow, to make them appear ridiculous.

  "Interesting," said Marcus, "that they would parade them so publicly down the Avenue of the Central Cylinder."

  "It is to be expected," I said. "If they were conducted out of the city in secret there would be much inquiry, much resentment, much clamor, much objection. It would be as though the Central Cylinder wished to conceal the fate imposed upon them, as though they were afraid of its becoming public, as though it might not be legitimately defensible. In this way, on the other hand, it performs its action openly, without special attention but, too, without stealth. It says, thusly, the action is in order, that it is acceptable, even trivial. Too, of course, it hopes to enlist public approbation by the painting of the ears and noses, thus suggesting that any who might disagree with its policies must be mad or dunces, at best objects of caricature and ridicule."

  "Those in the Central Cylinder are clever," said Marcus.

  "They may miscalculate," I said.

  "Whence are these fellows bound?" asked Marcus.

  "Probably the quarries of Tyros," I said.

  "There must be many in Ar who will have scores to settle with the Ubara," he said.

  "I suspect," I said, "that these arrests are more the work of Seremides, and Antonius, of the High Council."

  "You would defend Talena of Ar?" he asked.

  "I would not blame her for more than that for which she is responsible," I said. "Surely her complicity is clear," he said.

  I was silent.

  "She is an arch conspirator in the downfall of Ar," he said.

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "What does she mean to you?" he asked.

  "Nothing," I said.

  The men were now filing past, with their guards. Their hands, indeed, were manacled behind their backs.

  "Some of those men may have been high in the city," said Marcus.

  "Undoubtedly," I said.

  "Some even have signs about their necks," said Marcus.

  "I am not familiar with the politics of Ar," I said, "so I do not recognize the names."

  "I know the name of the last fellow," said Marcus. "Mirus Torus."

  The sign about his neck had that name on it, and also the word, "Traitor."

  "Who is he?" I asked.

  "I assume," said Marcus, "that he is the Mirus Torus who was the executive officer of the High Council before Gnieus Lelius, and later held the same office under the regency of Gnieus Lelius."

  "I think I have heard of him," I said.

  "For some months he was under house arrest," said Marcus.

  "The Central Cylinder," I said, "seems now to be very sure of its power."

  "Doubtless it was encouraged by its success in the matter of the Home Stone," said Marcus.

  "Undoubtedly," I said.

  "You seem troubled," he said.

  "It is nothing," I said.

  We watched the coffle of prisoners move away, south on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. For a long time we could hear the music of the flute girl who brought up the rear.

  "What is it?" asked Marcus.

  "There seems nothing to arouse Ar," I said.

  "Forget Ar," said Marcus. "The men of Ar have become spineless urts."

  "These men," I said, "were once among the strongest and finest in the world."

  "Ar dies in the delta," said Marcus.

  "Perhaps," I said. There seemed much to the sobering suggestion of the young warrior.

  "What is Ar to you?" he asked.

  "Nothing," I said.

  "Cos loots with impunity," said Marcus, "tearing even the marbles from the walls. She disguises her depredations under absurd, meretricious rhetorics. It is as though the sleen pretended to be the friend of the verr. And what do the men of Ar do? They smile, they hasten to give up their riches, they beat their breasts, they lament their unworthiness, they cannot sufficiently praise those who despoil them, they rush to sacrifice at the great temples. They burn their gates, they dismantle their walls, they hide in their houses at night. They cheer while women who might be theirs are instead marched to Cosian ports. Do not concern yourself with them, my friend. They are unworthy of your concern."

  I looked at Marcus.

  He smiled. "You are angry," he said.

  "Ho! One side, buffoons of Ar!" said a voice, that of a mercenary, one of two, with blue armbands.

  We stepped to one side as they swaggered past.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60