Quarry of Gor, page 27
“Perhaps she is a slave,” said the second.
“No collar,” said the first.
“She is a strange person,” said the second. “See how she is dressed. She tries to speak, but does not speak.”
“What is she doing here, so early?” said the first guardsman.
“She has had a fall, or an injury,” speculated the second guardsman.
“Perhaps we should convey her to one of the Green Caste,” said the other.
I put my hands on the waist of the jeans, and made as though to tear them down, to expose my left thigh.
“Stop!” said the first guardsman.
“How absurd it is,” I thought. “These men and their glorious free women! He would be horrified to have the modesty of a free woman compromised, even so slightly, but they would think nothing of being served by a needful, begging slave, naked save for her collar!”
“Hold,” he said.
I removed my hands from the jeans.
“We have a tablet,” said the second guardsman. “Can you write?”
I shook my head, negatively.
“Perhaps she is a slave,” he said.
I shook my head, affirmatively.
“Or low caste,” he said.
“Come with us, Lady,” said the first guardsman. “We will seek out a free woman.”
I was not pleased at this suggestion, however sensible it might be.
“Are you weary or weak?” asked the first guardsman.
“Do you wish to be carried?” asked the second guardsman.
I shook my head, negatively. I was desperate to speak, and could not do so.
When they turned away, as I by gesture bade them do, I made certain to lag behind them, a step or two, to their left, heeling them. I tried desperately to speak, and was unable to do so. They did not hurry their pace, and I had no difficulty in keeping up with them. I took their pace to be a consideration, a thoughtful concession to the dignity, ease, and comfort of a putative free woman.
Some forty paces down the walkway, the first guardsman stopped before a portal where flowers grew in boxes on either side of the portal, knocked politely, and called within. His efforts were rewarded, for a free woman, hastily veiled, her companion behind her, was soon framed in the portal.
I had knelt, naturally, as soon as they had stopped. One commonly kneels in the presence of the free.
“We have a free woman here, who, I fear, is mad,” said the first guardsman. “You can see how strangely she is dressed. Too, seemingly, she cannot speak. She seems to think she is a slave.”
“She has no collar,” said the free woman.
“Even so,” said the first guardsman.
“If she is a slave, she will be marked,” said the woman.
“Precisely,” said the first guardsman. “We thought it inappropriate to make the determination, as, witless or not, mad or not, she seems to be free.”
“I understand,” said the woman. “Portus, fetch a blanket and hold it, and keep your eyes averted.”
In a bit the blanket was held between the free woman and I, and the men. Her companion, Portus, even held the blanket high, gripped behind him.
I knelt.
“Stand, Lady,” she said.
Commanded, I stood.
“It is all right, dear lady,” said the woman. “This will not take a moment.”
It did take more than a moment because the free woman had apparently never dealt with a zipper before. I managed the matter, and then put my head down, submissively.
“On your knees!” she said, sharply.
I swiftly knelt, head down.
“There is no need for the blanket,” she said to the men. “She may be witless or mad, dressed absurdly, and unable to speak, but she is a kef girl.”
Instantly the attitudes of her companion, and the two guardsmen, changed toward me.
“Who owns you? Who whips you? Where are you chained or caged? What is your name?” demanded the first guardsman.
Tears in my eyes, kneeling before them, I shook my head, futilely, helplessly.
Thanked, the free woman and her companion, together with the blanket, retired to their dwelling, perhaps to their breakfast.
“It is too bad,” said the first guardsman, “that she is witless or mad, and cannot speak.”
“Perhaps, under the lash, she might remember how to speak,” said the second.
I drew up my jeans and followed the two guardsmen, heeling them. I received no quarter now. They strode quickly. I struggled to keep up with them.
As it was now later in the morning, the canals and walkways were more frequented. My attire, seemingly so inexplicable and absurd, attracted much attention and, I fear, some derision.
“Where are your veils?” I was asked.
“What is your Home Stone?” I was asked.
“Are you from Turia?” I was asked. I had no idea where Turia might be.
I was being conducted, as I learned, to the house of Samos, who was First Captain in the Council of Captains. On the other hand, I was not brought to Samos in connection with any business having to do with the Council of Captains. I was brought to him, rather, I gathered, because it was not clear what was to be done with me, and because Samos, aside from being First Captain in the Council of Captains, was also First Slaver of Port Kar.
Chapter Twenty-Four
What Occurred in the Lesser Al-ka Market
“Who would want this one?” asked a man. “She cannot speak.”
“Yet she is well-formed and comely,” said the slaver’s man. “And she is cheap.”
But the fellow had turned away.
I raised my head and looked up, eyes half closed; the sun was high; the shelf was hot; then I lay down again, on the towel given us, to protect us from the roughness of the cement, my legs drawn up. I and the others, some twenty on the long narrow shelf, were naked; that is the way women are commonly sold. The shelf was not full as five rings were empty. Each of us was chained by the neck to one of the rings. When the market is crowded, more than one girl may be fastened to the same ring. Enough chain is allowed that we may be posed, and may stand, to be examined. I think I slept for a time.
It was late afternoon.
A slaver’s man put one of the shallow metal bowls of gruel on the cement near my ring and I rose to all fours, put down my head, and began to feed. He then proceeded to the next ring and, from the tray carried by a slave behind him, placed another bowl on the cement, near the next ring, and blonde Kira rose to all fours.
Kira was Cosian. She had been taken at sea. She was brought to Port Kar tied at the prow of the corsair which had taken her vessel. It is not unusual for a ship, its voyage successful, to return through the western or southern sea gates, making its way slowly, in a stately fashion, through the canals to the arsenal harbor, with a lovely captive, the best of the catch, so displayed. This is a rather vaunted exhibition of a trophy, it seems, a public display of success, doubtless a vanity of sorts. Otherwise, one might have recourse to the arsenal sea gate, reaching the harbor directly. Perhaps less successful voyages when they return, if they return, do slip into the city by means of the arsenal sea gate. I do not know.
“Thank you, Master,” said Kira.
I had hoped my voice would soon return, that the effect of whatever had been done to me in the apartment which might have robbed me of speech might wear off, but, as yet, I was as helplessly unable to speak as before. I feared I might be permanently deprived of speech, on a world where I was illiterate. I wondered how Addison Steele could have done to me what he did, and then I recalled I was a slave.
After a few Ehn the serving slave returned and retrieved the metal bowls.
On my walks within the city I had not passed by the girl markets. Most are located in the vicinity of the western and southern sea gates, both giving access unto the Tamber Gulf. The market in which I was now displayed was one of those associated with the House of Samos. It was near the western sea gate, but I could not see the sea gate from its location. It was a common shelf market, backed against a wall, its surface reached by shallow steps from the street.
Men and women passed by the market, but most gave it little attention. Now and then a fellow would stop to peruse the goods, sometimes with a friend. They might then share views, and comment on the goods.
Interestingly, there is a sort of culture of a market, and different markets have different cultures, so to speak. For example, the slaves might or might not be permitted to speak to one another, either on the shelf or not, or in the holding areas or not, when not on the shelf. If they are permitted to speak, on the shelf, or, more significantly, in the holding areas, a social hierarchy soon materializes, with leaders, and, say, subordinates, lieutenants, so to speak, followed by followers in their rankings, and then followers with their followers, and so on, and then, eventually, drudges, nondescripts, nonentities, outcasts, and such. Needless to say, barbarians are generally at the bottom of this social order. Markets also differ with respect to the behaviors required of, or allowed to, the slaves. In the market in which I was now displayed we were not required to accost passersby, to call attention to our charms, to wheedle a purchasing, to suggest the delights which might await a buyer, to call out, “Buy me, Master,” and so on. On the other hand, we were much left to our own devices, and when a prosperous looking gentleman or a handsome, dashing fellow was in the vicinity the rings frequently became more active. Many are the strategies of the slave to secure for herself a desirable master. One might then note smiles, trembling lips, needful looks, piteous attitudes of hope, pleading expressions, and all varieties of mute petition. And, of course, one should remark posings, archings, curlings, sretchings, and such, which may range from the subtle to the blatant. A balance is commonly sought; effectiveness is the desideratum; normally one wishes to do, but not overdo. Some slaves feign indifference and, even, if they dare, distaste, or even have recourse to challenging or insolent remarks. In this way, they hope to provoke a fellow who may then be minded to buy them and then get them sobbing and begging at his feet, where, in any event, they hoped to be in the first place. There is a danger in this sort of thing, of course, for a fellow may be merely displeased and indicate that the slave is to be chastised. “No, Master!” she might cry. “Forgive me, Master!” He might then, if moved, say, “Very well then, only five lashes.”
I myself had not, at least as yet, made use of such stratagems. I did not want a master now. Things might then become grievously perilous. There might be tangles of law. Blood might be shed. I had a master. Did I not belong to Ho-Tosk, of Port Kar, proprietor of the Golden Chain? I wanted to be returned to the Golden Chain, and exonerated of any charges of being a fugitive slave. I feared I might be bound and thrown alive to the urts in the canal. I watched the passersby, hoping that someone from the Golden Chain might pass by, that someone, slave or free, even a customer, might recognize me. I could not speak. I could not make my identity known.
If an individual is seriously, or even moderately, interested in obtaining a slave, or, say, adding another to his chain, he is likely to ascend the steps, examine the merchandise more closely, consult with a slaver’s man, speak with the slave, and such.
This was my fourth day on the shelf.
Some six men had ascended to the shelf and had, sometimes amongst examining others, as well, paused before me. I would kneel and point to my throat and shake my head. “She is not stupid,” would say a slaver’s man. “She can understand, and obey. It is merely that she cannot speak.” But none were interested in a voiceless slave.
Some days ago I had been brought by two guardsmen to the House of Samos, of Port Kar, First Captain of the Council of Captains, and First Slaver of Port Kar.
I was held upright before him, by two men of the house, and turned about, so that, I gathered, he might consider the oddity of my garmenture, and then I was put to my knees before his curule chair.
He wore a lounging robe. He was a powerfully built man, with white, closely cropped hair.
I was illuminated in torchlight.
He was not.
I could not see him well.
“What strange garments are these?” asked Samos.
“I think barbarian garments, captain,” said one of the men beside me. “Once, long ago, I saw something much like them at a Sardar Fair, one of En’Kara.”
“She cannot speak?” asked Samos.
“Or does not speak, captain,” said the other fellow beside me, to my left.
“Can you speak?” asked Samos.
I shook my head.
“Let us whip her,” said the fellow to my left. “Then she will speak.”
Tears ran down my cheeks; then I put my head to the floor.
“What do we know of her?” asked Samos.
“She was picked up, collarless, by guardsmen this morning, on the edge of the Canal of the Sea Sleen,” said the fellow to my right.
“Collarless?” asked Samos.
“Yes,” he said.
“But she is a slave?” asked Samos.
“She insists so, behaves so, and is marked so,” he said, he to my right.
“The kef,” said the man to my left.
“Can she write?” asked Samos.
“She is apparently illiterate,” said the first man, he to my right.
“Raise your head,” said Samos.
I looked up.
“You are a barbarian?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Knowledgeable slavers would not bring a speechless barbarian to our world,” said Samos. “Such would not sell, or not well. She must have suffered some impairment here.”
I was silent.
“Take off her clothes, fit her with a house collar, and put her in a pen with the others,” said Samos, “those being readied for tomorrow’s sales, that in the Lesser Al-ka Market.”
It was now the late afternoon of my fourth day on the shelf.
Most Gorean shops open early, often in the vicinity of dawn, and close, Ahn later, in the early to late afternoon. One supposes this is to maximize the Ahn of daylight, and thus economize on candles and tharlarion oil, used mostly in lamps and lanterns. To be sure, taverns, brothels, eating houses, and some markets, slave markets, in particular, are open to the public at night. The Lesser Al-ka Market, however, was not one of these. Some homeowners mount small lamps at their gates or portals, presumably to discourage predation. Too, one supposes that more affluent households would be likely to keep later hours, and four shifts are maintained in the arsenal. There is little public lighting in Port Kar, with the exception of the bridges and sea gates which are regularly illuminated by lanterns. It might be remarked, in passing, that the Council of Captains, when meeting, commonly meets at night. Those who would go abroad at night usually carry their own light, lanterns or torches. There are concerns which, for a fee, will furnish night escorts, guards, and lantern bearers. The small, single-oared ships which ply the canals will usually have a lantern mounted at the prow.
As many shops were now closed, or closing, the shopsmen drawing the folding wooden screens across their shop fronts and chaining them in place, and many individuals were moving about, returning to homes or proceeding to one diversion or entertainment, or another, the street before the Lesser Al-ka Market was nearly as frequented as between the ninth and eleventh Ahn. Of those passing to and fro, some men, and some women, some briefly, some at greater length, paused to consider us. One of the slaver’s men availed himself of this opportunity to appeal to the possible buyers, those at the shelf and those passing by. “Noble, generous masters, and noble, beautiful mistresses,” he called, “consider the finest of moderately priced girl merchandise in Port Kar. Here is the Lesser Al-ka Market with some bargains beyond even those of the Greater Al-ka Market. Let your shrewd eye discern superb buys ready to be snatched away before you, before you can act. Do not hesitate. Here we have not only kettle slaves, pot-and-mat slaves, but sleek pleasure slaves, well-turned and vital, worthy of the Curulean in mighty Ar!” This assertion was met with good-humored laughter, sharing the jest. I did not find it that amusing. “Seriously, noble patrons,” he continued, “you know the taste and discrimination of the noble Samos of your own city, lovely Port Kar, Jewel of Gleaming Thassa, he with whom you share a Home Stone. How then can you doubt the quality of these hand-picked tastas, delicacies selected with care for your delectation? And, let me apprise you that the noble Samos, as is his occasional wont, has inserted here, at one of these rings, which one, I wonder, as a challenge and surprise, a girl worthy to be the preferred slave of a Ubar!” I sensed that Kira lifted her head, and straightened herself. I recalled she had been a “prow girl,” a trophy which had adorned a Gorean prow. I decided I hated her. Certainly, at any rate, I decided I had never liked her. “Which is she?” queried the slaver’s man. “Ascend to the platform, consider taking her, or another, home with you this evening!”
Several fellows and some women did ascend the broad steps to the surface of the shelf. Many items on the shelf were examined, and posed. Kira was sold within Ehn for six silver tarsks of Argentum.
I was now quite ready to be taken to the holding area, with other unsold slaves, it reached through the door at the back of the shelf, to the left, as one would face the shelf.
“How is it that you are here?” asked a woman’s voice, closely, tensely, in an outraged hiss.
I was terrified of free women, and one was now confronting me.
Instantly I went to first obeisance position, but my head was yanked up, cruelly, by the hair.
I tried to scream but no sound escaped my lips.
“Yes,” hissed the woman, “it is you! I thought so! How is it that you are here?”
I do not think I could have answered her, even had I been able to speak. I was terrified.
