John Norman: Mariners of Gor

“You were close to the Ubara,” I said. “Doubtless you know her fate.”

“Doubtless there is a reward for her,” she said.

“Very much so,” I said.

“And you would like to obtain the reward.”

“Who would not?” I asked. Actually I thought it highly unlikely that a single individual could bring Talena to Ar. It might require negotiation, and the backing of a city. Otherwise the Ubara, captive, might change hands, from brigand to brigand, a dozen times before being brought before the Ubar’s throne.

“May I inquire the extent of the reward?” she asked.

“May I inquire the extent of the reward-what?” I said.

“May I inquire the extent of the reward- Master ?” she said.

“No,” I said.

Her body tightened and a flicker of annoyance flashed upon those somewhat haughty, but exquisite features.

I gathered she did not yet know what she was, except doubtless in some practical or legal sense. It was not yet understood in every fiber of her body, and, helplessly, profoundly, as it would eventually be, in the most remote recesses of her heart. She did not yet think herself, regard herself, recognize herself, know herself, and feel herself, as what she now was, wholly, and truly. She thought of herself as a free woman in a collar, and not yet as a natural, rightful slave, at last appropriately, publicly collared.

“You were close to the Ubara,” I said.

“None closer,” she said.

“You were her confidante?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You were, I gather, the dearest of friends,” I said.

“I hated her,” she said.

“But doubtless you dissembled friendship, and such,” I said.

“I do not know her whereabouts,” she said.

“Would you tell me if you knew?” I asked.

“I do not know her whereabouts,” she said.

“You do not know her fate?”

“No,” she said, “-Master.”

I picked up the bowl of broth, and sipped some. It was still warm, and I was grateful for it. I regarded her over the brim of the bowl.

“May I withdraw?” she said.

“No,” I said. Such as she does not leave the presence of a free person without permission, either implicit or explicit.

“Tell me the last you know of the Ubara,” I said.

I saw she was reluctant to speak. I supposed that she would be one of a small number of individuals, the inner circle, who might have been in the vicinity of the Ubara, prior to her escape, or disappearance. I did not doubt, really, that she was ignorant of the location of the Ubara, as she proclaimed. Had she not been, she might have tried, foolishly, to barter that information for her freedom. So little she knew of the import of her collar! One does not bargain with slaves. In a Gorean court the testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture. A slave who attempts to bargain is commonly punished, usually with the lash. If a slave possesses information of interest to masters she is expected to communicate it promptly. Failure to do so is cause for discipline. A slave who has had the insolence and temerity to attempt to bargain with masters may hope, after her punishment, which is likely to be severe, that her life may be spared.

“Where did you see her last?” I asked.

“Must I speak?” she asked.

My eyes conveyed my answer.

“You will not believe my words,” she said. “I scarce credit them myself, and I saw, or seemed to see, what occurred.”

“Continue,” I said, taking another sip of the broth.

“It was on the fourth day of the uprising,” she said. “Those of Ar had risen, everywhere, it seemed, from doorways and cellars, from within the cylinders and on the bridges, rushing forth, seizing up as weapons things so simple as clubs, poles, staves, and rocks, overwhelming in their numbers even armed men.”

We had done our best, of course, we of the occupation, to disarm the populace, pretending this to be in their own best interest, that in this way they would be better protected, that in this way they would be assuring their own safety, security, and welfare. And so might the small, yellow, single-horned tabuk be persuaded to abandon its one weapon, that it might thus be safer amongst prowling sleen. It is important that the subject population be as helpless as possible, that it be unable to defend itself, that those sovereign in the state may thus impose their will, their exactions and abuses, with impunity upon it, having then nothing to fear from the weak, the disarmed, the unprotected, and defenseless. But we had not reckoned with Marlenus of Ar, that he might return. What had been begun by the Delta Brigade, that hated, secret band of subversives, the resistance, implacable to the occupation, came openly alive and flaming with the sudden reappearance of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars. It was as though the Delta Brigade had spread an anticipatory terrain of tinder and oil throughout the streets of Ar, into which great Marlenus, come somehow to the city, flung the torch of revolution. His hand seemed visible everywhere. Truly had the banner of Ar been unfurled.”

I myself, with my unit, had been withdrawn from the Central Cylinder on the second day of the uprising. It would have been madness to have stayed longer, certainly in the Cylinder, which, given its location, could be easily cut off from reinforcements. We would be besieged in an alien citadel, without support, in the midst of enemies. Who could one trust? We would have been outnumbered by dozens to one, hundreds to one. The camp of the polemarkos had already been overrun. Initially it had been surmised the rebellion would be easily suppressed, but soon its extent and power became fearfully obvious. This was no sporadic thing, easily put down with a few blows. This was no simple riot, spontaneous and disorganized, as one protesting the burning of a shop, a scarcity in the markets. Happily the occupation had overseen the dismantling of the walls of Ar. We avoided, as we could, the avenues and boulevards, and sought small streets, away from the shouts of men and the sounds of war, the ferocity of rude battle, and made our way to the pomerium , no longer marked by walls and towers. By dusk we were in the countryside. Only later were we to reconstruct what had occurred, the pockets of our resistance, overcome one by one, the decimated retreats, the slaughterings, the terror, the blood, the hunting of traitors and collaborators, the joining of the forces of Ar, maintained during the occupation, to the uprising, the appearance of never-surrendered, concealed weapons, many brought back from the delta, by returning veterans of the Delta Expedition, the contributions of Peasants, masters of the great bow, who had apparently unwittingly sheltered Marlenus prior to the uprising, the numerous proscriptions, the reenthronement of Marlenus, and such.

“You were still in the city, on the fourth day of the rebellion?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why would I not believe what you might say?” I asked.

“It was the fourth day of the uprising,” she said. “We had sealed off the upper floors of the Central Cylinder. We were on the roof of the Central Cylinder. Seremides, master of the Taurentians, the palace guard, was in command. There were some forty of us, men and women. Many of the Taurentians had fled, been killed, or captured. Seremides was attempting to negotiate with the rebels. They seemed little interested in his proposals. There were tarns on the roof, by means of which Seremides, and some of his men, might attempt their escape, a hope meager but not forlorn, for the sky is wide and deep. We had been told there would be tarn baskets for the women, but when I emerged on the roof, I saw no such baskets. Seremides had so bespoke himself, it seems, to calm our fears. His power of bargaining, as he saw it, was vested in his control of the Ubara herself. He intended to trade her for the escape of himself and his men. You should have seen the proud Ubara on the roof. Seremides had had her don a slave tunic, and you know what such things are.”