John Norman - Mariners of Gor

Callias undid his knot, drew the latch string, freeing the latch, and opened the door.

“After you,” he said.

“The lamp is lit,” I said.

“I left it on,” he said.

“I will see if I can find you something to eat,” I said.

“Do not bother,” he said. “I had a pleasant supper at a tavern.”

“Good,” I said.

“I trust you fed well,” he said.

“The vendors had something left,” I said.

“Splendid,” he said.

“It is late,” I said. “I shall arrange some bedding.”

“When I am finished with Alcinoe,” he said, “she shall sleep at my feet.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Friend,” said Callias.

“Yes,” I said.

“You have treated me well,” said Callias. “You were kind in the tavern. You offered me money. You befriended me. You gave me lodging. I am grateful.”

“It is nothing,” I said.

He pressed into my hand a tiny beadlike object.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Low Scribes do not have such things,” I said.

“Be the first,” he said.

“I cannot accept this,” I said. My view of rich men, and, in particular, of Cosians, was in the process of being suddenly and radically transformed. They were, after all, were they not, generous and noble sorts?

“Would you dishonor me, by refusing?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“And there will be more later,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“To The Sea Sleen !” I said.

“Hold,” said Callias, “it is late, and dark, you are unarmed.”

“No matter,” I said.

“You would carry a golden tarsk through the streets of Brundisium, at this Ahn?” he inquired.

“Who would know?” I asked.

“One need not know,” he said. “You could be robbed for a copper tarsk, for a tarsk-bit.”

“I wish you well!” I said. “You, too, Alcinoe!”

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“I take it you have a sudden craving for paga,” said Callias.

“A sudden craving, yes, dear friend,” I said, lifting my clenched fist, holding the tiny, beadlike coin, a golden tarsk, “but scarcely for paga.”

“What then could you possibly have in mind?” he asked.

“Come now, dear friend,” I said, “can you not recall something which I could not hitherto afford, something in a yellow camisk, with bells on her left ankle?”

“The paga girl,” he said, “the slender brunette?”

“Of course!” I said.

“She is a barbarian,” said Callias.

“One I want in my arms,” I said.

“You would do that, you would buy her, a barbarian?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes!”

“Why?” he asked.

“Be serious,” I said.

“Barbarians are not that rare,” he said, “not in the larger markets. They are brought from that place called Earth.”

“Surely you have noted,” I said, “that they are generally of extremely high quality.”

“They are selected with that in mind,” he said.

“It is not simply that she is beautiful, that she is exquisite, that she is delicate, that she has deep, profound eyes, lips made for kisses, small wrists and ankles, that her body is rich in slave curves, in the many turnings and planes which the auctioneer’s whip calls to our attention. It goes mysteriously beyond such things, eluding calculations and measurements.”

“To you,” said Callias, “she is different, and special.”

“So tamely put,” I said, “such words manage only to point, only to hint, at ineluctable, mysterious matchings, and sensings.”

“Perhaps,” said Callias.

“And what does Alcinoe mean to you?” I asked.

“Ah!” smiled Callias.

“Master,” breathed Alcinoe, softly.

“To all fours,” he said to her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

This position can be igniting to a female slave, being so positioned by a master. At the least, they are well reminded, so positioned beside a man, that they are slaves.

No free woman, of course, would be so positioned.

It makes clear that the slave, legally, and otherwise, is an animal, her master’s animal.

“Surely,” I said, “you could detect her intelligence, her sensitivity, her emotional depth, her readiness, her softness, her femininity, her needs, the incipience of her passions?”

“I gathered something of that,” he said.

“Consider,” I said, “such a one, with all her beauty, intelligence, and depth, and how helpless she will be when slave fires burn in her belly!”

“I saw her look upon you,” he said. “I suspect they burn there already.”

“She is perfect,” I said.

“How so?” he asked.

“Consider the studies to which she was drawn, studies of a world much different from her own, a simpler, more natural world.”

“And she a female,” he said.

“What would be the most, on such a world, for which she, an alien female, might hope, and what, on such a world, might be what she truly desired, wanted, and would hope for?”

“As she is a desirable female, and might bring a decent price on a block, that seems clear,” he said.

“She must have understood,” I said, “that she, in all likelihood, if found on such a world, would be captured, and would soon find herself stripped and in the chains of a slave, awaiting her sale.”

“I would think so,” he said.

“Do you think she did not know herself, even on her own world, as suitably a man’s slave?” I said.

“What woman does not, on any world?” he asked.

He looked on Alcinoe, and she, on all fours, put down her head.

“Why then should she be denied, as her own world would deny her, submission to the mastery, ropes on her ankles, her wrists pinioned behind her back in slave bracelets, a collar on her neck, her lips pressed obediently to a master’s whip?”

“I, for one,” he said, “would have no interest in denying her such things, particularly if she would look well at a man’s feet. It is cruel to deny to a woman her nature, and, as well, to a man his.”

“She would be a delicious, perfect slave,” I said. “I want her! I want her, wholly! I want to own her, completely! Let herself then discover herself, and know herself, as that for which nature has designed her, a man’s slave!”

“And if you owned her,” he said, “and she writhed in her chains before you, miserable in the throes of slave fires, and begged for the attentions commonly bestowed on a slave, would you show her mercy?”

“Perhaps,” I said, “if she begged well.”

“I see,” he said.

“Master,” said Alcinoe to the stranger, looking up at him, “I am needy!”

“Kneel,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Bedding is there,” I said, pointing to a side of the room. “And in the locker, at the back, you will find ka-la-na, and food. I am off now to The Sea Sleen !”

“Do not go,” said Callias.

I paused at the door.

“You advise me to wait until morning?” I asked. Surely there was much to be said for such counsel.

“No,” he said.

“You wish me to wait, a bit,” I asked, “and you, armed, would accompany me? I would be grateful, and that is thoughtful, but it is not necessary. Too, I suspect there must be guardsmen about. I will keep to the wider, better-lit streets.”

“No,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“It is too late,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“I stopped by The Sea Sleen , after leaving the warehouse,” he said. “It is there I had supper.”

“So?” I said, apprehensively.

“The slave whom I suppose you mean,” he said, “the slender brunette, who heard the story of the voyage, she of the yellow camisk and belled ankle, is no longer there.”