John Norman - Mariners of Gor

“Master?” I heard.

I opened my eyes, and rose to a sitting position, cross-legged, in the straw, the blankets down, so that my arms were free. The gate to the cell was open, swung back. I saw nothing beyond it but the wall of the hold, the steps which had led down to this level, the small tharlarion-oil lamp on its chain, moving a bit with the rhythm of the ship. There was no guard behind her, but I did not doubt that one had opened the gate for her, and had then withdrawn. Such as she are not trusted with keys. The gate would lock, if swung shut. It would have been nothing to strike her aside and exit the cell, but there was, in effect, no point in doing so. The vessel at sea, flight would be foolish. Where would one go? Where would one hide? I would remain where I had been placed, at least for now. I must learn more. I must have more information. Those who had incarcerated me, I realized, assumed my likely judgment in this matter. I found this gratifying. In its way, it said they did not think it likely that I was stupid. In its way, it was a token of respect. I had been given enough time to sleep, to recuperate, to become better aware of my position, and my dependence on the will of others. I might have taken her in hand, but she would have little value as a hostage, as she was an animal, and not one of particular value. Her loss could be replaced indifferently with that of any one of a dozen, or hundred, similar beasts. It would be much like trying to bargain with a verr or vulo in hand. Who would take one seriously?

“Master,” she said, seeing my eyes upon her, “may I approach? I bear nourishment.”

“Yes,” I said.

In her two hands she bore a bowl.

“Broth,” she said.

“There,” I said, brushing some straw aside, and indicating where she might place the bowl, before me.

She approached, insufficiently humbly I thought.

She bent down.

She started. The bowl had suddenly jerked, and broth had leapt in the bowl, some of it running down the side of the bowl, some spilling to the wood. She looked suddenly frightened. Such as she could be whipped for clumsiness.

“There,” I said again, indicating, again, the place before me.

She placed the bowl before me. She now looked down, and to the side, hiding her face from me.

She then rose up, and facing me, for she knew that much, backed away. She seemed eager to withdraw.

“Wait,” I said, as one speaks to such as she.

She then stood back from me, facing me, her head down.

I had no interest in punishing her. She was not even mine. I supposed she was part of the ship’s furniture, so to speak. I was curious as to why she had started so.

“You know me?” I asked.

“Surely I could not know you,” she said.

I looked up at her. Something seemed familiar about her. Was it her voice?

“May I withdraw, Master?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

Her body stiffened, but she remained in place.

“Stand as what you are,” I said.

“Please, Master!” she protested.

“As what you are,” I repeated. “You have been taught, have you not?”

She then stood well, lithe and lissome, supple and graceful, her back straight, her shoulders back, her hip turned.

I examined her lines. I would have guessed a silver tarsk and change.

In such as she slovenly posture is not accepted. Before men such as she must stand well, move well, and such. If they do not the lash will see to their correction.

“Lift you head,” I said.

She complied, but with obvious reluctance. Surely she knew that in such as she acquiescence was to be unquestioning and instantaneous.

“Do I not know you?” I asked.

“Surely not, Master,” she said.

She must remain before me, of course, as she was, as I had placed her.

She wore a brief ship’s tunic, sleeveless, brown, slit at the hips, with a deep neckline, a feature by means of which certain aspects of her value might be the more helpfully assessed.

“Come here,” I said to her, “kneel before me.”

“Please, Master!” she protested.

“Now,” I said.

“Good,” I said.

She knelt with her knees closely together, clenched together. The palms of her hands were down, on her thighs.

“Now lean forward.”

“Master,” she protested.

“Must a command be repeated?” I asked.

“No,” she said, frightened. The repetition of a command is often cause for discipline.

She leaned forward, and, as I gestured, even more so, and I took her chin gently in my hand and then, I, too, leaning forward, lifted her head, and then turned her head from side to side.

I then released her, and sat back.

I laughed, and she drew back, and buried her face in her hands and wept.

“I thought I recognized your voice,” I said. “Too, as I recall, you were occasionally careless in your toilette, your veil, more than once, as though inadvertently, being disarranged. You did that to torment us, the lower soldiers, did you not?”

She was silent.

“What do they call you here?” I asked.

“Alcinoe,” she said. “I hate the name! I hate it! It is a Cosian name.”

“It is a lovely name,” I said. “And I am Cosian. My Home Stone is that of Jad.”

She before me was the former Lady Flavia of Ar, who had been one of the inner circle of the Ubara, Talena of Ar. I recognized her, from my duties in the Central Cylinder, during the occupation.

“I suspect,” I said, “you were on the proscription lists posted in Ar, following the restoration of Marlenus.”

The fear in her face confirmed this speculation.

“Do not betray me,” she begged.

“I shall have to think about it,” I said.

“I was of high caste, of high family, of position and importance, of influence, wealth, and power, and now,” she sobbed, “I have this!” Her eyes filled with tears, and she put the fingers of her right hand to the flat, sturdy, metal band which closely encircled her throat.

How lovely such devices are, closely clasping and locked, on the neck of a female! How they enhance a woman’s beauty!

What she said was surely true, and she, in the company of the Ubara, Talena of Ar, was an arch collaborator with the occupation forces in Ar. She, and many others like her, both men and women, had been involved in the conspiracy by means of which Ar had fallen, in the opening of Ar’s gates, in the razing of her walls, in the machinations by means of which Ar had been subdued and looted for months. She, as others who were confidantes of the Ubara, had become rich in the profiteering attendant on the occupation, as in controlling the supply and distribution of goods, in private marketing, in illicit trade, in the peddling of influence, and the selling of favors. Bribery and corruption had been rampant and those with the ear of the Ubara, those on whom she might choose to smile, prospered, while the common citizenry suffered, struggled to live, knew fear and uncertainty, peril and want, and must endure the contumely and abuse not only of undisciplined, garrisoning soldiers but of wandering bands of uncontrolled, wayward youths who, scorning their own Home Stone, affected the habits, accents, and styles of Ar’s masters. Too, Talena, in the name of due tribute, the meting out of justice, the garnerings of recompenses for Ar’s alleged crimes, and such, had used her power to bring many of the free women of Ar into the collar, to be transported abroad, to Cos, Tyros, and elsewhere, as slaves. Indeed, the Ubara had used this device to avenge herself on many free women, who might have scorned her during her sequestration under Marlenus, or might merely have been alleged as rivals to the Ubara in the way of beauty. Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, once the daughter of an Administrator of Ar, was one such. She was given as a slave to Myron, the polemarkos of Temos, who, behind the throne, was the actual power in Ar. Other beauties of Ar were put in the taverns and brothels, several of which the Ubara owned and managed under the false name of Ludmilla. The Lady Flavia, too, I knew, had, by means of her influence with the Ubara, seen to it that various of her peers, perceived enemies or rivals, were publicly stripped and consigned to the chains of slaves. During the course of the uprising, the restoration, even in the midst of fighting, angry crowds had sought out traitors and collaborators, and brought them, bound and screaming, to improvised impaling spears. Proscription lists were publicly posted, containing the names of many traitors and collaborators yet to be caught and brought to the justice of the spear. I had no doubt but that the name of the Lady Flavia occurred on more than one such list.