John Norman - Swordsmen of Gor

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I did it,” I said.

“He is not of Port Kar?” she said.

“I do not think so,” I said. “Certainly he did not speak of the 25th of Se’Kara as would one of Port Kar. He was probably not abroad upon turbulent, green Thassa on that remarkable and unusual day.”

“Then he is not a ‘trust brother’,” she said.

“He is no more a trust brother of mine,” I said, “than Myron, polemarkos of Temos.”

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Do not show fear,” I said. “Too, although we know he is a liar and a hypocrite, he may be a benign liar and hypocrite.”

“Master?” she said.

“I think he was to meet us,” I said. “Things would not make much sense otherwise.”

“But for whom does he work, whom does he serve, Master?” she asked.

“I would suppose the Priest-Kings of Gor,” I said.

“There is no other possibility?” she said.

“There is one other possibility,” I said.

“Master?”

“Kurii,” I said. “But not those with whom we were allied. Others. Others might have had the coordinates.”

“Former minions of Agamemnon?” she asked.

“Or of others,” I said.

“You have now found what you were looking for,” I said. “Put it in the sack.”

She obediently executed this small charade.

I rose to my feet, and she stood, too, beside me. I looked back, at the horizon. The sail was larger now.

“Hurry! Hurry!” called Pertinax, back amongst the trees.

We joined him in the shadows.

The ship, a common Gorean ship, small, light, oared, straight-keeled, ram-prowed, shallow-drafted, would be drawn up on the sand, if the night was to be spent here. It swung athwart, however, some yards from shore.

“Come,” said Pertinax. “It is dangerous to remain here.”

Men, some clambering over the side, lowering themselves, others leaping, entered the water, which at that point was waist to chest high. They began to wade ashore. These men were armed variously. Most had sacks slung about them. These tended to buoy upward in the water. More than one fellow steadied his approach with the butt of a spear.

“Who are these men?” I asked. They seemed a nondescript, but dangerous lot. There were some fifty men.

“Bandits, mercenaries, assassins, outcasts, men without captains, strangers, all strangers,” he said.

“What are they doing here?” I asked.

“I do not know,” said Pertinax. “Do not let them see you.”

“Where do they go?” I asked.

“They follow the blazings, the flags,” he said.

“To where?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “Somewhere deep in the forest, perhaps to the headwaters of the river, well south and east of the reserves.”

“What river?” I asked.

“The Alexandra,” he said.

“I know it not,” I said.

“It is not a large river,” he said.

“And why might they go to the headwaters of that river?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said.

“The river, I gather,” I said, “is narrow, but deep, sheltered by rock, as might be a fjord.”

“I thought you said you knew not the river,” he said.

“I do not,” I said, “but certain things would be needful, if certain purposes were to be served.”

“The men are unlawed, and dangerous,” he said. “Come away.”

He then withdrew silently into the woods, and I, and a slave, followed him.

I turned back, once.

The ship had swung about. Water fell from the oars. The ship would not beach.

It was growing dark.

“Is she First Girl, Master?” asked Cecily, angrily.

“No,” I said. “If she were I would have you at her feet.”

“Hear that?” asked Cecily, angrily, of the other girl.

“Stir the soup,” snapped the other girl.

“Do not quarrel,” said Pertinax, affably.

Masters seldom interfere in the squabbles of slaves.

His slave, Constantina, cast him a dark look. I found that interesting. One had the sense she was not pleased with chores. Certainly she had done little, and had seen to it that Cecily had done much, even to the gathering of firewood.

Pertinax and I were sitting, cross-legged, waiting to be served.

His slave, Constantina, seemed to me unpleasant, irritable, even surly. Perhaps it was because of Cecily. It is not unusual when one attractive slave encounters another attractive slave in the vicinity of her master that certain frictions may occur. Both know, so to speak, that they are meaningless, and no more than luscious toys for men, toys which, to their misery, and fear, may easily be discarded or replaced, and, accordingly, they tend to be acutely jealous of the attentions of their masters.

Slave girls are not unaware of their effect on men, or of those of other slaves.

They are well aware that it is not only they, but others of their kind, as well, which constitute delectable, tempting morsels for any male appetite.

The female slave cast amongst strong men is not unlike steaming, juicy, roasted meat cast among ravening sleen.

Indeed, few females of Earth, from their experiences on their native world, have any understanding of what it would be to be a female amongst men such as those of Gor; few such females would be prepared in the least for the possessiveness and power, the virility and lusts, of such men, natural men, and masters; and few would anticipate how exquisitely desirable they would appear to such men, and few would suspect how helpless and vulnerable, too, they would find themselves in the midst of such men, particularly were their necks clasped in the collar of a slave.

And yet I had the sense that Constantina’s attitudes might not be typical of the common slave, fearing for the loss of the interest or attentions of her master.

Indeed, she seemed to show not only myself, a stranger, but her master little deference. I found it of interest that he, for his part, seemed to accept this. I found this tolerance on his part surprising, and her laxity incomprehensible. I could not have expected this in a Gorean domicile, and if, unaccountably, it had occurred, I would have expected the slave to have been subjected to a sharp, immediate discipline, that presumably to be followed by a period of punishment, perhaps being chained uncomfortably for several Ahn, perhaps being housed in a tiny slave box for a day and a night, perhaps being smeared with honey and then being staked out, naked, spread-eagled, for insects, or such. I wondered if our host were Gorean.

Her behavior, too, had seemed untypical, at least of a slave, when her master had arrived with company. Initially, I had wondered if her response might not have been more to be expected of an ill-tempered, unhappy wife of Earth, a common form of contractual partner, or a Gorean free companion, a pledged partner, should her husband, or companion, appear at supper time with unannounced, unexpected guests. But it had soon seemed to me that her annoyance was less that of being taken unawares, or unprepared, and finding herself at a loss, and being thusly embarrassed, as a simple disinclination to the work itself. It was less a social contretemps, it seemed, than an imposition, that she might be expected to work, at all. I had the distinct impression that she was such as to not only evade and resent the performance of various domesticities, even those that might be commonly expected of her, but was literally unaccustomed to them, as well. Perhaps, I thought, she is new to her collar. I wondered if Pertinax was Gorean. It is unusual for a Gorean male to accept laxity in a female slave.

I thought she might profit from a bout with the whip.