“Thank you, Master,” said Ellen, kissing his sandals.
When she raised her head, Selius Arconious was looking down at her, in fury. She looked away, innocently.
“Do you think you are worth that much?” he asked.
“As a slave girl,” she said, “I dare not speculate on such matters. My value, if value I have, will be determined by men.”
“Gloat now, little she-sleen,” said Selius Arconious, angrily, “but do not forget that it is in my bracelets that your wrists are locked.”
“No, Master,” said Ellen, happily.
“I wanted to see how much you wanted her,” said Portus Canio. “Here are your silver tarsks back. I will sell her to you for less.”
“I do not understand,” said Selius Arconious.
“Give me a tarsk-bit,” smiled Portus Canio. Fel Doron laughed. One of the other men about slapped Selius Arconious good-naturedly on the back. There was much laughter.
Selius Arconious, reddening, replaced the silver in his purse. Ellen stiffened as he then gave a tarsk-bit, the hundredth part of a mere copper tarsk, to Portus Canio. Portus took the coin and put it in the guardsman’s wallet at his belt.
“That is doubtless, objectively, what she is worth,” said Portus Canio.
“Alas,” said Selius Arconious, “there is no smaller coin.”
Ellen looked angrily, from her knees, she back-braceleted, from Portus Canio to Selius Arconious.
“To the feet of your master, slut,” snapped Portus Canio.
And quickly, frightened, Ellen put down her head and began to lick and kiss the sandals of Selius Arconious, once again a slave, once again reminded of the absoluteness of her bondage.
“I am yours,” she said. “I will try to be pleasing to you.”
And as she performed this simple, homely act of respect and obeisance, common amongst female slaves, she groaned inwardly with need. How arousing it was to her to so kneel, naked, back-braceleted, head down, rendering submission to a man, her master. She felt incredibly female, incredibly feminine, incredibly thrilled and fulfilled. Men on this world, she thought, know the proper handling of women. She wondered if these men even realized what such postures, acts and rituals, so much taken for granted on this world, did to a woman. The culture of Gor was not devised to deny nature but to fulfill her. What might seem convention, taken for granted, and scarcely understood, by many on Gor, were profoundly symbolic acts, deeply moving acts, expressions of, and enhancements of, nature, which in their beautiful ways, and forms, stated, and celebrated, profound truths. Even chains, and the whip, were largely symbolic, the woman thusly understanding herself slave, and subject appropriately, as nature would have it, to the will of the dominant sex.
She lifted her head and looked up into the eyes of her master. Tears formed in her eyes. He looked away.
“Some of our men, clad as Cosian guardsmen,” said Fel Doron, “will raise a cry that the suspect tarnster has been seen. Shortly thereafter our friend, Tersius Major, gagged and bound, clad appropriately, will be put aflight on a tarn. There will doubtless be a pursuit. It should take some time to bring the tarn down. Later, say, an Ahn later, other tarns will be freed. This will be taken as the actual departure from the camp of the conspirators, and a new pursuit will be mustered. In the general confusion, and disbandment, of the camp, the former prisoners and the rest of our men will go their hundred ways, afoot, some of the Cosian gold divided amongst them. Those of Ar will attempt to severally work their way southeast to Ar. Our friends, Marcus, of Ar’s Station, and Bosk, of Port Kar, who have been instrumental, with others, in the purloining of the gold, and its subsequent temporary concealment, will in a few days attend a prearranged rendezvous with diverse cohorts, at a place of concealed tarns. There they will convey information as to the location of the great bulk of the gold, in its temporary cache, to these cohorts, who will then, as planned, see to its movement and disposition. Our friends of the scarlet caste will then attempt to return to Ar by tarn, traveling at night, utilizing the cover of darkness.”
The “scarlet caste” was a way of referring to the caste of Warriors, the expression being suggested by the usual color of their tunics. Ellen had seen many scarlet tunics in Ar, mostly those of mercenaries and Cosian regulars. As Portus Canio had referred to Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus, of Ar’s Station, as friends of the “scarlet caste,” they must be then, thought Ellen, of the Warriors. She had, of course, suspected as much earlier. They were large and powerful, and had the look about them of men not unaccustomed to look upon war, men not unfamiliar with the darker uses of steel. They were not, however, now in the scarlet of their caste, but wore simple brown tunics. In a sense, she supposed, they were incognito. Doubtless that was wise in a Cosian camp, if they were not of Cos, even though the camp was in theory an open camp. To be sure, in raids, in battle, red is not always worn. Much depends, as would be expected, on the terrain, the situation, the objective, the mission, and such.
“Have arrangements been made for me?” asked Selius.
He did not mention Ellen, for she was property, and, as property, might, or might not, be brought along, as the master chose.
“Yes,” said Portus Canio. “You will come with me, in a prepared wagon, and Fel Doron will accompany us. Too, until it is time for their departure for the rendezvous point, the place of concealed tarns, we will have at our disposal the swords of our friends, Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus, of Ar’s station.”
“Can one trust one of Port Kar?” asked Selius Arconious.
“He is with us, for whatever reason,” said Portus Canio.
“In Port Kar,” said the red-haired man, he like a larl, “there is now a Home Stone.”
“I did not know,” said Selius Arconious. “Forgive me.”
“It is nothing,” said the red-haired man.
The red-haired man frightened Ellen. She would have feared to belong to him. His speech had a foreign flavor, almost as though his Gorean had the trace, impossibly enough, of an English accent. But there are many accents on Gor. It did not seem likely that he would have a barbarian origin. He was too Gorean.
He glanced at her, and she, kneeling, quickly put down her head, unable to meet his eyes. She felt, beneath his gaze, as beneath that of many others, strong men, masters, completely slave. She knew that Gorean men saw her as a slave, and she knew in her heart that they saw her truly.
“There is little to do now,” said Portus Canio. “In the morning, after the alarms of the night, if all goes well, we will make our way to the wagons and, with thousands of others, unnoticed in the general thronging, leave the camp.”
“How many of our men are in the camp?” asked Selius Arconious.
“Not counting the freed prisoners, fifty,” said Portus Canio. He then turned aside, to speak to others.
“May I speak, Master,” whispered Ellen, softly, looking up to Selius Arconious.
“Very well,” he said.
“I think Master finds me of interest,” she said.
“Oh?” he said, skeptically.
“He could have purchased others in the auction. He purchased me. He was willing to pay twenty-one silver tarsks, of his own money, for this girl.”
“He is a fool,” said Selius Arconious.
“I hope not,” she said, “for he is my master.”
“Do you want a taste of the leather?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said.
“I had you for a tarsk-bit,” he said, “no more. You are only a tarsk-bit girl. Do not forget it.”
“I sold for more than that the first time,” she said.
“Then someone paid more for you than you are worth.”
“I think Master may like me a little,” she said.
“Absurd,” he said.