And better, surely, the degradations of collars and their fair lips pressed to the feet of masters than the slow, lingering death of the impaling pole.
The three paga slaves had little to fear, of course, for their brands would protect them.
They were attractive, domestic animals.
Yet they, too, would be eager to escape Ar, for its Home Stone had once been their own.
Too, they were now different from what they had been, quite different, for they had known the touch of masters.
“It was a terrible march,” said a fellow. “We were afflicted from the air, arrowed by avenging tarnsmen. Sometimes small groups attacked the margins of our march. We knew not whether they were allied with Ar, or merely seeking spoil, or trying to curry favor with great Marlenus.”
“We must deal with brigands and thieves, within our own camps,” said another. “There were many desertions.”
“Bosk, and verr, and tarsks, were driven from our path,” said a man. “Fields were burned. Wells were filled in. There was little to eat or drink. They opened and closed the veins of kaiila, draining their blood into flasks. A single urt cost as much as a silver tarsk.”
“At last we reached Torcodino,” said a man, “and found safety within her walls.”
“It was there,” said a man, “that we put iron on the necks of our sluts.”
“They then well knew themselves slave,” said a man.
“Ten days later we accompanied the march to Brundisium,” said a man. “The regulars of Tyros and Cos, and their officers and slaves, were soon embarked, and gladly, with songs of joy, for their home islands, but it fared differently with many of us, the gathered mercenaries who had served the island ubarates.”
“The port police would not permit us within the walls of Brundisium,” said a man. “Refugees were unwelcome. They brought nothing to the city, there was no work for them, they were dangerous, they would be expensive to feed.”
“By heralds we were warned away from the walls,” said a man.
“‘Scatter! Begone!’ we were told,” said a man.
“Rumors had it that our slaughter was planned,” said another.
“It was at that time,” said a fellow, “that the strange men contacted us.”
“Of course,” I said.
I did not understand them, of course, but they would suppose this was all familiar to me. Strange men, at least, would be men, not, say, Kurii. That they spoke of them as “strange” interested me. How would they be strange? In demeanor, in language, in dress? I gathered, whatever might be the case, that they were men of a sort to which they were unaccustomed, men of a sort with which they were unfamiliar.
“Some hundreds of us were then soon within the walls of Brundisium,” said a fellow, “and were conducted to the wharves, thence, over several days, to be embarked on various ships, toward points unknown.”
“As here,” I said.
“It seems so,” said a man, looking about the beach, after the departing vessel, then to the looming forest.
“The ships would depart at intervals,” I said.
“Hirings and charterings took time,” said a fellow.
“I trust,” I said, “in the meantime you were comfortably housed.”
“In mariners’ billets,” said a fellow.
“The strange men were generous,” said another. “Each of us received, in copper tarsks, the equivalent of a silver stater of Brundisium.”
“They were generous, indeed,” I said.
“We had several nights to enjoy the taverns,” said a fellow.
“What of your slaves?” I asked.
“We chained them in the basement of one of the billets,” said a man.
“Apparently you could take them with you,” I said.
“Yes,” said he, who was called Torgus. “We were told that uses might always be found for such.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said. I glanced at the slaves, in position, the iron on their necks, the water swirling about their knees. They were soft, pathetic, and fearful. They were helpless. They were owned.
I wondered if Pertinax might have felt sorry for them. But that would have been absurd, for they were slaves. One might as well have felt sorry for a kaiila or tarsk.
A slave is not to be coddled, but mastered.
Yes, I thought, uses might always be found for such. Indeed, wherever there were strong men, uses might be found for such.
They were slaves.
“I have heard that Brundisium is plentifully supplied with paga taverns,” I said.
“Indeed!” agreed a fellow.
This was only to be expected, of course, in a port city, frequented with mariners, merchants, diverse transients, and such.
“One of the best is the tavern of Hendow,” said a fellow.
“It is on Dock Street,” said another.
I had heard of it. It was famed for the beauty of its slaves and the quality of its dancers.
“The slaves there vie with one another for permission to approach your table,” said a fellow. “They all want to serve you paga.”
“That is not unusual in a paga tavern,” I said.
“No,” said a fellow.
Sometimes the paga slaves are knelt at a wall, and one indicates his choice, she whom he will permit to serve him.
“And in the alcoves they whimper in their chains,” said a fellow, “begging to be permitted to bring you the most exquisite and prolonged of kajira delights.”
“Their master, Hendow, is a monster,” laughed a fellow. “It is little wonder his slaves strive with all their softness and beauty to well serve his customers. Woe to the girl who does not please a client of severe, massive Hendow.”
“Yes,” said a fellow, “perhaps at first they fear Hendow, but, shortly, in your arms, they are no more than slaves.”
I felt sorry for the men of Earth, so many of whom had never held a slave in their arms.
How different they would be, I thought, if they knew the mastery.
Who could do with a free woman, I wondered, who had once tasted slave?
It is no wonder free women hate their embonded sisters, and treat them with such contempt and cruelty.
“I think,” said Torgus, “we ought not to remain too long on the beach.”
“Certainly not,” I said.
“I have the countersign,” he said. “I await the sign.”
“It is not yet time,” I said.
“I think it is time,” he said.
“Who are you?” suddenly asked a fellow.
“Give us the sign,” said another.
“A ship arrived yesterday,” I said.
“Our ship is the last,” said Torgus.
“The sign, I have,” I said, “is ‘Tarns aflight‘.”
“I have no countersign for that,” said Torgus, very quietly.
“The countersign,” I said, “from yesterday’s ship, was ‘from Ar‘.”
“That is not the sign I was to expect, nor to answer with my countersign.”
“I suspect there is a misunderstanding,” I said.
I noted I was being ringed with fellows, but space was left, in which weapons might be drawn. Torgus stepped back, to put a few feet between us.
“He must be our contact,” said a fellow. “How else would he be here, to meet us?”
“We were warned of strangers,” said Torgus.
” Tarns aflight,” I said.
” From Ar, from Ar,” volunteered a fellow, hopefully.
“Yes,” I said, cheerfully, “’from Ar‘.”
I saw the hand of Torgus, and that of several others, move to the hilts of weapons. Their scabbards, on the whole, as mine, were at the left hip, suspended there on a shoulder strap. This is common if conflict is not imminent. If it is, the scabbard is often hung loosely at the left shoulder, where, the blade drawn, it may be instantly discarded. A hand in a shoulder strap, in grappling, for example, may serve to hold an enemy in place for, say, the thrust of a knife.