“Ah,” said he, “you choose to remain. That is your choice. Very well, I accept it. But if you remain you must do so on my terms.” He suddenly snapped the whip.
The crack was loud, sharp. “Is that understood?” he asked.
“Yes!” said more than one man, swiftly.
“Kneel!” barked T’Zshal.
We knelt.
“But will you be permitted to remain?” he asked.
Several of the men cast apprehensive glances at one another.
“Perhaps, yes. Perhaps, no,” said T’Zshal. “That decision, you see, is mine.” He coiled the whip. “It is not easy to earn one’s keep at Klima. At Klima the cost of lodging is high. You must earn your right to stay at Klima. You must work hard. You must please me much.” He looked from face to face.
He did not ask if we understood. We did.
“We may, however,” asked Hassan, “leave Klima when we wish?”
T’Zshal regarded him. Clearly he was wondering if Hassan were insane. I smiled.
T’Zshal was puzzled. “Yes,” he said.
“Very well,” said Hassan, noting the point.
“There is little leather at Klima,” said T’Zshal. “There are few water bags.
Those that exist are of one talu. They are guarded.”
Water at Klima is generally carried in narrow buckets, on wooden yokes, with dippers attached, for the slaves. A talu is approximately two gallons. A talu bag is a small bag. It is the sort carried by a nomad herding verr afoot in the vicinity of his camp. Bags that small are seldom carried in caravan, except at the saddles of scouts.
“Is it your intention,” inquired T’Zshal of Hassan, “to purloin several bags, fill them, battling guards, and walk your way out of Klima?”
Even, of course, if one could obtain several such bags, and fill them with water, it did not seem likely that one could carry enough water to find one’s way afoot out of the desert.
Hassan shrugged. “It is a thought,” be said.
“You must think you are strong,” said T’Zshal.
“I have made the march to Klima,” said Hassan.
“We have all made the march to Klima,” said T’Zshal.
We were startled, that he had said this.
“There is none at Klima,” said T’Zshal, “who has not made that march.” He looked at us. “All here,” said he, “my pretties, are slaves of the salt, slaves of the desert. We dig salt for the free; we are fed.”
“Even the salt master?” asked Hassan.
“He, too, long ago, once came naked to Klima said T’Zshal. “We order ourselves by the arrangements of skill and steel. We, slaves, have formed this nation, and administer it, as we see fit. The salt delivered, the outsiders do not disturb us. In our internal affairs we are autonomous.”
“And we?” said Hassan.
“You,” grinned T’Zshal, “are the true slaves, for you are the slaves of slaves.”
He laughed.
“Did you come hooded to Klima?” asked Hassan.
“Yes, as have all, even the salt master himself,” said T’Zshal.
This was disappointing information. Hassan had doubtless had in mind the forcing of a guard, or kennel master, perhaps T’Zshal himself, to guide him from Klima, could he obtain water. As it now turned out, and we had no reason to doubt the kennel master, none at Klima could serve in this capacity.
We knew, generally, Red Rock, the kasbah of the Salt Ubar and such, lay northwest of Klima, but, unless one knows the exact direction, the trails, this information is largely useless. Even in a march of a day one could pass, unknowingly, an oasis in the desert, wandering past it, missing it by as little as two or three pasangs.
Knowledge of the trails is vital.
None at Klima knew the trails. The free, their masters, had seen to this.
Moreover, to protect the secrecy of the salt districts, the trails to them were not openly or publicly marked. This was a precaution to maintain the salt monopolies of the Tahari, as though the desert itself would not have been sufficient in this respect.
T’Zshal smiled, seeming human for the moment, and not kennel master. “None, my pretties,” said he, “knows the way from Klima. There is thus, in the desert, no way from Klima.”
“There is a way,” said Hassan. “It need only be found.”
“Good fortune,” said T’Zshal. With his whip he indicated the opened door of the kennel. “Go,” be said.
“I choose to stay, for the time,” said Hassan.
“My kennel is honored,” said T’Zshal, inclining his head. Hassan, too, bowed his head, in Taharic courtesy acknowledging the compliment.
T’Zshal smiled. “Know this, though,” he said, “that should you leave us our feelings would be injured. that our hospitality be rejected. Few return to Klima. Of those that do, few survive the pits of discipline, and of those who do, it is to dig in the open pits.” He lifted the whip, noting its graceful curve. It was the snake, many fanged, tiny bits of metal braided within the leather. “Klima,” said T’Zshal, slowly, “may seem to you a fierce and terrible place. Perhaps it is. I do not know. I have forgotten any other place. Yet it is not too different, I think, from the world on the other side of the horizon. At Klima, you will find, as in all the world, there are those who bold the whip, and those who dig, and die.” He looked at us. “Here,” he said, “in this kennel, it is I who hold the whip.”
“How,” I asked, “does one become kennel master?”
“Kill me,” said T’Zshal.
16 Hassan and I Agree to Accompany T’Zshal
I held the line coiled, in my left hand, it tied to the handle on the metal, perforated cone, swinging in my right.
It was cool in the pit, on the large raft. At each corner of the raft, mounted on a pole, was a small, oil-fed lamp. It was dark in the pit, save for our lamps, and those of other rafts. I could see two other rafts, illuminated in the darkness, one some two hundred yards away, the other more than a pasang distant over the water. In places we could see the ceiling of the pit, only a few feet above our head, in others it was lost in the darkness, perhaps a hundred or more feet above us. I estimated our distance beneath the surface to be some four hundred feet. The raft, in the dark, sluggish waters, stirred beneath our feet.
I flung the cone out from the raft, into the darkness, allowing the line to uncoil from my left hand, following the vanishing, sinking cone.
I shared the raft with eight others, three, who handled cones as I, the “harvesters,” four polemen and the steersman. Harvesters and polemen, periodically, exchange positions. The raft is guided by a sweep at its stern, in the keeping of the steersman. It is propelled by the polemen. The poles used are weighted at the bottom, and are some twenty feet in length. One of the poles, released in deep water, will stand upright in the water, about a yard of it above the surface. The weight makes it easier to keep the pole, which is long, submerged. It may thus be used with less fatigue. The floor of the brine pit, in most places, is ten to fifteen feet below the surface of the water. There are areas in the pits, however, where the depth exceeds that of the poles. In such areas, paddles, of which each raft is equipped with four, near the retaining vessels, are used. It is slow, laborious work, however, moving the heavy raft with these levers. The raft is some twelve feet in width and some twenty-four or twenty-five feet in length. Each raft contains a low frame, within which are placed the retaining vessels, large, wooden salt, tubs, each approximately a yard in height and four feet in diameter. Each raft carries four of these, either arranged in a lateral frame, or arranged in a square frame, at the raft’s center. Ours were arranged laterally. The lateral arrangement is more convenient in unloading; the square arrangement provides a more convenient distribution of deck space, supplying superior crew areas at stem and stern. From the point of view of “harvesting,” the arrangements are equivalent, save that the harvesters, naturally, to facilitate their work, position themselves differently in the two arrangements. If one is right-handed, one works with the retaining vessel to the left, so that one can turn and, with the right hand, tip the harvesting vessel, steadying it with the left band.