Kiera of Gor (14)

14: I run errands for my Mistress and meet with my new friend in Port Kar

I sat at the edge of the Spice pier with my legs dangling over the water of the lagoon as I basked in the hot sunshine. It was at times like this when the temperature was well into the thirties that I was glad I only wore my slave tunic. Let the free women walk around swaddled in their layers of heavy robes and gowns when the thermometer might read thirty-four degrees centigrade in the shade. In heat like that I preferred the comfort of bare arms and bare legs.

Close by was one of the famous swing bridges that are found on the larger canal waterways where high masted shipping might otherwise be impeded by fixed bridges of wood or stone. The swing bridges float on the surface of the water, tethered in place and can be dragged back against the canal's side if large cargo barges or round ships pass by. From a defensive point of view it also permits the people of Port Kar to remove the links between the islands in the lagoon, turning each land mass into a fortified position with a natural moat against an invading army. I spied a number of she-urts clinging to the lower support struts of the bridge, leaning into the canal water to scoop up bits of edible garbage. It was a sign of the abject poverty in Port Kar that contrasted with the affluent town houses of the sea captains. Lacking the institution of free companionship in Port Kar, free women sometimes have to fend for themselves, and if times become hard and they cannot afford to keep a roof over their heads, these women are left to live on the streets, prowling the canals for scraps of leftover food. The citizens of Port Kar refer to them as she-urts.

London of course had been no stranger to the homeless, and often coming home from bars and clubs late at night, slightly worse for wear from one expensive gin drink too many, I would pass by scores of men and women (though mostly men) living rough in doorways and under bridges. I had been afraid of them on the whole for desperate people do desperate things and I probably looked an easy target in my little black dress, high heeled sandals and clutch bag. But despite the obvious poverty they suffered and endured none of them ever did anything more than ask me for money.

I often felt ashamed as I handed them a few coins, knowing I had spent three times that on a single gin drink an hour previously. They were always polite, always thanked me, and I walked away feeling less than human for not giving them more.

The she-urts have it possibly even worse, for charity on Gor is considered an insult to the people who so desperately need it. I gazed at these women – there were four of them who seemed to know one another. They moved in small groups to afford some safety in the city, because obviously homeless free women could be seized by drunken men or worse. By and large they would look after one another and if a she-urt was attacked her friends would come to her assistance. They also technically had the law on their side as they were citizens of Port Kar and free. They were not slaves with a brand or a collar. They wore rags, often barefoot, and none of them that I could see were veiled. Every once in a while some token effort would be made by guardsmen to round them up, but the attempt was always half hearted and the she-urts had many places in which they could hide at short notice.

Surely it would be better to be a slave than to live like that? I at least had a roof over my head, two meals a day and clean clothing. And yet the she-urts clung to their precious freedom, hissing with nails and teeth bared at any man who suggested he might collar one. Such a thing would be illegal of course. Only a magistrate can enslave a woman of the city.

I was working errands today while my mistress moved through Port Kar society for the ninth day running, apparently speaking carelessly to all and sundry of her progressive views on the role of women and how the time was surely near for women to take up a more powerful position in Gorean society. Men would treat her words as harmless, amusing even, but she hoped that her audacious statements would soon feed back to these mysterious conspirators in their dark halls and make them curious.

Brinn had asked her whether she actually believed in female supremacy on Gor, for her speeches had sounded convincing, as if she meant what she said.

“Perhaps I do,” my mistress had replied with a sparkle in her eyes. “Maybe the time has come for women to rise up and put all of you strong handsome men in steel chains? Beware the soft patter of our sequinned slippers when we come for you, Brinn of the Sardar!” She laughed then as Brinn just stared at her with that impassive look he so often had.

Port Kar didn't seem as dangerous as my Mistress had made it out to be and within a few days she had relaxed the rule about me walking the streets on my own. For all its fierce reputation on the high seas, the canal districts were patrolled by guardsmen and order was maintained much like in any other city of Gor. I suspect this was down to the fact that for the last fifty years Port Kar had itself a Home Stone. In the days before it had a Home Stone I suspect it might have been very different. A lot of this was down to the actions of the mysterious Bosk who led the Port Kar ships in the great naval battle of 10120 against the forces of Cos and Tyros. He is a legend here in Port Kar, and I have heard drunken toasts made in his name.

My life as a slave had settled into a routine of sorts. By now I understood the various quirks of my mistress and I knew when to speak and when to be silent, and I now began to recognise signs of impending mood swings before I might suffer them. I think slave girls learn quickly to read the expressions of their masters and mistresses and react even before those masters and mistresses understand what it is they want. My mistress had sent word to Samos in his great house that she needed private accommodation and he had then arranged for her to lease a small building in a compound residence that had stout walls and loyal guards. The compound was exclusive to free women, but unlike the shared building we had viewed the buildings within the compound were fully autonomous. Brinn had chosen to take lodging with Samos and learn from him how to play kaissa, the Gorean version of chess. Each day Brinn called on my mistress to assist and act as her bodyguard. At night he then saw to it that she locked and bolted herself inside her compound building and he in turn returned to drink paga and play more kaissa with Samos.

To be honest I wasn't worked particularly hard. A Gorean home tends to be quite simple and it doesn't take a slave very long to clean and tidy it. Marissa seemed content that I worked for maybe four to five hours during the day, not counting the time I spent serving her personally. This left me with ample time to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city. I had by now learnt many new skills. I could cook on heated kitchen stones and in camp fire pots; I could sew and stitch to a basic level; I could bathe and tend to my mistress's grooming needs which included softening the heels of her feet with pumice stones, trimming and buffing her nails, shaving her legs and, strange as it seemed to do so to another woman, her pubic hair; massaging her upper body with scented oils and skin lotions, and of course arranging her hair each morning into whatever intricate upswept or braided arrangement she required. Free women have long hair, sometimes longer than that of slaves, but they invariably configure it into complex arrangements when they plan on being out in public.

I also learned to clothe my mistress and found to my surprise she was quite incapable of dressing herself fully without my help. This is apparently not unusual. The robes of concealment, as they are commonly known, consist of several layers of clothing with the lighter and softer fabrics closest to the skin, and the stiffest and bulkiest cloths in the outer layers. The higher the caste or richer the woman is, the more rigid and bulky the multitude of layers will be. It takes time to dress in such a succession of robes and gowns because of the many hooks and eyes that need securing. The under slip tends to be strappy, sleeveless and knee length, while the other garments are at least lower calf length in the case of the house robe, or descend past the ankle to conceal even the feet in the case of the street robe. Underwear is as unknown to free women as it is to slaves. There are no bras or stockings on Gor, and definitely nothing like panties or knickers with nether closures, though many free women bind their breasts with strips of cloth if they are well endowed. Footwear tends to take the form of sandals or slippers, a bit like ballet pumps on Earth. If a free woman chooses to wear a gown that only falls to her lower calves she will tend to wear boots so that her skin below the hemline doesn't show.

Veiling is equally as complex and time consuming. The veil worn closest to the face is the light veil, also known as the last veil or intimate veil and this is a veil in name only as it is fully transparent. It is made more opaque though by the process of dressing it by winding it around the head until the fabric loses much of the transparency. Over this is worn the freedom veil, then the citizen veil, then the pride veil and then the house veil. And as if that isn't enough, free women will then wear a street veil when leaving the house, the fabric of which is practically curtain material. All this is expected of them and it takes the best part of an hour to prepare, even with the aid of a slave.

As you can imagine the full outfit makes walking difficult and slow. The robes are deliberately constricting, meaning a free woman can only take short steps. This adds to her feelings of vulnerability and her dependence on men of her Home Stone to protect her. The arrangements of veils and often hoods means she sees the world through a narrow aperture with little in the way of peripheral vision. Little wonder then that free women are easy enough to capture. It would be impossible to run in the cumbersome ankle length gowns.

For the first time since being kidnapped and taken to Gor I actually felt at peace. Obviously I didn’t want to be a slave, but here in Port Kar, with my mistress constantly busy with her involvement in the investigations for Samos, I had found a semblance of peace. I listened to the canal water lapping against the pier supports and I reached for the fragrant larma fruit that my mistress had given me before I left the house.

“A snack for later” she had said. The larma is juicy, red, sweet – a staple fruit made famous by the ones that grow in the city of Tor. Its soft, segmented citrus interior is protected by a crunchy shell, almost like a nut, which makes it easy to carry around and it commonly can be cracked open with a heavy stone and then peeled. I played with it between the palms of my hands as I wondered whether to crack and eat it now or save it for later. My taste buds had come alive since arriving on this planet. The flavours of food were richer, more fulfilling. I felt more alive than I ever had done in the grimy streets and polluted air of London and I felt healthier too. Every time I looked at myself in a mirror I could see that health radiating in my appearance. Dammit, I even had to admit that the steel collar around my throat enhanced my beauty. That and the cursive brand on my left thigh. I felt sexy like this which was a serious problem as Marissa would beat me if I expressed those feelings in any visible way. I didn’t even dare touch myself at night when I lay chained to the foot of her bed for fear she might hear soft cries of pleasure. This did nothing to ease my heightened sense of sexuality on Gor now that my skin responded to the slightest of stimulus. I wouldn’t say I was happy, for that suggested I had accepted my slavery, and that certainly wasn't the case, but I felt reasonably content with the way things were compared with the way they could be. I actually worked less hours than I might have done as a free woman in London, and there was a lot less stress now that I understood Marissa’s mood swings and what to watch out for. I knew how she liked things in her home and provided I deferred to her at all times she rarely had any reason to discipline me. It helped of course that she seemed to be happy working alongside Brinn, and why wouldn’t she be? He was handsome and strong and had an air of a man who I supposed would be a true master to women. I don’t know. I haven’t really had any experience of such things, but as the days had passed I found myself craving being near him more and more. I think he liked me, but was polite enough not to make any overt moves without the permission of my mistress. He respected the social conventions that said I was property and I belonged to someone else.

But I felt sure that if the circumstances were different he would have put me to use by now. I was confused with my feelings about that. Sometimes I felt very glad that he couldn’t touch me, while at other times when I felt helpless to my emotions I desired his touch very much. Sometimes when I knelt close beside him I desperately felt like placing my lips to his legs and calling attention to myself. I hardly dared though.

That would be the action of a slave.

My feelings were probably heightened by the fact that Brinn was the only man I really spent any time with, as male callers did not appear at our door. Obviously I saw the men of Port Kar in the streets but there was little to no interaction with them. At times I found myself to be restless, needy, and anxious.

The times I had to be careful were when Marissa and I were alone together after Brinn had left at night. Then sometimes after having spent a few hours in his company my mistress might become sullen, irritated, restless even. She would pace the rooms of her home, perhaps torn by conflicting thoughts that I could barely speculate. At times like this I had to be very careful not to displease her in any way for then she might be quite spiteful towards me. I watched what I said and tried not to say anything where the meaning of my words might be twisted by my mistress if she was looking for conflict.

Quite often now, as the time of Brinn's nightly departure approached, it almost seemed as if my mistress tried to prolong his presence a little longer than before. Close to the point of his departure she would offer him wine, something to eat, or perhaps raise some topics of conversation that might interest him. Brinn would rarely overstay, no matter what innocent inducements my mistress might offer.

I noticed also that now she spent long hours working with Brinn, come nightfall when she retired to her bed she found it hard to sleep. She would lie there at times obviously awake, turning on the couch from one side to the other, frustrated by something. She once ran her hands over the the links of the chain that secured my collar to the steel ring on her couch.

“How horrible it must be to be chained to a couch, to be left there helpless and alone,” said Marissa as if I wasn’t there.

“Yes Mistress,” I had said before realising it had been a rhetorical question.

The look she gave me made it clear that she hadn’t been thinking about me or my collar chain.

“Kiera, how are you this morning?” The voice belonged to a red headed slave girl who walked across the wharf towards me.

“You're late, Arianna,” I said with a welcoming smile. “I’ve been here ages. I’ve had some suspicious looks from some of the passing free women who must think I'm slacking.” I rose from where I sat with my legs dangling over the edge of the wooden pier and I picked up my larma fruit again, juggling it between my hands.

“You’ve got some fruit!” said the girl. “Is that from your mistress?”

“Yes, and we can share it if you like, Arianna.”

“That’s so kind of you,” she said. Like me she wore a reasonably modest slave tunic that actually reached a few inches further than my own; the hemline just about covering her knees. She was lucky too that her neckline was modestly curved rather than v-necked as mine was. And her shoulders had more covering than mine. All in all it was probably the most modest slave tunic a slave could hope for in Port Kar. She was about my height, though maybe an inch or two shorter. We embraced softly on the wharf side and then I handed her the larma fruit.

“Shall we eat it now or later?” I asked.

“Later. Let’s get our errands over with and then we can enjoy some time together. It's so good to see you, Kiera!”

This was part of my new found contentment. I had found a friend in Port Kar - a natural native of the planet too - which surprised me as ordinarily Gorean slaves look down on barbarian slaves as less than them. In the pecking order an Earth girl struggles to be accepted by her Gorean chain sisters, but Arianna wasn’t cruel or dismissive as many other slaves were. We had met at the bakery where Marissa sent me daily to pick up rolls and loaves and while we waited our turn to be served we spoke softly and quickly struck up a mutual friendship. This is common enough among slave girls, though ordinarily Gorean slaves keep very much to their own kind.

We strolled together along the quayside in the sunshine. By now we knew the times when we would both be running errands in the same quarter and so we knew where to find one another. Either I would wait for Arianna or she would wait for me. Like me she was owned by a woman, which accounted for her modest attire, and like me she was a white silk girl, unsullied by the lusts of men.

“I missed you yesterday,” said Arianna with a disappointed pout. “I waited and I waited. Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, my mistress took me with her when she went to meet with some ladies at a café. There was no way I could tell you. Did you wait for me very long?”

“As long as I dared,” said the girl. “Never mind. We can’t control our free time. I suppose your mistress has another of her luncheons today?”

“She does, yes.” I walked beside Arianna and noticed how she occasionally tugged down the close fitting fabric of her slave tunic. It is the nature of the garments that we wear that because the fabric is thin and contoured to our bodies, the hem lines naturally enough ride up as we move. At first being new to my collar I did what any woman would do, I consciously kept tugging the material back down again, anxious that I didn’t display more skin than absolutely necessary. But the truth is after a while you become acclimatised to the garments you are forced to wear, and being surrounded by other slaves with even more revealing garments you slowly but surely begin to accept your new status and cease re-arranging your tunic. Arianna it seems still held on to her former modesty as a free woman for she still adjusted her garment frequently to ensure that it just about covered her knees. I smiled as I saw her do it again.

“Her views are becoming notorious in Port Kar,” said Arianna as we strolled over one of the fixed position wooden bridges in the baker’s quarter. “Even my mistress remarked on them yesterday.”

“It’s her current passion,” I said, neglecting to elaborate on the reasons why Marissa was making a nuisance of herself in fashionable cafes and dining societies for women. “She has adopted some of the more progressive opinions of the women in Ar.”

“Tell me more about her,” said Arianna with a smile. “She sounds fascinating.”

“Really?” I was used to slaves having less than favourable opinions of free women in private. Arianna on the other hand didn’t seem to object to them at all. “Her outspoken views aside, I think she is quite the typical free woman, haughty, dismissive, competitive and often subject to wild mood swings.”

“Free women are not like that at all,” said Arianna in surprise. “Really, Kiera, they are to be respected and supported.”

Arianna was the only slave I had ever met that had good things to say about free women. It was genuinely bizarre and I could only assume her own mistress was a saint compared to the free women I had endured so far. “Well, your experiences must be a lot more pleasant than my own,” I said. I noticed her again tug at her tunic as we left the bridge behind.

“Does that still trouble you?” I asked. “You keep tugging at your tunic.”

“Yes, the garment is scandalous,” said Arianna as she stepped aside to allow the progress of two work men, one of whom grinned at us both. “I feel naked in this tunic. See how it clings to my body!” She blushed, and quickly skipped aside as another man passed us. He grinned at the sight of us too.

“It’s quite a modest tunic,” I said. “Even more so than mine.”

“The hem line rides up on my legs,” said Arianna in exasperation.

“Well, to just above your knees. Is that so bad? It could be far worse.”

“It’s still embarrassing.” Her hands briefly touched the steel collar around her throat as slave girls tend to do when they are new to the collar. After a while that stops and we forget it is even on us.

“Will your mistress be staying long in Port Kar?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know. Our building is leased for at least another month or two. I saw her sign the papers, and she was talking about having decorators in, so I suppose…”

“She conducts business here? Who does she deal with? She must have contacts in the city?”

“Well, yes, she’s a merchant. You do ask a lot of questions about my mistress, Arianna,” I said with a gentle laugh. “The way you go on it's almost as if you’d like to be in her collar!”

“No,” said Arianna with a sniff. “I’m quite happy in this collar.” She touched the steel again and seemed to frown as her fingers accidentally touched the lock mechanism that she had no way of opening. I saw her flinch as she felt the lock. “But you know what they say, us kajirae are the most curious of creatures. We love to gossip and learn things.” She gave me a broad smile now as she crossed her arms demurely over her breasts.

“That we are. I’m always being disciplined for excessive curiosity. I suppose that’s why the saying came into fashion.”

“Tell me, out of curiosity, does your mistress have friends in the city? Close friends? You mentioned a warrior of the scarlet caste before.”

“Oh, that’s Brinn. Yes, I think they are courting,” I said, offering their cover story. “And he protects my mistress of course. He s very strong.”

“Has this man known your mistress for long? Where does he come from?”

“Honestly, Arianna, you have so many questions! Look…” I touched her elbow and pointed to a row of bakeries. “They’re just beginning to take the fresh loaves out of the oven. If we hurry we might get the best ones for our mistresses.”

“I overheard my mistress say that this Brinn who knows your mistress, he is apparently a friend of the great Samos,” said Arianna, seeming to have little interest in the fresh loaves and rolls. Did she not worry that she might be beaten by her mistress if she brought stale ones back?

“Yes, I suppose he is. He lives with Samos as a guest while he works in Port Kar. But the loaves, Arianna...”

“He does not share the home of your mistress then?” asked Arianna as she gazed at the freshly baked loaves on display.

“No, that would not be proper as they are not free companioned. He calls on her each day but departs as night begins to fall.”

“He is never there with you at night?” asked Arianna. “Not even… occasionally…” she gave me a knowing nudge of her elbow. “It wouldn’t be unheard of, if your mistress was discrete of course.”

I felt sure that my mistress would be only too delighted if Brinn found an excuse to spend the night at the house, but sadly for both of us that had not yet happened. “Not while we’ve been in Port Kar. We are always alone at night, though Brinn ensures we have bolted all the locks before he leaves. In truth I think my mistress feels a prisoner in her house once Brinn has left. She dares not venture out after dark on her own of course.”

“Of course,” said Arianna. “That would not be wise. Your locks and bolts? They are heavy and impenetrable?”

“Actually, no, they are just simple sliding bolts. My mistress wants to get stronger locks fitted but she’s been very busy. We live in a well guarded compound though with high walls and at least two men on duty at the entrance at any time.”

“I hope they conduct patrols of the compound grounds,” said Arianna.

“Yes, at regular intervals, every half an ahn. One patrols while the other guards the gate.”

“Interesting. Your mistress is lucky to be so secure,” said Arianna with a smile. “And yourself too.”

“I feel better that we are in such a good property. I had heard so many stories of the crime in Port Kar before we arrived. By day the port is lovely, but when night falls… the sounds I can hear from the neighbouring streets…”

“Men,” said Arianna with a shudder. “Low caste, if they have castes, and crude and lawless for the most part.”

“I would not like to be chained outside the house as a punishment,” I said softly.

“Nor I!” said Arianna with a fearful expression on her face.

We paused by Marissa's favourite store in Port Kar. It was one of only two stores in the city that sold freshly roasted black wine beans, known to me as coffee, and of the two stores it was the one favoured most by my mistress. Flavius, the owner, often boasted that he imported only the finest beans and it was said his hand roasting process was second to none. Consequently he enjoyed regular sales to illustrious clients as far and wide as Ar and Ko-ro-ba, but only the citizens living in Port Kar itself had the pleasure of enjoying the beans at their freshest.

Several times a week I was despatched on errands to pick up various things from the market, and at least once each hand – the name for a Gorean week consisting of five days - that included visiting the house of Flavius. Today then I knelt on the floor of the shop with an order for two bags of perfectly roasted beans tagged to my steel collar by my mistress. It was just one of several shopping errands I would run for my Mistress that day, but of all of them it was undoubtedly the most important, for the Lady Marissa was known to enjoy the black wine beans above all other delicacies within the city.

I breathed in the heady aroma of coffee both in its natural and ground forms as I knelt there waiting to be called up to the counter. The prices were high, but not nearly as high as they had been forty to fifty years ago when the beans first became popular throughout Gor. Since then mass cultivation had been increased and now, while still a premium commodity, the beans were within the price range of the wealthy houses within the city.

Like all the slaves in the store, Arianna and I knelt patiently until we might be called to the counter, for a slave would never take precedence over a Free Woman, and today there were two free women present in the shop, gossiping whilst browsing the arrays of roasted beans and ground coffee powder, and the owner would not summon a slave to the counter until he was satisfied that the free women had finished their shopping first. Sometimes this meant I might wait half an hour before being served. But at least I didn’t wait alone.

“How long have you been a slave, Arianna?” I said quietly.

“For over a year. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it seems to me you act as if the collar is very new to your neck. Haven't you grown used to it yet?”

“Only natural slaves grow used to their collars, Kiera,” said Arianna. “Surely you are not used to yours?”

“No, of course not!” I quickly realised the error of my questioning and began to backtrack. “I'm sorry. You're quite right, of course.”

“I just had a wonderful idea, Kiera,” said Arianna as a thought seemed to cross her mind. “How about you show me where you live this afternoon? I don't have to get back to my mistress for a few ahn yet, and I would so love to see this walled compound and your handsome looking guards. If it turns out that it's close to my daily route, I could sometimes meet you outside there. Wouldn't that be fun? We'd get to see more of each other. I do so love our conversations together.”

“Of course. I'll show you where it is once we buy the coffee and loaves. I'm so glad to have made a friend in this city, Arianna. I really am.”

Arianna smiled sweetly and patted my hand in warm friendship.