Outcast of Gor Chapter Six

 

“Corcyrus is well and truly fucked, then,” said Rolfe as he surveyed the sight of the cavalry encampment. “We’d all better start practising our hai Argentums.” 

 

It was my first sight of the man, the legend, the mountain, that is Stannis Assante. And, from first glance, I could understand why he is held in such high regard in military circles.

 

Stannis was stripped to the waist, barefoot, wearing just a pair of baggy cavalry breeches. He had an Asian style beard that was cropped short but with two strands drooping from either side of his chin. His hair was cut short at the sides but long on top and tied back. He held a sword in both hands and was surrounded by three of his warriors. What followed was a ballet of martial prowess.

 

Stannis’s three opponents would swing at him with their blades, but in an orchestrated, slow, rehearsed form. The first man would cut high, followed by the second man cutting low, followed by the third man cutting high. Stannis would wheel and turn, parrying the blades with his own. It was not a real fight, and in fact it was effectively in slow motion. 

 

Sounds easy? Well, no. Not in the slightest. 

 

There was a sequence of attacks that each man followed. The first man might follow a pattern of high, low, high, high, low, high, low, low, and repeat, while the patterns used by the other two men would differ slightly. Stannis would have to remember each of the three sequences and react accordingly, always in time. And as the blades clashed, Stannis would say, “faster,” and so the attacks would speed up slightly. “Faster,” he would say, and again, they came quicker than before, until the dance of death was like a perfect clockwork machine, rotating in a blur and clash of steel. 

 

“Now THAT is a man,” said Rolfe as he leaned against a post. “Watch and learn, Roland.”

 

Stannis’s bronzed upper body was simply layers of muscle upon layers of muscle. He wasn’t some hulking body builder, pumped up with steroids, veins threatening to burst on the surface of his skin, able to lift heavy weights in a single direction, but not much else; no, his body was the lean efficient fighting muscle that a warrior builds gradually over many years. This man had put in the hard work, and his body bore the evidence.

 

I could almost sense Kelsee juicing beside me as she gazed at him.  

 

“Control yourself,” I said to her.

 

“I just want to throw myself at his feet and beg submission,” she whimpered. “I have never felt more a slave.” 

 

“You have me,” I reminded her.

 

“Oh, of course, Master. Of course! I mean, you’re lovely! Of course you are!”

 

I probably frowned.

 

“If I was a slave girl, I would probably throw myself at his feet, too,” said Rolfe.

 

I looked at him in a puzzled way. 

 

After maybe an ehn, Stannis caught sight of Livinnia and her hunting girls, now dismounted. He continued with his blades for perhaps ten more ihn, before shouting, “enough!” The men lowered their blades and stepped back, bowing to the Assante.

 

“My woman.” He handed his blades to an attendant who took them away to be cleaned and oiled. Stannis strode directly toward Livinnia who simply waited for him, standing there in her practical riding garb.

 

“How was the hunting?” he asked Livinnia.

 

“There were two groups of Corcyrian stragglers,” she remarked.

 

“And?”

 

“Now there are no groups of Corcyrian stragglers.”

 

“Good.”

 

And then they kissed.

 

Fiercely.

 

We were in a cavalry encampment. The cavalry encampment of the Assante war banner. On the way here I couldn’t shut Rolf, Rollo and Hergessvar up about Stannis bloody Assante.

 

“Simply the finest cavalry commander in the whole of central Gor,” Rolfe informed me. 

 

“He has no peer,” suggested Rollo.

 

“Where his standard rides, men die,” said Hergessvar.

 

“Not his men, obviously,” added Rolfe.

 

“Did I not say that?” said Hergessvar.

 

“It could be misconstrued,” said Rolfe. 

 

As far as I could tell from a rough headcount of snarling and stamping tharlarion in the various corrals, Stannis Assante maintained a standing force of approximately one hundred and twenty cavalry, of which approximately eighty were heavy cavalry with forty or so light auxiliaries. This is a sizeable force by central Gorean standards. Especially when you consider it is a force that rallies around an independent banner. 

 

I suppose you could say that Stannis Assante maintains his own Free Company, but he doesn’t operate as a mercenary commander. He is essentially an independent warlord with some ancient loyalty to the city state of Ar. Ar, it should be said, is a nominal ally of Argentum, hence the Assante banner riding in support of Argentum’s legions.

 

The armies of central Gor are predominantly infantry based, in much the same way that the regular armies of Rome and Greece were. This has much to do with the expense of training and maintaining a sizeable tharlarion force.  A single tharlarion rider costs far more than an infantryman, many of whom can be given basic citizen training with spear and shield and be called up as reserves at short notice if a city marches to war. You can’t really call up Tharlarion cavalry at short notice, unless you have been maintaining them throughout. 

 

I’ve mentioned previously the difference between the warrior caste and levies of soldiers. The warrior caste are the professional career soldiers who, man for man, are worth many times their number of spear carrying levies. An infantry army would field large numbers of men who in peace time would perform the functions of different castes, but would come together in times of need to fight for their Home Stone. The Assante cavalry however were, to a man, warriors – every single one of them.

 

With the exception of the girls who rode with Livinnia Assante. Women are not accepted by the warrior caste. They can be affiliated through birth or marriage, but that is all. No woman can claim the scarlet for herself. I had noticed that neither Livinnia, nor her mounted archers, wore the colour as a badge of caste insignia. Gorean warriors would not permit them to. It would be deemed an insult. This is not to say that women can’t wear the colour red – of course they can – it just means they cannot wear it in the style of caste insignia. 

 

What might happen if a woman did? I suspect she would be stripped and tied to a slave ring for her insult. Warriors would take a whip to her flanks and thighs. Warriors take their codes and traditions very seriously indeed. 

 

“Who are these men?” Stannis turned to regard us.

 

“A Free Company of no affiliation, as of yet. I came across them when I pursued some broken Corcyrian infantry across a meadow. Their captain seems to be in awe of you.” Livinnia laughed, amused, as Rolfe struck his balled right fist against his shoulder and bowed his head to the legendary Stannis Assante.

 

Backtrack a bit to when Livinnia first declared her name. A sudden change had come over Rolfe and his sword brothers. Obviously enough, he had considered Livinnia and her tunic and hose clad girls to be an amusing sight, despite the fact they had proven deadly enough to the fleeing Corcyrian infantry. But things had changed the moment she stated her name, and the name of her companion. Now there was respect.

 

Respect for Livinnia? No, not as such. But respect for the Assante name? Most certainly.

 

“You are Stannis Assante’s Free Companion?” Rolfe had been uncharacteristically humble all of a sudden as he gazed up at the mounted woman.

 

“I am,” she had said back to him. I think she was used to this reaction from warriors.

 

“Forgive me,” Rolfe had said, and, as I watched, he actually bowed to her. 

 

This of course was simply respect for the Assante name. Livinnia shared that respect simply because she was Stannis’s chosen woman. 

 

The Assante dynasty has gained even more fame over the last ten years through the deeds and actions of Stannis’s son, Brinn. He is a man who has carved out both fame and notoriety in equal measure. If Rolfe is to be believed, Brinn has singlehandedly saved the Priest Kings of the Sardar from an immense flame death, while having to protect his coffle of helpless slaves at the same time. He then went on to uncover a Silver Mask conspiracy in Port Kar that planned to murder the Council of Captains. Once again, Brinn had to rescue his incompetent slave girls, who had been taken captive by this conspiracy of Silver Masked women, after which he went on to subdue the entire conspiracy, armed with just a single blade.

 

And, if recent rumours are to be believed - stories now told by survivors of a Cosian armada that had sailed to the Black Coast north of Schendi to take on a notorious pirate queen – Brinn is the first man on Gor to train an unheard of large army of several hundred tarn riders as heavy aerial cavalry and throw them in a surprise attack against regular Cosian infantry lined up in shield wall formation on a beach, to break their lines. If you are not familiar with tarn cavalry – those enormous birds of war – you may not know that they are predominantly light skirmish troops. Tarns will rarely attack a solid shield wall that is a mass of bristling spear points, and yet Brinn somehow trained his tarns and riders to do just that. The surviving Cosians tell drunken tales of tarn after tarn skydiving straight into their lines, dying in the process, but acting like heavy tharlarion, crushing and tearing men with wild abandon and no thought for their own survival. Incredible. I think we could normally dismiss these stories, were there not so many Cosian survivors repeating the same story in different paga taverns throughout Gor. 

 

His notoriety stems from the fact that he refused to accept an arranged political companionship with the daughter of a Ubar that his father had negotiated, to further the standing of the Assante family. This was soon after his fame for saving the Sardar mountains from an immense flame death, when Brinn enjoyed immense political capital that his father could employ on his behalf. Brinn’s reason for doing so shocked the families of central Gor to the core. He chose, instead, a simple Pleasure Slave to bear his children. To say Stannis and Livinnia were furious, was an understatement. Obviously no high born Free Woman of Gor would have Brinn as a companion now, let alone the daughter of a Ubar. The Assantes could have stood with the Ubars of central Gor, through a companionship arranged for Brinn, and yet the man had thrown that away, in complete defiance of the wishes of his mother and father. Stannis has not spoken to his son since that day, and wise men are careful not to mention the name of Brinn to him.

 

“I fight for Argentum,” said Stannis, as he regarded Rolfe.

 

“Hai Argentum!” cried Rolfe. I think he had made up his mind which city he would take coin from. 

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“Kassau, in the north. Coastal Kassau. Glorious Kassau.”

 

“You make it sound like a city. I was to understand that Kassau is a wooden town of maybe eleven hundred men and women? A town where the most prominent building is its temple? A town built around coastal trade, lumber and fishing?”

 

“We have a Home Stone,” Rolfe said, proudly. “The same as any great city.”

 

Stannis smiled. “Then Kassau is mighty, indeed.” Goreans take great pride in the Home Stone around which every city, town, village or small settlement is built. Even the lowest peasant settlement fills its people with pride so long as they have a Home Stone. “You have come to fight?”

 

“We grew tired of sitting on our asses, waiting for raiders of Torvaldsland to strike. They have been timid these past few years. It is my understanding there is a war here?”

 

Stannis nodded. “Argentum has silver and is recruiting. There is a regiment twenty pasangs from here, North West. I am sure they will take you.” He turned now to regard Kelsee. I could see her knees buckling as Stannis laid his eyes on her.

 

“A slave,” he said.

 

“I’m a slave, Master! A slave! A natural slave! Completely and only a slave! See my collar! I would perform obeisance to you, if it pleases?”  she babbled incoherently.

 

“Kelsee,” I warned, through gritted teeth. “Control yourself.”

 

“She seems hot and excitable,” remarked Stannis as his sheer testosterone threatened to overpower my lovely slave.

 

I watched as Kelsee just opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak. She could only manage a soft, desperate, needy whimper – a mewling sound. She was in danger of juicing so much that I thought she might lose crucial body fluids and faint. Had Stannis actually put her on her back and parted her thighs, I suspect Kelsee might have had an out of body experience on the spot. 

 

“We don’t have loose slaves running around the camp. Have her chained in the girl pens, and then you are welcome to share our food and drink.”

 

Stannis turned and walked away, with Livinnia following him.

 

“This token is a receipt for your slave,” explained the black kennel master, soon after, as he handed me a metal coin stamped with the Gorean number 26. He had a shaven head and wore dark coloured garments. He then clipped a similarly numbered token to Kelsee’s collar ring. The camp didn’t actually have any kennels – they would be impractical to transport in a military campaign – but there was a double palisade enclosure in which the camp slave girls were kept when they weren’t working. The nature of the double ring of enclosures meant that the slaves were ‘kennelled’ in the centre of the inner ring, while at night two camp sleen patrolled the outer ring, sandwiched between the two palisades. Most military camps keep trained sleen, and sleen handlers, in place to act as guard dogs.

 

The sleen is probably one of Gor's most dangerous carnivorous animals. It is a tenacious hunter and a skilful predator. Depending upon the variety of the species, sleen can reach a length from seven to twenty feet and up to approximately eleven hundred pounds in weight. Though a mammal, the sleen looks much like a furred lizard, with six legs and a viper's head, fully equipped with deadly fangs. The odour emitted by the sleen is somewhat akin to that of a weasel, though much greater, and the sound that a sleen makes is that of a hissing sound.

 

When training sleen, generally the trainer uses a slave girl, or several slave girls. It also helps train the slave girls, and keep them well-disciplined. The sleen are trained in a fenced in training pit, with cages strewn about for girls to run to for safety. It should be noted that a trained sleen, upon the death of its master, is killed and eaten. As with mating for life, sleen respond only to one master in life.

 

Sleen are primarily used in times of war to herd slaves, other beasts, such as the tabuk, and captives; or to serve as sentries or perhaps allowed loose to prowl in the night guarding a camp or city streets, and to hunt persons or animals, such as tabuk and runaway slaves.

 

Inside the palisade the men had hammered a number of posts deep into the ground. Each post was topped by a steel band around which there were three slave rings. Three girls at a time would be chained to a single post for security. Even if a girl could somehow dig the post from the ground (a very difficult feat without being seen) she would still be chained to the post, and the post chained to two other girls. Any escape attempt would have to be undertaken by all three girls, somehow scaling the inner palisade while dragging a heavy post between them, then avoiding the sleen in the outer ring, before climbing over the second palisade, again dragging a heavy post with them. Goreans take the security of their slaves very seriously indeed.

 

We stood in a small semi-enclosure attached to the front of the main palisade, through which girls might pass before entering the camp, or the kennel palisade. 

 

“Strip,” said the kennel master to Kelsee. I could see Kelsee didn’t like the idea of being naked. She had grown to treasure her brief, tight, slave livery, and its loss would be a powerful blow, but girls in the palisade were denied clothing. This marked them out from girls who served in the main camp. The distinction was clear – a naked girl prowling through the camp was likely to be an escapee, and men would react accordingly. 

 

“Master,” she said, as she pulled the tunic from her body. I drew in a sharp breath as I saw my slave naked, again. I never tired of the sight. She truly was lovely.

 

Was I really prepared to lose her once we reached Corcyrus? 

 

Was I really prepared to lose such a precious treasure? 

 

“She isn’t branded,” remarked the kennel master. He had locked a chain to her collar, now, and placed restraints on her ankles that would permit her to walk but not run. 

 

“She has only been my slave for a couple of weeks,” I explained. “I’ve been travelling and haven’t had time to see to her thigh, yet.” 

 

“Slaves should be branded,” said the kennel master.

 

“We’ve told him that,” said Rolfe. “Many times now.”

 

“Of course, and she will be, once I reach a city.”

 

“We have a metal worker who can brand her,” said the kennel master. “It would only take ten ehn.”

 

“Thank you, but with respect, I would employ an artisan as I have in mind a skilful and precise brand to match the beauty of this girl. I am a patient man. I can wait.”

 

The kennel master noticed that Kelsee was standing with her arms crossed in an ‘x’ in front of her breasts. She seemed very self-conscious all of a sudden. She had been my de-facto slave now for about three Gorean weeks, and this was the first time she had been denied  a garment, rendered casually naked in front of men. She didn’t seem to like it.

 

“Hands behind your head,” barked the kennel keeper. Kelsee looked wildly at me for support. I was her master, after all, but I looked away.

 

“Do I need to repeat a command?” said the Kennel master, as he placed his right hand on the coiled whip at his belt.

 

Quickly, Kelsee lifted her arms and crossed them behind the back of her head, exposing her breasts for men to see and enjoy. 

 

“Will you be troublesome?” asked the kennel master.

 

“No, Master!” said Kelsee. Again, she looked to me for support. Again, I said nothing. I was a guest in this camp. It was clear they rode with Argentum, and it was also clear that I had an outlaw brand of Argentum on my left hand. Despite this, I was tolerated, it seemed. But it would not be a good idea to antagonise my hosts. 

 

“If you are in the slightest bit troublesome,” explained the kennel master, “you will be whipped.”

 

Kelsee whimpered. She stood straight, her stomach sucked in, her breasts pushed forward, her hands crossed behind her head as the kennel master cupped one breast and touched the other lightly with the tip of a crop.

 

“I would speak to my slave before I leave,” I said to the kennel master. He nodded and stepped aside to give me an ehn or two of privacy.

 

“Please don’t leave me here,” begged Kelsee. This was a new experience for her. She would be kennelled with other girls. She would be under another man’s discipline. “I’m terrified.”

 

“Privately owned girls aren’t permitted to run around camp,” I said. “There are probably security reasons for this, amongst other things. We are guests here and have to abide by the rules of the camp.’ 

 

“He wants to brand me!” she said.

 

“All men will want to see you branded,” I said, “but I have not given permission. You are my property, not theirs.”

 

“I… I can’t do this. It’s just too much.”

 

“You do not have a choice, Kelsee. You have to understand that. You wear a collar.”

 

“I am scared of that man,” she said.

 

“Of course you are. He is a kennel master with a whip and you are a slave girl. Do as he says, without hesitation. He has whip rights over you while you are in his care. Do not give him any reason to use that whip on you. And do not tell the other girls in the kennel palisade that you are a barbarian from Earth. Gorean slaves will seek to dominate you if they know that. Gorean slave girls look down on Earth slave girls.”

 

“What should I say?”

 

“Claim to be Gorean, but from some faraway city. Pittsburgh, perhaps. They won’t have heard of it. Tell them it is far to the North of here.” Most Goreans don’t travel far from their own Home Stone and have only a vague grasp of the continent’s geography and land borders. “I know you can make friends, Kelsee. I saw that with Yarna and Tasha. Turn on your charm, and the other slaves will accept you.”

 

“When will you be back?”

 

“I’ll try and see you tonight, before you are bedded down.”

 

“Please!”

 

I put my hands around her slim waist. She was small, light, and defenceless on Gor. “You are very beautiful, Kelsee.”

 

“I love you, Master. I wear talenders in my hair for you.”

 

I smiled. “So you do.” I remembered that she had lied to me when she was a Free Woman. Her claims that she loved me – were those lies, too? I hoped not, but I was no longer so sure that I could believe everything she said. Time would tell. Free Women are of course permitted to lie, if they so wished. They can speak their minds and say whatever they like. Slaves on the other hand must always be truthful. It is an important distinction on Gor. 

 

“I’ll see you later, tonight, Kelsee,” I said, as I rendered her into the care of the camp kennel master. 

 

“We should get some paga,” said Rolfe, as we walked through the camp. 

 

“And some food,” suggested Rollo.

 

“Perhaps even some girls?” suggested Hergessvar.

 

“Food, paga, girls, in that order,” said Rolfe. 

 

Out of the corner of my eye I suddenly noticed two of Livinnia’s mounted archers walking through the camp. They were still dressed in their pretty riding outfits – brief riding tunics, dark hose, knee high boots with spurs, cute little riding capes, and jaunty caps. I was intrigued by these girls, for it is practically unheard of for women to play any part in warfare on Gor. There are many practical, biological and cultural reasons for this. “Would you excuse me for a moment,” I said to Rolfe. I wanted to know more. “Locate the mess tent, and I’ll find you there.”

 

I set off after these two girls, curious and intrigued.