Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Two

 

“I am Darian Athuk of Talmont. I currently operate under licence from Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum. How may I help you?”

 

There was no sign of recognition in his eyes, for which I breathed an inner sigh of relief. I had been a kneeling silk slave with my head down when he had been entertained in the apartment of the Lady Savanna of Argentum. He had gone there with the Lady Kelapina, and he had explained to Kelsee the arrangements that took place around her transportation to Gor, and then the city of Argentum itself. There was no reason he would have paid me anything more than a cursory glance or two, at the time. Darian Athuk had made it quite clear in Kelsee’s loft apartment that he despised silk slaves. Any man who knelt and submitted before a woman was less than a man in his eyes, and the eyes of most men on Gor. If you are a man you are expected to act like a man, and submission to a woman runs counter to everything that Gorean men believe in.

 

There is a reason why the caste of Slavers delegates the training and sale of such male silk slaves to the women of their caste. It would be a distasteful job for a male slaver to concern himself with. Male slavers much prefer the acquisition and training of beautiful women. And who can blame them.

 

Kulai had, naturally enough, tried to dissuade me from my apparent course of action.

 

“It is a slaver camp, beloved. We must not go there.”

 

“I have to. I have no choice. They have my slave.”

 

“It is a slaver camp,” she said again. “You are a man, so you will be safe, but I am a woman. I am a brave woman, but there are limits.”

 

“You don’t have to go with me,” I suggested.

 

“You would abandon me in the wilderness?” she said, in alarm. “Alone? Unable to defend myself, except from a distance, with a bow? I think I would be safer standing beside you, in that camp. I do not want to me a tempting prize for outlaws, or desperate men fleeing from the frontlines.”

 

She was right, of course. Kulai was so often right about so many things. She was a voice of reason and common sense that I did well to pay attention to, though as a man, ultimately the final decision would always be mine. It wasn’t safe or practical to have Kulai wait for me by the side of the road. She would be alone, and there were few places to hide with any degree of security. How would I feel if I managed to reclaim Kelsee, only to then return and find Kulai gone?”

 

“I am torn now. I do not want to risk your safety, but I have to get my slave back.”

 

“Buy another slave,” she said. “You have my dowry. Buy another slave in Corcyrus. I will not object.”

 

“I want this slave. I must have this slave. I want Kelsee.”

 

There was sadness in Kulai’s eyes when she saw how much Kelsee meant to me.

 

“Then I will come with you,” she said, sadly, “for better or worse. You are my man, and I am your devoted companion.”

 

“Kulai,” I held her hands and gazed into her eyes, those lovely eyes that were visible beneath her hood, and above her veils. “You know the castes of Gor far better than I do. If there is really any risk that they might try to take you from me, then I will not go into the camp. I will not risk you. Will they try to take you?”

 

“No,” she shook her head softly. I had apparently misunderstood the meaning of her words. “It would be illegal for them to try and seize me from you. So long as you stand beside me, I will be safe. Of course, were I a Free Woman stupid enough to stumble into their camp, alone, I might be in considerable danger, but even then they would be at pains to ensure that their actions would not be seen by anyone. Slavers are, to a degree, honest businessmen. They are a sub-caste of the Merchants. They respect the property of others. And in a sense, for the duration of a year, I am your property. I am bound to you by an oath. They must maintain standards, otherwise they would fall foul of the law.”

 

“I can see no law out here,” I said, still holding her lovely hands. “Or, at least, no one to enforce the law of the cities.”

 

“True, but they are governed by the rule of many.”

 

“The rule of many?”

 

“It is the same rule that stops a single man from acting illegally if others are around him. How does he know that the others will support his actions? He doesn’t. How does he know that the others might not hold fast to a more honourable code of conduct, as set out by their caste? Yes, a single slaver might wish to abduct me, but he is surrounded by his colleagues, and knows anyone of them might punish him for bringing the caste’s honour into disrepute. Goreans prize their honour very much.”

 

“I know. I admire them for it. But then, why are you so concerned?”

 

Kulai looked away. “Surely you understand?”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I am a woman,” she said, simply. “I will see things in that camp that I will not be able to forget. I fear what I might see. There is a reason why Free Women are discouraged from enquiring too deeply into the practical considerations of the slave pens, the kennels, the branding racks, the training rooms, the halls of submission, the stimulation cages, and so forth. These are sights that Free Women should not encounter. They are not for our eyes. We must be protected from such sights and sounds.”

 

“This will be difficult for you?”

 

“I am a woman,” she said. “I am…” she looked embarrassed, “of the slave sex.”

 

“The slave sex?”

 

She looked angry that she had to explain this to me. “My sex is referred to on Gor as the slave sex. Is that not apparent to you? That Goreans view women differently than they do men? Men are considered the master sex. Women, otherwise.”

 

“But you are not a slave.”

 

“No, I am not. But still.”

 

I wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to say to me, except that she might find certain sights and sounds disturbing. I suppose that was to be expected. There would be girls in cages, girls being branded, girls being trained, girls being whipped. Girls possibly being put to use. I could see why this might disturb her. 

 

“But you will be safe?” This was important to me. I bowed to Kulai’s knowledge here. If there was any fundamental risk to her, then I couldn’t possibly endanger her. “They will not try to seize you?”

 

“No, they will not do that. Especially when I tell them who I am. I am a shield maiden of Livinnia of the Assante. That name caries much weight in this region. Or rather, the name of Livinnia’s Free Companion: Stannis. If I am mistreated, Stannis would ride through that sea of tents and pavilions and he would kill every man who held a sword. And then when he had finished, he would begin to kill all the men who didn’t hold swords. I have his protection, in so far as I am a Free Woman who shares his Home Stone.”

 

“It’s reassuring to know that if I somehow failed to protect your freedom, Stannis would come and free you in my place.”

 

Kulai shook her head as if I’d said something stupid again. “Oh, beloved, I love you with all my heart, but you are such an Earthman at times. Stannis would come to avenge the sleight to his name. He would ride his cavalry through this camp, killing everyone. But he would not free me. Only a fool frees a slave. He would find me and he would kill the men who enslaved me, but I would remain a slave.”

 

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

 

“This is Gor,” she said. “Not Earth, where men are weak and foolish. Men do not free slaves. Slavery is almost always irrevocable. If he were here now, Stannis would tell you that if a woman cannot behave in such a way as to safeguard her own freedom, then she doesn’t deserve to keep that freedom. Stannis would order me to strip so that he might see my brand clearly, and once he saw it, he would probably order me to be whipped. He would be ashamed of me. What he would do with me afterwards, I couldn’t speculate upon. Most probably I would be sold, so that I might not shame the camp by my presence.”

 

“I thought he cared for you?”

 

“No. But even if he did, I would still remain a slave. You have to understand beloved, that a slave is not the same girl that she once was. That girl is gone. That is what you do not understand. If I stood before you with a kef on my thigh, I would no longer be Kulai of the Turian steppes. That woman has vanished as if she was never truly there. In her place would be a nameless slave who owned nothing, not even a name. You might give her a name as you saw fit, maybe even Kulai, but it would then be a slave name. She would not be the same person any more. She would be a slave girl.”

 

It was an aspect of Gorean thought that I hadn’t yet become accustomed to. I still thought in terms of rescuing women, not leaving them as abject collared slaves. 

 

I couldn’t imagine Kulai with a brand, with a steel collar. She seemed a world away from such things

 

“Assuming Stannis knew what they did to you, of course? What is to stop them from selling you in far off lands where your cries may never be understood?”

 

“The risk to them is considerable, weighed against the opportunity to make a very small profit. And again, beloved, every man who might think that way will be aware that others might object to such a course of action for many reasons. It is not honourable. I am a Free Woman who is affiliated, through war, to Argentum. They have a licence from Argentum. I have a Free Companion beside me. I have the name of the Assante as security. When all that is made clear, I will be safe enough, though it will feel very awkward. Please do not leave me alone. Stay with me at all times.”

 

“Of course. I won’t stray from your side. I love you, Kulai. I know I am asking such a thing from you now. I will not forget this.”

 

“Remember what you have said to me. You will not dishonour me in two ways. You will never put your slut to use in front of me, and you will never let her share our couch. I only ask these two things of you.”

 

“You have my word.”

 

“An oath is binding and important to me, beloved. Do not say this if you do not mean it. An oath is sacrosanct to me. You will not put her to use in front of me, and you will not permit the slut onto our couch.”

 

“It is my word.”

 

And then we rubbed noses again before we stepped off the road and began to walk towards the billowing tents of striped blue and yellow.

 

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“In a way I actually have more to fear from you, beloved,” she said, “than from the slave camp itself.”

 

“Me? How do you mean?”

 

“Darian Athuk won’t enslave me, but you could in theory do so yourself. You are an outlaw – a man without a Home Stone. Once inside the camp – or even, outside the camp - you could strip and bind me and declare me your slave. The slavers would process the capture accordingly, and for a copper tarsk or two provide you with the necessary paperwork.”

 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said.

 

“It is a service they provide – authenticating captures. You could pay for my complete assessment – the details of my body detailed comprehensively after a thorough examination. I would be put through basic slave paces – deeply humiliating ones - and then warmed to measure my responses.”

 

“Warmed?”

 

She blushed a little. “There is such a thing as the slaver’s touch. They know how to touch a woman. The responses vary, of course, depending on the woman in question. The scale of the responses is calibrated, measured and recorded as part of the slave papers. They are very thorough.”

 

“But you would be a Free Woman. You said they wouldn’t enslave a Free Woman?”

 

“They wouldn’t. Not one protected by a Home Stone they are not permitted to touch. But you are an outlaw. You would be the man who enslaved me. They would be an innocent enough party. Any dealings they might have concerning me would be when I was no longer free. You could thrust me to them, on my knees, not as a captive Free Woman, but as your new slave. It is why women have to be very careful. Yes, they may have a man to protect them, but do they really trust that man? There have been women who have travelled in the company of a hired guard or two, only to find themselves stripped and bound by those very same guards after the woman has long since left the safety of her walled city.”

 

“You know you are safe with me?”

 

“Of course. I know that completely. I am just explaining that in theory, my greatest danger lies not from the slavers, but from the man who might hand me as a slave to the slavers. It is an interesting paradox, do you not think?”

 

“It is. It is an aspect of my outlaw status that I hadn’t considered. Suppose I had been a man who shared your Home Stone? Would the slavers have dealings with me then?”

 

“Sometimes not. It depends on the honour of the slaver in question, for many would turn you away. They wouldn’t seek to free me, of course. I would already be a slave. There is no coming back from that. But many slavers may, as a point of honour and respectability, decline to do business with a man who had enslaved a woman of his own Home Stone, unless there were powerful reasons for doing so. Remember, beloved, a man is expected to protect women of his Home Stone, and only a magistrate can sentence her to slavery.”

 

“Point noted. But if a man didn’t share the Home Stone of a woman he found in the wilderness?”

 

“He is free to enslave her, if he wishes. This goes doubly so for outlaws who have no Home Stone to speak of, and thus all women are ultimately their prey.”

 

“Outlaws are shunned by the civilized cities.”

 

“That is true. They are generally not trusted. They are men without honour.”

 

“Why then do you trust me?”

 

“Perhaps I am a fool,” she said softly, “but I sensed you possessed a code of honour, even if it was not a code specific to Gorean values. Was I wrong, beloved?”

 

“You were not wrong, Kulai.”

 

“And, too, I suspected from the first time I saw you, as Livinnia spoke to you from her saddle, as I and my saddle sisters watched with our bows in hand, arrows nocked to the strings, that you might be barbarian – a man of Earth. I know something of the men of Earth, and how they defer to their women, and so, even before I fell hopelessly in love with you, I knew I might be safe in your presence.”

 

“I would never have harmed you.”

 

“I am glad. Because you are marching me now into a slaver camp. You could so easily seize and bind my wrists and place me in a neck leash.”

 

“I suppose I could. What then would make you a slave? A legal slave?”

 

“If, on my knees I performed motions and spoke words of submission to you. If I declared myself a slave. But in any regard, the slavers would be satisfied if I was your captive, if I did not share your Home Stone, and if you declared you now had made me your slave. The slavers would recognise that state the moment a kef was branded into my thigh. Then I would be a slave, regardless of whether I had submitted or not.”

 

“The kef makes any woman a slave?”

 

“Any woman, beloved. Unlike the collar, it is irreversible. I would enter a state of bondage at that precise moment. The matter would then be finalised, witnessed, and documented by legal paperwork. I would then be your property. If I were of interest, you might find the slavers would make you an offer for me on the spot.”

 

“I wouldn’t sell you. I think I would keep you.”

 

She smiled beneath her veils. I could tell by the slight crinkling of her eyes. “I am glad to hear it.”

 

“You would be very different to me then. You would kneel at my feet and perform obeisance.”

 

She tossed her head, defiantly. “You should not say such things. I am a Free Woman.”

 

“But you would then be a slave.”

 

“Superficially, perhaps. In a certain legal fashion. But I would not be a real slave. Not like the slut, Kelsee.”

 

“You would have a kef brand on your thigh,” I pointed out. “Does that not change things for any woman?”

 

She looked alarmed as I planted that thought in her mind. “I can barely imagine such a thing. I am not the kind of girl who should be branded. Obviously I am not.”

 

We rubbed noses, affectionately, as her lips were fully veiled. One could kiss a Free Woman through her multitude of veils, but it would be like eating food that was devoid of flavour. 

 

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“I am Darian Athuk of Talmont. I currently operate under licence from Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum. How may I help you?”

 

The slaver had a closely cropped head and what I can only describe as a James Bond villain beard, sheaved clean at either side. His eyes were dark and emotionless. He wore sombre clothing, but there was a mark of his caste to be seen – a chevron of blue and yellow on his lower left sleeve. Those are the colours of the caste of Slavers and they tend to wear them with pride, as does any caste on Gor, whether high or low in prestige. 

 

I had arrived at the camp of fluttering tents and pavilions. Armed men had greeted me, asked me my name, caste and Home Stone. They had gazed idly at the sight of Kulai’s lower calves, visible beneath the over the knee hem of her long sleeved, modest collared tunic. Those calves were of course covered in thick woollen leggings, but even so, their sweet curves could be discerned. I had considered asking her to change into one of the two ankle length gowns she carried in our baggage, but there was nowhere for her to undress in private, and I could not waste any more precious time in reaching Kelsee. 

 

“My name is Roland. I have no caste or Home Stone as I am outlaw.” I displayed the brand on my left hand for them to see. For once the brand favoured me. The slaver camp was accustomed to outlaws arriving, unannounced, keen to do business that involved girls. “I have business with the man called Darian Athuk.”

 

“We see plenty of your kind here,” said the guardsman. He nodded and permitted me to pass through, but held a spear before Kulai, blocking her way. “The woman must surrender her bow, her knife, and any concealed weapons she might possess.”

 

I notice they had not asked me to surrender my sword.

 

“Why?” I asked. “Why disarm her?”

 

“No woman is permitted a weapon in this camp, by decree of Darian Athuk of Talmont.”

 

I nodded to Kulai who handed the man her bow, then her quiver of arrows, and then her long knife. She was rendering herself helpless, disarming before these men with their own blue and yellow chevrons, but realistically, those weapons would do her little good once she was inside the camp, surrounded by the full might that Darian Athuk could bring to bear. Her only real protection was my presence and of course the name of Stannis Assante.

 

“And your concealed weapons, Lady,” said the guard. “The ones you foolishly think I will let you keep.”

 

“I require privacy,” she said. “You can’t expect me to disarm my concealed weapons before you.”

 

The man understood this. He gestured to some piled crates that stood beside a tent. There was a space behind the crates where Kulai would not easily be observed. 

 

She disappeared for a moment. I heard the movement of fabric upon her, and then the sound of her garments being adjusted about her body once more. I heard the sound of her hood being brushed down from her head, of Kulai reaching within her hair, and then replacing the hood. She emerged and handed the man a slim stiletto knife, easily concealed within her sleeve, and a hair pin, possibly poisoned. 

 

“Nothing else?” said the guardsman. He gazed into her eyes. She held the man’s gaze for a moment, before his eyes narrowed, and then, and only then, Kulai produced a broach. The guard took it, examined it, and pulled a long pin from the back. It had a small grip at one end that would settle against the clenched palm of a small feminine fist, with the point of the pin projecting out three inches from between the folded middle finger and ring finger. With it a woman might claw at a man’s face and eyes in final desperation. 

 

“Vicious little she-sleen,” said the guardsman as he placed the broach pin with the other weapons. He gazed again at the calves of her lower legs. 

 

We were escorted now through the camp. We passed a number of kennel cages stacked three high and six wide. Each kennel was four feet by four feet with a depth of six feet. Inside such a cage a girl might lie or kneel, but never stand. I saw soft faces gazing out at us as we passed. The girls were naked, probably recently collared and branded, and many still seemed in a state of shock. Many of them were surprised to see a Free Woman pass by the cages. Several shrank back, terrified, at the sight of Kulai. 

 

“Buy me, Master!” cried a girl who thrust her arms out through the bars of her kennel cage. “I am hot and desperate for the touch of a man! Let Cara give you pleasure! Let Cara wear your collar!”

 

“Slut!” said Kulai as she glared at the girl. Cara suddenly saw Kulai for the first time and shrank back in fear. 

 

“I am sorry, Mistress! Please forgive me!” 

 

We passed by a large pavilion tent which presumably housed the branding racks, for two hot coal braziers stood outside, recently lit, heating up, with long irons thrust tip first into the coals. 

 

We passed another set of kennel cages, again containing various girls. These were mostly weeping, curled up in foetus positions. I suspected they had been branded last night, for when I saw a glimpse of their thighs, they were raw, swollen, and dark ochre red from the iron. 

 

“These are all Corcyrian women?” I asked the guardsman. He simply smiled at me, as if that was a stupid question. 

 

We passed by two girls who were kneeling with their bottoms raised, their heads thrust down into the grass, the palms of their hands clasped at the back of their collared necks. Men were mounting them from behind, putting them to use in plain sight of us. I head both girls crying out, their bodies shaking uncontrollably as they were taken like animals. 

 

“Disgusting sluts,” said Kulai as she looked quickly away. One girl began to sob piteously as the man thrust more quickly inside of her now. There was a loud grunt and then he seemed to finish. He withdrew, while his friend was still thrusting away. The girl held herself in position, her legs and bottom quivering, her sex now rudely opened, as another man took up the position behind her. I watched him hold and rub his penis against the girls ass cheeks until he was hard and then he entered her sex the same way, gripping her hips, her flanks and sliding quickly inside. The girl cried out again as this second man began to use her in a similar fashion. 

 

“Are you all right?” I asked Kulai. She hurried past, taking short quick steps, and I heard her gasp. She obviously wasn’t all right. 

 

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“I am Darian Athuk of Talmont. I currently operate under licence from Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum. How may I help you?” He momentarily turned his gaze to the sight of Kulai’s sweetly curved lower calves, sheathed in thick wool.

 

I had decided in advance on a policy of polite respect coupled with firm intention.

 

“My name is Roland, and I am an outlaw who occasionally deals in beautiful women.” I held up the brand on my left hand. “I am accompanied by my Free Companion: Kulai of Turia, formerly a shield maiden of Livinnia of the Assante; the Free Companion of Stannis Assante.” I saw from the slight twitch to his eyes that the name of course meant much to him. 

 

“To be clear,” said Darian Athuk, “do you casually refer to the name, Stannis Assante, as some implied threat, in order to possibly moderate my behaviour in a manner you might ultimately prefer?”

 

“Not at all,” I said, standing my ground, but politely. “I am merely presenting my credentials. A girl was taken from me last night. I have reason to believe she was taken here this morning. With respect, of course, to your good name, I have come to claim her back.”