Barbarian of Gor Chapter Two

 

By the time I returned, there was now just a single free woman, seated stubbornly, in the main hall. I could tell that none of the men wanted her there. There were already muted grumblings as I passed between the low tables to where Felix and Adamus sat.

 

“Why doesn’t she just go upstairs to her room,” muttered one man as he drank paga with his friend. 

 

“The slave can’t be enjoying this,” muttered another. “You can see how naturally hot she is. She shouldn’t have to restrain herself.”

 

“It’s not fair on the slave,” said a third man. “She wants to please men. She needs to please men.”

 

And so on.

 

But the remaining free woman sat with her escort and drank wine. I knew her type. She resented the subtle pressure to leave the main hall, and as a consequence intended to stay and ruin our pleasure.

 

And so the northern slave girl continued to dance demurely, dancing in a fashion that did little to offend the sensibilities of a free woman, except of course just her presence before men offended the sensibilities of a free woman.

 

“She should be serving food and drinks, not wasting everyone’s time in the sand pit,” observed the Lady, rather loudly for all to hear. “The service here is slow enough as it is.”

 

Two other slaves – kettle slaves – untrained girls, albeit pretty in their collars, tended the tables. The Lady, it seemed, would prefer the dancer to work with them.

 

I stroked the flank of one of the serving girls as she passed by, and she gazed up at me with a smile. “Master,” she said, her body responding subtly to my touch, but I could see that she too was holding herself back while a free woman sat in the room.

 

“What is the dancer’s name?” I asked.

 

“Annika,” she replied. It was a name common in Scandinavia. I wondered if she was an Earth girl, perhaps. Goreans feel Earth girls make the best slaves. They may possibly have a point. 

 

“Does she dance well when free women are not present?” I asked the serving slave.

 

“I think so, Master. There have been no complaints. But a free woman is present.”

 

“So she is.”

 

I sat down with Felix and Adamus.

 

“This is going to be a long night,” observed Felix. “We’re just going to have to wait out the presence of the free woman. I’ll be drunk before I can enjoy a girl sitting on my lap.”

 

“The mood in this room isn’t a happy one,” I observed as I picked up my goblet. “No one wants the woman here.”

 

“I don’t want her here,” added Felix. “Look at her – swaddled in robes and veils. Probably jealous of the kajira.”

 

“Lady Laetitia is safe?” enquired Adamus. He regarded me with a questioning glance.

 

“I locked her into her room for the night. No one will get through that door. Not even her.”

 

Adamus nodded. “Good. We’re not going to take the risk that she leaves her room during the night or opens the door to anyone. That’s a discipline we shall maintain throughout our journey.” 

 

I had suggested to Adamus that we should really post guards at Laetitia’s door, but he dismissed the suggestion. “Since when does a peasant girl, a refugee, have armed guards standing outside her door? We are cousins travelling together, fleeing the war. We are obviously protective, but we shouldn’t be displaying military discipline. The Lady’s safety hinges on anonymity, not our sword arms. There are only three of us.”

 

His words made sense, I supposed. A peasant girl would not have a rota of swordsmen standing outside her door. 

 

“Aren’t you tired, yet, Lady?” called out a man from his table.

 

The free woman stiffened, but refused to be coerced by those words. “I have every right to be here,” she said, angrily. “I have paid for supper, and a room.”

 

“They why don’t you take to your room?” called out another man. “Go to your cot bed!”

 

“I am drinking wine!” she snapped.

 

There was more grumbling. The slave, Annika, danced slowly and gracefully – nervous that she might offend the free woman and earn herself a whipping. 

 

“Gentlemen, please!” It was the voice of the Innkeeper who appeared from behind the counter to try and moderate the growing sense of resentment in the room. I counted seventeen men, including ourselves – some, lone travellers, some travelling in small groups – dining here tonight. Many of them had been drinking.

 

Actually, all of them had been drinking.

 

“I want to see a slave dance!” cried a man who looked like he was a warrior. “Send the free woman to bed!”

 

“She has paid coin, just as you have, Sir,” pleaded the Innkeeper, though I could see he, too, was wishing the free woman would retire for the night. “Now, this is a peaceful Inn. And I must insist you abide by the rules of the house. All are welcome here.”

 

There was more low voiced grumbling as men sipped their paga, resentfully.

 

“She needs to leave,” said Felix. “Has she no sense?”

 

“She has a guard,” observed Adamus. “He carries a sword.”

 

The man did have a sword, and it was obvious to all present, as he had it in its scabbard leaning against a table leg where everyone could plainly see it. He would be a warrior, and he would draw that blade if the Lady was threatened. Once drawn, the blade would not be sheathed until honour was satisfied.

 

“Innkeeper!” It was the Lady. She called for his attention.

 

“Gracious Lady,” said the Innkeeper as he made his way to her table. He, too, was only too aware of the sheathed blade that protected the free woman. “May I help you?”

 

“I find the presence of this dancing slave offensive,” she remarked. “Free women have been driven away tonight by her lewd behaviour.”

 

I didn’t think that was a fair comment. The dancer’s routine wasn’t really lewd. It was quite graceful, much as you might see on Earth, if you went to a performance of modern dance. 

 

“It is for the entertainment of the men, tonight,” explained the Innkeeper. “You know how men are.”

 

“When I reach beautiful Corcyrus, must I complain to a magistrate as to the conduct of your travel Inn?” she enquired. We were but three days outside of the city walls of Corcyrus, which meant this Inn lay within the boundary of Corcyrian territory, and was therefore subject to her laws. I should mention that city territories rarely border one another, as that is a recipe for trouble, with wars breaking out over perceived intrusions from one side or the other. Usually there is a large expanse of unclaimed land between city states, and in those places the laws of a city do not apply. These areas act as neutral buffer zones between swaggering city states, and their presence minimises tension between Home Stones. Having said that, city states do often encroach or flex their muscles into neutral territory, but doing so invites a response from its neighbours. 

 

“Please, most gracious Lady, the contentment of free women is my chief concern, always.” The Innkeeper obviously did not wish enquires to be made by a magistrate of Corcyrus. The complaints of a free woman are usually taken seriously. “But precious Lady, you should…”

 

She did not let him finish whatever he was about to say. “Then perhaps you should concern yourself with the displeasure I am evidently expressing at having to sit here while some semi-clad slut parades her body in front of me.”

 

There was more muttering from around the tables where men sat. 

 

“You shouldn’t be here!” said one man, a little boldly, in my opinion. He was courting trouble. The free woman shot him a withering gaze.

 

“Be quiet. I am a free woman. I am here for my supper.”

 

“The hour for supper is long past,” muttered another man,  but he didn’t direct his voice towards the Lady.

 

“Musicians, please cease,” commanded the woman. Abruptly, with some final notes lingering in the air, the musicians paused playing, looking instead to the innkeeper. For direction in the matter.

 

“Gracious Lady,” began the Innkeeper. 

 

“Yes?” snapped the woman. She was protected by a warrior with a sword. Few of the men in this room would be warriors. And even those who were would not intervene in a dispute where the woman was protected by Corcyrian law. Free women are entitled to speak their minds, sharply even, under the protection of their Home Stones. Men who share their Home Stone should beware of displeasing them. 

 

The behaviour of the free woman of Gor is greatly tolerated in a way that the behaviour of a slave is not. 

 

“Gracious Lady, you are but one person, and there are seventeen men here tonight who simply wish to…”

 

“I tire of this conversation!” she declared. “I tire of the muttered remarks I am required to ignore through any sense of propriety. There will be no more dancing. Not so long as I am here, and I do not wish to retire to my small chamber for a few ahn yet.”

 

There was much groaning amongst the men. Some clenched their fists in frustration.

 

“Gracious Lady,” continued the Innkeeper. “There is something I should point out, and it is…”

 

“No more!” she dismissed whatever he was about to say with a wave of her hand. “I am disinterested in your prevarications, your fumbling for words, your misconstrued adjectives and your failure to provide adequate service. When I reach Corcyrus, I will speak of this Inn to the appropriate authorities.”

 

“But gracious Lady, that is what I’m…”

 

“Silence!” she barked. “Really! Silence!” She turned her gaze to the dancing slave who seemed frozen with fear where she stood in the sand. “And as for you – you displease me. You have displeased me all night.” The Lady paused to consider the matter. “A girl is to be whipped, I think.”

 

The slave dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the sand. “Please, gracious, Mistress, men commanded me!”

 

“That is not an excuse,” declared the Lady. “It is never an excuse before a free woman. You should understand that, slut.”

 

“You find this amusing?” I said to Adamus. I could see him leaning back, enjoying this.

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

“The Lady is rude and overbearing, knowing she is protected by Corcyrian law and the blade of her warrior escort.”

 

“Oh, yes,” agreed Adamus.

 

“Then why are you so amused?”

 

“Because I know what the Innkeeper is trying to say to her.”

 

I noticed with interest that the Innkeeper did not move to whip his dancer. I suppose she must be fairly expensive – an asset of the Inn, and not easily replaced. Dancers receive lengthy and expensive training, consequently the girls themselves are not cheap. Why would you want to mark or damage such valuable possessions? It would be like taking a set of keys and scratching the paintwork of your expensive sportscar just because a spiteful woman demanded you did so. 

 

“Well?” The Lady waited.

 

‘Gracious Lady?” enquired the Innkeeper with a level of patience I myself could not possibly match in these trying circumstances.

 

“Do you not have a whip?”

 

“Why, yes, gracious Lady, I do own a whip. I find it useful for disciplining females who displease me.”

 

“Kajirae,” the Lady corrected him.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“You use the whip to discipline kajirae who displease you.”

 

“The gracious Lady is very wise. And yet kajirae are females, are they not?”

 

“But not all females are kajirae. Most of us are not.” She sniffed. 

 

“An accurate distinction, to be sure,” agreed the Innkeeper.

 

“I can think of one female here who should be a kajira,” muttered a man, softly.

 

“I heard that!” snapped the free woman.

 

“She has good hearing,” I suggested To Felix. Felix nodded and drank some paga. 

 

Now the Lady returned her attention to the Innkeeper. “Send for your whip!” she demanded.

 

“If I send for my whip, then it must be used, gracious Lady.”

 

“Of course! That is what I want.”

 

“Lupita,” the Innkeeper called to one of his two serving girls. “Bring me my whip. I have been instructed to use it on a female who has been displeasing.”

 

“A kajira,” corrected the Lady, again. 

 

The Innkeeper seemed not to regard that correction a second time. Lupita hurried away and returned with a long, supple, slave whip. The men in the room didn’t seem pleased that the dancer, Annika, was going to be whipped for pleasing them with her dance. It seemed unfair. And yet, a free woman was displeased. 

 

The Innkeeper swished the whip around the floor. It would be painful. A girl who felt the leather straps straps across her back would soon be screaming for mercy. 

 

“Are you sure this should be used on a female who has been displeasing?” asked the Innkeeper.

 

“Why do you keep saying that?” said the woman. “The matter is quite clear. I am offended in a public dining area, and Corcyrian law is on my side.”

 

“But gracious Lady, Corcyrian law doesn’t apply here. We are three pasangs from the Corcyrian border.”

 

“What?” The Lady looked stunned. Raucous laughter broke out amongst several men, to whom this was news, too.

 

I looked to Adamus, and he nodded with a knowing smile. 

 

“This Inn is situated in the wilderness, gracious Lady. No city law applies here.” He slid the tip of the whip along the wooden floorboards.

 

“But…”

 

“The border weaves here, there and everywhere, gracious Lady. It is a fickle line, to be true.” 

 

“I didn’t…  I didn’t know that,” said the Lady. Many men were watching her now.

 

“I see,” said the Innkeeper.

 

“Three pasangs?” she said, in a quieter voice.

 

“Actually less than three pasangs, but we like to round up,” remarked the Innkeeper. “It makes things simpler.”

 

“Of course.” The Lady looked to her escort. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The meaning was clear.

 

“There is… no law?” She swallowed, clearing a quaver from her voice. “No law at all?”

 

“None, gracious Lady, save the rules of the Inn. Those rules I enforce for the good of my guests.”

 

“There are good men of Corcyrus here, are there not?” enquired the Lady anxiously. “Men of my Home Stone?”

 

“Well, I’m Howard of Torcadino,” remarked one man.

 

“And I’m Atticus of Torcadino,” said another. He looked like a warrior to me. There was certainly a trace of scarlet about his person. 

 

“My name is Quinn, and I am sworn to Samnium,” said a third man.

 

Of the fourteen men here, other than myself, Felix, and Adamus, it transpired that only three of them shared the Lady’s Home Stone. And all three appeared to be mild-mannered bakers.   

 

The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up a notch or two. I felt Felix stir beside me.

 

“We should declare for Corcyrus,” he said. “She is of Corcyrus!”

 

“We should not,” said Adamus, holding back his arm with a subtle motion. “And we will not. We are anonymous refugees. We have no home. We do not draw attention to ourselves. 

 

“But this is a woman of Corcyrus,” said Felix in alarm.

 

“But we are not of Corcyrus. Not until we reach Torcadino.” He gave Felix a stern gaze. “That is an order, warrior. An order. Is your discipline to be questioned?”

 

“No, Captain.” Felix settled back down.

 

“I think…” The Lady swallowed to dispel the quaver in her voice again. “I think I shall retire for the night now.”

 

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” Said Atticus of Torcadino as he stood up and stared at the man who was the Lady’s escort. Was I mistaken, or did the Lady’s escort look anxious as he took in the sight of the enormous physique of Atticus of Torcadino. 

 

“How much did you pay your escort Lady?” asked Atticus.

 

“What… what has that to do with…”

 

“Because he is no warrior. He has a blade, but he is not of the caste.” Atticus thumped his chest with a balled fist. “I am of the caste. I know he is not.”

 

“I have a blade!” said the escort. “Beware!” His hand was on the hilt. The Lady looked round in alarm. 

 

“Cornelius! Draw your blade! Show them what you can do!”

 

“Lady…” said Cornelius, a trace of fear now crossing his face. “We should perhaps leave.”

 

“Leave? Draw your blade! Draw and defend me!”

 

“Draw that sword and I will cut you down before you can even raise it above your head,” remarked Atticus. I had no doubt he was of the warriors.

 

Quickly, suddenly, the Lady’s escort cast his sheathed weapon aside. 

 

“Cornelius!” The Lady stood up suddenly and struck his chest with her balled hand. “Defend me!”

 

“I am sorry, Lady,” he said, as he backed away some more.

 

“In times of war,” began Atticus, “true warriors are mobilised. Most will fight at the front. It is said that many ordinary men possessing a blade of some kind will take the opportunity to hire themselves out in the place of the scarlet caste. They think it is easy money, and it is, provided you do not have to actually draw steel. You have hired one such man, it seems.”

 

The Lady began to tremble where she stood. “Good men of Corcyrus!” she cried out. “I call to you now.”

 

“If any of you fucking bakers stand up and try anything, you’ll be spitting out broken teeth all night long,” warned Atticus. The three Corcyrian bakers remained where they were and didn’t look in the Lady’s direction.

 

“We cannot just sit here!” said Felix in alarm.

 

“Yes we can,” said Adamus. “And yes, that’s an order. This is none of our business. We are guarding the daughter of the Tatrix. We do not draw attention to ourselves.”

 

“But that is a Lady of Corcyrus!”

 

“Not for much longer, I’d guess.”

 

A few words about the outlaw regions between cities. It’s easy to assume that if the laws of neighbouring city states do not apply, then the region is a lawless land, but this isn’t really the case. Obviously, communities that do exist in these regions, and I count the travel Inns as fine examples, must abide by some form of law, even if it is self-imposed, or else they can’t possibly survive for long. A land of do-as-you will, where the most savage dog reigns, never builds anything. The savage dog in question soon patrols a barren wasteland. 

 

Bob Dylan once sang the line ‘To live outside the law you must be honest,’ and by that he meant, if you reject the rules and laws of an outside authority, you must maintain the discipline of your own laws and rules or else you’re not going to survive. 

 

Case in point the travel Inns that act as way stations on the roads between cities. For the Inns to thrive, they must be able to offer protection to travellers, else no one will use them. And so travel Inns on the Gorean roads operate on the basis of informal codes. Consider also that these places are essential to ongoing trade. Think of them as a series of stepping stones to cross a fast flowing stream. Take a few away in the centre of the stream (or make them hazardous to step on) and the water crossing becomes broken. What follows is that forces of authority who need the water crossing to remain open will move their forces on a punitive raid to rid the land of the criminal elements, and establish Inns that can be trusted.

 

So, yes, a traveller is reasonably safe in a Gorean roadside Inn. But never assume that rude behaviour will be tolerated in the same fashion it would be behind a city’s high walls. 

 

Sometimes free women in particular learn this lesson the hard way. 

 

“Does anyone want to draw a blade for this woman?” asked Atticus as he prowled the room, gazing at all the tables. No one spoke up. “Good.” He turned to face the Lady. “Strip. Completely.”

 

“No!” cried the woman. She turned to the Innkeeper. “Protect me, Sir! I am under your roof!”

 

“The man is a warrior,” said the Innkeeper, sadly. “He seems a temperamental sort of fellow. What am I to do?”

 

There was much laughter throughout the room. Felix didn’t laugh, though. He was gritting his teeth in frustration and looking straight at Adamus. 

 

“The man has told me to strip!” cried the woman.

 

“So he has,” mused the Innkeeper. “If I were you I would consider what might happen if you do not obey his instructions and quickly now.”

 

More laughter ensued. There seemed to be little sympathy for the free woman. 

 

“Strip,” said the warrior,  second time. It was kind of him, I supposed, to offer the free woman a second opportunity to obey. One must be patient, sometimes, with free women. 

 

“I am a free woman!” she cried.

 

“Give me the whip,” Atticus said to the Innkeeper.

 

Quickly, crying, tears running down her cheeks, the Lady began to clumsily unfasten the many clasps and hooks of her garments. She did so with difficulty, for the fastenings were not easily displaced without due care and attention, and her current state was far from that. When Atticus could wait no more, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the low table. “Lie there, girl, belly down on the wood.”

 

The woman sobbed and did so, allowing Atticus to draw a knife and cut her garments from her body in layers. 

 

“And now you’re going to dance for us, girl,” he said, once she was naked. He lifted her to her feet by one arm. 

 

“I am a free woman! I do not know how to dance!”

 

“You will learn, I think,” he said, taking the whip from the Innkeeper and handing it to a surprised Annika. A smile crossed her face when she understood at last that only wasn’t she going to be whipped, but the troublesome free woman would now be under her supervision.

 

“Master?” enquired the northern beauty. “Really?”

 

“You have full discipline rights over this girl,” explained Atticus.

 

“But she is a free woman,” cried Annika.

 

Atticus laughed. “Do not worry about her perceived freedom, overmuch, pretty little dancing slave.”