Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Three

 

It took some effort, and my muscles screamed and protested every inch of the way, but I forced myself first into a seated and upright position on the marble slab, and then as circulation returned to my legs I pushed up onto my feet again.

 

Like Lazarus, I had risen. 

 

One thing was for sure, I’d better not get into any fights for a while. Sometimes you just get a sense of where you stand relative to sea level, and I felt sure I was in some underground chamber beneath the city. I gazed up at the barred windows – each one too narrow for a man to squeeze through – and I got the sense that the windows were at street level, approximately fourteen feet above me. 

 

I took a deep breath, and then another deep breath. Each breath hurt, but not nearly as badly as in the narrow side passage when Sally and Kayra had been fighting like two rival alley cats. 

 

This had to be some sort of mausoleum; somewhere that bodies could be taken to and stored prior to any official funeral rites being served. I had no idea how I had survived the toxin, but then I had no idea either why a passing sleen had chewed through my leather bindings when Sally had left me to die in the woods. I was beginning to wonder if supernatural forces really were keeping me alive for some unfathomable reason. 

 

What had happened after I had passed out? Where was Kayra? Had Sally Reeves succeeded in convincing the Torcadino men that she was a victim? Had she taken Kayra? Or were they both now in the custody of the city, pending investigations for my… I couldn’t help but smile… my murder? Hell, yeah, if I was lying on a marble slab in a subterranean mausoleum in Torcadino then I must have been declared dead. That made the Lady Salena a killer. Her fate hinged on whether the men believed she was fighting in self-defence or whether it was pre-meditated murder. I seemed to recall one man taking her side and another man interrogating her, but my memory was unreliable. The words that were spoken might come back in time.  

 

But one thing I did remember. One thing I picked up on even while I was dying. Kayra had said, ‘I am the property of Roland of Corcyrus. I am his slave.’ Those were words of self-enslavement, regardless of the situation. Kayra had pronounced herself a slave. She couldn’t take the words back any more than Nia could. Did she understand the enormity of those words, or had she spoken them in haste, and just as quickly forgotten them? For she was just Kayra now. The former Laetitia, daughter of a Tatrix, was gone. That girl no longer existed, and never would ever again. 

 

Luckily for Kayra, I was somewhat pragmatic. The companionship with the Ubar’s son had to happen, come hell or high water. The stakes were simply too high. Kayra was a slave now, but she’d still companion the Ubar’s son if I had any say in the matter. Her self-enslavement was an inconvenience that I’d just have to ignore. 

 

I gazed at the bodies of men and women who hadn’t done as well as I had, and then I just sat there for a while, regaining strength. This was the second time Sally Reeve had taken me out of the game. Perhaps I was misjudging her. Perhaps I was guilty of thinking her less capable because of her sex. Did she have Kayra now? If so, she had probably already left Torcadino by tarn. Kayra would have been her bound and helpless baggage as she was carried back to Argentum in a tarn basket. We would have lost, Corcyrus would have lost. I could only hope that Kayra was somewhere else; that the man who had been suspicious of Sally remained suspicious enough to have Sally taken into custody for an investigation into my death. Sally wasn’t a citizen of Torcadino so there was a higher bar than usual to satisfy in killing a man by poison. She would have to demonstrate it was a matter of last resort. That said, I wasn’t of Torcadino either. My death meant less to the citizens of Torcadino than the death of one of their own. The fact that I was of Corcyrus while she was from Argentum would suggest that the conflict had spilled over into the streets of their city. It might raise enough questions to keep Sally confined for a day or two. In the long term she probably had powerful friends within the city – longstanding agents of Argentum and diplomatic channels that could smooth things over, but that would take time and effort. 

 

I smiled as I recalled her rather naïve words. Women are superior to men in all respects… save for a few inconsequential physical traits. On the contrary, Miss Sally Reeve, I think you will find that, here on Gor at least, those physical differences are hardly inconsequential. Here on Gor, physical strength meant the different between domination and submission.  

 

I rose from where I sat on the marble slab and began to pace about the chamber of the mausoleum, tracing my way along the walls with my fingers. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and with a little moonlight I was able to navigate adequately enough. There was only one entrance to this chamber and it was sealed with a set of iron railings that were locked shut. I didn’t think anyone was concerned about stopping the dead from escaping, so possibly this was to deter body snatchers. I rattled the iron gate and shouted in case there was anyone in the corridors and chambers beyond this one, but got no reply. It appears I was sealed in with the dead for the night. This worried me. Time wasn’t on my side. Whatever situation Kayra found herself in wouldn’t be good. The longer I spent locked in here the worse it would be for her. I imagined her locked in some city slave pen, sharing a cage with other slaves. And that was the best possibility that I could imagine – one that didn’t involve her being carried away from Torcadino in a tarn basket. 

 

And what of her unbranded thigh? That was the nightmare scenario, that the authorities who had her would mark her thigh with a kef. That would be game over for the Corcyrus/Torcadino alliance. There was no going back from having a brand.  While the city authorities might ordinarily defer to the wishes of a slave’s owner, if they thought I was dead, and if Kayra was now city property pending any sort of inheritance claim, they might well go ahead and brand her. I shook the iron railings again even more violently than before and shouted at the top of my voice. I needed to get out of here and find out what had happened. And I needed to find Adam and Felix. But as I threw my body weight again and again against the iron railings I came to the inevitable conclusion that I was locked in here for the night.

 

And so I paced and I sat in alternating bouts of bleak frustration until day break. 

 

I had considered lying on the marble slab and going full ‘Walking Dead’ when the mausoleum attendant arrived in the morning to unlock the gates, but frankly the marble slab was too fucking cold. Nevertheless, the look on his face was priceless as he arrived to thrust the iron key into the gate lock.

 

“By the Priest Kings!!” he swore.

 

I didn’t waste any time as he opened the door. “Where am I? Where is my sword and tunic? What happened to me?”

 

“You… you’re dead,” spluttered the man.

 

I didn’t even bother to answer that. I just grabbed the man by his tunic and pulled him close. “Where is my slave? Where are my things?”

 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about! I just attend to the bodies… you’re supposed to be dead!”

 

“Stop saying that, you idiot. How long have I been in here?”

 

The man examined the tag on my wrist. “You were delivered yesterday. You were proclaimed dead by a physician! This cannot be!”

 

“I had a slave, a girl called Kayra. Where is she?”

 

“I don’t know! You were just brought in dead! Your soul should be with the Priest Kings now!”

 

“They didn’t want me,” I snarled. “Apparently, I lowered the tone of the afterlife by saying ’fuck’ a lot. Listen to me, I had a slave – what would have happened to her if a physician had declared her master was dead?”

 

“I… I suppose… the city pens?”

 

“How do I get there?”

 

The man babbled some directions and I made him repeat them three times to be sure. It turns out there were some spare work tunics in a side room, and the man was persuaded to let me have one. I dressed quickly and climbed the stone steps to the ground floor, and then exited the building at a fast pace.

 

It was daybreak and the sun was rising in the sky. Whatever the hour was, it was early enough that the streets were mostly empty. Only a few men were on their way to work, and I hurried past them, following the route described to me by the mausoleum attendant. Kayra might be in the city slave pens. Worrying as that prospect was, it was a better alternative than being in Sally’s clutches. 

 

And of course the slave pens weren’t open to the public yet. I fumed and bided my time for another half an ahn before the doors swung open and I hurried inside to the public administrative desk.

 

“May I help you…” began the scribe who was taking up position behind the desk.

 

“Was my slave brought in here yesterday? A slave called Kayra? I was mistakenly presumed dead and taken to the city mausoleum. Obviously, I’m not dead. I’m trying to find my slave.”

 

“How remarkable,” said the scribe. “Kayra, you say?” 

 

I quickly described her appearance, hoping that might help, and then I waited anxiously as the man inspected the written records from yesterday.

 

“We do indeed have your slave, though no owner’s name is recorded. She self-identified as Kayra, and so she has been recorded as Kayra.”

 

“I want her back,” I said.

 

“Well, of course.” The man nodded. “I will need to see your ownership papers.”

 

My heart sank. “I don’t have them. I was attacked in an alleyway. My possessions were taken.”

 

“Ah, that is unfortunate.”

 

“The slave will confirm I am her master,” I said.

 

“Unfortunately, a slave’s testimony of ownership is worthless, except in some judicial court matters, under the provision of applied torture,” said the man. “A slave could easily claim to belong to someone else in order to escape a master she doesn’t care for.”

 

“She was with me when she was taken,” I said.

 

“Without papers of ownership to hand you could have stolen her. The fact she has no owner marked on the ledger usually means there is some doubt as to who owns the slave.”

 

“I own the slave!” 

 

“There is no need to raise your voice with me, Sir,” said the scribe. He pointed to a small sign nailed to the wall behind his desk.

 

“I can’t read that,” I snarled.

 

“It says, ‘politeness costs nothing’.”

 

“Does it.” I gritted my teeth. “How do I collect my slave?”

 

“You produce your papers of ownership, Sir.”

 

“I told you I was attacked in an alley. Everything I owned was taken.”

 

“The master copies of your papers will be lodged in the Cylinder of Records, Sir. You need only call there and request a new copy.”

 

My heart sank, for of course the Cylinder of Records wouldn’t have any papers on Kayra.

 

“She is a new capture,” I said. “Papers haven’t yet been lodged with the Cylinder of Records.”

“Well, that is unfortunate.”

 

“What happens now?” I asked, trying to maintain a degree of civility.

 

“The matter can be passed on to a city magistrate. In such cases notification is made regarding your slave, inviting her owner to step forward and make a claim. If no man or woman does so with twenty days, then you can make a claim on her yourself. A magistrate will rule on the matter, and, if he is satisfied with the circumstances you describe, the slave will be released into your custody.”

 

“I don’t have twenty days!” I snarled.

 

“What you don’t have, Sir, is your slave. If you want your slave…”

 

“Fuck!” I gazed at the corridor that led from this reception area and into the pens beyond. There was another locked set of iron railings blocking the way, and the area beyond would be teeming with overseers and jailers. Kayra was effectively locked in a high security prison. “Can I at least see my slave?”

 

“Slave viewings are available from the 10^th ahn. There is a bench over there,” he said, pointing with an outstretched quill. 

 

I sat and I waited until the bells for the tenth ahn were rung.

 

Within a few ehn I was being escorted into the kennel area by a broad shouldered man who looked like he could bench press me with one hand. “You must work out a lot?” I said, trying to make some conversation as we walked past an exercise yard and then past a series of store rooms.

 

“Nothing much else to do in Torcadino,” he replied. We descended a set of stone steps into a basement area where ‘masterless’ slaves were kennelled. “Mind your head,” he said, as I stooped when we entered one of the tunnels. There was no natural light down here, but lanterns were hung on the damp stone walls every ten feet or so. We passed a number of communal cages, each one housing up to five slaves. They knelt in a thick carpet of straw and watched us walk by, noting that I wasn’t wearing the uniform of a jailer, and that meant I was possibly here to claim a girl. 

 

“Kennel thirteen,” said the jailer as we stopped beside one of the stone chambers that had bars across the front. I recognised her instantly. She looked miserable, sitting on her own in the straw with her knees tucked up under her chin. Her hair was lank and uncombed and she stared in fear through the corner of her eyes at the other four girls who knelt together on the other side of the pen, talking to one another.

 

There were switch marks on Kayra’s thighs. As soon as she heard my voice, she jumped to her feet and ran to the bars.

 

“Master!” she cried. “You’re alive!”

 

She reached with her hands through the bars, trying to touch me.

 

“No contact with the slave,” said the jailer. “Not until we know she’s yours.”

 

“He is my Master!” she wept. “He owns me!”

 

Oh, Kayra, have you any idea what you’re saying, I thought to myself. 

 

“It’s okay, Kayra. Everything will be okay,” I said to the young girl as she pressed her face against the bars.

 

“It’s not okay! You have to get me out of here! Those other girls…” she glanced fearfully over her shoulder. The other four slaves were watching this exchange with interest. 

 

“We don’t have much time Kayra. Tell me what happened. Tell me what happened after I seemed to die.”

 

“I started screaming when the physician said you were dead,” sobbed Kayra. “When I wouldn’t stop I was lashed with a switch until I did. The woman from Argentum tried to claim me, but one of the men was suspicious with her story. He called a guardsman and the guardsman agreed that your death had to be investigated. The Argentum woman continued to protest but was escorted away to the Cylinder Of Justice. I was then leashed and taken away. I wasn’t even allowed to go near your body.”

 

So, Sally had been taken to the Cylinder of Justice pending an investigation into the circumstances of my death? There were prison cells there, the quality of which was determined by whether or not a prisoner could pay for comfortable lodging, or whether they would be simply housed in holdings pens not much better than these slave kennels. Sally had money, so I suspected she would be housed in a cell that had certain comforts. She would have privacy, a cot with a mattress and reasonable meals, and a window that let in light. 

 

“Have you seen Adam or Felix?” I asked.

 

“No, Master, I haven’t. I… I followed you when the fighting started. I was afraid what might happen to you.”

 

“That was stupid, Kayra. You were supposed to stay with Adam!”

 

“So were you, Master,” she said. “And if I hadn’t, you’d be dead now. That Argentum slut would have stuck her hair pin through your eye and into your brain!” And it was true. I softened my tone. 

 

“Why did you follow me?’

 

“I was afraid for you,” said Kayra, as she pressed her cheek to the bars again. ”I… I care for you… you… you must know that?”

 

“You’re the daughter of a Tatrix,” I whispered. “You can’t allow yourself to care for anyone. YOU know that.”

 

The girl sobbed beside the bars. “I can’t help how I feel! Why does that have to be wrong? I have dreams…”

 

“You are going to be the companion of the Ubar’s son. We will never see each other again,” I said. And that made her cry again. “It’s your duty, Kayra. Your life is not your own.”

 

She sobbed, but nodded. I felt sorry for the girl. She would spend her life as a political pawn, locked up in a gilded tower in a city that was not her home, and she would know little, if any, true love. it was the price she paid for being who she was.

 

“What now?” she asked, clutching at the bars. “I have to get out of this slave kennel.”

 

“They won’t release you to me because I don’t have papers of ownership. This may take time to resolve.”

 

A look of abject fear crossed her face then. “I don’t have time!” She shook at the bars. “They call me Fire Crotch!” Her previously shaved pubic hair was beginning to show as fine stubble. 

 

“It’s not ideal, Kayra, but you have to remain strong.”

 

“It’s not a matter of being strong. They are going to brand me tonight!”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes! At the sixteenth ahn! A metal worker will do the rounds. I will be branded and my ears will be pierced in accordance with Torcadino law. I have less than six ahn before that happens.”

 

Fuck.

 

And suddenly, just like that, I had a deadline.