No Update this Friday. - Update Delayed

 Sorry, no update this Friday. I have been ill. I will try to post the new chapter this weekend

- Tracker.

 Scipio Metellus at the Fair of En'Kara IV

She's a good girl,

 loves her mama

Loves Jesus

 and America too

The Purple Gang had reformed and was again stalking travelers on the roads to the Sardar!

The rumour had sprung up suddenly at the Sardar Fair of En’Kara. The dangerous group of brigands known as the Purple Gang for the strips of purple silk they tied around their left arms when on a raid had terrorized travelers on the roads leading to the Sardar for years, until twenty years ago, Marlenus, Ubar of Ar had enjoyed great sport in hunting down and extirpating the lot of them.

The praetor of the Fair, responsible to the Merchant Guild for the proper running of all aspects of the Fair not under the control of the Initiates was consulting with his under-praeter.

“It is nonsense of course. There have been no reports of extra brigandage on the roads to the Fair, we would have heard. Someone is deliberately spreading the story for reasons of their own. They mean to profit somehow. If the rumor gains too much currency, it could cut into trade and thus into our fees and profits.”

The Under-Praetor was and active and ambitious young man.

“I have made some investigations. The original spreaders of this rumor were people we know are sometimes associated with Scipio Metellus. I suspect that wily old scoundrel has been spreading the story as a way to profit himself.”

The Praetor shook his head. “He and his friends deal muchly at our Fair, there is no way we would profit from this. We must acquit the, what is it you called him?, the old scoundrel this time. It is someone else. He would not spread such rumors just to amuse himself, It is someone else.”

“But then who?” asked the Under-Praetor.

“That is what we must determine.”

*****************

Scipio Metellus was humming a piece of music he had learned long ago from a kajira when he was young. The large slaver felt very pleased with himself. The sun was shining, the day was fine. There was a desirable woman kneeling at his feet; his money chest was bulging with the proceeds from the sale off the finest women from the fall of the city of Aetna. He was trying to decide whether to accept the challenge of his friend Atticus of Ar and try and acquire for himself all the prizes in the coming game of Girl Catch between Tarn Hill City and Tarn Hill Port.

The two mutually dependent cities were trying to set the shipping fees for timber for the coming five years. In the mountains, the men of Tarn Hill City felled and worked fine timbers; on the river, Tarn Hill Port, graded, sold and shipped the timber. Mutually dependent, thus united in mutual contempt, the two towns could not risk war. So ten youths from each city would try to capture and place in their girl pit ten maidens from the other side. The city which first succeeded would be the gain the advantage in the shipping fees. Atticus of Ar had challenged Scipio Metellus of Ko-ro-ba to capture the maidens of the winning and losing cities before they could return to Tarn Hill, where the losing maidens would be enslaved by the victors.

“Of course I know the thing is impossible,” said Atticus. “The day following the contest, the girls will be part of a large caravan for the days trip from the Sardar Fair to the Inn at the Ford, where they will spend the night in the Women’s Keep of the Inn. No one has ever succeeded in stealing one woman, let alone twenty from the Women’s Keep. No one could blame you if you declined the challenge.”

“Plenty of women have been stolen from Inns” rejoined the Ko-ro-ban slaver. “You have done it, I have done it, half the Warriors of Gor have done it. What makes this Inn so special?”

Scipio knew all about the Woman’s Keep at the Inn at the Ford, but he was playing for time before committing to a decision.

“The Women’s Keep at the Inn is an old stone watch tower. It was abandoned a century ago an the Inn was built around the tower. It is four levels and a cellar. The walls are eight feet thick at the bottom and three at the top. The cellar has a separate entrance and does not communicate with the rest of the Tower. There is only one way in and one stairway between levels. There are no secret ways or stairs; people have been searching for at least one hundred years. Are you following so far?”

Scipio nodded as the Slaver of Ar continued.

“The main floor is a common room which is entered from the lobby of the Inn; the paga room is across the lobby in a separate wing. The common room of the Tower at the Inn is only for guards and male companions of Ladies staying at the Inn. A single stairway leads to the second level. This is a common sleeping room for Women who cannot afford better but is still very safe. From the second level a stairway leads to the third level. At the top of the stairs is an iron door. It is barred from the inside by the ladies staying on the third level. The bars are heavy beams of wood that it takes three to four women to lift into place. No one can enter easily, and one or two traitors inside cannot compromise the safety of the others. There is a small eating room and separate sleeping rooms on this level. There is one window, it has an iron shutter that is secured by bolts on the inside and in any case it overlooks rapids.

The fourth floor is more of the same, except more exclusive and expensive. On the night they are there, only the ten Free Maidens from the winning city will be on that floor; along with the ten captives, not yet enslaved, from the losing city. If they had been enslaved they would not be permitted on the fourth level. Indeed, only Free Women may ascend above the first level. There is no way to insinuate any spy or agent into the tower, no way of forcing the doors before rescue arrives.

The tower has a peaked roof, so a Tarn cannot be landed upon it; the fourth level’s window overlooks a courtyard which will be full of Warriors. There is no way to get the twenty women you see in front of you out of the Tower at the Inn at the Ford.”

“An interesting problem,” mused Scipio Metellus of Ko-ro-ba. “I doubt I would be interested anyway.”

“Just as well,” said Atticus of Ar. “The warriors of Tarn Hill would pursue relentlessly anyone who succeeded in carrying off the prizes of the Girl Catch.”

“But not anyone who subsequently purchased the enslaved females after,” pointed out Metellus.

The two men, with the red-haired slave at their feet resumed watching the ten maidens of Tarn Hill City displayed as prizes. At the far end of the field, the ten maidens of Tarn Hill Port were similarly displayed.

Scipio watched as the unveiled beauties took turns advancing to the front of the platform. A girl he had not noticed before was to the fore when he went into a reverie of youth.

She had the same snub nose as a slave he had owned as a young man. The curve of her jaw, and the lines of her figure, as far as he could tell were similar as well.

Her name had been Irene; she pronounced it in the Greek way from the Slave World: I-ree-nee. It had been her name as woman on Earth which she wore as a slave name on Gor. One of her masters had loved the musicality of it, and subsequent masters had not changed it.

Scipio Metellus was a young man travelling about Gor. He was a noticing man, and he learned interesting things wherever he went. That summer he was working on the wharfs of the island Ubarate of Cos, loading and unloading ships. He was a big man and he found the work easy. Because he was good at leading and organizing, he was soon the leader of a group of stevedores who were in demand for the speed and care with which they handled cargo. Scipio insisted on honesty in his group which increased the esteem in which they were held.

At a game of kaissa in paga tavern, Scipio had won Irene from the tavern owner and the long Cosian summer had become an idyll for the pair. Man and woman, master and slave, the big stevedore and the tall curvy girl had known true contentment. She was his love slave; he her love master. He sang her the songs of Gor, she sang him the songs of Earth. They harmonized, his bass and her alto together. They could not have been happier.

But Scipio was young and restless. He felt he had learned and experienced all Cos had to offer and it was time to move on. When he was bargaining with a ship owner for passage to Victoria, a man disembarking had seen Irene and offered Scipio a carved ivory belt buckle, like a cowboy buckle in trade for Irene.

Scipio like to travel light and the buckle was worth many times what Irene was. So he made the trade. As the ship sailed away, Scipio was resplendent in his new belt and buckle and Irene cried on the docks. Her new owner cuffed her and dragged her away.

On that voyage, Scipio made the acquaintance of merchant of Cos, who was impressed by his belt buckle. They fell into conversation, and it was the beginning of Scipio’s successful career as an adventuring merchant of slaves. He had learned in his travels the types that were most in demand in various cities. He knew what affected supply, and what affected prices. His audacity allowed him to carry off many incredible coups. He was famous as a judge of girl-flesh and unparallel, except perhaps by Trakker of Ar, the famous slave theoretician as a trainer. One who could spot and take unpromising looking material and turn her into a most coveted property.

But still sometimes, he hummed or sang the songs of Earth.

He looked at the girl from Tarn Hill City, the one who resembled Irene, and said to Atticus, “When I capture all of them, all the prizes from the contest, will you sell them for me in Ar?”

Atticus nodded. “I know it is impossible for you to acquire them; and I look forward very much to finding out how you will make it happen.”

The two men clasped forearms, and walked off, followed by the red-haired slim young slave.

She’s a good girl

Loves her llama

Loves cheezits

 And asparagus too.

The red-haired slave was having the time of her life. She had come into Scipio’s possession at the fall of the city of Aetna. There she had known only a few narrow streets in the quarter of the craftsmen. Her father was a potter, she had not even known the wider streets and plazas of her own city.

But here at the fair, there were so many sights, and sounds and smells. The gorgeous smells from the food boots, so different from the roast vulo and lentils that was the daily diet of the poor of Aetna. And when her master stopped by the kitchens and eating tent of Andre the Baker, she almost swooned. While her master was deep in talk with Andre himself, she was allowed to eat almost a half of a sausage roll, the well spiced meat encased in the flakiest of pastry she was in extasy.

They stopped to listen to a group who was singing the songs of the Tahari. They had followed a group of devout pilgrims led in chants to the Priest-Kings led by Initiates. Beaker, the red-haired slave, was as bored then as she had been when she was dragged to services as a free girl.

The singers from the Tahari were better. Their songs soared and dipped, the music matching the lyrics. They sang of the terrors of thirst and the joys of finding water, “water sweeter than Kalana wine, more satisfying than Paga, more beautiful than women.”

Her master sung along quietly, so as not to disturb the other listeners. Beaker was amazed at how well his voice sounded.

And there were slave girls everywhere! Beaker had seen few slaves in the streets of her poor quarter of Aetna. There were few in that quarter to begin with, and her mother had shielded her as best she could. Beaker had not been allowed to go past the corner where the local Paga tavern stood. The girls were sometimes displayed outside, barely clad or even naked. They were much more volumptous than Beaker, as her girlfriends had teased her. She was likely safe from enslavement they had told her.

Well all the women of Aetna had fallen slave, and it was she of all of them who walked at the heels of the fabulous Scipio Metellus.

After the singing, Scipio had placed a silver tarsk in the bag of the pretty slave who went among the crowd collecting for the singers. A whole silver tarsk! That was more than her father had made for some of his best and most artistic pots!  And just for singers! Her master was truly a great man. He had made the pretty slave doing the collecting squeal too, when he had pinched her bum. Half-naked girls pinched in public, on the lanes of the Fair. Being a slave at the Fair was certainly different than being a free girl in a poor quarter of Aetna.

A whole silver tarsk! That was probably more than she was worth. And her master gave it away just for the pleasure of listening to some music. She was certainly in a new world.

Next she knelt next to master while he watched the sale of some girls from a low platform. Some were branded and displayed themselves well, Beaker was amazed at how brazen they were! She was sure she could never move like that!

The girls, mostly sold for small sums, Beaker was amazed at how cheap even a beautiful woman could be.

“When you are trained, you will sell for more than those slaves did,” her master said to her.

“I will make sure of that. But don’t get puffed up and proud, you are nothing but a slave slut. It is my training that will give you value.”

A slave slut. That is what her mother had called those few slaves seen in their quarter. Sluts, worthless, immeasurably below a free woman. A slave slut, that is what she was now; and mother too, she supposed, the last she had seen of her mother was her mother being dragged off by soldiers of Vesuvium who had conquered her city.

Scipio Metellus straighten the chain that hung from her collar, between her breasts, and ended in the handle of the leash in her master’s hand.

“Always be conscious of your appearance, always be looking attractive for the men.”

“Yes, Master.” Beaker looked at the chain between her breasts. Each link was curved, so the chain lay flot on her body. She knew from talking to her friend who was a blacksmith’s daughter that such chains were more difficult to make and were more expensive. She realized with a shock that the chain holding her was likely more expensive than she was. She stuck out her chest and swayed her hips, to make herself appear more expensive. She was learning her slavery, and the looks she drew excited her. She made sure that the piece of silk tied around her hips did not totally cover her red crotch. She was a slave; she desired to please; it was her duty to be completely pleasing.

Master seemed to be going places at random. He stopped at a shop that sold spices and purchased a little bag of powder after a quiet conversation with the owner. He talked to a captain of warriors and a seller of silks. He watched a troupe of acrobats and conversed quietly with them. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone was happy to see him. Beaker noticed how popular he was; wherever Scipio Metellus went, even Initiates seemed to follow him. There was one watching whenever he stopped.

The crowning event of Beaker’s day was when Master took her to the theatre. Such entertainments had always been beyond the means of a potter and his family. They sat in a box close to the stage with a merchant and three Free Ladies he was escorting. They all seemed to know Master.

One of the Free Ladies looked right at her and sniffed.

“You are heeled by a new slave today, I see. Another naked slut. How you dare.”

“There are different standards at the Fair,” Scipio replied. Many women are sold naked at the Fair, in leass than this slave is wearing.”

“Sluts, unfit to be around Free Women.”

“Many were Free Women before they were collared. I have made many women exchange her robes of concealment for a collar and a wisp of silk.”

The Free Woman stepped back, “No one may be enslaved at the Fair. It is the Law of the Priest-Kings.”

Then the play began and they watched the first act of the “The Ubara’s Dilemma”.  Beaker was enthralled.

At the first interval, Scipio Metellus engaged the two older Free women in conversation as the merchant escorted the one who had commented on Beaker for some ice. The Free Women seemed to be rejecting some proposal of her Master’s. Maybe he was negotiating to buy the Third Woman once the Fair was over? Master could be very persuasive.

The second act began. Beaker knelt, her chin on the rail of the box as the action unfolded. At one point, Master slowly ran one finger gently down her spine from her neck down to the base of her butt. She stiffened, then almost melted. The younger Free Woman sniffed. Beaker wondered if they would one day be chain sisters. She loved her chain sister, Gold Key, but did not think that she would like this one.

At the second interval, The Free Ladies conversed in low tones with Scipio while the merchant again tried to gain the favor of the younger one. Beaker could not hear her Master’s conversation, but now he seemed to have the upper hand as the two Free Ladies bargained with him. They seemed to reach an agreement just as the merchant and the third woman returned.

Beaker wondered what was agreed and what the price was.

After The Bighorn Chapter Nineteen

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At the Sardar Fair of En’Kara III       

“Are they slaves, Master?”

Scipio Metellus turned to the slim red-headed slave next to him. She was leaning forward to rest her arms on the top of the plank fence surrounding the green field just outside the grounds of the Fair of En’Kara. She was resting her chin on her hands.

“No, they are not little one, but you are. It is not for you to comment on Free Women?” The reproof was kindly, not usually a characteristic of the Slaver Scipio Metellus towards collared and branded women.

Still the young woman persisted. “Are you sure, Master? They are clad only in short sleeveless tunic, with bare legs and feet?” The young slave sounded genuinely puzzled.

Scipio ruffled the red curls of the slim slave.

“They are prizes, little one. There are two towns, alike in dignity, but dependent on each other, so consequently they hate each other. Tarn Hill City cuts and prepares timbers from the Northern Forest. Tarn Hill Port, ships the timber down the river. Each needs the other, and each five years they negotiate the taxes the Port charges.”

The slave turned a puzzled face to her master.

“But why do these Free Women stand on a platform, like they are about to be sold?”

“To settle the dispute on the level of fees, ten young men from each town will try to capture the ten women from the other town. See that pit over there?”

“Yes, Master.”

“The men from the same town as these young women, will try to catch the young women from the other town and put them in that pit. If they can’t escape, they become the captives of the men who catch them. The first town to catch all the young women of the other town wins. If Tarn Hill City wins, the taxes on the timber will be lower; if Tarn Hill Port wins, the taxes will be higher. It is because of the great advantage to their towns that these young women have volunteered to risk slavery. It is a high honour to them that they were selected, that they had the form and beauty to be prizes. So, they display themselves as prizes, hoping that they survive to go back home.”

The slim red-haired slave shook her curls.

“I don’t understand all this, Master. When will the contest take place?”

“You are very curious”

The slave nodded, “Yes Master. It is a whole big world since I became a slave. I knew little when I was free.”

“The contest will be on the last day of the Fair. That will allow the most time of the placing of wagers as to the winners.”

The Redhaired girl had been a slave for about thirty days.

Her introduction to slavery had been traumatic. The girl now known as Beaker was the daughter of a potter in the City of Aetna. She had lived a sheltered life with her mother and father on a quiet street, the Street of Potters, in the craft castes section of Aetna just inside the Salt Gate. The Salt Gate led to the resources needed by the Craft Guilds of Aetna. The clays for potters, the salts for glazes and preparing and storing food, the minerals for the metal workers and smelters, all came by the Salt Gate. It was the gate for workers, for primary merchants, for local trade.

Not many female slaves came by the Salt Gate and that was important for the mother of the red-haired girl. For red-haired females faced the burden of a reputation on Gor. They were considered to be excessively sensual, especially prone to slave urges, sluts and whores for the most part. The girl’s mother and her companion, the potter, had concealed as best they could their daughter’s affliction. They had sheltered her as much as possible from the open honest sexuality of Gor; its acceptance of gender roles. She was restricted in the streets she could visit. She was not allowed to pass the corner where the local Paga Tavern sat, with its naked girls displayed outside. She was not allowed to stray down the street of brands. The family only attended the local temple of the Priest-Kings, not the main establishment in the Aetna’s main plaza by the Administrator’s Cylinder. She lived a quiet life, helping keep the home that was one side of the Pottery shop. The shop opened onto a main street, the big shutter of the sales counter opening when the shop was open. Their home at the back opened on a quieter street.

On the early morning of the day that Aetna fell by total surprise to the forces of Vesuvium, she had been up early to light the fires in the kitchen so her father could have his breakfast. Then she had lit the fires in the kiln, for it was to be a firing day tomorrow and the kiln needed time to come to heat. It was just as she was heaping the coals into the bottom of the kiln that she heard the shouting. It was barely dawn.

The gates had been opened to the forces of Vesuvium by traitors, and the army of the enemy poured in. She peeked out the front of the shop. She saw fearsome men, in helmets, Y-fronted with red crests carrying spears red with blood. They chased down a girl and man running, speared the man and ripping the clothes from the girl in the streeted putting her to use, raping her in front of the shop of Ambocrates, the amphora maker.

She heard a crash from behind her. She ran back into the home part of their building. She saw her father crumpled in the corner, red blood coming from his shoulder. There were four men, all in the metal helms. The one in the red tunic seemed the leader, the other three were of the militia of Vesuvium. They had five naked girls with them. The girls had rope looped around their necks binding them together. They had their hands tied behind their backs. As the girl watched, her mother was stripped, and the man in the red tunic threw her to the floor. She watched her mother suffer slave rape.

The fall of a city is a terrible thing. As a second man moved to assault again her mother, the girl let out a peep. It was her undoing. She was discovered in her hiding place and dragged into the centre of the room. There she was stripped, the red hair on her head and at her crotch drawing admiring glances. As she was thrown to the floor beside her mother, she heard her father groan and try to stand and reach for a sword.

Father was struck, his sword taken from him. The man in the red tunic was going to kill him with his own sword!

Then He came in. He was tall and broad. The girl cried. More trouble. The man in blue and yellow had a whip in his belt, and a staff in his hand. He struck up the sword of the man in the red tunic.

“No, you fool. Stop. Look around. This man is a genius, an artist, look at the quality of his work. He must be taken to Vesuvium to adorn the city with his work not killed in a fury.”

The man in the red tunic sneered. “And who are you? Who are you to give orders here? This is our booty, our house to loot. Go find yourself another house to loot.”

The large man whirled his staff so quickly it seemed a blur. He struck the warrior in the red tunic on the head. The man fell as if struck by lightning or the flame death of the Priest-Kings.

“I am Scipio Metellus. I have rights here, first call on the first tenth of all women. And some right to some booty as well.”

The other three men stepped back. Scipio Metellus walked over to the shelves. He took an intricately carved piece of tusk, a gift to the girl’s mother from her father and put it into his pouch. He picked a beaker of stoneware, of exquisite shape and curve, a piece by her father.

Scipio spoke again.

“There is better loot here than almost anywhere in the city, save the treasury of silver and gold. Pack that away and you will be richer than most when you get back to Vesuvium.”

He continued. “Patch the man’s wounds, take the woman, she will bring a good price.”

He looped a length of rope around the girl’s neck.

And that was the last that the girl saw of her parents, but at least they were alive: saved by the intervention of the big man in blue and yellow. Naked, her hands secured behind her, a rope collar on her neck for the next six hours she heeled Scipio Metellus as he strode through the fallen city. She saw things that day; her city looted, men lying dead in the streets, women violated with their first slave rapes. It was the end of a city. Aetna was looted and despoiled, the survivors enslaved.

At the end of the day, she stumbled behind Scipio Metellus, footsore and beyond crying into his camp. He handed the end of the rope to a one-legged man standing beside a wagon, with magnificently carved woodwork.

“Feed her, give her water; then collar and brand her. Then place her in a kennel in my wagon. I don’t want to lose her, Longinus.”

“You want to keep this scrawny thing, Scipio? Her boobs are small; her hips are not as full and womanly as the markets like. Why her?”

Scipio grinned. “I see potential in her, Longinus. Make sure she ends up in a kennel in my wagon. I don’t want to lose her.”

He ruffled her red hair, and taking a candy from his pouch, he placed it in her mouth.

The iron that burned her thigh was hot; the mark it made was painful. The one-legged man, Longinus, gave her something to bite down on when she was marked, then carried her to the wagon of Scipio Metellus and placed her in a kennel.

“The boss says your name is Beaker now. Got that, you are now Beaker.”

She looked up at him through the bars.

“Yes Master.”

Alone and deprived of all she had known, her little world gone, she cried herself to sleep.

Except for being removed from the kennel once a day for exercise and relief she remained in the wagon for nearly thirty days. Her new master was too busy to deal with her. He only appeared in the wagon to sleep. Whenever she was taken out of the wagon, she saw a vast number of women, naked and collared. Men were going from group to group, sorting and arranging. There was a twenty-day forced march to the Sardar Fair. The men of Scipio Metellus mercilessly drove the herd of women on.

“Faster! Keep in step! Walk or die! We have no time for stragglers! You want to bring a good price; to be sold to a Master who will cherish you. Faster!”

Every evening when Beaker had her precious thirty minutes outside the cage she saw women being branded, women being collared, women being put to use. When she was in the kennel, she could see, on a shelf across from her, the carving given by her grandfather to her mother, and beside that, the beaker made by her father, the beaker that gave her her name.

Three days after she was placed in the kennel, another woman joined her. She was high caste, and older, but was kind to Beaker. She stroked Beaker’s hair; she soothed her fears. While Beaker had led a sheltered life, the new woman, who Scipio had named Gold Key had lived a High Caste life of sophistication. She spoke of the exciting new life ahead of them.

“Forget about the past, young one,” she said. “Our old lives are gone; nothing can bring them back.” She described for Beaker the delights that a slave girl could experience delights that were beyond a Free Woman’s comprehension. Gold Key had been Companied three times and had a couple of lovers in between. One lover had been a Warrior. She had had to kneel before she had slept with him.

“I believe he wanted to collar me,” she said, “but he was killed on a raid.”

Gold Key had bought lots of slaves for her household and set up many parties for her Companion; parties she could not attend herself.

“But I peeked through the curtains, the slave girls seemed happy. And I bought the first slaves for each of my sons when they were young. Experienced kajirae for their first conquests. And I went with both my boys when they sold their first slaves; and bought their own next girls; girls more their own ages, girls they chose themselves. I was proud of my boys. And of both my girls too, they made good Companions for their men. But that is all past. You and I are collared now, we must look forward.”

Beaker was comforted; the woman was almost like a second mother. She told Beaker of the things slaves had to do; Beaker was first shocked, then excited. Some of these things she had never heard of! So Beaker looked forward not back. She was excited to see new things, not regretting the past. On the trip to the Sardar Fair, Scipio Metellus had no time for them, he was busy with his organizing and sorting. There is a difference between a highly successful slaver like Scipio and one who scrapes by, selling a girl or two from slave ledge in poor part of a city; it is hard work and discipline.

The entrance to the Fair was spectacular. Scipio’s wagon led his caravan, Beaker and Gold Key were displayed on poles at the front of the moving house. As the caravan’s route curved, behind them, Beaker could see the marching lines of the slaves of Scipio Metellus.

All those women, she thought, all those naked collared women, with their chests stuck out, and I was picked to be displayed on the wagon. The once sheltered girl was now full of the pride of a slave, displayed for the joy of men.

Each day at the Fair, the number of women in Scipio’s camp diminished as he successfully sold off his wares. Finally, all the women who were to be sold were gone. Beaker and Gold Key were again hoisted up on the display poles as Scipio paid off the men he had hired for the trip. One hundred spearmen received silver tarsks, and then as a surprise bonus, some kajirae who had already been enslaved when Aetna fell; girls they could enjoy and then sell. Likewise, twenty of the Riders of High Thalarion were paid off.

Finally only Scipio’s own retainers remained: Twenty Riders of the High Thalarion, and the ten men who handled the five wagons and their bosk teams. These men answered to the one-legged wagon master, Longinus.

Scipio turned to Gold Key. “Tomorrow, you will accompany me as I walk through the Fair. It is good to be heeled by a beautiful slave. You, Beaker will be displayed on a wagon wheel, then heel me on the day after.”

In the morning, Beaker had been made to kneel with her back to one of the front wheels of Scipio’s wagon. Her ankles, on the other side of the wheel had been tied together forcing her knees and thighs far apart. She remained thus for the six hours her Master was at the Fair. She saw women being used in the camp. She understood better then the different positions that women can be used in; things Gold Key had described for her. She was not ashamed of her nude state; she had not been clad for thirty days. Twice she watched, fascinated, as one of the men relieved himself near her. She got a good look at the organ that would rule her life as a slave. She longed to be opened, if she was to be a slave, then she wanted to be a full one.

Beaker was untied from the wheel and kenneled in the wagon when Scipio and Gold Key returned. She remained in the kennel while Scipio put his other slave to use. Gold Key had cried out as she yielded to her master. Beaker heard her cry out many times.

So when the day began, Beaker was excited to be put on a leash to be led through the Fair. Gold Key had kissed her, and tied a scrap of yellow silk around her hips, knotting it on the left hip.

“You will be so happy to see the Fair, it is so exciting.”

The Fair was exciting! So much to see, there were peoples she had not dreamed of living in her narrow street in Aetna. Smells she had never imagined. Spices and foods from all over Gor, Slaves of all kinds, Pani from across the wide Thassa, black slaves from Schendi, brown skinned girls from the Tahari, olive skinned girls from cities of the coast. Even a few red-headed girls like her. Her red curls hung down her back, she shifted her hips so the silk rode up a bit, displaying the fine thin red hair at her crotch. She saw another red-haired girl notice what she was doing and that girl gave her a big smile.

They had spent hours walking the Fair, Master and Slave, and had ended up at this enclosure, where two days hence a game of girl-catch was to be played.

Another man strolled up to Scipio Metellus and the slave he had named Beaker, because her father had been a potter.

“Tal, Scipio Metellus.”

“Tal, Atticus of Ar.”

Atticus nodded towards Beaker. “You have a different slave with you today, my friend.”

“This one is called Beaker, she is the other slave I took away from Aetna when it fell. She is young and untrained, but I think she will be worth gold once trained. She is still white silk.”

Scipio nudged Beaker, who remembered to fall to her knees before a Free Man.

Scipio nodded to a man dressed in Slaver Caste Colors who was staring intensely at the Free Women displaying themselves as prizes.

“Who is he, I saw you talking to him earlier. He looks prosperous but I don’t know him.”

Atticus shook his head.

“He is an upstart from Victoria. His name is Atilas. He had the House of Chains there.”

Scipio furrowed his brow. “The House of Chains? I thought that was Spectus?”

Atticus answered, “There were three partners, Spectus, this Atilas, and a women, the Lady Ragenta. Spectus went to Brundisium and this Atilus and the Lady Ragenta travelled to Ar to set up a branch there. That is where I encountered him. Funny thing, he and the Lady left Victoria as partners, and she arrived in a collar.”

Scipio smiled. It sometimes happened that way with female Slavers. As they worked with the slaves their female side overcame their business sense and they identified with the slaves so much they became slavish. The only thing then was to collar them.

Atticus went on. “Funny thing though , he can’t sell her.”

“Whyever not. If she is collared and branded, she can be sold.”

Beaker, the red-haired slave, collared and branded herself, listened to the discussion. It did not bother her hearing about the fall of Free Women.

Atticus patted Beaker on her red head. She purred.

“Because she knows too much. In an lot of ways she was the wise business head among the three, she knows all their costs, their profits, their sources of supply. Another House would snap her up as soon as she arrived on the block. Mine for example, or any of the other major Houses of Ar. It would be a competitive advantage to find out what she knows. She Atilus is stuck with inventory he can’t sell. He has to feed her, and kennel her, having her take up space, but he can’t profit from her. Even if he sells her far away, the network of Slavers would find out, someone would profit at Atilus’s expense. So she takes up room, and eats her head off,”

Scipio nodded. “I am sure Atilus extracts some satisfaction from her though.”

Atticus smiled. “One can always extract some satisfaction from a slave.”

( See Paladin's Tales and Stories, the link is in the blog roll, for more on Atilus and Ragenta. The next After the Bighorn Chapter will be posted this coming Tuesday; the next Scipio Metellus chapter will be next Friday.)

 

(Gorean Kajira by JaymeAlverson)

At The Sardar Fair of En’Kara II.

The proportion of slaves in the population of the temporary gathering at the Sardar Fair of En’Kara at the time of the Spring Equinox was higher than that proportion in most cities on Gor. The Slave Market at the Fair was one of the great clearing houses for the slave trade, the enslaved women that made Gor such a delightful place to be a man. Nonetheless, heads still turned as a delectable morsel passed by, it was just human nature.

It was clear the kajira was new to the collar. Her gait, as she tried to match her stride to that of her large master was uncertain. In time, a girl heeling a man learns to adjust her stride, so she moves gracefully in his wake, usually on his left side, a little to his rear. This way she does not impede his sword arm, which is the right, as Goreans are generally right-handed. A girl heeling on the right may be a clue that the man is left-handed, knowledge a warrior or assassin might find useful.

This girl was not quite as graceful in stride as an experienced slave, indicating she was new to the collar. She tried though and her curves were sweet. Her unbound hair was long and black, her bound hands tied behind her with black coloured rope. The colour of the belly chain around her middle, hanging low on her hips matched her hair and the rope around her wrists. Her owner was careful of the small details. He was a slaver. The only departure from her black accoutrements was the strip of yellow silk, four feet long and four inches wide that passed over the black chain in the front, passed between her legs and then over the black chain at the rear. The remainder was adjusted to hand down front and rear equally. Even the chain which hung down from her collar and was held firmly in the left fist of her master was black.

Her Master was a slaver and meticulous in presentation of his property.

The afternoon sun shone down on the Fair, drying the ground from the rain that had fallen during the night. The man had been careful where he walked, avoiding the damp and wet places and the puddles; his property had not been as fortunate, her feet and calves were splashed with mud.

“Buy us a drink, rich man, help out the poor.” The men at the booth selling cheap paga were clearly well past their first bowl.

“Arrogant bastard, sells two thousand slaves and won’t buy us a drink.”

“Scipio Metellus is a cheap arrogant bastard,” chimed in a third.

Suddenly the man leading the slave, turned on his heel making a sudden turn to his left towards the paga stand. He nearly knocked over the poor woman heeling him.

Scipio Metellus was a large man. Two metres, or six foot six inches in Earth measure, he was broad of shoulder and hip, barrel shaped in body.

Angry, he looked terrifying. The men were not so drunk as to be insensible to fear. They shrank back away from the rapidly approaching slaver until their backs were against the counter of the paga booth. The owner of the booth pulled down the shutter that formed the upper half of the front of the booth. All those standing near could hear the snick of the bolts as he secured the upper shutter to the counter.

Scipio spoke.

“You three did no work for me. Why should I buy you a drink, you are layabouts, disgraces to your Home Stones, if you even have one.”

“We just asked for a drink, Slaver, from a rich man to poor ones.”  The tone was both whiny and defiant.

Scipio was having none of it.

“You demanded, and you demanded with insults. My men all worked hard and are paid well. You are poor because you are lazy, like urts you eat up the scraps of others. Now for the insults, for that it is you who must pay.”

The whiny one, scrawny and pockmarked sneered, “You can’t touch us, there is no violence at the Sardar Fair. It is forbidden by the Priest-Kings.” 

He spat.

Scipio Metellus just looked at him. The scrawny man shut up.

“I am entitled, even here, to administer lessons to the impolite, the impudent, those who while defying the rules of decency, take refuge behind the laws of the Fair.”

He rolled up his sleeve.

Another of the drunken fools quavered. “There is an Initiate right there. I appeal for protection.”

The Initiate started forward, but slowly.

“I don’t care, no white-robed, bean-eating,shaven-headed, woman -eschewing, soft-handed weakling of the White Caste can stop me.”

The Initiate stepped backed, looking around. Another white-robed man who had just arrived crossed his arms. There was a smile on his face.

Suddenly Scipio dropped the leash of his property, and with his left hand landed a huge clout on the ear of the drunkard on his left. As the man crumbled, his left hand seized the next man, the whiny pockmarked one, by the hair and smashed his head into the head of the third man. Both collapsed on the ground.

No one in the crowd moved. Scipio had moved quickly; there was nothing to be done. He turned on his slave.

“You should be kneeling. When I stop walking and am standing still, you should be kneeling.”

“Yes Master.” She started to fall to her knees, even though in front of her was a puddle.”

“Don’t let the silk trail in the mud.” The girl grabbed the yellow silk that hung from the front of the black chain. She looked at her Master almost with tears in her eyes. What should she do?

Scipio gave orders. “Drape the silk over your left thigh so that it is out of the mud and attracts attention to your brand.”

The girl, kneeling in the mud, did so. She looked like she wanted to cry but did not dare.

Scipio Metellus stepped over the fallen drunkards and rapped on the shutter of the paga booth.

“Open up in there, there are thirsty men out here.”

There was no response. Scipio thumped the shutter with his fist. The booth shook.

“Open now.”

The shutter flew up.

“Serve your customers until this runs out.’

Scipio placed a silver tarsk on the counter.

“Except those three.” His foot prodded the pock-faced man. The man did not move.

As Scipio walked away leading his slave, the crowd rushed to the booth. Even the Initiate who had been dared to intervene stepped forth to partake of the slave traders hospitality.  The Initiate at the rear of the crowd just watched.

As Scipio Metellus and his kajira, her legs now muddy to the knees, walked off, the white clad man from the rear of the crowd followed, keeping a discreet distance.

Scipio Metellus strolled from booth to booth, looking at curios. He also looked at leather work, scabbards for knives, pouches for money and small items. He spent an hour looking at jewels, but in the end purchased none. Whenever he stopped, his leashed girl, knelt as a slave kneels before a man, the silk hanging from her belly chain attractively draped on her left thigh. Mostly she was ignored by the venders and her Master. While Scipio Metellus was looking at gems, the Initiate who had been following the slave trader was approached by another of his caste. They talked briefly and the first Initiate walked away, the second remaining, watching the tent wherein Scipio was looking at sapphires and rubies.

Scipio’s attention was then attracted by a show of jugglers and acrobats. He paid his money and entered their tent, noticing as he sat down that the three Free Women from the refreshment tent were also present.

He raised the hopes of his famished slave when he ordered two sausage rolls. The meat smelled so good; the pastry looked light and flaky.

The acrobats and jugglers put on a magnificent show as he slowly consumed the first roll. One juggler handled an axe, a knife, a flat pouch, a hat, and a ball, keeping all these disparate items in the air, while above him, two of the acrobats were performing on long pieces of silk hanging from the roof of the tent. They climbed the silk, rolling themselves up and down in a gymnastic and acrobatic display that caused applause and wonder. In one move, one suddenly switched from one silk hanging to the other, the acrobat on the second simultaneously switching to the hanging silk of the first performer. They caught balls tossed up by some of the jugglers, then tossed them between them as they maneuvered hanging from the top of the tent.

Scipio Metellus extended his fingers to the woman kneeling next to him. Gratefully she sucked the crumbs and grease from them, caressingly his digits lovingly. She still hoped for the other sausage roll, or at least some of it, but after a month of slave gruel, to taste the succulent grease and pastry flakes was heaven. She rubbed herself against her master’s leg and thigh, but did not dare utter a word.

There was a short intermission when Ka-la-na wine was served.

Scipio chatted with his neighbour, a man from Victoria who had come to purchase Kaiila to take back to the barrens.

He nodded at the sausage roll beside Scipio Metellus.

“Those pastries are good, but not as good as those made by Andre the baker.” Scipio Metellus agreed that the goods of Andre were excellent but pricey, and continued, “these are good though, good enough for watching a show. For the goods of Andre the Baker of Victoria, one wants to be able to give them one’s total attention.”

Mollified, the man from Victoria admitted that other bakers made edible goods as well. In amity, he and Scipio Metellus watched the second half of the show, which was even more spectacular than the first. At the end Scipio Metellus was astonished to find he had eaten the entire sausage roll without even noticing and gave his fingers again to the collared beast at his side. She was duly grateful.

Scipio Metellus left the tent in company with the man of Victoria and behind the three Free Women, the older two agreeing that the show was very good, and yet very expensive. The slaver did not think that they were wanting for money as their robes were of rich fabrics with a good deal of embroidery.

No one complains more about prices or is as greedy for more as are the rich, thought Scipio.

Scipio Metellus, heeled by his slave, wandered into the area of the Fair where small pieces of carving were sold. He was looking for items of exceptional beauty, items of ivory, items carved from bone or tusks, items carved of stone, hard  stone like marble, and soft stones like soapstone. After walking through the booths, talking to carvers and dealers that he knew, he decided not to purchase anything, at least for that day. Passing by a booth held by men from the far north, he noticed a blonde who was back-bracleted, a piece of rope knotted around her neck.

“Buy me Master”, she pleaded. “Take pity on a poor girl, purchase her for your use”. Scipio stopped by the booth, looking down at the girl. His own girl knelt beside him.

“Buy poor Sea-shell. I am cold in the north.”

Scipio motioned for the slave to stand, then twirled his finger so she would rotate in front of him, displaying herself in the round.

“You are not from the North, then.”

“No Master, I was taken north by my Companion, he was trading with the People of the North, but he tried to cheat them and was slain. I was collared as you see. “

Scipio shook his head. “You do not suit me right now, girl. Another will buy you.”

The slave-trader and his girl moved on.

“I am glad you did not buy her, Master. You already have two girls with Beaker and Me.”

“You were not given permission to speak. Another word will result in punishment.”

“Yes Master.”

Beyond the carvings area was the outer environs of the theatre, a natural amphitheater carved out of a hillside. During the Fairs proper plays were presented there. Proper plays, not burlesques and rude comedies such as were presented in inn courtyards by the likes of that rascal Boots Tarsk-bit, famous for his low cunning and cupidity. His presentations were all short pieces about foolish free women tricked out of their clothes and into collars. If only it were so easy, thought Scipio Metellus, who had tricked more than a few Free Women into his coffles.

The placard outside the theatre announced the play that would be presented, “The Ubara’s Dilemma”, a drama with intrigue, murder, treachery, love and death. Due to some of the subject matter, when the play was presented in a city with an Ubar, it was titled “The Dilemma of the Administrator’s Companion”, or as “The Tatrix’s Dilemma.”

The play takes place in a city under siege. As the siege continues, factions develop amongst the ruling council, with some counseling making a deal for a limited loss, or even outright surrender, while the Ubar/Administrator/Tatrix holding out and defending the city. There are subplots involving a young Tarnsman who is courting a young Free Woman from a family higher and richer than his, his rival, a scribe who always seems to be elsewhere when the fighting is fiercest, unhappy city folk from the lower castes, a councilor who would betray the city for the body of the Ubar/Administrator’s Companion/Tatrix.

The plot was complex, with many famous monologues and speeches for the actors. The climax comes when the Ubar sneaks out of the city to kill the head of the besieging forces. Through complicated plot evolutions, the Ubara must sneak out as well, and it comes to the point, when the Enemy must be distracted so that the Ubar can sneak in and kill him.

In the end, the Ubara performs the Capture Dance of their city, losing her clothing, distracting the general who is killed by the Ubar. “But sadly,” says the Ubar, “you have performed the  capture dance and so must now be collared. Kneel Slave!”

As she kneels, the former Ubara cries out, “Better I become a slave, than that our Home Stone and city by captured.”

Curtain and much applause.

Interestingly, because it is serious drama and the Ubara is a Free Woman, her dance takes place behind a screen. This, even though the actress portraying the Ubara, is like all actresses, a slave. Sometimes, to preserve the sanctity of Free Women, the dance is performed by another slave actress entirely. In extreme cases, while the dance is performed by a separate actress, the original actress is put to use off-stage by the magistrates, who ensure that the Ubara-actress is not performing the dance. In some cases the cries of delight of the Ubara-actress are said to enhance the sensuosity of the Capture Dance.

But Scipio Metellus was not to see the play today.

At the box office, he was told, “So sorry sir, but we are all sold out.”

Scipio protested, “But surely you can find a spot to squeeze me in.”

“If your honour were a more insignificant man, it might be possible to squeeze another onto the benches, but your honour is so tall and broad, it would be impossible. But if you would like to purchase a ticket for tomorrow for a box at the next window?” The box office clerk smiled ingratiatingly.

Scipio tipped the man a tarsk bit for the suggestion. He joined the line at the next window.

He groaned a little when he found he was behind the same three Free Women who had been dogging his steps all day. There was a man with them, a merchant by the look of his clothes. Scipio wondered if he was been taken in by the flattery of the ladies, paying for their tickets in exchange for honeyed words and implied promises. Or perhaps, he took their protestations of poverty at face value, and wanted to get them into his debt so he could clap collars on them.

Scipio shrugged and waited for the line to move. Ahead, the meekest and Scipio surmised, the youngest of the Three ladies was whispering in the ear of the merchant.

The man turned to Scipio.

“Tal, friend. This lady here is young and from a sheltered upbringing. Until coming on this pilgrimage, she had not been exposed to so many slaves out in public, especially those not completely dressed. It has come as a shock to her.”

Scipio was polite though annoyed.

“Tal friend, it is the custom of the Fair, where many slaves are vended for them to be displayed in such a manner as to attract interest.”

The merchant was placatory. Scipio was a large man, and his expression was not that of a patient man

“Yes friend, I understand, but what has attracted the curiosity of the Lady, is the pallor of your possession. She seems paler than most slaves. Is she some form of exotic slave?”

Scipio laughed. “No indeed, she is but newly enslaved and new to the collar. She came from a high caste, and always wore the full robes of concealment with the full complement of veils. Her face was always hidden, and her hands gloved, her feet slippered. It is only since her freedom was stripped from her that her skin has felt the kiss of Tor-tu-Gor the light on the Home Stone. Soon she will develop the glowing warm skin of a kajira.”

Then dismissively, “I wish you well.”

This time the slave had said nothing as she was discussed. The backs of the Free Women in front of Scipio Metellus had visibly stiffened, even through their robes as the stripping and enslaving of Free Women was discussed. The young Free Woman, covered her face with her gloved hands.

The line moved forward; there was no more talk.