Scipio Metellus, Slaver of Ko-ro-ba (5)

 

Myron, the youngest apprentice of the eminent Slaver, Atticus of Ar had slept late. He was a growing adolescent and needed his sleep. He had been dreaming all night of redhaired slaves, coffles of them, all coming to Ar to be added to his collection. When asleep, his mind had not noticed any contradiction in an apprentice owning a collection of redhaired kajirae. How could he have afforded a collection of the most highly desired type of slave on all Gor, when all he owned was a pair of sandals, two tunics, and a hand-me-down Caste robe still to big for him. “You will grow into it” is no consolation to a young man highly conscious, as young men are, of his dignity.

He ducked his head in a bucket of cold water to clear away the last of the cobwebs, including his being declared the foremost expert in Ar (which to citizens of Ar meant the whole of Gor) on the fineness and softness of the body hair of the fire-crotch. Myron found the latrine for his morning piss reflecting on how simple and wonderful it was to be a male.

As he shook the last drops from his body-spear, he wondered, his spear in hand, why the idiom was spear, instead of sword? Maybe because the spear was longer? He would have to remember to ask his older brother Phidias who always seemed to have an answer for everything. No, on second thought, not Phidias. Phidias could be witheringly mocking about what he regarded as foolish questions. Maybe Longinus of Argentum might know.

When he emerged from the latrine, his body-spear emerged before him, making his tunic tent.

“Shall I suck that for you Master?” cried a curvy slave returning from marketing with a burden of freshly baked bread, fruit and cheeses.

“Never you mind with that” said one of the wagon-men of Scipio Metellus of Ko-ro-ba, “get the food to the kitchen, not everyone has eaten.”

There is one appetite in a young male stronger than that for sexual release; and that is to fill the yawning cavernous pit in his belly. Myron followed the curvy slave to the kitchen, hoping for a scrap of food. After eating half a loaf of bread, sliced and fried, two cheeses of heroic size and nearly a third of a basket of fruit, Myron felt he could move without falling over from hunger.

He went into the main Hall of the former house of the Brothers Hieronymus, now occupied by Atticus and Scipio Metellus, as Atticus tried to recover sums owed to various Slave Houses of Ar. When the disgraced and bankrupt Brothers Hieronymus had fled the city of Abydos-Thebes, creditors from that city had stripped the House of anything moveable, so Atticus and Scipio and their men were more camping than living in the House they had left behind.

Myron was looking for the curvy slave who had hailed him earlier. There was another collared woman in the kitchen, but he had fixated on the curvy one. She however was not there. There was a brunette, chained to a wall ring, beside Longinus’s neatly folded and squared away bedroll. He headed towards the brunette, but came to respectful attention as Atticus of Ar and Scipio Metellus of Ko-ro-ba entered the Hall from the stairs to the upper levels.

“Farewell, Atticus. I wish you well with your negotiations with the Praetor about the division of the goods and families of the captured Brothers Hieronymus.”

Scipio Metellus raised a hand in farewell, as Atticus, followed by Phidias walked towards the door. Then Scipio had another thought.

“Will you need young Myron today?”

“No, I will not need him at all.”

Myron was crushed. He knew he was unlikely to be asked to attend on Atticus during the long and tedious talks, and had not really wanted to go, but it would have been nice if Atticus had at least considered the idea. Myron watched his boss and his brother leave without him. He was about to go in search of the curvy slave or maybe the brunette of Longinus when Scipio called him over.

“Have you eaten yet, young Myron?”

“Just a crust of bread and a bit of cheese, Oh and a piece of fruit”

“Good. Mustn’t overdo things at your age. You can come with me and work off some of that breakfast. I want to take a look around the town.”

Myron was shocked. Scipio Metellus had been given the freedom of Abydos-Thebes. Surely he wasn’t going to plan the abduction of some of its citizens! Scipio went on.

“Always be on the lookout for any information, or even gossip, about market conditions, crops, movements of herds of beasts, anything that might help make a decision later. Even if all is normal, it is good to know what normal is, so one knows when something is not normal. When the woods are silent, be aware. When the little birds fly up, it is because they have been startled. Pay attention to the little birds, and you will not be surprised by the larl.”

Scipio headed for the door, heeled by his blonde kajira, Lesley. She wore a thin white tunic, loose at the top, and from her collar, a leash descended between her breasts, and was wrapped around her waist. Myron hurried to catch up. One of Scipio’s men handed him a satchel to carry over his shoulder with the strap crosswise over his body and the bag at his left hip. If he had a sword, which on Gor is carried on the side of the dominant hand, his draw would be unencumbered by the bag. Of course, as a merchant in a friendly city, he was not carrying a sword, not that he had one anyway.

“Good, you have the satchel. Perhaps I may find something I don’t want the slave to carry. A man of my stature needs a small entourage, and you can help defend us if Tarnsmen from Thentis suddenly attack.”

“Oh. Esteemed sir, I don’t even have a knife. Uh, I mean, I do have a knife, but it is only a little one, for small tasks and eating at table.”

The face of Scipio Metellus grew stern for a moment.

“Even a small blade, can make a hole large enough to let all the life out of large body. But every man, especially in our Caste, who goes into dangerous parts of town, or travels in the wilds, should always, always, carry a knife. Longinus carries two.”

The three of them were walking around the Slaver’s Plaza, where the major Houses were situated. It was early, and most of the House had not yet exhibited stock on the outside slave shelves of their establishments. Most shoppers would do essential food shopping or other shopping in the morning; shopping for luxury goods, such as silks, perfumes, and higher-grade slaves was the work of the afternoons.

“Now, we must get you a knife. A good knife for more than bread and fruit. But first we will check out the merchandise at some of the smaller members of our Caste.”

Myron was dismissive.

“The ones who don’t have a House? The shelf-sellers who just lease a couple of slave shelves in a side-street?”

“First. They are your Caste Brothers. Not everyone is afforded the chance to start as you are, with a prestigious House.

“Second, they hear things, in their travels.

“Third, it is good to have friends in all places and ranks of society.”

Myron was abashed.

“I am sorry sir.”

“It is all part of learning.”

It seemed to Myron that they did not learn anything walking down the side streets of the District of Brands. They stopped and chatted with a ironworker, who of course in the District of Brands dealt mainly in collars, coffle chains, harl rings, and of course any branding for small scale slavers that might be necessary. The owner of the shop had an assistant, an older man who seemed bitter and angry. Scipio Metellus said to Myron as they left the shop.

“Did you notice the assistant?”

“He seemed surly, sir. He did not have much to say. Someone who has not prospered in life.”

“Yet his tools seemed good, and he knew what he was doing at the forge, what do you think brought him down in life?”

“I don’t know, drink perhaps, the death of someone close to him?”

“You must learn to observe. The leather roll in which he kept his punches, his smaller tools, all the ancillary gear of his caste was expensive. There was an embossed place on the leather where a monogram had been scratched off; he is too senior to working at this position in another man’s shop. No, boy, depend on it. That man was the House ironworker to the Brothers Hieronymus. Did you notice how he spat into the forge when he heard their name mentioned. He lost his position and much beside when the House of the Brother Hieronymus went bankrupt. He is very angry. I will suggest to Atticus of Ar that when the families of the Brothers Hieronymus are sold for debt, that this fellow, the assistant at the Forge of Billioust, be engaged to brand and collar them. Such gestures are remembered by folk. I doubt I will ever need a favour from an ironworker in Abydos-Thebes, but if so, I will have someone to whom I have already proved a friend. Always be willing to show your friendship first, you never know when it will prove handy,”

Myron nodded sagely. He wanted to look grave and worthy of helping. Then while checking out a couple of not totally undesirable slaves, he tripped over his caste robe. Scipio Metellus refrained from laughing; only an Ubar or a High Initiate is as conscious of his dignity as an adolescent male.

They left the uninspiring side streets of the District of Brand; there was nothing worth buying that day. An inquiry at the stall of a seller of pastries elucidated the fact that the son of Wilker made some of the best knives in the City.

“You can’t miss his shop, noble slavers. He is on the Abydos, just by the temple of Mazes.”

The pastry seller was very happy with his dealings with Scipio Metellus; the slaver had purchased four large vulo and vine stuffed pastries. Scipio Metellus’s slave, the blonde Lesley looked hopeful at the size of the order, perhaps some would be left over for her? As the walked along, Scipio ate one of the pastries, oozing with juice, and handed the other three to Myron.

“Eat up lad, you must be hungry after only having such a meagre breakfast; we have a climb ahead of us.”

Myron ate his three pastries so quickly he was finished before Scipio Metellus had finished his one. The pastries were delicious; there were no crumbs left for Lesley. Myron licked his own fingers. Lesley knew better than to complain or beg, not with the memory of poor Beaker being dragged off for punishment the night before to the deepest pits of the House (ScipioMetellus, Slaver of Ko-ro-ba 4).

The Abydos of Abydos-Thebes was a tall, towering piece of black basalt rock, the original place of settlement of the city. Within the citadels walls were the Temple of the Initiates, the Cylinder of Administration, the Cylinder of Records, the main barracks of the Guard and many fine places.

As they climbed the steep road that was the only access to the flat area Scipio Metellus peppered Myron with questions. What did you notice about the streets of Abydos-Thebes?

“I noticed the public slave rings. Instead of being a post, they were set in four-sided pyramids, with a ring on each side.”

“What else?”

“When the slave rings were set into a wall, they had a drawing of a pyramid below.”

“And what else?”

“The clothing of the people. It seems a different fabric than those I am used to,”

Scipio Metellus nodded, “Very good. That material is linen. It is spun from material from the fibres from stalks of a plant that is also grown for the oil derived from its seeds. It is light and dries well. Although I have noticed that caste robes, here, are made from light wool or cotton, this city seems to prefer linen It would be interesting to know why. What else did you notice?”

“There are drawings on the walls at the entrances to streets. Human beings with the heads of animals. There is one I noticed several times, a man with the head of a tarn, and another with the head of a larl.”

The passed through the gates into the Abydos. The gatehouse was old, but the gates themselves seemed newer. There were figures carved into the walls of the gatehouse, figures of men with the heads of animals.

“The steep road up means that the Abydos is difficult to conquer. It was done only once, when Marlenus of Ar led the charge of his men up the narrow steep road.”

Myron walked taller as the great Ubar of his city was mentioned. There had been no one like Marlenus in a thousand years, perhaps ever. Scipio and Myron asked directions to the blade shop of the son of Wilker. The walked down narrow winding streets, finding many dead ends and curving ways. At last they found the shop they were seeking.

“We are seeking a sleeve knife for this young apprentice to my Caste.” Scipio announced.

The shop was large and very tidy. A pair of male slaves were chained near the forges, working the bellows, while others carried heavy pieces of steel to the blade-makers for shaping or coals to add to the fire. There were no female slaves in the shop. It was death for them to touch a weapon. For that reason, Scipio had chained Lesley to one of the pyramidal slave rings outside the shop.

Myron was surprised how long it took to buy one knife. He kept arguing for the biggest blade possible, but the son of the son of Wilker, who was serving them, dissuaded him.

“You need something that will fit easily in a scabbard along your forearm, without showing. A hidden knife that is not hidden loses half its utility. You need something that is not too heavy, so it moves quickly. You need something that fits perfectly in your hand, not the hand of another. And you must practice daily with it, until it becomes part of you.”

For the next Ahn and more, Myron tried knife after knife, practicing how he would use it, how it would fit on his arm. He never knew there was so much to such a simple implement.

“After all, it must be perfectly right. It may save your life someday; it must be right. Even more, someone must see that you are comfortable with it. The best way to win a fight is to win your way without having to fight.”

Once the knife was selected, a scabbard had to be chosen. One with blue and yellow dyed leather was chosen. It had a spring near the top to keep the knife from falling out, yet the spring had to be not so strong as to delay the draw. The choosing of the scabbard took another half an ahn.

Lesley was still kneeling, chained to the slave ring set in the pyramid when Scipio Metellus and Myron emerged. Another slave, kneeling by her, had a bite mark on her cheek. Lesley was smiling. Scipio Metellus said nothing. Slave squabbles were not the concern of masters.

It took another half an ahn for the two men and Lesley to extricate themselves from the crooked narrow streets onto a major road. They saw the Temple of the Mazes with the figure of a man with the head of a bosk over the doors, and some free people, men and women were entering and leaving.

“We will not enter there today. It is very old and gives me an uncomfortable feeling. The people here claim, quietly though as not to upset Ar the Glorious, that the Abydos is older even than Ar. Now I have seen their pyramid and their wall drawers, I may well believe it. We shall return to the former House of the Brother Hieronymus.”

“I have noticed several cylinders and insulae with guards stationed in front of them, Why is that,” questioned Myron.

“Do not take too obvious an interest in those buildings. Those are lodgings, safe lodgings for Free Women of some means who do not have Companions or brothers or fathers to protect them. Inside they are protected, though I hear the rules are strict. The guards will not take it kindly if men of our caste take too great an interest.”

Myron nodded. “I notice that although the men of Abydos-Thebes claim to be highly protective of Free Women, the pathway down from the Abydos comes out and passes through the Plaza of the Slavers.”

Scipio Metellus smiled. It was so obvious that he did not need to point it out, that it was good to remind Free Women, that the collar always loomed near them.

(Tomorrow there will be some short Vignettes, including how Longinus lost his leg)