Verna's Journey (4) The Boulevard

 

Verna’s Journey
Pauline Anne Armitage

With acknowledgement, and thanks to John Norman for the creation of his world of “Gor”, in which this story is set.

Chapter Four: The Boulevard.

I stand at the beginning of a long broad boulevard.  I am awed at its magnificence and the brightly coloured buildings on either side.  I had once spoken to a barbarian slave girl who’d fled into the forest.  She’d seen several Gorean cities.  She’d remarked on how drab even the most exciting Earth cities were by comparison.  I sold her back to her Master for ten metal arrow points.  I doubt she’ll dare to run away again!  In the distance I see what appears to be the tallest tower in the city.  Traditionally this is where the home-stone of the city is held.  Such usually doubles up as the palace of the Ubar or Administrator of the city.

Callius, Arminias and I had arrived at the city just after nightfall.  Coming from the dark of the forest where the only night-time light is the fire one has lit, I found it difficult to comprehend the amazing number of lights or to even hazard a guess at the number of hearths or dwellings such a place might have.  We had landed, rather exhausted, on the platform of the tarn-cot attached to one of the city’s main gates.  The tarn-keeper, as had his counterpart at the frontier fortress, found it difficult to grasp the idea of a woman riding a Tarn, and not in a palanquin attached to the saddle.  One riding the bird lake a man would, let alone one who to all appearances must surely be a slave!  Arminias brought the attention of the tarn-keeper. back to practical matters by waving a coin in front of the tarn-keeper's eyes.  While Arminias dealt with business, I gladly stripped off my flying-leathers, and retrieved my weapons.  After the forests, even after nightfall this place is still too hot to be wearing such heavy clothing.
“We wish to board the tarns here, good fellow!”
“Certainly Sir.  Any idea how long?”
“Myself and my companion...”
Indicating Callius,
“...will be leaving the city in three to four days.  The Lady knows not yet.  Work to ten-days.  The Lady will advise you by then if she’s staying longer.  The tarns are to be fed well and rested.  The Lady may wish to exercise her tarn during this period.”
“Very good, sir!”
“It’s late, tarn-keeper, can you suggest a good lodging house?”
The tarn-keeper has finally decided that though branded and wearing earrings, I do not wear a collar.  Hence, I must in fact be a free-woman, though a daring and unusual one not to be clad in robes of concealment.
“The Silken Chain, just outside the gatehouse is clean.  The food’s passable, the girls moderately beautiful and pliant.  They also have a few private rooms for visiting free-women.”
“Sounds good.  Thank you, tarn-keeper.”
“Tarn-keeper?”
“Yes, Lady?”
“These riding leathers though the smallest available are too large.  Where can I get leathers made to my size?”
“Try Trichellius, on the Street of Leather-workers.  He should be able to make such if he doesn’t have suitable in stock.  Follow the main street until you see on your right, the Street of the Drunken Tharlarion[1].  The second left is the Street of Leather-workers.”
“My thanks, sir!”
The Silken Chain is a general purpose lodging house, catering to a fluid trade of visitors arriving and leaving the city.  It has attached, a Paga tavern.  Men of Gor consider Paga Taverns an essential facility of any community.  We dine in a chamber specifically intended for such.  The serving slaves being demurely clad and modestly behaved in this part of the lodging house, though should a patron show interest in one of them, doubtless she would be sent to the patron’s sleeping furs.  I call for wine, the two men, Paga.  As we eat, I talk with them.
“How soon do you need to be back at the fortress?”
Callius has a sly grin on his face.
“Well that’s up to us to some extent.  The journey here took longer than anticipated, as will the return one.  A man from the edge of empire may only get to see Ar, once or twice in his whole life.  I’m sure that Grippus won’t mind if we spend three or four days here.  I’d be surprised if he expects us back before the end of the passage-hand[2].”
“I’m tired.  I’m having an early night.  I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  If you are going into the Paga tavern, I don’t know if I’ll see you in the morning.  Arminias, would you arrange for me to stay here as long as you do, in case I don’t get to see Marlenus immediately.  If I don’t see you before you leave, I thank you for your company, and I wish you well, Warriors!”
“And the same to you Lady!  You may be like no other woman I’ve ever met, but you’ve got ‘balls’ even if such are figurative.  I am honoured to have met you Verna, Chieftainess of the Twelve Sisters band, Ubara!”
“Why, thank you Arminias!”
“Same goes from me, too.”
“And you, Callius!  Thank you.”
“Before I forget, Ubara.  You will need coins.”
Arminias removes several coins from a leather pouch.
“I have enough for Callius and I until we get back to the Fortress.  Please have the rest.”
He hands the pouch to me.  I take it and push it into a pocket on the inside of my jerkin.
“Appreciated, Arminias.  Please give my thanks to Grippus for allowing me to denude his treasury of such.”
We both grin.
 
I stand at the beginning of the long broad boulevard.  I set off walking towards the tallest tower in the city.  I am awed at the size of the buildings, at the constant bustle of people, the cacophony of noise, the brightly coloured patterns on the walls, the clash of colours worn by the robes of free people and slaves alike.  I’m aware of staring at everything.  Does my jaw hang open in astonishment?  I wasn’t aware that there were this number of people in the whole of the world.  Coming from the emptiness, in terms of people, of the forest, this place is breathtaking!  I’m sure that to these ‘cosmopolitan’ southern folk, I must appear as some kind of bumpkin.  I’m certainly not on my guard!  I should be treating this place as just a different kind of forest.  The slave, barefoot as most are, nearly runs into me.  She is simply a blur of light-blue.
“Out of my way, pierced-ear girl!”
Light blue camisk and carrying rolled-up scrolls?  She’s clearly of the Scribes, or should I say, her Master is of the Scribes.  A slave has no caste.  As she tries to push past me, I give her a good whack over the side of her head with the flat side of my spear.  It sends her sprawling.  She’s up on one knee, her other foot underneath her so as to rise and fight.  A slave striking another usually occasions a fight.  The squabbles of slaves are unimportant.  The masters generally ignore such unless there’s a danger of permanent damage to one or other of the combatants.
“Is that how you speak to a free-woman?”
The slave is puzzled.  She’s seen my brand, my pierced ears.  She looks for my collar.  I have none.  She wonders at my claim to be a free-woman.  Is it possible that I could be what I claim to be?  She takes in my bearing.  I’ve been more than lenient with her!
“Is it not customary to kneel before a free-woman?”
I have repeated my claim.  To have made that claim wrongly; for a slave to make such a claim would likely bring death and a most excruciating one at that.  I must therefore truly be a free-woman.  The slave moans.  Her face shows absolute horror, terror even.  She looks between me and the scroll of documents, trying to decide which is most important.  She grasps her documents and scrabbles to my feet, forehead to the ground in obeisance.
“Forgive me, Mistress!  I wasn’t aware…  I’m sorry, Mistress!  It won’t happen again!”
She grovels for all she’s worth.
“Enough, slave!”
She falls silent.
“Respect for a free-person is mandatory to you.  You know that you can be killed for such disrespect?”
The slave is shivering with fear.
“You are forgiven your lack of judgement this time.  But does it not behove you to be polite and accommodating to fellow slaves?  Their errand may be just as urgent as yours or maybe more-so.”
“Oh thank you Mistress for your forgiveness.  A slave is grateful beyond telling!  This slave will be more considerate in future, Mistress!”
“Make sure you are!  These scrolls that you are carrying, they are important?”
“I know not, Mistress.  I cannot read.  I only know that they must be more valuable than I am, for my Master has made it clear that should I lose such, I will be slain.  When told to carry scrolls to or from someone, I must do so as quickly as possible, Mistress.”
Hence her uncertainty as to which is more important, the scrolls or the slave’s duty to obey a free-person.  I am intrigued that a Scribe’s slave cannot read, but then one who cannot, can be trusted not to reveal the contents of the scrolls to anyone.  She is merely a message-carrier.
“And whence do you carry these particular scrolls and from whom?”
“From the Tower of the Ubar, To my Master, Henrius Sevrenius, Scribe to the fifth legion, Mistress.”
Perhaps important documents indeed?  Military documents!  They may indeed be more valuable than the slave’s life.  The scrolls concern me, but I can’t say why.  I feel that I should open them up and read them.  I actually don’t know if I can read such!  It’s been many years since I fled my home, and there is nothing to read in the forest, except the tracks of animals.  Have I forgotten how to read?  It’s also highly likely that the scrolls will be written in code.  I do note however that the scrolls carry wax seals.  If I break the seals, the slave will almost certainly be killed, after torture.  The testimony of a slave may only be taken under torture, it being considered that without such they will naturally lie.  Once the slave’s Master sees the broken seal, he may very quickly have legionnaires out looking for me!
“Very good.  You may be about your business.  Hold, before you go.  Can you give me directions to the street of Leather-workers?”
“Yes, Mistress!...”
She’s eager to please now.
“Take the fifth street on the right, and then the second on the left, Mistress.”
“If your Master enquires about your tardiness, you will tell him that a free-woman stopped you and asked you for directions.  If he asks you about the bruise forming on your face, tell him of your bad manners.  I leave it to him to decide if you should be punished further.  Now, begone!”
The slave rises picking up the scrolls and sets off running in the direction she had been heading.  Perhaps I should have opened the scrolls?  Too late now.  I continue along the boulevard.
 
A wagon rolls past on my right.  It is drawn by two yoked bosk.  As it passes, there is a loud clang of something hitting metal.  It makes me jump.  I turn my head to find myself looking into the eyes of a hissing sleen.  Following on behind the wagon there’s a man with a sleen on a leash.  He has all-on controlling the beast.  I’ve seen many such beasts in the forest, and killed them all!  It’s strange to see such domesticated, or at least semi-trained.  The sleen is an indefatigable hunter.  It can follow a trail that is months old.  When set on tracking it simply wont stop until it runs its prey to ground.  That’s why they are used in tracking runaway slaves.  Depending on what orders they are given, they will either tear their prey to pieces or herd it back to their handler.  In my case, the forest sleen had taken my scent as being ‘food’.  There’s only one way to survive in such a situation and that is to kill the sleen!  It’s not an easy thing to do!  The sleen is larger and heavier than a Panther-girl!  As far as I am concerned, the only good sleen is a dead sleen.  Let the slave-owners find some other way to track runaway slaves!
 
On the other side of the boulevard I see a sign.  ‘Black wine sold here!’  I am intrigued.  I have heard of this beverage.  Black wine is quite expensive.  I do however have more than enough coins for such.  I enter the establishment and sit at a low table.  I order up the black wine.  A demurely clad slave girl places on the table a container holding bowls of different sugars and jugs of bosk and verr milk respectively.  Given the paucity and value of sweet foods in the forest, I almost want to spoon the sugars from the bowls directly into my mouth.  I restrain myself.  As I understand it the beans from which black wine is made, come from the Thentis mountains.  The supply is limited and the warriors of Thentis guard against poachers trying to steal plants so as to grow them elsewhere, hence the high price of the drink.  The beans are, I believe roasted and then ground to a powder.  Hot water is poured over the powder.  The brew is filtered and served in small cups.  A cup of such is placed before me.  I sip the liquid. Eargh!  It’s bitter!  I spoon some of the sugar into the cup and a small quantity of bosk milk.  I stir the beverage.  Better!  Given the cost, I am determined to finish the drink.  As I get towards the end of the cup, I begin to feel the stimulant effect of the drink.  Perhaps one can get used to this drink.  The barbarian slave that I mentioned before told me that on Earth, black wine is known a ‘koff-ee’.  At the time I had thought the girl mad and had discounted much of what she said.  In the light of what Hot-Lips had told me and given that black-wine is a relatively recent ostentation, perhaps she wasn’t.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have requested her owner to have her whipped for lying.
 
I resume my journey. I am assailed by doubt.  What am I doing here?  Why have I really come to Ar.  My mind knows that Marlenus had invited me to visit when I wished.  Curiosity had prompted me to visit now.  Deeper, though I cannot admit it to myself, my body knows.  I pass by the Street of the Drunken Tharlarion, deciding not to visit the street of Leather-workers just yet.  I wonder idly at the ‘not yet’, not understanding why deep down, I adjudge such may yet be superfluous.  I am past that street entrance.  I stop and turn to look back at it.  Should I, shouldn’t I go back and find Trichellius the Leather-worker.
“Out of my way, pierced-ear girl!”
The strident cry of a woman.  A command uttered imperiously.  I turn to face the woman in irritation.  I am a free-woman.  I do not take commands.  The woman is higher than I.  She sits on a curule chair atop a litter carried by eight strong men, each chained to the poles of the litter.  The woman is flanked by four chained, kneeling female slaves, each wearing a long sleeveless ankle-length gown.  There are two guardsmen following.  The woman herself wears fine robes of concealment in the white and gold caste colours of the Merchants.  Clearly she’s the free-companion or daughter of a rich merchant.
“Are you talking to me?”
“How dare you, slave!  Why are you not on your knees?  Why are you carrying weapons?  Don’t you know that it’s death for a slave to even touch a weapon?  Mikanius, seize this slave!”
“Hold!  Firstly I am not a slave!  Secondly, I carry weapons because it pleases me to carry weapons...”
The woman is clearly shocked that I dare to talk back to her.  Though her lower face is hidden by layered ‘veils of modesty’, her eyes express such shock most eloquently.
“...and thirdly, I carry the signet of the Ubara.  Being Ubara, I believe gives me the right!  Now, tell me your name!”
The woman while shocked is sufficiently arrogant as to question my claim.
“A daring boast, slave-girl.  Who did you steal it from, if you have it at all!  I’ll see you impaled on the city walls!”
I remove the thong containing the signet from around my neck.  I hold it up.  The guard Mikanius has come round the side of the litter.  He approaches, but does not put his hand on his sword.  I drop my spear so the point touches his belly.
“Close enough to look, guardsman.”
“Lady Arlinga, the signet is genuine!”
The guardsman backs off.
“Lady Arlinga, the signet was given to me by Marlenus, Ubar of Ar himself.  I am on my way to see him.  Should we go together and have him confirm my right to carry such?”
The look in Lady Arlinga’s eyes changes from shock to horror.
“My humble apologies, Ubara!  I did not know…!  But you are branded.  You have pierced ears...”
“I am Verna Chieftainess of the Twelve Sisters band of Panther-Girls, and friend of Marlenus.  My brand and pierced ears are historical artefacts, I do not choose to hide.  I think it should be you kneeling to me, don’t you?”
I call to the male slaves supporting the litter.
“Lower the litter to the ground.”
They have been given an order by a free-person and one who apparently outranks their owner.  They comply, kneeling deferentially.  The Lady Arlinga rises from her chair and steps down from the litter.  She kneels before me, head bowed.
“Please use my litter, Ubara!”
“I don’t need it…, but neither do you.  You will walk home, or wherever you are going.  Do you have the keys to the chains of your slaves?”
“To those of the girls, Ubara.”
“Unchain them.”
Lady Arlinga remounts the litter and removes the chains from the kneeling slave-girls.
“Free them, and the litter slaves.”
“I free you, all of you.”
The four former slaves rush to my feet to thank me for a gift that none of them thought they would ever be given.  It is said that the cruellest slavery of all, is to be the slave of a free-woman.
“Now, Lady Arlinga.  You may be about your business.  Think yourself lucky that I do not have you face-stripped[3], or worse still enslaved yourself.”
“Mikanius, have these free-man escorted to the shop of the nearest Metal-worker so that their chains may be struck-off.  And prepare manumission papers for all of these former slaves.”
Lady Arlinga makes to leave, while she can, lest I change my mind about having her enslaved.
“Lady Arlinga!...”
She turns to face me again.  I reach into the pouch inside my pocket.  I pull from it a tarn-disk[4] of gold, double-weight.  I throw it to her.
“I am not a thief.”
She nods her acknowledgement.  I know the value of slaves at the forest edge, but not the value in the cities.  I surmise that so valuable a coin is more than enough to buy all twelve slaves.  I step round the now grounded litter and continue onwards, hearing behind me it being lifted again as the freed-men head towards a metal-worker’s shop.  The chattering former female slaves follow so as to have their collars removed.

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[1]     A large lizard-like creature, used as a draught animal or as a riding animal.  It is often used by armies as a shock-cavalry mount due to its power and bulk.

[2]     Month-end

[3]     For a free-woman in the cities, the ultimate humiliation and degradation short of full enslavement.

[4]     A large coin, the most valuable in circulation.  The value of such varies depending upon the city of mintage.  Those of Ar, generally being considered the most trustworthy and hence valuable.