Verna's Journey (5)

 

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 Five: The Palace Of The Ubar.

There are seemingly only two guards outside the Palace of the Ubar and they do not seem particularly officious.  But then, there seems to be a steady flow of people into and out of the gateway.  Most of whom seem to be scribes or merchants or the slaves of such.
“Guardsman.  How may I see the Ubar, please?”
He seems so bored that he’s rather taken aback by anyone speaking to him, let alone an apparition that appears half slave and half warrior.

“Through the gate.  First door on the left.”
“I thank you, guardsman.”
He’s even more taken aback that I should thank him.  That I consider him a person rather than as a function.  I feel his eyes follow me as I walk through the gate.  Doubtless wondering who or what I am.  Knowing he’s watching me is a concomitant of living in the forest.  If one doesn’t know who or what is watching one, one doesn’t live long.
I enter through the door indicated.  This is a reception area.  There are two people ahead of me waiting to be greeted.  I’m not in a hurry and do not choose to make a fuss.  I see two slave girls kneeling to my right.  They wear diagonally striped camisks, which I take to be the uniform of the property of the city administration.  Clearly they are there waiting in case a message needs to be sent.  To my left another slave kneels, I take her to belong to the fat man currently talking to the Scribe who appears to be in charge of this facility.  She wears the blue and yellow colours that match the robes of her Master, a Slaver.  Nominally the Slavers are part of the Merchant caste, but most think of themselves as a separate caste, hence the variation in the colour of their robes.
The Slaver finishes his business and leaves followed by his slave, apparently satisfied that his business is concluded.  The next person to approach the scribe is a free-woman.  She is in the caste colours of the Bakers.  I’m not taking much notice.  She seems to be trying to inveigle the Scribe into having the Palace use her bakery to supply bread and other foodstuffs to the Palace.
“Begone, woman!  The Palace has enough of its own bakers!”
The dejected woman leaves.  The Scribe is clearly irritated.  I step forward.  He looks me up and down not quite knowing what to make of an uncollared branded ear-pierced woman carrying a spear and with a knife in her belt.  His confusion is increased in that this woman, myself, is wearing garments of animal pelts rather than robes of concealment.  His expression returns to the same supercilious one as before.  Looking down his nose, he finds his voice.
“Lady, I take you to be a free-woman, though you carry the markings of a slave.  Am I correct?”
It’s a good job that he is, for a slave to pretend to be free and one bearing weapons at that is courting death, and a not particularly pleasant one at that!
“You are.  I am Verna, Chieftainess of the Twelve Sisters band of Panther-girls.”
He tries to make it look as if he’s heard of my position and band, and is not impressed. Indeed his complacent boredom is quite insulting.  I want to stick my spear right into his smug face.  I refrain, though it takes much self-control.
“And your business here, Chieftainess?”
He uses the word Chieftainess almost as an insult, as if he doesn’t see such as having any significance.
“I wish to see the Ubar.”
The Scribe almost laughs out loud.
“The Ubar is a very busy man.  He rarely sees anyone without an appointment.”
He’s trying to tell me to ‘begone’, but politely.  He is not just obnoxious but ignorant as well.  Perhaps the Ubar does need someone to filter away unimportant matters, but this man is not the man for the job.  He is not diplomatic enough, has little enough tact.
“I think that he will see me.”
“What is your business with the Ubar?”
Once again, I struggle not to kill this toad. 
“That is between the Ubar and myself.”
Chew that over, idiot!  The Scribe still won’t get the message!
“I might be able to find you an appointment in a couple of months time…!”
“You will tell him now, that I am here!”
His hackles rise.  Who am I to order him about?  I take from my neck the signet of the Ubara.  I’d not wanted to use this, but this oaf seems unwilling to listen to reason.  I hold the signet up so that only he can see it.  I don’t want the slaves or the two people who’ve entered after me to see what it is I am holding up.  I do not want gossip going round the city that the Ubara has arrived.  Already too many people know that.  Even though it may mean death, slaves do gossip, as much so as do free-people.
“Do you know what this is?”
His eyes change from shock to horror to obsequiousness in seconds.
“It’s...”
I hold a finger to my lips indicating that he’s to say no more.
“Ten thousand pardons, Lady.  Please come this way.  Let me find you some refreshment while a message is sent to the Ubar.”
I am led into a sumptuous chamber behind the reception area.  Clearly a waiting area for important visitors.  Several female slaves bow their heads to the floor as we enter.
“Please be seated, Ubara!  These slaves will attend to your wants.  Anything you require, just say and it will be provided.”
“Slaves, food and wine for the Ubara!”
“Ubara, if I may depart so as to send a message to the Ubar?”
I wave my hand dismissively.  Several of the slaves have already shuffled away in response the the Scribe’s order.  One of the slaves shuffles forward and puts her forehead to the ground in obeisance.
“May it please, Ubara...”
A slave addresses a free woman as Mistress or by her title if known.
“This slave is named Taliké, though you may call her what you wish.  She is First-girl^[1] of those assigned to this chamber.  Let us do all we can to please you, Your Highness!  Should anything not be perfect, please order me punished!”
I’ve not realised the passing of time.  I realise that it must be somewhere about the 10^th Ahn.  I’m feeling hungry.  Breakfast seems to have been some time ago.
“Just get me some food for the present, Taliké.”
Almost before I’ve said this a plate of grapes appears on a low side table next to me.
“Any preference, Majesty?  Spiced vulo^[2] eggs and sa-tarna bread are immediately available.  Also Ram-berries^[3]  The kitchen can provide virtually anything else shortly.”
An opened bottle of Ka-La-Na wine appears also at my elbow.
“The vulo eggs and and bread sound wonderful.  Ram-berries too would be nice.”
The Vulo eggs and bread arrive almost instantly.  I reach for the food and a knife, so as to add it to a plate.   Taliké’s eyes show horror.
“Let me, Majesty!”
“I can manage.  You can spread butter on the bread if you wouldn’t mind.”
It’s not her place to mind.  She’s a slave.  My politeness confuses her.  She is agog that I would do such a menial task of serving myself, but I’m hungry.  Taliké spreads the butter on the bread thickly.  One of the other slaves proffers a cup to me, head bowed.
“Wine, Ubara?”
It’s been offered in the same way as I had taught Talendar to serve such, which is the way that most slaves are expected to serve it.  In a Paga tavern, the offering of wine to a man would in fact be the offering of her very body to the man.  In this case though, it is only the wine that is being offered.  I’ve no doubt that should my tastes run to the taking of pleasure with other women, the slave would do all she could to satisfy that pleasure.  I take the drinking vessel.  ‘Obsequious toad’ is back.  He kneels abjectly, offering full obeisance.  Has Marlenus given him a ‘roasting’ for some reason?  If so, it couldn’t happen to a more perfect subject.
“Ubara,  The Ubar is currently planning with his generals.  He says to say that he can see you at the 16^th Ahn if that’s convenient.”
“Very good.  Someone will show me to where he is?”
“Yes, Ubara.”
I wave him away in dismissal.
“Taliké, what is there to do here for four Ahn?”
“Perhaps you’d like some music, Majesty, Janet here can play the Kalika.  There is a scribe who tells stories well.  Perhaps, the Ubara would care for a bath, followed by a massage.”
Doubtless Taliké is hoping that I’ve not taken her offer of a bath as her thinking that I need one.  Perhaps I do, especially if I’m to see the Ubar.  Whilst I don’t smell particularly unclean, it’s been several days since I had the opportunity to bathe.
“Sounds good, Taliké.  A bath, a massage and Janet playing the Kalika, oh and see that my drinking vessel doesn’t empty, but if it seems as though I’m having too much wine, let me know.  I don’t want to be drunk when seeing the Ubar.  Oh and have someone brush and comb my garments.”
Taliké indicates to two slaves who leave so as to prepare my bath.  Taliké herself finds a loose robe to cover my body as I step out of my animal skin clothes.
 
“Greetings Verna!  Did you enjoy your black wine?”
What?!  My face must betray my astonishment.  Marlenus laughs.
“You don’t think that a man can win or remain in power in a city like Ar if he is not aware of what is going on in his city or in tune with what people are saying, do you?  A woman, clad in animal skin clothing, riding a Tarn as a man would, is unheard of.  Naturally word would get to me.  Your progress up the boulevard was noted by several of my informants.  What you did to Lady Arlinga was quite cruel, but she did deserve it.  Stuck-up she-bosk!  The sooner some wandering Tarnsman carries her off and enslaves her, the better for everyone, including her.”
I think on how extensive his sources of information are.  I am curious as to the number of apparently indolent slaves in the room.  I don’t count them, but at a quick estimate, I’d guess perhaps fifteen?
“Greetings too to you, Marlenus.  The black wine is interesting.  I doubt I’ll get the opportunity to acquire a taste for it in the forest.  You did invite me to come and visit your wondrous city.  It would be discourteous  not to...”
“I know why you are here, Verna.  I wonder if you do?”
I am puzzled by his enigmatic question.
“Look into your heart, Verna!  Dare to face what you know is in your soul.”
Marlenus pauses.
“Whether you dare to admit it or not, you have missed the feel of slave-silk on your body, the implacable steel of chains and a collar.”
I’m astounded and aghast.
“No!  It’s not so!”
My mouth lies.  Drat this body!  It betrays me.  My heart and breathing increase in pace, my nipples harden, I begin to liquefy between my legs.
“Slaves, seize this woman!”
My hand goes to my knife.  It’s not there in its sheath!  I remember to my chagrin having been told that I must put my weapons in a locker.  Weapons not being allowed in the presence of the Ubar.  I know that I’m fast.  I can blacken some eyes, break some noses.  I swing out, impacting two or three times, hearing the cries of those struck.  I cannot however prevail under the onslaught of some fifteen women who are all more afraid of the Ubar than they are of me.  I am soon held fast.  Hands grasp me firmly everywhere.  I struggle of course, but cannot break away.  I am carried forward and put on my knees before the Ubar.  I cannot rise and I cannot struggle anymore.  Marlenus stands before me.  In his hands he holds a metal slave-collar.  He holds the collar down at the level of my eyes, forward facing so I can see the engraving.
“Read, Verna!”
My reading skills, though atrophied, are still more than adequate to make out the words.  I remain silent.  To read the legend out loud, I will be saying the words.  Saying the words gives them validity.  Giving the words validity acknowledges the slavery that Marlenus would put me in.  The words are clear and unequivocal ‘I belong to Marlenus’.  Belonging is tantamount to being owned.  Being owned, I am by definition and legally a slave.  I struggle again to try and free myself.  Marlenus chuckles.
“Very well, Verna.  Don’t read.  You are still technically a free-woman.  I can’t enforce such.  It will not change anything.  You will be enslaved.”
As Ubar, and by dint of me being technically an outlaw, he has the legal right to enslave me, but I struggle still.  One of the slave-girls grabs my hair firmly.  The pain in my scalp as I thrash soon stops my writhing.  Marlenus steps forward.  He presses the cold metal of the collar to the front of my throat and swings the hinged side pieces round behind my neck.  I look into his pitiless eyes as I make a last protest.
“Nooo!”
“Yes, Verna!”
The click of the lock catching and holding sounds so loud.  What it portends horrifies me.  I am legally property, Marlenus’ property.  I have no more legal existence or rights than has the curule chair he sits on, the sandals on his feet, the tharlarion he perhaps rides.  If I displease him, he can impose punishments on me, the lash or worse.  I shudder as I remember the one and only time that he had me whipped.  If I displease him enough he can simply have me killed in any way that he wishes.  I will fight him!  I’ll not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s beaten me.  I will accept being whipped or otherwise punished.  I think that I’d rather die than remain his slave!  Inwardly I laugh at my bravado.  My body knows the truth, again it reminds me of my excitement.
“Have her perfumed, put in slave- silk and chained at my furs.”
I am carried away.  The slaves not giving me chance to wriggle out of their clutches.  I shiver in anticipation.
 
I am stripped of my rough-sewn animal skins.  They are taken away.  I know not where.  I am placed on my knees in front of a mirror.  A streak of pain slices across my back.
“Knees wide!  You are a slave now.  You do not kneel like a free-woman.”
I want so much to turn on the woman who’s just inflicted the blow on me, but I’m still held.  Perhaps not as firmly as before, but still effectively.
“I am Belinda.  I am First-girl here!  I have switch rights over you now that you are no longer free.  The responsibility of preparing you falls to me.  You will be perfectly turned-out for the Master’s pleasure or you will feel my switch.  I’ll not take a whipping because you are being obstinate.  Do you understand me?”
I offer a sullen acknowledgement, but I do widen my legs.
“Better, slave.  I will let your disrespect of me go by this once.  In future you will refer to me and acknowledge me as Mistress.”
Intellectually I know that I must kneel with my knees wide but had temporarily forgotten.  It’s been two years or more since Marlenus first enslaved me and subsequently freed me.  Kneeling with widespread knees makes one feel so much more open and vulnerable than with knees together.  It is instinctual in woman to protect, generally to hide her private parts.  One has to consciously fight this instinct to kneel as ordered, hence it feels disconcerting until, I suppose one becomes used to such.  Why then does this feeling of disconcertion, of openness, of vulnerability fuel my excitement?  Belinda catches my eye.  She smiles.  She understands.  I hand myself over to the ministrations that the other slaves are visiting on me.  Eventually Belinda is satisfied that I am as beautiful as a single course of ornamentation will create.  She drops a camisk of gossamer slave-silk over me.  I shudder or is it a shiver.  I’ve forgotten what the sensual feel of such a garment is like.  What I haven’t forgotten is how such had made me feel when I was last forced to wear such a garment. It is so light on the skin!  It slides so deliciously against my body.  It seems to sensitise every part of me it touches.  It counterpoints the rest of my body, that which is naked, making it feel exposed and unprotected against the predations of whoever wishes to use me.  The material the camisk is made of, is well named.  It makes me feel like I am a slave, helpless, open, defenceless.
Belinda allows me some food. It’s a bowl of slave-gruel embellished with a few chunks of Bosk meat and some gravy.  I should be revolted at such, it being such a demeaning repast.  Somehow, since having been put in the slave-silk, I cannot feel so.  I eat it gladly.  I know not when I will be fed again.  The colouring on my lips is refreshed.  I am taken to a sleeping chamber.  Beside the sleeping dais there are furs, love-furs not sleeping furs.  I know that I may not mount the dais.  Such is only for free-persons, only a Master and/or his free-companion.  Slaves are taken on the floor.  I am bid to kneel.  A chain is attached to a small ring on the front of my collar.  The other end of the chain snakes away to a good solid ring at the foot of the dais.  I must wait!  Marlenus is the Master, though I’ve not acknowledged him that yet.  It is not his place to attend on me.  It is mine to attend on him at his leisure.  My excitement and need cannot be contained any longer.  The tautness of my nipples rasps against the sensuousness of the slave-silk.  The damp burning itch between my thighs is both awful and yet wonderful.  I struggle not to move my fingers so as to relieve that itch.  Apart from such being punishable; it being the Master’s prerogative to grant or deny a slave pleasure.  I don’t want such a poor sham of a pleasure.  It’s been so lonely in the forest.   Dancing at the dancing circle no longer satisfies.  Even using a captured male only relieves the physical needs.  I can no longer deny what my body knew, but I’ve not been able to allow my mind to know.  Marlenus is right!  I do need to be taken.  I need to not be able to give myself.  I have missed the feel of slave-silk and chains.  I do need to be taken and taken as a slave.  The purpose of my journey from the forest, I hid from my conscious mind.  Now, here, such is as inescapable as my chain.  Please Marlenus, hurry!  I need you.  I need you badly!  Strange though, that I cannot in my mind call him Master, though he is in every legal sense so?
 
 
I awake and instinctively stretch like a panther.  I feel marvellous.  I feel so alive!  I cannot remember when I last felt this good.  Even before, when Marlenus took me at the forest camp I can’t recall my ‘taking’ as being as glorious as last night’s.  Marlenus conquered me thoroughly through the sleeping period.  Several times he forced me to feelings that I was not aware I was capable of.  Was being taken so wonderfully worth the loss of my freedom?  Only time will tell.  I cannot assume that because of last night, and my previous dealings with him, that he will see me any different from any of the other dozens of slaves that he owns.  It would be hubris to assume that I’ll be his ‘favourite’, the one he chooses to satisfy himself with on a regular basis.  For that matter too, whilst he crushed my resistance and conquered me, apart from physically, I don’t feel any different.  Yes, I love him, though it’s only now that I can realise that I always did.  Whilst I am legally slave, somehow, I don’t feel like a slave.  I still don’t feel that I can see Marlenus as being my Master, or call him such, though he in fact is that.  My feelings are somewhat confused. I am naked.  Sometime in the night, I had been divested of the slave-silk camisk, I’d been wearing.  It’s within reach.  I could clothe myself but somehow, I feel reluctant.  I have not been given permission, perhaps?  I can’t quite bring forward a valid reason for my hesitancy.  I kneel up and listen to Marlenus snore until with a jerk, he stretches as languorously as I had.  He opens an eye.
“Good morning, Ubar!”
Marlenus grunts as he slowly wakes fully.  There are other slave-girls in the room, kneeling deferentially, waiting in case the Ubar should require anything, anything at all.  I see jealousness in the eyes of one, and wonder just how long it’s been since she last shared the Ubar’s furs, if ever.  Marlenus rises to his feet and shambles towards the clothes he divested himself of last night.  The two slaves rise and race to get there first so as to help him on with his robes.  As soon as he is clothed he suddenly appears to remember something.  He reaches into a pouch attached to his belt.  He returns to me and standing behind me does something to my collar.  The collar falls free.  I am stunned, awestruck.  What does this mean?  Am I free again, or does Marlenus intend to have me fitted with a new collar.
“You are free, Verna!”
The jealousy in the eyes of both slaves is now almost palpable!  Such a gift of freedom being beyond their wildest dreams.  What have I done for the Ubar that he would grant me such an unheard-of boon?  I am strangely ecstatic yet at the same time sad.  Last night had been so marvellous, could I ever have such a night again, but as a free-woman?  I doubt it.  I think that it’s the piquancy of enslavement that allowed me to be so readily conquered.
“Fetch food and drink.  Clothe this woman in the garments she came in.”
The slaves rush to obey and in short order I am garbed.  I should be running as fast as I can to leave the Palace lest Marlenus re-enslave me.  I cannot do so.  If nothing else, it behoves me to be polite and stay until dismissed.  The food arrives.  We sit and eat.
“I wonder if you know how privileged you are Verna, to be freed not once but twice, by me.  I am not known for my generosity in freeing slaves.”
“I do know the value of this great gift that you have given me, Ubar.  One day I hope to be able to repay you.”
“They say that a man who frees a slave is a fool.  This wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve done something foolish.”
“Why have you freed me, Ubar?”
“You are like a wild bird; I’m not convinced that you would do well in a cage.  Think on this though, Verna, should you fall slave to me again, you will never be freed!  I doubt too that any other master would be as foolish as I.”
“What is it about you Ubar?  You seem to have the ability to understand us women better than we understand ourselves sometimes.”
He inclines his head at the compliment.
“Experience perhaps?  Practice?  I have enjoyed thousands of women, slave and free.  After a while you get a feeling about each.”
The food is done.  We stroll back into the reception chamber.  A slave-girl clad in little more than strips of cloth crawls on her belly over the tiles towards Marlenus.  She is begging piteously.
“Master!  Please I beg of you!  Take pity on poor Tuka!  Give me your touch Master!  I burn with need!”
I curl my lip in contempt and disgust.
“Don’t look like that, Verna.  Be not contemptuous of her.  In your heart you are jealous of her!  In your heart it would be you crawling in supplication over the tiles.”
Marlenus does understand me better than I understand myself!  My contempt is both my way of covering up my enviousness and at the same time my contempt is at my own weakness.
“Don’t judge her, Verna.  As a lover, whilst responsive, you are still little more passionate than most free-women.  The true depth of a woman’s emotion and fervour can only be felt by a slave who’s had the slave-fires in her belly ignited.  Only in total and abject surrender can she truly know the joys of ultimate pleasure.  Once her fires have been lit, and she has experienced that peak of ecstasy nothing less will do, and if she goes without for even a short period of time, she becomes fractious and desperate, like this one.  Last night, I conquered you, but I did not truly Master you.”
“You mean there’s more!?”
“Infinitely more.  She knows!”
Marlenus points to the woman on the floor.
“Fall as slave, into my hands again Verna, and I will ignite your slave-fires.  You will crawl in need to my feet begging my slightest touch!”
I am both intrigued and excited, horrified and appalled that a woman can be taken to such heights of feeling and depths of need.  In my heart of hearts I sense that Marlenus can do just that to me and I would not be able to stop him.  I know not if I am afraid to become his slave again or desirous of such.  I remain silent.
“How long is it since you’ve had the touch of a man, Tuka?”
“Twelve days and Fourteen Ahn, Master.  My need is desperate, Master.”
“Go to the guards barracks, find the ugliest man there.  Beg him for ten lashes, and then make sure you serve him well.”
I know what ten lashes feels like.  I don’t envy the girl.
“Oh Master!  Thank you, Thank you so much.  I hurry to my punishment!”
I think that my jaw is hanging open.  She’d gladly take ten lashes for the pleasure of being used by a man!  I am even more worried or intrigued at how much more as woman, woken as she has been, can experience that she would gladly face the lash!
 
“Ubar? Several times on the journey here, I came across indications that troops of Ar are going to enter and annexe the forest lands.  Is this true?”
“Why not?  The empire is expanding.  We need the resources.  In timber alone, the forest will supply our needs in perpetuity.  We’ve lots of soldiers who’ve served their time, who need houses, land, towns.  These can be built in the cleared areas.  The river towns of Laurius and Lydius give us access to the sea.  The animals of the forest will provide meat for the workers and the retiring soldiers.  It’s a good move for us.”
I’m utterly aghast and appalled.  I’d suspected that something like this was being considered.  That Marlenus openly admits such dismays me to the core.  I know that Marlenus is the most arrogant man alive, even though justified.  Here he is about to destroy my homeland.  I should hate him!  I cannot hate him, Whether I want to admit it or not, I love him.  What I hate are his plans for the forest.
“Ubar, I ask you to reconsider.  Whether you believe it or not, the forest is a much more fragile place than you think.  Everything there interlinks.  Destroy the balance in one area, for example kill all the predator animals and you get overgrazing by the herbivores.  The trees die.  Chop down large areas of trees and whole species of animals disappear for ever.  Please don’t do this!?”
“Do you know how much resources have been put into this project already, the man-ahn, the amount of gold spent?”
“Please Ubar.  This is short-term gain for long-term damage and sterility of the land.”
“I will think on your words, Verna.  Now enough on this subject for now.”
“Thank you, Ubar.”
“Now, Verna.  May I recommend that you spend a few days looking round my city?”
“Might as well, since I am here.  There looks to be much to see and do.”
“Be a bit careful though on some of the back streets.  Such can by just as dangerous as the forests, it’s just a different kind of predator out there!”
Marlenus grins.
“In five days time, there are gladiatorial games at the stadium.  Join me in the Ubar’s box?”
“Thank you, Ubar, I will!”
Marlenus turns to a retainer.
“Septimus, would you please arrange quarters for my guest?”
“It shall be done.  If you’ll come this way please, Lady?”
“Until the games, Verna!”
I nod in acknowledgement.  As I leave, I realise that I no longer have the signet of the Ubara.  It’s not surprising, I suppose.  In being enslaved again, however briefly, I lost all status.  Having been given back the status of free-woman, I have not been given back the status of Ubara.  I shall have to be more circumspect on the streets, especially if I meet someone like Lady Arlinga!

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[1]              A slave set above others as an overseer.  Has punishment rights over her charges, but carries the responsibility and can be punished if the service of herself or her charges is not perfect.

[2]              A small pigeon-like bird often kept for its eggs and meat.

[3]              A small red fruit often used in jams or pies.