Provident Son

Perhaps one day the warrior in man would die, and with him, the fighter, the wanderer, the wonderer, the explorer, the adventurer, the rover, the doer, and hoper. The days of the lonely ones, the walkers and seekers, would then be at an end. Men might then become, as many wished, as cattle and flowers, and be free to spend their days in placid grazing, until they died beneath the distant, burning, unsought suns.

But it was difficult to know what the mists of the morning would bring.

I contented myself with the thought the deeds had been done, which now, whether recollected or not, or however viewed, were irrevocably fixed in their fullness and truth in the fabric of eternity. They had been. Nothing, nothing ever, could change that. The meaning in history lies not in the future but in the moment. It is never anywhere but within our grasp. And if the history of man, terminated, should turn out to have been but a brief flicker in the midst of unnoticing oblivions let it at least have been worthy of the moment in which it burned. But perhaps it would prove to be a spark which would, in time, illuminate a universe.

It is difficult to know what the mists of the morning may bring.

Much depends upon what man is.

Much depends upon what he shall decide himself to be.

___________________

(Explorers of Gor 193-194)

A Free Woman

"Do not make me come for you," I said to her.

There is a saying, 'Within every woman is both a slave girl and a free woman.' I think that is mostly true, as the world works best with both types of women, and the potentiality of all women to be either. Or both. All women, of course, by nature, are slave girls. This, for me, is irrefutable. What, then, would life be if all women, in the legal and literal sense, were made slaves? Wake up tomorrow to find the proclamation that all women, effective immediately, are to be stripped, branded, and subject to ownership to the first man to place a collar about her throat. Or, perhaps, it would be better to make arrangements with neighboring cities that equitable exchanges might be made. In any case, this is not a favorable situation. Not all women are pleasing enough, whether inwardly or outwardly, to be slave girls. Too, who would be the mothers of our children? Also, it is true that many free women make valuable contributions to society. I have known brilliant Scribes, for example, that just happened to be free women. I knew a woman of the Bakers who was rumored to be a beauty, that was ambitious, hard-working, and also a free woman. They were slaves, of course, inherently, because they were women, but their contributions as free women to society were not unworthy of mention. The ultimate point I am making is simple. If a woman makes a contribution to society and comports herself in a manner fitting a free woman, she should be able to retain the dignity of her robes.

There is always the possibility, however, that she will fall to a man trying his chain luck. Or she might attract the attention of a man that desires her.

"You are mine to chain," I said to her.

I permitted her to leave. In time, she will understand the truth of that statement. In time, she will accept that there will be no compromises. I will relate to her as a man to a woman. Not as equals. I want her to retain her freedom, having felt the whip. She will return, in time.

Jealousy

"I am hungry, Master," Mina said to me as I entered the villa, and found her much as I left her the previous evening, chained by the ankle to the foot of my couch.

I left before Lar Torvis set, and returned just as it rose. I saw to the sleen first, of course, finding her curled up on the back porch. She greeted me with a yawning maw, and no immediate complaints about sustenance. Sleen, of course, have the benefit of an evolved metabolism, that they may, when put on a scent, hunt tirelessly for days on end. Missing her supper would not have given her much cause for concern.

"Did you find her pretty, Master," Mina said to me as she ate her breakfast. I had her fry the eggs of vulo, traded for in the markets of Venna. There was flatbread, and some ka-la-na fruit set aside from the previous day's harvesting for my meal. Mina, of course, ate her gruel.

"Did I find who pretty?" I asked her, dabbing a bit of yolk from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. Mina licked at it gratefully when I offered it to her, and then answered.

"The free woman, who remained here the other night. After the Merchant took his leave," she answered. She spoke quietly, staring at her bowl.

"It would have been rather scandalous, would it not, to have glimpsed upon her bare face, even for something so inconsequential as to gather the objective information to make such a determination?" I asked her.

She paused for a moment, brow furrowed. I suspect Mina was somewhat jealous of the attention I paid the free woman who remained behind after Ibrahim of Tor left the villa with his wards and his retinue. She asked another question.

"Did you call on the free woman last night, Master?"

"Are you curious as to my whereabouts, Mina?"

"Yes, Master," she said, straightening, emboldening herself. She did not elect, I noted, to meet my eyes.

"Perhaps you should be beaten," I said.

"Whatever pleases you, Master," she answered. I did not much care for her tone.

"Would you have preferred we remained in Port Kar, above the tavern, in the rented room?"

I saw her breath catch, and the corner of her left eye moisten.

"Yes, Master. I would have preferred we remained in Port Kar, where Mina kept your room tidy and did your shopping," she said.

"I am not of Port Kar," I answered. It was a simple enough answer, and a true one. However, I do look back on my time in Port Kar, truth be told, fondly. Perhaps I will return one day.

Mina pushed her bowl aside, having finished it. I could see she had more to say, but feared the saying of it.

"You were with her, the free woman, last night!" she shouted. It was a sudden thing. I admit it caught me off guard. I choked a bit on a swallow of wine, and then turned my head curiously as I dabbed my lips.

"You left Mina here! Alone, and hungry!" she continued, her boldness growing as it found a voice. "And now I must hurry my breakfast! And bathe! And tie up my hair! And stomp the grapes! Squish! Squish! Squish! I hate the grapes! I hate the grapes!"

"I was unaware," I said to her, as if she hadn't just shouted at me.

Suddenly, then, realizing she had lost control, she threw herself forward. Her hair about my feet, her forehead creasing with the leather of my sandals. Her hot tears were flowing freely now, and she shivered. Would I beat her? Would I sell her? Would I throw her to the sleen on the back porch? She did not know.

"Forgive Mina," she said with a shaky voice. "Please, Master."

"Lick your bowl clean, slave girl." I said to her. "Tend to the dishes, mine and your own, and then bathe yourself. Tie your hair up. Put a strip of rep cloth about your hips. See to the grapes," I said to her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

Later, after I had taken a nap and she had finished with the grapes, I would whip her.

Ibrahim of Tor; Mina is given a camisk

"Does it please you, Master?" Mina asked me, unsure of herself.

I could understand her trepidation. Most of the time, she is kept nude or thrown a piece of rep cloth to wrap about her hips. If I take her into the city, I might allow her a girl tunic that shows off her legs. She stood before me this morning, however, modeling a rather plain camisk that fell to just above her knees. It was sleeveless, of course, as she is a slave. The neckline, unusually, did nothing to display the curve of her bosom.

"I am pleased," I assured her.

I will have guests this evening. I reacquainted myself with the Merchant, Ibrahim of Tor, while I was at the markets of Venna, bartering wine and olives for cheeses and bread. The Merchant had accompanying him several wards, a dozen or more free women. As they were free women, I did not bother to take an accurate count. Where free women are concerned, estimates suffice. Accordingly, Ibrahim and a dozen or so free women will be guests at my Vennan domicile. I thought it was only polite to give Mina something somewhat modest to wear. I will have to encourage her to reacquaint her right knee with her left knee, as well. They've scarcely touched one another since I locked steel on her throat during my stay in Port Kar.

"Have you spoken with Turianus?" I asked. "Locutius? Alcobiades, perhaps?"

I was speaking with Vesutto about the theater. Plays, actors and such. Of the three actors mentioned, one was of Torcadino, another was of Ar, and one, specifically Locutius, was said, simply, to be 'of Gor.'

"I have not," he confessed, "but such can be arranged, surely."

"I have written a new play," I told him.

"Excellent," he answered.

It was the mid-afternoon. Vesutto and I dined on olives, cheese, and a round of sa-tarna. The wine, as it was the middle of the day, was cut with water. Vesutto is a wealthy Merchant of Venna. He speaks of things such as 'intellectual property' and 'calculating ratios of profitability.' He was not amused when I, quite seriously, asked him what fishing had to do with the theater. Apparently, 'net income' is not at all related to the number of fish one can scoop from the water on a single cast. Mina knelt quietly in the corner, waiting to be of service. If she was curious as to the nature of our conversation, she masked it well. In the several months I have owned her, she has not been permitted to know my name, nor my caste. When my guest left, and I had retired for the evening, she spoke to me. It was quite late in the evening.

"I saw a play once," she said, her voice somewhat forlorn.

I was not sure what business she had being forlorn, neck-chained to the floor of a perfectly lovely villa. What with her captor, the fellow that owned her, raping her more that he beat her most days. I had to pause for a moment, thinking this might have something to do with profitability ratios, but I dismissed the notion as unlikely and conversed with the wistful slave.

"Surely, in a city as refined as Ko-r0-ba, a Lady called Philomena attended the theater on a regular basis," I answered.

"No, Master," she replied. "The only play I...the Lady Philomena...saw was at the Fair of En-Kara."
I whistled. "That is a long way to go to see a play."
"It was my first trip to the Sardar," she said. "The play was called..."
"...Fall of Agamedes," I said, finishing her sentence, venturing an educated guess.
"Yes, Master," she said. "How did you know, Mas..."
"Go to sleep, Mina," I answered.
I watched her for a time. It is pleasant to watch her sleep, nude and chained, at the foot of my couch. She is a distraction, as most slaves worthy of the collar are. There is much on my mind these days. The olives cure in their pots on the back porch. The last of the ready ka-la-na fruit has been harvested, and stomped. By the time the skin of Mina's pretty calves and feet are completely free of the stains, there will be more fruit for her to harvest. More fruit to be crushed beneath her toes. Vesutto has arranged for the ripened olives to be taken to Ar on his wagons. The wine, when there are bottles to send, go with his wagons, too.
"It is quite good," he said to me. "With a dozen or so kajiri, refinement in the method of production..."
I thanked him, but I am not interested in furrowing more fields, 'maximizing my earning potential,' or even 'diversifying my portfolio.' As Merchants go, Vesutto is a good fellow. He keeps to his codes, always placing profit above all else. He makes for an unlikely friend, but a perfectly logical business partner. He does not appreciate aesthetics in the way I do, in the way I like to think most men do. There is more to a rolling field than the number of plots one might seed. One would lose the beauty of dew-soaked blades of grass in the morning, were one to plow every hort of property and place stakes for planting. On the other hand, as Vesutto has tried vainly to explain to me on a number of occasions, without the Caste of Merchants; Builders would build, Scribes would study, Potters would make clay goods, Peasants would labor in their fields, Warriors would defend the walls of their given cities, and so on, but there would be no one to ensure the economy remained viable in relation to other cities. He will go on, at times like these, to explain weights and measures, the value of precious metals, the store of a city's wealth, the quality of exported goods and on and on until he realizes that it is not necessary for me to understand such things, at least to the degree that he does.
"You are of the Merchants," I say to him. "I am a Poet."
I think of Ar, just south of Venna, beyond the great forests. Gleaming, and glorious. There is no finer city, none that I have visited in my extensive travels. There are many fine cities. Many beautiful cities. Many exotic and thrilling places, but none finer. There is still a twinge now and again, and were I a romantic I would say it is a tugging on the strings of my heart, but I know better. The ribs have mended and the ripped flesh has knitted together beneath the scar tissue, but I do not think I am healed after all of this time.

...I was silenced, at the moment of declaration
I met an old woman with young eyes

She scrubbed the stain of rebellion from my hands
Struck once, I was not struck again...