Captive of Gor

17 Port Kar

The past few years had been the most happy and beautiful of my life. "Hands to the rear. Cross your wrists," said the man.

I did so.

I felt the straps through the heavy wicker. My wrists were pulled back, tight against the wicker, and bound there. I shared the tarn basket, my knees drawn up, with five other girls. We were naked. Our ankles were tied together at the center of the basket.

"They will be in Ar by nightfall," said the man.

My head fell forward on my breast.

Yet I had few regrets, for in the past weeks I had been happy, and I had been alive.

I would never forget the face, nor the touch, of Rask of Treve, nor the long walks, and the speakings, and touchings beyond the palisade.

"Will they be sold in the Curulean? asked a nearby warrior.

"Yes," said the man.

Two of the girls, bound helplessly in the basket, squealed with pleasure. In the beginning, following my total conquer by Rask of Treve, I had been summoned night after night to his tent. I had served him in a delicious variety of ways, to our mutual pleasure, for I had been well trained. I had feared only that my imagination might fall short of the invention of new and exciting ways to please him. Sometimes to my fury, he had tried to put me from him, and had summoned other women to his tent, but often he would send them away again, and it would be I, El-in-or, who would again be commanded to the tent of scarlet canvas, red-silk lined, on its eight poles.

"Did master summon me?" I would ask.

"El-in-or," he would say, opening his arms, and I would run to him. And then he no longer summoned other women to his tent. Then it was only El-in-or, whom he summoned. And then I, to the anger of some of the other girls, was the acknowledged favorite of Rask of Treve, his preferred slave. A heavy, long strap thrust through the wicker, behind me and to the left. It was passed several times about my throat and then drawn through the wicker behind me and to my right. I felt my throat jerked back against the wicker by the strap. The same strap, passing in and out of the wicker, similarly fastened the other girls in place.

Inge and Rena were not in the basket with me. They had been given to the huntsmen, Raf and Pron. In the fashion of Gorean huntsmen, both girls had then been freed and give a head start of four Ahn, that they might escape, if it were in their power. After four Ahn, Raf and Pron, running lightly, carrying snare rope, left the camp. The next morning they had returned, leading Inge and Rena. The thighs of both girls had been bloodied. Their wrists were bound behind their backs with snare rope. Their slave leashes, too, were formed of a loop of snare rope.

"I see you have caught two pretty birds," had laughed Rask of Treve. About the throats of the girls were locked new collars, again of inflexible steel, but now those of huntsmen, vine engraved and bearing the names of their masters.

No scribe it seemed would own Inge, but she would belong to a brutal and powerful huntsman, the handsome Raf of Treve' and Rena's captain of Tyros, he who had contracted for her capture, must now surely be disappointed, and his gold lost, for his lovely prize had been taken by another, at whose feet she kneels joyfully, the handsome and splendid Pron, skilled huntsman of lofty Treve. The next day they left the camp, taking their girls with them. We kissed one another good-bye. "I love you, El-in-or," had said Inge. "I love you, too, Inge," I had wept. "I love you, El-in-or," had said Rena. "I, too, love you," I had said. "I wish you all well."

They then, in the brief green tunics of the slaves of huntsmen, shouldered their burdens and followed their masters through the double gate of the palisade. Their lives would be hard, but I did not think them dismayed, nor unhappy. The huntsman lives a free and open life, as wild and swift, and secret as the beasts he hunts, and his slaves, whom he insists on accompanying him, must, too, learn the ways of the forests, the flowers and the animals, the leaves and wind. I do not know where Raf and Pron may now be, but I know them well served by two wenches, the slave girl, Inge, and the slave girl, Rena, who were well trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba, and who loves them.

I looked up.

The heavy lid of wicker was now being placed on the tarn basket. Immediately, on the body of the girl across from me, there was a reticulated pattern of shadows. I could not free myself.

The lid was tied down.

The man who would fly the tarn then went to the kitchen shed, to have his lunch. I had sought to please Rask of Treve in many ways, and found, to my astonishment, that I was eager to do so, and took great pleasure in doing so. I wanted to be many women to him, and yet the same, always El-in-or. A man is a strange beast I think, for he both desires one woman and many women, and perhaps most he desires one woman who will be to him many women, others, delicious others, and yet always, too, herself. I became many women to Rask of Treve, fresh females, yet again El-in-or. Sometimes I would be a new girl, frightened, young, much fearing him, as Techne might have been; sometimes I would be as though of the scribes, much as Inge might have been, refined, dismayed at her fate' sometimes as a fine lady, of wealth and position, of high caste, as Rena had been, who now must find herself to be humbled as a mere, rightless, collared wench' and sometimes I would be a lonely slave, or a drunken slave, or a defiant girl, determined to resist, or a cruel red-silk slave, determined herself to conquer, and in all this, always, his El-in-or.

But, too, sometimes Rask of Treve, after touching me, would hold me, and kiss me, for long hours. I did not truly understand him in these hours, but in his arms lay content and fulfilled. And then one night, when the fires were low, for no reason I clearly understood, I begged that I might be permitted to know him. "Speak to me of yourself," he said. I told him of my childhood, my girlhood, and my parents, and the pet my mother had poisoned, and of New York, and my world, and my capture, and my life before it had begun, before he had seen me naked in the cell of the Ko-ro-ban pens. And, too, in various nights, he had spoken to me of himself, and of the death of his parents, and of his training as a boy in Treve, and his learning of the ways of tarns and of the steel of weapons. He had cared for flowers, but had not dared to reveal this. It seemed so strange, he, such a man, caring for flowers. I kissed him. But I feared, that he had told me this. I do not think there was another to whom he had ever spoken this small and delicate thing.

We had begun to take long walks beyond the palisade, hand in hand. We had much spoken, and much loved, and much spoken. It was as though I might not have been his slave. It was then that I had begun to fear that he would sell me. Oh when his need was upon him he would sometimes use me as a slave girl, with harsh authority, sometimes even making me suffer under his domination, and, too, sometimes when my need was upon me I would beg him for chains and cords, that I might be fully owned, or would present myself to him as a contemptuous, untamed girl, who must be conquered, provoking him to my utter conquest, but, too, now, we would sometimes love tenderly, and at sweet length. It depended much upon our moods. Sometimes we were master and slave, and sometimes we were something else, that I dare not speak, but I feared now, much, that he would sell me. For what place could there be for this other thing in the war camp of Rask of Treve.

But mostly we sported and pleasured, hiding from ourselves this other thing, both of us perhaps not wishing to speak it. In one week I had even begged him to place in my nose the tiny golden ring of a Tuchuk slave girl, and in that week I had served him as such, clad even in the Kalmak, Chatka and Curla, my hair bound back with the red Koora. In another week, I had, the nose ring removed, served him as a Torian girl, and in another as a simple wench of Laura, and in another as an exquisite pleasure slave of Ar.

Then one day we had done little but speak to one another, at great length, with much gentleness and intimacy, and in the night, after our lovings, had spoken together, long, lying before the fire. He had held me, sadly. I had known then that he would sell me.

In the morning, after I had returned to the shed, he again summoned me to his tent.

"Kneel," he had said.

I did so, his slave.

"I am tired of you," he told me, suddenly, angrily.

I put down my head.

"I am going to sell you," he said.

"I know," I said, "master."

"Leave, Slave," he said.

"Yes, Maser," I said.

I did not weep until I returned to the shed.

I felt the knots of my wrists being checked, and I winced, as they were tightened. Then my throat, by the straps, was drawn back tighter against the wicker, and this bond, too, was tightened. The other girls, too, winced in protest, some crying out.

I had asked one thing of Rask of Treve, before, stripped, I had entered the tarn basket.

"Free Ute," I had asked him.

He had looked at me strangely. Then he had said. "I will."

Ute, freed, might then do what she wished. she might go to Rarir, or Teletus, I supposed. But I knew that she would seek out one named Barus, of the Leather Workers, whose name she had often moaned in her sleep. I did not even know his city.

"Into the basket," had said the man who would fly the tarn.

"Yes, Master," I had said to him. I was no longer the slave of Rask of Treve. I now belonged to this stranger, to whom I, and the others, had submitted ourselves. It was he, now, who held absolute power over my life and body. There was now a fresh, but locked, steel collar on my throat.

The man now was checking the knots at the lid of the basket. It was tight. Our ankles were bound together at the center of the basket; our wrists were bound behind our back, to the wicker; our throats were independently secured, the knots outside, keeping us in place. He had finished his lunch. We were stripped, helpless slave girls, his.

I had been sold for nine pieces of gold.

The man mounted to the saddle of the tarn. The tarn screamed and began to beat its wings. Then the basket jerked forward, on its leather runners, and skidded across the clearing, and then, swung below the tarn.

I was on my way to the market.

I was sold from the great block of the Curulean, in Ar, for twelve pieces of gold, purchased by the master of a paga tavern, who thought his patrons might enjoy amusing themselves with me, a girl who wore penalty brands.

I served for months in the paga tavern. Among those I served were guards, formerly of the caravan of Targo. They were kind to me. One was the fellow whom I had fought, by the fire, but to whom I must now completely yield. Another was the guard who had escorted me to the house of the physician, whom I had once provoked. Another was the one who had caught me, when I had fled from the hut in the forest, and returned me to Targo. And there, too, were others, even he who had driven the slave wagon in which I had been often confined; even he who had first harnessed me to the tongue of Targo's one wagon, when I had first been captured by him. after serving them completely I would press them with questions of Targo, and the other guards, and their slaves. They told me much. Targo had recovered many girls, and was now rich. He was intending another trip northward, though not to do business with Haakon of Skjern. The men I served, Targo's men, and others, who might have me for the price of a cup of paga, I gave much pleasure, and from them, too, I received much pleasure. But none of them were Rask of Treve. That master had won the heart of the slave girl who was Elinor Brinton. She could not forget him.

Then one night I heard, "I will buy her," and I stood transfixed with fear. I could scarcely pour the paga into his cup. The bells on my ankles and wrists rustled. I felt his hand on the bit of diaphanous yellow silk I wore in the tavern. "I will buy her," he said. It was the small man, who had touched me intimately when I had lain bound in my own bed on Earth, the small man who had threatened me in the hut in the northern forests, who had been the mountebank, the master, I had thought, of the strange beast, the terrible beast. It was the man who had wanted me to poison someone. I knew not who.

His hand was now locked on my wrist. I had not escaped him. "I will buy her," he said. "I will buy her."

The small man bought me for fourteen pieces of gold. I was taken, on tarnback, braceleted and hooded, to the city of Port Kar, in the delta of the mighty Vosk. In a warehouse, near the piers, I knelt, head down, at their feet.

"I will not serve you," I said.

The small man was there, and the beast, squatting, shaggy, regarding me, and, too, to my surprise, Haakon of Skjern.

"I have felt the iron," I said. "I have felt the whip. I will not kill for you. You may kill me, but I will not kill for you."

They did not beat me, nor threaten me.

They lifted me by the arm, and dragged me to a side room. I screamed. There, his wrists bound by ropes to rings, stood a bloodied man, head down, stripped to the waist.

"Eleven men died," said Haakon of Skjern," but we have him."

The man lifted his head, and shook it, clearing his vision. "El-in-or? he said. "Master!" I wept.

I pressed myself to him.

He regarded them. Then he said to me, "I am of Treve. Do not stain my honor." By the hair I was dragged from the presence of Rask of Treve, and his head, again, fell forward on his chest.

The door closed.

"In time," said the small man, "you will receive a packet of poison." I nodded, numbly. Rask of Treve must not die! He must not die!

"You will be placed in the house of Bosk, a merchant of Port Kar," he said. "You will be placed in the kitchen of that house, and you will be used to serve his table."

"I can't," I wept. "I cannot kill!"

"Then Rask of Treve dies," said the small man. Haakon of Skjern laughed. The small man held up a tiny packet. "This," he said, "is the poison, a powder prepared from the venom of the ost."

I shuddered. Death by ost venom is among the most hideous of deaths. I wondered how it was that they could so hate this man, he called Bosk of Port Kar.

"You will comply?" asked the small man.

I nodded my head.

"Wine, El-in-or!" cried Publius, master of the kitchen of Bosk of Port Kar. "Take wine to the table!"

Numbly, shaking, I took the vessel of wine. I went to the door of the kitchen, and went through the hallway, and stopped before the back entrance to the hall. It had not been as hard as I had feared to be entered into the house. I was sold, for fifteen pieces of gold, to the house of Samos, a slaver of Port Kar. Samos himself was abroad upon Thassa, in ventures of piracy and enslavement, and it was through a subordinate that I was purchased. Publius, the kitchen master of the house of Bosk, drunken, in a dicing match, in a paga tavern of Port Kar, had learned that there was an interesting girl, newly brought to the house of Samos, one who had been trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba, one who wore the brand of Treve. It was also said that she was beautiful. Publius, who would, upon occasion, need new girls in the kitchen, as others were given away or sold, was intrigued. I suspect he seldom had the opportunity to chain trained pleasure slaves to the wall of his kitchen after the completion of the evening's work.

The subordinate, though in the absence of Samos, thinking to please him, sold me to Publius for only fifteen pieces of gold, which price he had paid. I was thus, in effect, in part, a gift to the house of Bosk from the house of Samos. The house of Bosk and the house of Samos, it seemed, stood on good terms, the one with the other. Both Samos and Bosk, it seems, were members of the Council of Captains, the sovereign power in Port Kar.

I liked the house of Bosk, which was much fortified, spacious and clean. I was not badly treated, though I was forced to do my work perfectly. My master, Bosk, a large man, very strong, did not use me. His woman was the striking, beautiful Telima, from the marshes, a true Gorean beauty, before whom I felt myself only an Earth woman and a slave. There were other beauties in the house; slender, dark-haired Midice, the woman of a captain, Tab; large, blond-haired Thura, the woman of the great peasant, master of the bow, Thurnock; and short, dark-eyed Ula, woman of silent, strong Clitus, once a fisherman of the isle of Cos. Too, there was a slender, strong youth, a seaman, whose name was Henrius, said to be a master of the sword. There was too a free dancing girl, a beauty with high cheekbones, named Sandra, who much pleased herself with the men of Bosk, and earned much moneys in the doing of it. She had been taught to read by another girl, also free, of the Scribes, a thin, brilliant girl, whose name was Luma, who handled much of the intricate business of the great house. And, too, of course, there were many lovely slaves. I was somewhat uneasy. Only too obviously Bosk had an eye for beauty. But he did not use me. His affections, and his touch, were for Telima. How superb she must have been, to have held him among such girls. A Gorean girl, who has a first-rate man, and wishes to keep him, fights for him. There are generally girls, collared girls, only too eager to take her place.

"Hurry with the wine!" cried Publius, from the kitchen, looking after me. Then he disappeared in the kitchen.

I took the packet of poison from my rep-cloth kitchen tunic, and dissolved it in the wine. I had been told there was enough there to bring a hundred men to an excruciating death. I swirled the wine, and discarded the packet.

It was ready.

"Wine!" I heard from the hall.

I hurried forward, running toward the table. I would serve none but Bosk, he first and he alone. I did not wish more blood on my head.

I stopped halfway to the table. The feasters were watching me.

Rask of Treve must live!

I had recalled how Haakon of Skjern had laughed over his captive.

I asked myself, would he, Haakon, such a mortal enemy, release Rask of Treve, even if I keep my bargain.

I feared he would not, and yet what choice had I. I must trust them. I had no choice.

I did not wish to poison anyone. I knew nothing of such work. I had not been a good person, but I was not a murderess. Yet I must kill.

I remembered, briefly, irrelevantly, that my mother had once poisoned my small dog, which had ruined one of her slippers. I had loved that tiny animal, which had played with me, and had given me the affection, the love, which my parents had denied me, or had been too busy to bestow. It had died in the basement, in the darkness behind the furnace, where it had fled, howling and whimpering, biting at me when I, a hysterical, weeping child, had tried to touch it and hold it. Tears sprang to my eyes.

"Elinor," said Bosk, at the head of the table. "I want wine. He was one of the few men, or women, on Gor who spoke my name as it had been spoken on Earth. I slowly approached him.

"Wine!" called Thurnock.

I did not go to the peasant.

"Wine!" cried Tab, the captain.

I did not go to him.

I went to Bosk, of Port Kar. I would pour the wine. Then I would be seized, and, doubtless by nightfall, tortured and impaled.

He held forth the goblet. The eyes of Telima were upon me. I could not look her in the eyes.

I poured the wine.

"I am of Treve," Rask of Treve had told me, in the warehouse, where he stood bound to the wall. "Do not stain my honor."

I hated then men, and their wars, and their cruelties, and their frivolous honors. It was we, their women, who suffered in their madness. No, Rask of Treve would not purchase his life for the price I had agreed to pay, but the decision was not his, but mine, mine and I loved him, and could not let him die! "Do not stain my honor, he had said.

Bosk of Port Kar lifted the cup to his lips. I put forth my hand. "Do not drink it, Master," I said. "It is poisoned."

I put my head down in my hands. There were shouts, of fury, of anger, at the table, goblets spilled and men and women leaped to their feet.

I felt Thurnock, the peasant, with his great belt, pinning my arms to my sides and I was thrown to the tiles of the great hall.

"Torture her!" I heard cry.

"Impalement! I heard cry.

The door to the hall burst open, and in, wild-eyed, ran a man with short-cropped, white hair, with earrings.

"It is Samos!" I heard cry.

"I have just made landfall," he cried. "I have learned that a woman, without my knowledge, has been entered into this house. Beware!"

He saw me, my arms belted to my sides, kneeling on the tiles.

Publius ran forward, the kitchen master. His face was white. He held a drawn sword.

Bosk poured the wine forth on the table, slowly. The vessel of wine I had dropped, and its contents now trickled among the tiles.

"Return to your feast," said Bosk to the table. Then he said, "Tab, Thurnock, Clitus, Henrius, Samos, I would be pleased it you would join me in my chambers." I saw Telima held a knife. I had little doubt she could cut my throat, and might swiftly do so. "Thurnock, unbind the slave," requested Bosk. He did so. I stood up. "Elinor," said Bosk, "we must speak." He then held his arm to Telima, that she might accompany him. I, numbly, followed them to his chambers.

That night men swiftly left the house of Bosk. I had told them all that I knew. I expected to be tortured and impaled.

When I had spoken Bosk had said to me, "Go to the kitchen, for there is work for you there."

Numbly I had returned to the kitchen, where Publius, himself astonished, gave me my work. That night, with double chains, he fastened me to the wall. "We could not save Rask of Treve," said Bosk to me the next day. I put down my head. I had known it would be so.

My master, Bosk, was smiling. "He had already escaped," he said.

I looked at him, wild-eyed.

"Those of Treve," he said, "Are worthy foes."

I looked at him, trembling. I put forth my hand.

"He had broken free," said Bosk. "When we arrived, he was gone."

"The others?" I said.

"We found three bodies," said Bosk, Merchant of the Port Kar. "One, with an empty scabbard, was identified as that of Haakon of Skjern. Another, that of a small man, was not identified. The third was strange, that of a large, and, I fear, most unpleasant beast."

I put down my head, sobbing hysterically.

"They were cut to pieces," said Bosk. "The heads were mounted on stakes beside the canal. The sign of Treve was cut into each of the stakes."

I feel to my knees, sobbing and laughing.

"Those of Treve," mused Bosk, as though he might have known them as enemies, "are worthy foes."

"What of me?" I looked up.

"I am letting it be known in the camp of Terrence of Treve, a mercenary, that there is, in my house, a wench, whose name is Elinor."

"Rask of Treve no longer wants me. He sold me," I said.

Bosk shrugged. "I am informed by Samos, who keeps spies, that Rask of Treve came free to Port Kar, and alone, where he was captured." He looked at me. "What might it have been that he sought?"

"I do not know," I whispered.

"It is said," said Bosk of Port Kar, "that he sought a slave, whose name was Elinor."

"That cannot be," I said, "for when I was brought to Port Kar, Rask of Treve was already captive."

"It could easily be," said he called Bosk, "for it requires only that rumor in the camp of Rask of Treve to be spread that you are in this city. And surely it would be preferable, to the plans of some, my enemies, that you not be in this city when Rask of Treve arrives, lest they fail to capture him and he finds you, and carries you away." He looked at me. "Were you in a place where they could have you when they wished, and yet not seem to own you, not risk identifying themselves with you prematurely, lest others take note?" "For months," I said, "I served as a slave in a paga tavern."

"They may even have seen you sold," said Bosk. "It was the Curulean, was it not?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"A most public block," he said. Then he looked at me, a bit sadly. "I once saw a most beautiful woman sold from that block."

"What was her name? I asked.

"Vella," he said. "Her name was Vella."

I looked down.

"It is my speculation," said Bosk, "that only when Rask of Treve fell captive were you then picked up and brought to Port Kar, where you might be confronted with him."

"Rask of Treve," I said, "sold me. He does not want me."

Bosk shrugged. "Go to the kitchen," he said, "there is work for you there." I went to the kitchen, and put myself at the disposition of Publius. He wanted to leave the employ of Bosk of Port Kar, so stricken had he been that he had ignorantly purchased me, and that I had nearly brought about the downfall of the house, but Bosk would not hear of it, and bade him remain. "Where shall I find another kitchen master your equal?" he had asked. Publius remained in the house. He would not, however, allow me to prepare or serve food. He watched me closely. At night he would double chain me.

I sang at my work, for I knew that Rask of Treve lived. Further, those who had sought to employ me as a tool to their dark purposes had been destroyed. I knew that he did not want me for he had sold me, but I was content in the knowledge that he, whom I loved, lived. I did not believe that my master, Bosk, was correct in his conjectures that the warrior of Treve had come to Port Kar to find me, for he had sold me. His informants were mistaken, or confused. I tried, from time to time, to put Rask of Treve from my mind, but I could not do so. Sometimes, at night, the other girls would waken me, and scold me, for I had disturbed them, crying his name in my sleep. Rask of Treve did not want me. But I wanted him, with all of me and my weeping heart. But he lived. I could not be unhappy. I could be lonely, and hunger for his touch, his mouth, his words, his hand on mine, but I knew he lived, so I could not be truly sad. How could I be sad when somewhere he was proud and alive, and free, doubtless once again bold and violent, fighting, raiding, feasting with his cup companions and his beautiful slaves.

"Sell me, Master," I once begged Bosk, for I did not wish to remain in the house where I had so nearly committed so great a crime. I wished to go where I might not be known, where I would be only another collared girl, another wench in bondage, anonymous in her submission and degradation.

"You have work in the kitchen," had said Bosk of Port Kar.

I had returned to the kitchen.

It is time now for me to conclude this narrative.

I have written it at the command of my master, Bosk, of Port Kar, of the Merchants, it seems, but, I suspect, once of the warriors, I do not understand all of what I have written, in the sense of knowing its implications, or what knowledge others, better informed, may draw from it. But I have written down much, and, I think, honestly. My master has commanded that it be so written. As a Gorean slave girl I dare not disobey, and, in this case, I would not care, also to do so. Further, he had commanded me to speak in this my feelings, perhaps, in his kindness, thinking it would be well for me to do so. I have tried to comply.

I am happier now, than I have been, though I still beg, upon occasion, that I might be sold from this house. I have learned that Rask of Treve did indeed come to Port Kar to find me, and this has given me indescribable joy, though it is mingled now with great bitterness, and sadness, for I shall never be his.

On the piazza, before the Hall of the Council of Captains, Rask of Treve confronted Bosk of Port Kar, demanding that I be surrendered to him. Bosk, I am told, set my price at twenty pieces of gold, that he might, as a merchant, take his profit of me. But Rask of Treve does not buy women, for he is of Treve. My price could have been an arrow point or a copper tarn disk, but his answer would have been the same. He takes women. He does not buy them. But I fear I may not be taken from Bosk of Port Kar. He is said himself to be a master swordsman, much feared, and his house is strong, and there are men here, some hundreds, who pledge their lives and their blades to him. This house has withstood a siege of thousands, within the last two years, in the time of the warrings of the Ubars and the Council of Captains, and the great engagement between the fleet of Port Kar and that of Tyros and Cos, on the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, 10,12 °Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. And surely Rask, a captain of Treve, cannot bring the tarn cavalries of Treve to distant Port Kar, for a mere slave girl, and too, such action would mean long and bloody war. I am, unfortunately, safe in this house. It is my home, and my prison. When Rask of Treve demanded that I be given to him, Bosk, my master, first sword in Port Kar, drew his own blade and, for answer, drew on the tiles of the piazza, a sign that of the city of Ko-ro-ba. Rask of Treve, cloak swirling, turned and strode away.

I am now, by order of Bosk, again permitted to serve in the great hall. But, at night, Publius, still, keeps me double chained. He is a good kitchen master, and loves his captain, Bosk of Port Kar. I do not object to his precautions. I am now finished with this narrative. Each night I must return to the kitchen, by the nineteenth hour, to be chained. Before that time it is my wont to wander the delta wall of the house of Bosk. I look out upon the marshes, which are in the light of the three moons of Gor, very beautiful.

I remember Rask of Treve.