Magicians of Gor

8 The Wall

"I have had the good fortune to be chosen for wall duty," said a youth to his fellow.

"I myself volunteered for it," answered the other.

"Such things are the least we can do," said the first.

"By means of them Ar will become great," said the other.

"Not all values are material," said the first.

"By means of such things we shall visibly demonstrate our love of peace," said the second.

"Without such things," said the first, "our protests of love and brotherhood would be empty."

"Of course," said the other.

"I am weary," said Marcus.

"It is the wagons," I said.

In Gorean cities it is often the case that many streets, particularly side streets, little more than alleys, are too narrow for wagons. Local deliveries in such areas are usually made by porters or carts. Similarly, because of considerations such as congestion and noise, and perhaps aesthetics, which Goreans take seriously, wagons are not permitted on certain streets, and on many streets only during certain hours, usually at night or in the early morning. Indeed, most deliveries, as of produce from the country, not borne on the backs of animals of peasants, are made at night or in the early morning. This is also often the case with goods leaving the city, such as shipments of pottery and linens.

We were walking in the Metellan district, and then turned east toward the Avenue of Turia. Phoebe was heeling Marcus.

This morning, some Ahn before dawn, a convoy of wagons had rattled past our lodgings in the Metallan district, in the insula of Torbon on Demetrios Street. Our room, like many in an insula, had no window there, overlooking the street. Below, guided here and there by lads, with lanterns, were the wagons. There had been a great many of them. Demetrios Street, like most Gorean streets, like no sidewalks or curbs but sloped gently from both sides to a central gutter. The lads with the lanterns, their light casting dim yellow pools here and there on the walls and paving stones, performed an important function. Without some such illumination it is only too easy to miss a turn or gouge a wall with an axle. Marcus had joined me after a time. The wagons were covered with canvas, roped down. It was not the first such convoy which we had seen in the past weeks. "Well," Marcus had asked, "what is being borne?"

"Who knows?" I had asked.

He laughed.

To be sure, we knew, generically, what was being borne. It was not difficult to tell. Normal goods, exports of bar iron, and such, do not move in the city in such numbers. It is true, of course, that sometimes wagons would congregate at meeting places near gates, the wagons, say, of various manufacturers and merchants, and then travel on the roads in convoys, as a protection against brigandage, but in such a case the wagons, having different points of origin, would not form their convoy until in the vicinity of the gates, and, indeed, sometimes outside them, in order to avoid blocking streets. But the formation of such convoys, too, are usually advertised on the public boards, this information being of interest to various folks, say, merchants who might wish to ship goods, teamsters, guards, and such, who might wish employment, and folks wishing to book passage. Sometimes, incidentally, rich merchants can manage a convoy by themselves, but even so they will usually accommodate the wagons of others in their convoys. There is commonly safety in numbers and the greater the numbers usually the greater the safety. A fee is usually charged for entering wagons in a convoy, this primarily being applied to defray the costs of guards. Too, in some cases, it may be applied to tolls, drinking water, provender for animals, and such. Some entrepreneurs make their living by the organization, management and supply of convoys. But these convoys, those of the sort now passing, were not such convoys. For example, they were not advertised. Indeed, many in Ar might not even be aware of them. Another clue as to the sort of convoys they were was that the wagons were not uniform but constituted rather a diverse lot. Some were even street wagons, and not road wagons, the latter generally of heavier construction, built for use outside the city where roads may be little more than irregular paths, uneven, steep, rugged and treacherous. Some Goreans cities, for example, perhaps as a military measure, in effect isolate themselves by the refusal to allocate funds for good roads. Indeed, they often go further by neglecting the upkeep of even those tracks that exist. It can be next to impossible to reach such cities in the spring, because of the rains. Besnit is an example. Beyond this, although many of the wagons were unmarked, many others, in the advertising on their sides, bore clear evidence of their origins, the establishments of chandlers, carders, fullers, coopers, weavers, millers, bakers, and so on, wagons presumably commandeered for their present tasks. As a point this convoy, and those which had preceded it on other days, seemed overstaffed, particularly for the city. Instead of having one driver, or a driver and a fellow, a relief driver or one to help with the unloading, and perhaps a lad to help through the city in the darkness, each wagon had at least four or five full-grown men with it, armed, usually two or three on the wagon box, and another two or three on the cargo itself, on the canvas, or, in some cases, holding to the wagon, riding on sideboards or the step below the wagon gate. Others, too, here and there, were afoot, at the sides.

"Ar bleeds," said Marcus.

"Yes," I had said.

"Where are we going?" asked Marcus, following me.

"I want to see what is going on at the walls," I said.

"The same thing," said he, "as was going on last time."

"I wish to see what progress is being made," I said.

"You merely wish to observe the flute girls," he said.

"That, too," I admitted.

In a few Ehn we were on the Avenue of Turia, one of the major avenues in Ar. It is lined with Tur trees.

"What a beautiful street!" exclaimed Phoebe. The vista, when one comes unexpectedly on it, particularly after the minor side streets, is impressive. Marcus turned about, sharply, and regarded her. She stopped.

"Are you in a collar?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"Are you a slave?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"Do you think," he asked, "that just because I did not slay you on the day of the victory of Cos, that I am weak?"

"No, Master!" she said.

"Or that you may do as you please?"

"No, Master!"

"I decided then to think of you as merely what you are, a slave girl."

"Of course, Master," she said.

"Do you think that any of the fellows of Cos about would free you because you were once of Cos?" he asked.

"No, Master," she said, "for I am now no longer of Cos. I am now no more than an animal, no more than a slave."

"Perhaps then," he said, "you will consider such matters before you next speak without permission."

"Yes, Master," she said.

We then continued on our way.

Marcus, enamored even as he was with every glance and movement, every word and wisp of hair, of his slave, was determined, I was pleased to note, to keep her under perfect discipline. To be sure, he had not beaten her. On the other hand, she had had her warning, and might, the next time, be taught the penalties for such an infringement, in a sense, a daring to exceed her station. Sometimes a girl will court the whip, and even provoke her master. After her whipping, reassured of the strength of her master, and that she will be kept in her place, where she belongs, and wishes to be, she curls gratefully, lovingly, at his feet, eager to serve in all way, his to command. To be sure, I think that Phoebe's outburst was genuinely inadvertent. I was now sure what I would have done in Marcus' place. Perhaps the same thing. Perhaps, on the other hand, I would have cuffed her. I do not know. There are, of course, inadvertences and inadvertences. Usually a girl can tell when she has an implicit permission to speak, that is, for example, when the master would not be likely to object to it, or would even welcome it, and when it would be wise to ask for such permission explicitly. When she is in doubt it would be wise to ask. I myself, incidentally, am occasionally inclined to encourage a certain inventiveness and spontaneity on the part of slaves. On the other hand the girl must always be clearly aware that she is subject, at any time. she is, after all, a slave.

"Did you notice the haircut of that young fellow we just passed?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "It is done in the style of Myron, the polemarkos."

"Yes," I said.

"Here are public boards," said Marcus.

Such are found at various points in Ar, such as the vicinity of squares and plazas, near markets, and on major streets and avenues.

"Is there anything new?" I inquired. I would prefer for Marcus to make out the lettering. He read Gorean fluently.

"Not really," said Marcus. "The usual things, quotations from various officials, testimonials of fidelity to both Cos and Ar, declarations of chagrin and shame by various men of not concerning the crimes of Ar under Gnieus Lelius."

"I see," I said. It was now some two months since the entry of Myron into the city and the subsequent triumph of Lurius of Jad, celebrated a day later in his name by Myron, the polemarkos, in which triumph he, Myron, acting as proxy for Lurius of Jad, was joined by Seremides and Talena, and several weeks after the ascension of Talena to the throne of Ar, as Ubara. Her coronation may have been somewhat less spectacular then Myron's entry into the city and Lurius' subsequent triumph, which may have grated upon her somewhat, but I think it had been impressive enough. The crown of Tur leaves was placed upon her head by Myron, but on behalf of the people and councils of Ar. Seremides and most members of the High Council were in attendance. Certain other members of the High Council were asserted to be indisposed. Some rumors had it that they were under house arrest. A medallion of Ar was also placed about Talena's neck but the traditional medallion, which had been worn by Marlenus, and which he had seldom permitted out of his keeping, and which he may have had with him upon his departure from the city long ago, had not been found. Too, the ring of the Ubar, which in any event would have been too large for the finger of Talena, was not found. But that ring, it was said, had not been in Ar for years. Indeed, it had been rumored in Ar, even before the disappearance of Marlenus, that it had once been lost in the northern forests, upon a hunting expedition. After the medallion, Talena had been given the Home Stone of Ar, that she might hold it in her left hand, and a scepter, a rod of office, signifying power, that she might hold in her right. Her coronation was followed by a declaration of five holidays. The triumph of Lurius of Jad, as I recall, had been followed by ten such days. The chief advisors of the new ubara were Myron of Cos, and Seremides, once of Tyros.

"Here is something," said Marcus, "though I do not gather its import."

"What?" I asked.

"There is a charge to the citizens and councils of Ar to consider how they might make amends for their complicity in the crimes of their city."

"Reparations?" I asked.

"I do not know," said Marcus.

"I would have thought that Ar had already made considerable amend," I said. I recalled the convoys of wagons which had passed by the insula of Torbon on the street of Demetrios.

"Be careful what you say," said a man near me.

"We are guilty," said a man.

"Yes," said another.

"It is only right," said another, "that we should attempt to make amends to our good friends of Cos and others whom we may have injured."

"True," said another man.

Marcus and I then, followed by Phoebe, continued on our way.

"The Home Stone of Ar's Station is no longer exhibited publicly," said Marcus, gloomily.

"I think it will be again," I said.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, interested.

"I have my reasons," I said. "Do not concern yourself with it now."

"The wall seems very bare there," said Marcus, as we passed a public edifice, a court building.

There were also numerous small holes in the wall, chipped at the edges.

"Surely you have noted similar walls," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Decorative reliefs, in marble, have been removed from them," I said. "As I recall the ones here, they celebrated the feats of Hesius, a perhaps legendary hero of Ar."

"He for whom the month of Hesius is named," said Marcus.

"I presume so," I said. The month of Hesius is the second month of the year in Ar. It follows the first passage hand. In Ar, as in most cities in the northern hemisphere, the new year begins with the vernal equinox.

"Were the marbles here well done?" asked Marcus.

"Though I am scarcely a qualified judge of such things," I said, "I would have thought so. They were very old, and reputed to be the work of the master, Aurobion, though some have suggested they were merely of his school."

"I have heard of him," said Marcus.

"Some think the major figures profited from his hand and that portions of the minor detail, and some of the supportive figures, were the work of students."

"Why would the marbles be removed?" asked Marcus.

"They have antiquarian value, as well as aesthetic value," I said. "I would suppose that they are now on their way to a museum in Cos."

"The decorative marbles on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, and those about the Central Cylinder itself, and on the Cylinder of Justice are still there," he said.

"At least for the time," I said. The building we had just passed was an extremely old building. Many in Ar were not sure of its age. It may have dated to the first ubarate of Titus Honorious. Many of the functions originally discharged within its precincts had long ago been assumed by the newer Cylinder of Justice, located in the vicinity of the Central Cylinder. Incidentally, many buildings, particularly public buildings, in this part of the city, which was an older part of the city, were quite old. Many smaller buildings, dwellings, shops, insulae, and such, on the other hand, were relatively new. I might also mention, in passing, if only to make the controversy concerning the "Auborbion marbles" more understandable, that many Gorean artists do not sign or otherwise identify their works. The rationale for this seems to be a conviction that what is important is the art, its power, its beauty, and so on, and now who formed it. Indeed many Gorean artists seem to regard themselves as little more than vessels or instruments, the channels or means, the tools, say, the chisels or brushes, so to speak, by means of diversities, in its beauties and powers, its flowers and storms, its laughters and rages, its delicacy and awesomeness, its subtlety and grandeur, expresses itself, and rejoices. Accordingly the Gorean artist tends not so much to be proud of his work as, oddly enough perhaps, to be grateful to it, that it consented to speak through him. As the hunters of the north, the singers of the ice pack and of the long night have it, "No one knows from whence songs come." It is enough, and more than enough, that they come. They dispel the cold, they illuminate the darkness. They are welcomed, in the darkness and cold, like fire, and friendship and love. The focus of the Gorean artist then, at least on the whole, tends to be on the work of art itself, not on himself as artist. Accordingly this attitude toward his art is less likely to be one of pride than one of gratitude. This makes sense as, in his view, it is not so much he who speaks as the world, in its many wonders, great and small, which speaks through him. He is thusly commonly more concerned to express the world, and truth, than himself.

"Let us turn right here," I said.

We then left the Avenue of Turia and were once again on a side street. Many Gorean streets, incidentally, do not have specific names, particularly from one end to the other, some being known by one designation here and another there. Indeed, sometimes a long, winding street will have several names, depending on its turns and so on. Others may have no names really, in themselves, but are referred to, for example, as the street on which Sabor has his smithy, and so on. This becomes more intelligible if one thinks of "alleys." For example, alleys seldom have names. So, too, many Gorean streets, particularly those that are smaller and much like alleys, may not have names. One may usually hire a lad from the district to direct inquiries of fellows in the area. In such inquiries, the male will normally speak to a male, and the female to a female. This has to do not only with matters of propriety, enshrined in Gorean custom, but also with common-sense security measures. For example, a woman would not wish to seem forward, nor, in effect, to be calling herself to the attention of a strange male, which can be dangerous on Gor, and a woman, a free woman, might be well advised not to respond to the accostings of a strange male. He might even be a slaver, or a slaver's man, interested in seeing if she had a pleasing voice, one suitable for a slave. Similarly if she responds to a strange male this may be taken as evidence that she is eager to please a man and obey, two attributes which suggest her readiness, even immediately, for his collar. One may, of course, make such inquiries of slave girls. In such a case they are expected to kneel immediately, being in the presence of a free man, or person, and be as helpful as possible. It is desirable, incidentally, for the girls of a district to know the district well, in case they are asked for directions and such. If they do not know the information desired, it is sensible on their part to keep their head very low, even to the stones, or even to belly to the interlocutor. This may save them a cuffing or kick. This street, however, had a name. It was Harness Street, apparently so called from long ago when it was once a locale of several harness makers. The "harness makers" on Gor, provide not just harnesses but an entire line of associated products, such as saddles, bridles, reins, hobblings and tethers. Presumably the harness makers on this street would not have dealt in slave harnesses. That product would have been more likely to have been, as it still was, available on the "Street of Brands," a district in which are found many of the houses of slavers, sales barns, sales arenas, holding areas, boarding accommodations, training facilities, and shops dealing with product lines pertinent to slaves, such as collars, cosmetics, jewelry, perfumes, slave garb, chains, binding fiber and disciplinary devices. In such a district one may have a girl's septum or ears pierced. There are many varieties of slave harness, incidentally, with various purposes, such as discipline, display and security. Many of them are extremely lovely on a woman, and many, by such adjustments as cinching, tightening, and buckling, may be fitted closely and exquisitely to the individual slave.

"Look," I said, "there is a woman in garments of Cosian cut."

"I wonder how she would look on her knees, in a slave rag," said Marcus. "I do not know," I said.

"Undoubtedly quite well," he said.

"I would suppose so," I said. After all, most women do.

"Talena of Ar, as you know," said Marcus, "now affects the garments of Cos."

"I have heard that," I said.

We now crossed the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla, actually a reasonably large street.

"You need not look at the establishments on this street," Marcus informed Phoebe.

"Yes, Master," she said, putting her head down, smiling.

I recalled my first visit to one of the slave brothels on the street, the Tunnels. I recalled one of its slaves, a former Earth girl. She had been slight but well curved for her size and weight. She had had red hair. Her name, perhaps originally her Earth name, but now on her as a slave name, had been "Louise." In my arms, as I recalled, she had learned to be pleasing. I also recalled a blond free woman acquired later in the same place, the Lady Lydia, of the High Merchants, whose wealth had been in gems and land, a tenant even of the Tabidian Towers. I had sold her to a slaver. A few nights ago I had returned to the Tunnels but had learned that Louise had been purchased long ago by some sturdy young fellow who had been quite taken with her, finding her extraordinarily pliant, eager and exciting. The brothel mistress could not recall his name. On the other hand, she had speculated that he would prove to be an exacting, stern and strong master to the former Earth girl, such as she required. She did inform me that the girl had accompanied her new master joyfully. I hoped that my instruction to the girl had been of some use in bringing about this development, instruction primarily profitable to her with respect to her nature and its correct relationship to that of the male. The blonde, who had been highly placed in the society of Ar, would presumably have been sold out of the city long ago. In another city, of course, she would be only another slave.

We then continued east on Harness Street.

"Did you enjoy the performance at the great theater last night?" I asked. "Of course," said Marcus. "It was just the way to spend a long evening, prior to having one's sleep interrupted before dawn by a wagon convoy."

"I thought you might like it," I said.

The performance, a pageant, had been called "The Glory of Cos," and the famed Milo, the city's most famous actor, though a slave, had played the part of Lurius of Jad. The roofed stage of the great theater, usually called that, though technically, it was the theater of Pentilicus Tallux, a poet of Ar, of over a century ago, best known for his poems in the delicate trilesiac form and two sensitive, intimate dramas, was over a hundred yards in width, and some twenty yards in depth. This incredible stage, although only the center portions of it were used on many occasions, lent itself to large-scale productions, such as circuses and spectacles. It could easily accommodate a thousand actors. Too, given its strength, ponderous tharlarion, together with numerous other beasts, wagons and such, could appear on it, as they had last night, for example, in staged battles, in which Lurius of Jad, by personal intervention and at great personal risk, again and again turned the tide, and triumphal processions, as at the climax of the pageant.

"Did you enjoy the pageant?" I asked Phoebe.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"I thought I heard you gasp when Milo first appeared on the stage," said Marcus. "He is very handsome in his costume, Master," she said.

"Undoubtedly," said Marcus.

"Surely master is not jealous?" inquired Phoebe, delightedly.

"No," he snarled.

"You may beat me tonight, if you wish," she said.

"I may beat you any night, if I wish," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"By count," I said, "I think that some eleven free women were carried fainted, or helpless, from the theater."

"Surely no more than one or two," said Marcus.

"No, eleven," I said.

"Master is a thousand times more handsome than Milo," said Phoebe.

"Apparently you do wish the lash," he said.

"No, Master!" she said.

"Am I really so handsome?" asked Marcus.

"To me, Master," she said.

"Hmmmm," said Marcus, considering this, I speculate. He was, I think, a good-looking young chap. To be sure, he may not have been quite as handsome as I.

"Of course I am only one woman," she said.

"And only a female slave," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Still," he said, "you are a woman."

"But only a female slave," she said.

"True," he said.

Phoebe, I think, in her way, was having her vengeance. For example, when we had passed by various open-air markets, shelf markets, and such, many of the girls, nude in their chains, usually fastened by the neck or ankle to heavy iron rings, had clearly, to the fury of Phoebe, in posings, and by means of subtle glances, and such, attempted to call themselves to the attention of the young warrior. Only too obviously would they have welcomed being his slaves.

"Probably some women would regard me as being less handsome than Milo," he mused.

"Perhaps, Master," she said.

"Probably at least eleven," I said.

"I did not note women swooning over the sight of you," said Marcus.

"It was dark," I reminded him.

To be sure, as is well known, and doubtless fortunately for we who are not Milos, the attractiveness of a man to woman is seldom based on physiognominal regularities. For example, men who are not in any normal sense handsome, sometimes even grotesquely irregular men, often exercise an enormous fascination over beautiful women. Women tend to respond to a great variety of properties in a male, few of which are directly correlated with facial symmetries. Among such properties are initiative, will, command, intelligence, strength, and power, in short, with characteristics appropriate to a master. Too, of course, with women, who are enormously sensitive, complex, marvelous creatures, can hope for, welcome, and respond to, such things as tenderness, gentleness, and softness. Here one must be careful, however, to distinguish between the tenderness of the strong man, who is truly strong, and the softness of the weakling, who is merely weak. Tenderness, gentleness, and such, become meaningful only in the context of, and against a background of, a temporarily suspended, perhaps even momentarily suspended, strength and command. Only she who is truly at the mercy of a male, and his slave, and under his discipline, can truly appreciate the value of such things.

"We are coming to the Wall Road," said Marcus. This is the longest road, or street, in Ar. It follows the interior circumference of the wall. It is not only a convenience to citizens but it enables troops to be moved rapidly from point to point in the defenses.

I could hear the flutes.

In attending the great theater last night we had conceded to public opinion, or, more particularly, to the sensibilities of free women, clothing Phoebe modestly, or at least somewhat modestly. Indeed, had we not, we would probably not have been permitted within with her. First we drape a sheet about her. This, with a piece of cloth, we rigged a veil. After this we drew the sheet up in the back and put it about her head, that it might also serve as a hood. Phoebe herself, of course, held the sheet about her. When we were finished we thought it a job rather well done, an approximation to the robes of concealment, hood and veil. Little more than Phoebe's soft, dark eyes and the bridge of her nose could be seen, except of course, at the bottom, where one might detect her bared ankles and feet. We did not think that Phoebe could relax he vigilance in clutching the sheet about her. She was naked beneath it. Marcus did not want her to forget that she was a slave. Slaves, incidentally, may attend various such functions, particularly those intended for a general audience. Indeed, sometimes masters, with their individual slave or slaves, and even owners of feast slaves, (pg. 113) managers of slave house, taverns, and brothels, and such, will bring a chain of slaves to various events, such as races, contests, games or performances. Private masters, for example, often relish the company of their slaves at such events, and public masters, so to speak, recognize the value of such outings for slaves, as stimulation and recreation. Also the give the master more power over the girl. What girl wishes to be left behind, in her kennel, while her chain sisters enjoy an evening at the theater or games? Marcus had had a brief altercation with the taker of ostraka at the entrance, not wishing to pay an entrance fee, or at least the entire entrance fee, for a slave. The taker of ostraka, however, had been adamant, pleading policy and arguing cogently that even a sleen or verr would have to pay, as they would occupy space in the house. Too, what if a fellow were to bring in ten thousand free slaves? Then there would be little room even for free folk. Too, think of all the money the house would lose. For example, their presence is sometimes prohibited at certain song dramas and concerts. Similarly, they may not enter temples. In such cases, facilities are usually provided for their custody, usually a walled enclosure, sometimes adjoining the structure, or sets of posts or rings, for their chaining.

"Hold!" said a voice.

Marcus and I stopped, and Phoebe knelt beside Marcus, back a bit, in close heeling position.

"You are armed," said the voice. He was in uniform of a guardsmen of Ar, but his accent was Cosian. There were still guardsmen of Ar, native guardsmen of Ar, in the city, but their numbers had been considerably reduced and they were generally assigned duties of low responsibility. Even then they were under the command of Cosian officers. Putting Cosians in the uniforms of guardsmen of Ar, of course, did suggest that they were, at least in one sense or another, guardsmen of Ar. Surely, at least, they were guardsmen in Ar. Perhaps the folks of Ar found this sort of thing reassuring, or, at least, less objectionable then if the fellows seemed a foreign garrison force, clad openly in Cosian uniform. This is not to deny that there were Cosian regulars, in Cosian uniform, in the city, in numbers. Too, may Cosian mercenaries were in the city, with their identifying armbands, scarves, and such. Myron, probably intelligently, however, had limited the numbers of such mercenaries who might enter the city at any one time. some incidents had occurred nonetheless, such as the destruction of property in various taverns and the vandalization of certain buildings, for example, baths and libraries. Certain shops had apparently also been looted, though no mention of this had appeared on the public boards. The armed forces of Ar had been disbanded, of course, both foot and cavalry, both tharlarion and tarn. Not even border patrols had been retained. Beasts and equipment were acquired by Cos. Most of these men had left the vicinity of the city. I did not know what might become of them. Doubtless they would seek various employments. Perhaps some would become brigands. Some, of course, remained in the city, perhaps hoping to hire into the guardsmen.

"Yes," I said.

"Are you of Ar?" asked the guardsman.

"No," I said.

"What is your employment?" asked the guardsman.

"I seek employment," I said.

"You are not of Ar?"

"No," I said.

"Can you use that blade?" he asked.

"Passably," I said.

"There may be employment for such as you," he said. "Men are needed."

"May we pass?" I asked.

"What do you wish here," he asked, "if you are not of Ar?"

"To see the progress of the works," I said.

He laughed. "And the flute girls?" he said.

"Surely," I said.

"Pass," he said.

We then continued on our way. The carrying of weapons, and even their possession, was now illegal for citizens of Ar, exceptions being made for guardsmen and such. The populace of Ar, then, was disarmed. This was reputedly for its own protection. Compliance with the disarmament laws was also taken as a fitting token of good will on the part of those of Ar, and an indication both of their good intentions and of their zealous desire for peace. Too, it was called to their attention that arms were now unnecessary, given the blessings of peace, attendant upon the liberation.

"It will be only a matter of time," said Marcus, "before weapons will be altogether illegal in the city."

"Except for those authorized to carry them," I said.

"Cosians," he said.

"And such," I said.

"You noticed how he inquired into our employments?" said Marcus.

"Of course," I said.

"Soon," he said, "there will be regulations about such things, and papers, and permits, and ostraka, and such."

"I would suppose so," I said. To be sure, I had an idea that an employment, and in the fee of Cos, might fit in with my plans, and perhaps those of Marcus, as well.

"It will be worse than under Gnieus Lelius," he said.

"Yes," I said. I supposed that Gnieus Lelius was now on his way to Cos. Perhaps he was already there.

"Perhaps Milo can save Ar," he said.

"Do not be bitter," I said.

I myself had rather enjoyed the pageant glorifying Cos, or, as it actually turned out, Lurius of Jad. The production had been well designed, well staged, brilliantly costumed, and impressively acted. Indeed, it is hard to get a thousand actors on a stage without being impressive in one way or another. Too, I had to admit, in spite of misgivings on the subject, that Milo was a handsome fellow, and certainly played a part well. It was somewhat ironic to see Lurius of Jad, whom I had once seen, a corpulent slug of a man, portrayed by such a godlike fellow as Milo, but then that was probably in the best interests of the drama's intent, and artistic license, as I understand it, permits such occasional thespic peccadilloes.

"I think that drama must have lasted five Ahn," said Marcus.

"Probably no more than three," I said. "Did you enjoy the fellow who played the wicked, conniving Gnieus Lelius?"

"Of course," said Marcus. "I had not realized thitherto that even a demented sleen could be so wicked."

"You just did not have your mind on the drama," I said.

"That is perhaps true," said Marcus, perking up.

"You just did not realize that Phoebe could be so fetching, completely concealed," I said.

"But underneath the sheet naked," Marcus reminded me.

"You could not wait to get her home," I said.

"Perhaps," he said.

No sooner had he had Phoebe inside the door to our room in the insula than he had torn the sheet and veil from her and flung her on her belly on the straw-filled mat, then leaping upon her with a cry of joy.

"Do you think others knew she was naked?" he asked.

"From the glances, and expressions, I think a free woman to two suspected it," I said. One had sneered "Slave!" to Phoebe, to which Phoebe had put down her head saying, "Yes, Mistress." There had been little difficulty, of course, in folks knowing that Phoebe was a slave, given, for example, that her primary covering was a sheet and that her feet were bared. Too, during intermissions Marcus knelt her at his feet, with her head down.

"Let them crawl naked before a man, fearing his whip," said Marcus.

"Free women?" I said.

"Well," said Marcus, irritably, "collar them first."

"I would hope so," I said.

To be sure, it is pleasant to have free women in such a predicament. It helps them to understand that fate which is to be shortly theirs.

"I do not like Milo," said Marcus.

"You are angry because he is such a handsome fellow," I said.

"The drama was a poor one," said Marcus.

"Not at all," I said.

"It was a waste of money," said Marcus.

"Phoebe liked it," I said.

"What does she know?" asked Marcus.

"She is a highly intelligent, well-educated women," I said.

"A slave," he said.

"Now," I said. Many Goreans enjoy owning highly intelligent, well-educated women. It is pleasant to have them at your feet, yours, begging, eager to please you, knowing, too, that if they do not, they will be punished. To be sure, thousands of sorts of women make excellent slaves, each in their different ways. It had cost three full coppers for our admission to the pageant, and one of those was for Phoebe. The first performance of the pageant, several days ago, had been attended by Talena, the Ubara. I had not been able to obtain admission ostraka for that performance, as it was apparently restricted. I had lingered by her path to the theater, with others in a crowd, but I had been able to see only her palanquin, its curtains drawn, borne not by slaves but by stout fellows apparently of the staff of the Central Cylinder. The palanquin, too, was surrounded by guardsmen, either of Ar or Cos. It interested me that the Ubara, so popular in the city, presumably, should require so much security. Behind the palanquin, on tharlarion, side by side, had ridden Seremides, formerly high general Ar, now, in peacetime, first minister to her majesty, the Ubara, and Myron, the polemarkos of Temos. Seremides, to be sure, now as captain, high captain, retained command of the palace guard, the Taurentians. There were probably some twenty-five hundred of these fellows in the city. I had not seen Talena when she had left the palanquin, for she had done so within the theater's outer concourse, hidden from the street. That she now wore the garments of Cos I had heard, but I had not seen her in them.

We could now hear the flute music quite clearly.

"There!" I said, startled.

I had not realized that so much had been done since my last visit to this area. I hurried forward, to the Wall Road.

A gigantic breach, over four hundred yards in width, had been made in the wall. The bottom of the breach was still some forty or fifty feet high. The edges of is tapered up to the height of the wall on each side, in this area, some hundred to a hundred and twenty feet Gorean above the pavement. The breach swarmed with human beings. Stone after stone was being tumbled down from the walls, to the outside of the city. These, I had heard, on the other side, were being lifted to wagons and carted away. On the walls were not only men of Ar, and male youth, but women and girls, as well.

I stood on the Wall Road, back near Harness Street. Here I was about a hundred feet back from the wall. In moment or two Marcus was again beside me, and Phoebe behind him, on his left. The girl normally heels a right-handed master on the left, that she not encumber the movements of the weapon hand.

"Much progress had been made since last we came here," I said.

"About the walls, here and there, thousands apply themselves," he said.

This was not the only breach in the walls, of course, but it was that which was nearest to our lodgings. Here some hundreds, at least, were laboring. Others, of course, on the other side of the wall, would be gathering up tumbled stone, loading it and removing it from the area. The walls of Ar, in effect, had become a quarry. This would, I suppose, depress the market for stone in various cities, perhaps even as far away as Venna. There were many uses for such stone, but most had to do with materials for building, paving and fill. Much of the stone would be pounded into gravel by prisoners and slaves far from the city. This gravel was used mainly for bedding primary roads and paving secondary roads. There were, at present, nineteen such breaches about the city. These breaches, multiplying the avenues of possible assault on the city, were not randomly located. They were set at tactically optimum sites for such assaults and distributed in such a manner as to require the maximum dispersal of defensive forces. The pursued objective, of course, was to multiply and join breaches, until the razing of the walls of Ar was complete.

"Although I hate Ar," said Marcus, "this sight fills me with sorrow."

"You hate not Ar," I said, "but those who betrayed her, and Ar's Station."

"I despise Ar, and those of Ar," he said.

"Very well," I said.

We continued to regard the work on the walls.

Here and there upon the walls, among those working, were silked flute girls, sometimes sitting cross-legged on large stones, above the heads of workers, sometimes moving about among the workers, some strolling, playing, at other times turning and dancing. Some were also on the lower level, even on the Wall Road.

"Many of the flute girls seem pretty," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said. To be sure, we were rather far from them.

"It is a joke of Lurius of Jad, I gather," said Marcus, "that the walls of Ar should be torn down tot he music of flute girls."

"I would think so," I said.

"What an extreme insult," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"You will note," he said, "that many of the girls sit cross-legged."

"Yes," I said.

"They should be beaten," he said.

"Yes," I said.

On Gor men sit cross-legged, not women. The Gorean female, whether free or slave, whether of low caste or high caste, kneels. This posture on the part of a woman, aping that of men, is a provocation. I had seen panther girls in the north, in their desire to repudiate their own nature, and in their envy of men, adopt such a posture. To be sure, such women, reduced to slavery, quickly learn to kneel and usually, considering their new status, with their knees widely apart. The cross-legged posture of several of the flute girls was undoubtedly an insolence, intended as a further insult to the citizens of Ar.

"Why is it that the men do not punish them?" asked Marcus.

"I do not know," I said.

"Perhaps they are afraid to," he said.

"I think rather it had to do with the new day in Ar, and the new understandings."

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Officially," I said, "the music of the flute girls is supposed to make the work more pleasant."

"Who believes that?" asked Marcus.

"Many may pretend to, or even manage to convince themselves of it," I said. "What of the provocative posture?" asked Marcus. "Surely the insult of that is clear enough to anyone."

"It is supposedly a time of freedom," I said. "Thus why should a good fellow of Ar object if a flute girl sits in a given fashion? Is not everyone to be permitted anything?"

"No," said Marcus, "freedom is for the free. Others are to be kept in line, and exactly so. Society depends on divisions and order, each element stabilized perfectly in it harmonious relationship with all others."

"You do not believe, then," I asked, "that everyone is the same, or must be supposed to be such, despite all evidence to the contrary, and that society thrives best as a disordered struggle?"

Marcus looked at me, startled.

"No," I said. "I see that you do not."

"Do you believe such?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Not any more."

We returned our attention to the wall.

"They work cheerfully, and with a will," said Marcus, in disgust.

"It is said that even numbers of the High Council, as a token, have come to the wall, loosened a stone, and tumbled it down."

"Thus do they demonstrate their loyalty to the state," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"The state of Cos," he said, angrily.

"Many high-caste youth, on the other hand, work side by side with low-caste fellows, dismantling the wall."

"They are levied?" asked Marcus.

"Not the higher castes," I said.

"They volunteer?" he asked.

"Like many of these others," I said.

"Incredible," said he.

"Youth is idealistic," I said.

"Idealistic?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "They are told that this is a right and noble work, that it is a way of making amends, of atoning for the faults of their city, that it is in the interests of brotherhood, peace, and such."

"Exposing themselves to the blades of strangers?" he asked.

"Perhaps Cos will protect them," I said.

"And who will protect them from Cos?" he asked.

"Who needs protection from friends?" I asked.

"They are not at Ar's Station," he said. "They were not in the delta."

"Idealism comes easier to those who have seen least of the world," I said. "They are fools," said Marcus.

"Not all youth are fools," I said.

He regarded me.

"You are rather young yourself," I said.

"Anyone who cannot detect the insanity of dismantling their own defenses is a fool," said Marcus, "whether they are a young fool or an old one."

"Some are prepared to do such things as a proof of the good will, of their sincerity," I said.

"Incredible," he said.

"But many youth," I said, "as others, recognize the absurdity of such things."

"Perhaps Gnieus Lelius was such a youth," said Marcus.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Perhaps he may reconsider his position, in his cage," said Marcus.

"He has undoubtedly already done so," I said.

"Much good it will do him now," said Marcus.

"Look," I said, "the children."

We saw some children to one side, on the city side of the Wall Road. They had put up a small wall of stones, and they were now pushing it down.

On the wall, in the trough of the breach, we saw four men rolling a heavy stone toward the field side of the wall. A flute gild was parodying, or accompanying, their efforts on the flute, the instrument seeming to strain with them, and then, when they rolled the stone down, she played a skirl of descending notes on the flute, and, spinning about, danced away. The men laughed.

"I have seen enough," said Marcus.

There was suddenly near us, startling us, another skirl of notes on a flute, the common double flute. A flute girl, come apparently from the wall side of the Wall Road, danced tauntingly near us, to our right, and, with the flute, while playing, gestured toward the wall, as though encouraging us to join the others in their labor. I, and Marcus, I am sure, were angry. Not only had we been startled by the sudden, intrusive music, which the girl must have understood would have been the case, but we resented the insinuation that we might be such as would of our own will join the work on the wall. Did she think we were of Ar, that we were the conquered, the pacified, the confused, and fooled, the verbally manipulate, the innocuous, the predictable, the tamed? She was an exciting brunet, in a short tunic of diaphanous silk. She was slender, and was probably kept on a carefully supervised diet by her master or trainer. Her dark eyes shone with amusement. She pranced before us, playing. She waved the flute again toward the wall.

We regarded her.

She again gestured, playing, toward the wall.

I had little doubt that she assumed from our appearance in this are that we were of Ar.

We did not move.

A gesture of annoyance crossed her lovely features. She played more determinedly, as though we might not understand her intent.

Still we did not move.

Then, angrily, she spun about, dancing, to return to her former post near the wall side of the Wall Road. She was attractive, even insolently so, at the moment, in the diaphanous silk.

"You have not been given permission to withdraw," I said.

She turned about, angrily, holding the flute.

"You are armed," she suddenly said, perhaps then for the first time really noting this homely face.

"We are not of Ar," I said.

"Oh," she said, standing her ground, trembling a little.

"Are you accustomed to standing in the presence of free men?" I asked.

"I will kneel if it will please you," she said.

"If you do not kneel," I said, "it is possible that I may be displeased." She regarded me.

"Kneel!" I said.

Swiftly she knelt.

I walked over to her and, taking her by the hair, twisting it, she crying out, turned her about and threw her to her belly on the Wall Road.

She sobbed in anger.

Marcus and I crouched near her.

"Oh!" she said.

"She is not in the iron belt," said Marcus.

"That is a further insult to those of Ar," I said, "that they would put unbelted flute girls among them."

"Yes," growled Marcus.

The tone of his voice, I am sure, did nothing to set our fair prisoner at ease. Flute girls, incidentally, when hired from the master, to entertain and serve at parties, are commonly unbelted, that for the convenience of the guests.

"She is not unattractive," I said.

"Oh!" she said, as I pulled her silk muchly away, tucking it then in and about the slender girdle of silken cord at her waist.

"No," said Marcus. "She is not unattractive."

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"You have been an insolent slave," I said.

"No," she said. "No!"

"You have not been pleasing," I said.

"You do not own me!" she said. "You are not my master!"

"The discipline of a slave," I said, "may be attended to by any free person, otherwise she might do much what she wished, provided only her master did not learn of it." The legal principle was clear, and had been upheld in several courts, in several cities, including Ar.

I then stood.

"Lash her," I said to Marcus.

"Please no, Master!" she suddenly cried.

I was pleased to note that she, as she was a slave, had now recollected to address free men by the title of "Master'.

Marcus used his belt for the business, slipping the knife in its sheath, and his pouch, from it, and handing them to me. He also gave me his over-the-shoulder sword belt as well, that he might not be encumbered.

Then the disciplined slave lay trembling on her belly, her eyes wide, her cheeks tear-stained, her hands beside her head, the tips of her fingers on the stones. "I gather," I said, "that the discipline to which you have been recently subject has been lax. Perhaps therefore you should be further beaten."

"No, Master!" she cried. "Please no, master! Forgive me, Master! Forgive me, Master!"

"Are you sorry for the error of your ways?" I asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said. "Please forgive me, Master!"

Her contrition seemed to me authentic.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Whatever Master pleases!" she sobbed.

"Come now," I said.

"Tafa, if it pleased maser," she said. That is a common slave name on Gor.

"Do you repent of the error of your ways?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Who repents of the error of her ways?" I asked.

"Tafa repents of the error of her ways," she said.

"Who is sorry, who begs forgiveness?" I asked.

"Tafa is sorry! Tafa begs forgiveness!" she said.

"I wonder if you should be further beaten," I said.

The belt, doubled, hung loosed in Marcus' hand.

"Please, no, Master," begged the girl.

I turned to Phoebe. "Are you distressed?" I asked.

"No, Master," said Phoebe, "certainly not. She was an errant slave. She should have been punished."

Tafa groaned.

"Indeed," said Phoebe, "it seems to me that she got off quite lightly. I myself believe she should have been whipped even more."

"Please no, Mistress," begged Tafa.

"I am not 'mistress', " said Phoebe. "I, too, am only a slave."

It was natural enough, in the circumstances, for Tafa to have addressed Phoebe as "Mistress." As Tafa was currently subject to us, and Phoebe was with us, this put Phoebe in a position of de facto priority to her. For example, in a group of female slaves, for example, in a pleasure gardens, a fortress or a tavern, there will usually be a girl appointed First Girl. Indeed, if there is a large number of slaves, there are sometimes hierarchies of "first girls," lower-level first girls reporting to higher-level first girls, and so on. The lower-level slaves will commonly address their first girl as "Mistress." Thus, in some situations, the same girl may be first girl to certain girls and be subordinated herself to another, on a higher level, whom she will address as "Mistress." Sometimes a hierarchy is formed in which girls are ranked in such a manner that each must address the girls above her as "Mistress." More commonly, it is only the lowest slave, usually the newest slave, who must do this with all the others, whereas the others will address only their first girl as "Mistress," and, of course, any free woman whom they might, to their risk, or peril, encounter. Technically the lowest of free women, of the lowest caste, is immeasurably above even the highest of slaves, even the preferred slave of a ubar. Sometimes a ubar will even had his preferred slave serve in a low-caste hovel one day a year, under the command, and switch, of a low-caste free woman, performing her labors, and such, that she may be reminded that she is truly, when all is said and done, only a slave, as much as the lowest of the kettle-and-mat-girls in the most wretched of hovels, crowded about the walls of a small city.

"The decisions as to the discipline of slave will be made by the masters," I reminded Phoebe.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe. "Forgive me, Master."

Phoebe's zeal to see an errant slave punished, and suitably, was a quite natural one, of course. The girl was a slave, and had not been pleasing. Thus it was appropriate, even imperative, that she be punished, more broadly, order and structure in human life, stability in society, even, in a sense, civilization itself, depends upon sanctions, and to impose them reliably and efficiently. A lapse in such resolve and practice is a symptom of decline, even of impending disintegration. Ultimately civilization depends upon power, moral and physical, upon, so to speak, the will of masters and the reality of the whip and sword. It might be added, incidentally, that Phoebe, herself a slave, in moral consistency, fully accepted this same principle, at least intellectually, in her own case. She accepted, in short, as morally indisputable, the rightfulness of herself being punished if she should fail to be pleasing. Also, accepting this principle, and knowing the strength and resolve of her master, and the uncompromising reality of the discipline under which she herself was held, she was naturally disinclined to see others escape sanctions and penalties to which she herself was subject. Why should others be permitted lapses, faults and errors, particularly ones in which they took arrogant pride, for which she herself would promptly and predictably suffer? Accordingly, slave girls are often zealous to see masters immediately and mercilessly correct even small lapses in the behavior of their chain sisters. It pleases them. Phoebe herself, it might be mentioned, had very seldom been lashed, particularly since the day of Myron's entrance into the city when Marcus had finally accepted her as a mere slave., as opposed to a Cosian woman in his collar, to be sure, enslaved, on whom he could vent his hatred of Cos and things Cosian. The general immunity to the lash which was experienced by Phoebe, of course, was a function of her excellence as a slave. Excellent slaves are seldom beaten, for there is little, if any, reason to do so. To be sure, such a girl, particularly a love slave, occasionally desires to feel the stroke of the lash, wanting to feel pain at the hands of a beloved master, wanting to be whipped by him because she loves him, in this way symbolizing to herself her relationship to him, that of slave to master, her acceptance of that relationship, and her rejoicing in it. To be sure, she is soon likely to be merely, again, a whipped slave, begging her master for mercy.

"Look!" laughed Phoebe, looking toward the prone slave.

The slave, sobbing, had lifted her body.

"Scandalous slave!" laughed Phoebe.

The slave groaned.

"Apparently you do not wish to be further beaten," I said.

"No, Master," said the slave.

"You wish to placate masters?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Slave, slave!" laughed Phoebe.

"Yes, Mistress," whispered the slave.

"She is such a slave," said Phoebe.

"She is a female," I said.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe.

I was amused by Phoebe's attitude. Indeed, I found it delightfully ironic. Many was the time I had seen her so lift herself to Marcus, hoping to avert his wrath.

I looked down at the slave.

She was tense, and hardly moved.

I handed Marcus his things, piece by piece, the sheath, with its knife, and the pouch, both for his belt, and the sword belt, with its scabbard and blade, to be slung over the left shoulder. I then crouched down beside the slave.

"Master?" she asked.

I pushed her down to the stones, so that her belly was flat on them.

"Master?" she asked.

"Do you beg use?" I asked.

"Yes, Master!" she whispered, tensely.

"Perhaps some other time," I said.

"Do not kill me," she said.

I took my knife and, from the back of her head, gathered together a large handful of her long dark hair, and then cut it off, close to the scalp. I then, using her hair, bound her hands together behind her back.

"You have not earned a use," I said.

I then cut another gout of her hair from the back of her head and used it to tie the flute about her neck. I did not crop the hair about her head with the knife, rather in the manner of shaving it off, as is sometimes done as a punishment for female slaves. I did no more than take the two gouts. To be sure, these two gouts, thick as they were, cleared an irregular space of several square inches of the back of her head. This cleared area, thought not evident from the front, was only too obvious from the back. it would doubtless occasion much merriment upon its discovery by her chain sisters, as she was a beauty, and might be envied by them. Too, given her personality, I suspected that they would be likely to find her plight even more amusing. Perhaps she could wear a scarf for a time, or have her hair shortened or tied in such a way as to conceal or minimize the rather liberal extent of this local cropping. One advantage of shaving a girl's head, incidentally, is the duration of the punishment. It is recalled to her, for example, every time she touches her head or sees her reflection. By the time it had grown out, and even by the time that it begins to grow out a little, she had usually determined to do all in her power to be such that her master will permit her to keep her hair. if he wishes, or thinks it judicious, of course, he may keep her with a shaved head. It might also be noted that certain slaves, rather as an occupational mark or precaution, for example, girls working in foundries and mills, often have their heads shaved. Too, it is common to have a girl completely if she it to be transported in a slave ship. This is to protect her against vermin of various sort, in particular, lice. I dragged the slave up to her knees and knelt her before us. She trembled, daring not to meet our eyes.

"Go to the other flute girls," I said, "to all those about whether on the street or on the wall. Inform them that their work for the day is finished."

"Master?" she said.

"Tell them to hurry home to their chains."

"Master!" she said.

"Do you understand?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Do you dally in the carrying out of a command?" I asked.

"No, Master!" she said, and leaped to her feet, running across the Wall Road, her hands tied behind her, wisps of silk fluttering about her waist, the flute dangling from her neck.

"She is very pretty," said Marcus.

"More so then I?" asked Phoebe.

"Is the slave jealous?" inquired Marcus, teasingly.

"Please, Master," begged Phoebe.

"Are you jealous?" he said.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe, defiantly.

"You do not sound humble," he said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said, quickly, frightened.

"Who is jealous?" he inquired.

"Phoebe is jealous," she whispered.

"You are a thousand times more beautiful than she," said Marcus.

"Master sports with his helpless slave," pouted Phoebe.

"To me," said Marcus, teasingly.

"How shall I ever hold you, Master?" she wept. "I am yours, and only a slave. You may put me aside or keep me with others, s you might please. There are thousands of intelligent, pretty women who would be eager to serve you. You may have your pick. You may buy and sell as you please. How shall I ever keep you?"

"It is mine to keep you if I wish," said Marcus.

"Yes, Maser!" she wept.

I considered the unilaterally of the master/slave relationship. All power is with the master. This, of course, has its effect upon the slave. Let her strive to be such that her master will keep her.

"Look," I said, pointing to the foot of the wall, where the flute girl was together with others of her station. She seemed distraught, bound, turning about, to look at me. They all, excited, confused, looked in this direction. To be sure, several of them, and many on the wall, too, both flute girls and laborers, had paused in their various activities, to follow the sequence of events on the Wall Road. But Marcus and Phoebe paid me no attention. They were in one another's arms.

"I love you, Master," was saying Phoebe, looking up at him, "totally and helplessly."

"And I," he was saying, brushing back hair from her forehead, "fear that I might find myself growing fond of you."

"Use me, Master, use me!" she begged.

"Not here," said Marcus. "Perhaps in a darkened doorway, on the way back to our lodging."

Quickly she pulled from him, and hurried a few steps back, toward Harness Street, turning them to look back, pleadingly at him.

I was pleased to see that she was much in his power.

"I see," said Marcus. The flute girls at the foot of the wall, looking this way, knelt, putting their heads down to the stones, doing obeisance in our direction. The command of a free man had been conveyed to them. I then say the lovely brunet picking her way with difficulty up a path to the higher part of the breach. She was communicating my message, I gather, to the girls she encountered, on the different levels. I looked up toward the height of the breach. There, girl after girl, especially as she saw my eyes upon her, knelt, putting her head down. Those that were sitting cross-legged swiftly abandoned that position, also performing obeisance. Then, one by one, as the brunet hurried among them, they picked their way down the paths from the breach to the Wall Road and hurried away. In a few moments the breach was cleared of flute girls. Doubtless all of them, at one time or another, had been under an excellent discipline and now, fearful of an impending restoration of such rigors, would lose no time in recalling, and manifesting, suitable attitudes and behaviors. No woman who has ever felt the whip forgets it.

"Was that wise?" asked Marcus.

"No," I said.

"Tomorrow they will be back, and things will be the same," he said.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"Nothing will be changed," he said.

"True," I said.

"Then why did you do it?" he asked.

"I felt like it," I said.

"I was afraid you might not have had a good reason," he said.

"Master," said Phoebe, pleadingly.

"It could be dangerous here," said Marcus.

"For whom?" I asked.

"I see," said Marcus.

"Master," begged Phoebe.

"The men of Ar, and the woman, and youth," he said, looking over to the wall, "remain on the breach."

"Yes," I said.

"Interesting," he said.

"Master!" said Phoebe, suddenly, again. But this time, from the note in her voice, we turned about, instantly.

"You there, hold!" cried an angry voice, that of a guardsman in the uniform of Ar, hurrying toward us. His hand was on the hilt of his sword.

We turned to face him, separating ourselves. This permits outflanking, the engagement by one, the death stroke by the other.

Instantly the guardsmen stopped. He was then some four or five yards from us. "You are armed," he said.

"It is lawful," I said. "We are not of Ar."

He drew his blade.

We, too, drew ours.

"You have drawn before a guardsman!" he said.

"Did you think we would not?" I asked.

"It is against the law," he said.

"Not our law," I said.

"What have you done here?" he asked. "The flute girls have worked enough today," I said. "We have sent them home."

"By whose authority?" he asked.

"By mine," I said.

"You are an officer?" he said.

"No," I said.

"I do not understand," he said.

"You are Cosian," said Marcus.

"I am a guardsman of Ar," said a fellow.

"You are Cosian," said Marcus.

"You have drawn a weapon against me," I said.

"You are of the warriors?" said the fellow. He wavered. He, too, knew the codes. "Yes," I said.

"And he?" asked the fellow.

"He, too," I said.

"You are not in scarlet," he said.

"True," I said. Did he think that the color of a fellow's garments was what made him a warrior? Surely he must realize that one not of the warriors might affect the scarlet, and that one who wore the grimed gray of a peasant, one barefoot, and armed only with the great staff, might be of the scarlet caste. It is not the uniform which makes the warrior, the soldier.

"There are two of you," he said, stepping back a pace.

"Yes," I said.

"Be off," said he, "before I place you under arrest."

"Perhaps you fellows should go about in squads of ten," I said.

"It is not necessary," he said.

"No," I said. "I suppose it is not necessary."

"Are you going to kill him?" Marcus asked me.

"I have not decided," I said.

"There are two of you," he said.

"You are a brave fellow," I said, "not to turn about, and flee." The odds, you see, were much against him, even were we mediocre swordsmen. One need only engage and defend, and the other strike.

"You dare not attack," he said. "It is day. Those of Ar watch."

"Is it true?" I asked Marcus, not taking my eyes off the fellow.

Marcus stepped back, shielding himself behind me. "Yes," he said.

"Interesting," I said.

"You see," he said. "There are many witnesses."

"They are not rushing for aid are they?" I asked Marcus.

"No," he said.

"I suspect they will have seen nothing," I said.

The fellow turned pale.

"You are cowards!" he said.

"Which of us will kill him?" asked Marcus.

"It does not matter," I said.

The fellow stepped back another pace.

"Why do you not run?" I asked.

"Those of Ar watch," he said.

"And not to show fear before them you would stand your ground against two?"

"I am Cosian," he said.

"Now," I said to Marcus, "perhaps the victory of Cos is clearer to you."

"Yes," said Marcus.

"Under the circumstances," I said to the guardsman, "I would nonetheless recommend a discretionary withdrawal."

"No," said the man.

"We are prepared to permit it," I said.

"No," he said.

"No dishonor is involved in such a thing," I said.

"No," he said.

"You need not even make haste," I said.

"I do not fear you singly," he said.

"On guard," I said.

He immediately entered readiness.

"Stay back," I said to Marcus.

I had scarcely uttered my injunction to Marcus when, Phoebe screaming, the fellow lunged. Our blades met perhaps three times and I was under his guard. He drew back, shaken, white faced. Again we engaged and, again, in a moment, I was behind his guards. Again he drew back, this time staggering, off balance. "Aii," he wept and lunged again, and then, tripped, scrambling about, pressed back with my foot, was on his back, my sword at his throat. He looked up, wildly.

"Strike!" he said.

"Get up," I said. "Sheath your sword."

He staggered to his feet, watching me, and sheathed his sword. I then sheathed mine.

"Why did you not kill me?" he asked.

"I told you earlier," I said, "I had decided not to kill you."

"I am an expert swordsman," he said, looking at me.

"I agree," I said.

"I have never seen such speed, such subtlety," he said. "It is like defending oneself against wind, or lightning."

I did not respond to him. In a way I felt sad, and helpless. In many ways I was an average man, if that. too, I have many lacks, and many faults. How ironic then it was, I thought, that among the few gifts which I might possess, those few things which might distinguish me among other men, were such as are commonly associated with destructiveness. Of what value is it, I asked myself, to have certain talents. Of what dreadful value are such skills? Of what value, really, is it to be able to bring down a running man with the great bow at two hundred yards, to throw the quiva into a two-hort circle at twenty paces, to wield a sword with an agility others might bring to the handling of a knife? Of what use are such dreadful skills? Then I reminded myself that such skills are often of great use and that culture, with its glories of art, and music and literature, can flourish only within the perimeters of their employments. Perhaps there is then a role for the lonely fellows on the wall, for the border guards, for the garrisons of far-flung outposts, for the guardsmen in the city treading their lonely rounds. All these, too, in their humble, unnoticed way, serve. Without them the glory is not possible. Without them even their critics could not exist. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

I recalled, too, the games of war. They, too, in their awesomeness, must not be forgotten. Why is it that some men seek wars, traveling to the ends of the earth to find them? It is because they have a taste for such things. It is because there, where others fear to tread, they find themselves most alive. He who has been on the field of battle knows the misery, the terror, the tenseness, the racing of the blood, the pounding of the heart, the exhilaration, the meaningfulness. In what other arena, and for what lesser stakes, can so much of man be summoned forth, man with his brutality, his cruelty, his mercilessness, his ruthlessness, his terribleness, these ancient virtues, and man with his devotion, his camaraderie, his fellowship, his courage, his discipline, his glory? In what other endeavor is man, in his frailty and strength, in his terribleness and nobility, so fully manifested? What is the meaning of war to the warrior? Surely it is not merely to be found in the beholding of flaming cities and the treading of bloody fields. Surely it is not merely to be found in silver plate and golden vessels, nor even in women lying naked in their chains, huddled together, trembling in the mud, knowing that they are now properties and must please. It is rather, I think, primarily, the contest, and that for which all is risked, victory. To be sure, this is a war of warriors, not of technicians and engineers, a war of men, not of machines, not of explosives, not of microscopic allies, not of poisoned atmospheres, wars in which the tiny, numerous meek, in their swarms, crawling on six legs, will inherit the earth.

"You are not of Ar," said the guardsman.

"No," I said.

"I did not think so," he said.

I shrugged.

"Cos," he said, "can use blades such as yours."

"I seek employment," I said.

"Go to the barracks of guardsmen," said he.

"Perhaps," I said.

"I would now leave this area," he said. "Too, I would not attempt to interfere with the work on the walls."

"I understand," I said.

"That is a pretty slave," he said.

"She belongs to my friend," I said. Phoebe shrank back a bit, closer to Marcus. Female slaves on Gor must grown used to being looked upon frankly by men, and assessed as the properties they are. They know they can be acquired, and disposed of, and bought and sold, and traded, and such, with ease, even at a moment's notice.

"Is she of Ar?" he asked.

"No," said Marcus.

"Are you sure?" asked the guardsmen.

"Yes," said Marcus.

"Many women of Ar look well in slave tunics, barefoot and collared," he said. "Undoubtedly," I said.

"They should all be slaves," he said.

"So should all women," I said.

"True," he said.

To be sure, it did amuse me to think of the proud women of Ar, of "Glorious Ar," as slaves. Such a fare seemed to me fully appropriate for them, and in particular for some of them.

"Let us return to our lodgings," I said to Marcus.

"I wish you well," said the guardsman.

"I, too, wish you well," I said.

"I must now put these tame cattle of Ar back to work," he said.

"One man alone?" I asked.

"No more are needed," he said.

Indeed, there were no guardsmen on the walls themselves. We had encountered one on the way to the wall, on Harness Street, who had detained us briefly, apparently primarily to determine whether or not we were of Ar.

"We shall leave now," said Marcus.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe.

We then turned about, and left the vicinity of the Wall Road. Near the entrances to Harness Street, off the Wall Road, I turned about.

"Continue your work for peace!" called the guardsmen to those on the wall. The men on the wall then, and the youth, and women, returned to their labors. "Incredible," marveled Marcus.

"Master," moaned Phoebe.

Things were then much as they had been before. Nothing had changed. To be sure, the work was not now being performed to the music of flute girls. Tomorrow, however, I did not doubt but what the flute girls would be back, and numerous guards in attendance, at least on the street.

"Is your sword for hire?" I asked Marcus.

"It could be," he said.

"Good," I said.

"You have some plan?" he asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Master," whimpered Phoebe.

Marcus stopped and looked at her.

She, too, stopped, and looked up at him.

"Strip," he said.

She looked at him, suddenly, wildly, and then about herself. "This is a public street," she said.

He did not speak.

She squirmed. "Is there no doorway? No sheltered place?" she asked.

He did not respond to her.

"I was a woman of Cos," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "This is a public street in Ar!"

His expression remained impassive. He maintained his silence.

"Cos has defeated Ar!" she wept.

He did not speak.

"Am I to suffer because you are angry with the men of Ar?" she asked.

"Does the slave dally in her obedience?" he inquired.

"No, Master!" she said, frightened.

"Must a command be repeated?" he inquired.

"No, Master!" she cried. Her tiny fingers began to fumble with the knot of the slave girdle, on her left. Then she had the knot loose and pulled away the girdle. She then, hastily, struggling a little with it, pulled the tunic, a light pullover tunic, off, over her head. "The slave obeys her master!" she gasped, frightened, kneeling before him. He then tied her hands behind her back with the slave girdle and thrust the tiny tunic, folded, crosswise, in her mouth, so that she would bite on it. He then pushed her head down to the stones. "Are you now less angry with the men of Ar?" I asked him, in an Ehn or two. Marcus stood up, adjusting his tunic.

"Yes," he said.

Phoebe turned about, from her knees, the tunic between her teeth, and looked back at us.

"This had little to do with you," I told her. "Too, it is immaterial that you were once of Cos. A slave, you must understand, must sometimes serve such purposed." Her eyes were wide. But one of the utilities of a slave, of course, is to occasionally serve as the helpless object upon which the master may vent his dissatisfaction, his frustration or anger. Too, of course, they may serve many other related purposes, such as the relief of tensions, to relax oneself and even to calm oneself for clear thought.

"Do you understand?" I asked.

She nodded.

I regarded her.

She whimpered, once.

"Good," I said.

One whimper signifies "Yes," and two signifies "No." This arrangement, at any rate, was the one which Marcus had taught to Phoebe long ago, quite early in her slavery to him, at a time when she had been much more often kept bound and gagged then now.

Marcus then snapped his fingers that she should rise.

She leaped to her feet.

We turned our steps once more toward our lodging. Phoebe hurried behind. Once she tried, whimpering, to press herself against her master. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, her hands tied behind her, the tunic between her teeth. She feared that she might have now, because of her earlier behavior, lapsed in his favor. Too, compounding her misery, was doubtless the fact that Marcus, in his casual usage of her, had done little more than intensify her needs, the helpless prisoner of which, as a slave girl, she was. He thrust her back. we then continued on our way, Phoebe heeling her master. I heard her gasp once or twice, and sob. She was now, I was sure, much more aware, in her own mind, of what it was to be a slave. I do not think, then, she thought of herself any longer, really, as a woman of Cos, or even one who had once been of Cos, but rather now as merely a slave, only that, and one who had perhaps, frighteningly, to her trepidation and misery, failed to be fully pleasing. I did not doubt that later, when we had reached the room, and she was unbound and freed of the gag, that she would crawl to Marcus on all fours, the whip between her teeth, begging. Too, though he loved her muchly, I did not doubt but what he would use it on her. She was, after all, his slave, and he, after all, was her master.