"Wider," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
She watched my hand. Her teeth were clenched. Her eyes were wide.
"Aiii!" she started to cry, but my left hand closed her mouth. She squirmed helplessly. Her thighs were clenched on my hand. She looked at me, over my hand on her mouth.
"You are a pretty slave," I told her.
With my knee I thrust apart her legs.
Then her body clasped me. Her eyes were closed. I removed my hand from her mouth. She opened her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, "for covering my mouth, that I not be heard to scream."
"You did not wish to awaken the others," I said.
"I could not bear to have them know how I yielded to you," she whispered. "It would be humiliating."
"It is nearly time for them to awaken," I said.
"Master?" she asked. "Master, no!" she cried. "What are you doing?"
"I am going to induce in you," I said, "the first of your slave orgasms."
"No," she wept. "Please, no! There are others in the tent! I do not want the other girls to know what a slave I am! Please, no, Master!"
But I did not choose to show her mercy.
"Cover my mouth!" she begged. "Oh, oh!"
I held her arms pinned to her sides. Then she half reared up under me, squirming and struggling, and then threw back her head, screaming, and I pressed her down on the furs. Imnak lifted his head quickly, and then, understanding the nature of the noise, shook his head and reached over and seized Poalu. She was drawn to him, tightly, and began to kiss him. "I submit," screamed Audrey. "I submit to you, oh, my Master!" Arlene and Thimble, sullenly, angrily, regarded her.
"Slave!" said Arlene.
"Yes, slave, slave!" sobbed Audrey, then covered my face with tears and kisses. I later held her quiet in my arms while she, with her small, soft tongue, licked clean the stubble of my beard.
16
Imnak Carves
Imnak sat in the corner of the tent, aimlessly whittling at a piece of tabuk horn.
Once in a while he would stop and turn the ivory, and look at it. Sometimes he would whisper, "Who hides in there? Who are you?" Then he would begin to carve again. Then, suddenly, he said, "Ah, sleen!"
I watched him flake and trim ivory from the horn. Slowly, as I watched, I saw the shape of a sleen emerging, almost as though it had been hidden in the ivory, the snout and legs, and the long, sinuous shape. Its ears were flat back against its head.
Often the red hunter does not set out to carve something, but rather to carve, patiently waiting to see if there is something there, waiting to be released. It is a little like hunting. He is open to what may be found. Sometimes there is a shape in the ivory or bone, or stone. Sometimes there is not. He removes the excess ivory and there, where it had lain hidden before, now revealed, is the shape.
Imnak's knife had a wooden handle, some fourteen inches long. Its point was some three inches in length. He braced it on his leg in carving, his fingers near the blade end where they might delicately control the movement of the metal. Bracing the knife permits force from the leg to be applied, whereas balance and control are not sacrificed, because the point is subtly guided by the movement of the fingers.
Imnak held up the sleen.
In the language of the Innuit there is no word for art or artist.
"It is a handsome animal," I said.
They need no such words. Why should there be special words for men who find beauty in the world. Is this not a concern of all men?
"It is your sleen," said Imnak, giving it to me.
"I am grateful," I said. I looked at it. It was a snow sleen, easily identified by the thickness of the coat, the narrowness of the ears, the breadth of the paws.
"I am very grateful," I said.
"It is nothing," he said.
17
I First Hear Of Karjuk; I Must Meet Him
"But I have never seen it before," said Imnak.
He examined the carving.
It was the head of a Kur, in bluish stone, the ear at the left side of its head half torn away. I had brought it with me from Port Kar. I had originally obtained it at the Sardar Fair, at the booth of the curio dealer.
"I thought you had sold it to the dealer at the fair," I said.
"I sold carvings at the fair," said Imnak, "yes, but I did not sell this."
"I had thought you did," I said.
"No," said Imnak.
"Then he must have obtained the carving from some other," I said.
Imnak shrugged. "It would seem so," he said.
"Who other than you of the Innuit," I asked, "journeyed this year to the lair?"
"Only I," said Imnak.
"Can you be sure?" I asked.
"Reasonably so," said Imnak. "It is a long journey to go to the fair. If some other had gone I think I would have heard of this. It makes good telling in the tents."
"Where then," I asked, "might the dealer have obtained this carving?"
"I do not know," said Imnak. "I am sorry, Tarl, who hunts with me."
"Forgive me, Imnak, who hunts with me," I said, "it was not my intent to impugn your honesty." I had pressed the matter too much with him. He had told me he had not seen the carving before. For a red hunter that was sufficient.
"Can you tell from the styling or toolwork," I asked, "who might have made this carving."
The art of the Innuit is often similar, from object to object. Yet to a subtle eye there are slight differences. One man will release from bone or ivory, or stone, a figure in a way which is slightly different from the way in which another will release it.
Imnak examined the carving carefully, turning it about in his hand.
I felt sick. That carving had, in effect, brought me to the north. Now it seemed it had led me only to a dead end. Miserably in my mind I contemplated the vastness of the polar basin. The summer, too, was already advanced.
"Imnak," I asked, "have you heard of a mountain that does not move?"
He looked at me.
"A mountain of ice," I said, "in the polar sea."
"No," said Imnak.
"Have you not even heard the story of such a mountain?" I asked.
"No," said Imnak.
I looked down at the mat. "Imnak," I said, "have you ever seen such a beast as is represented in that carving?"
"Yes," he said.
I looked up at him, quickly.
"North of Torvaldsland," he said, "I saw one once, some years ago. I threatened it with my harpoon, and it went away."
"Was its ear thusly torn?" I asked.
"It was night," he said. "I did not see it well. I do not think so."
"Was it a large animal?" I asked.
"Not too large," he said.
"What do you call such animals?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Beasts," he said.
I sighed. Some years ago Imnak had seen a Kur north of Torvaldsland. It had probably been a young beast, an offspring of ship Kurii, stranded long ago on Gor. Such animals are found occasionally, usually in remote areas.
"But it was not an ice beast," he said. I did not understand him.
"It was not white," he said.
"Oh," I said. "Are there such beasts in the north?"
"Yes," he said, "here and there, on the ice."
These too, I assumed would be native Kurii, the survivors of stranded ship Kurii, perhaps crashed, brought down or marooned generations ago. There were different races of Kurii, I knew, though from my point of view there did not seem much point in discriminating among them. It was speculated that it had been fratricidal wars among such various forms of Kur which had resulted in the destruction of their native world.
Imnak handed the carving back to me.
I was at a loss. I had no clues. My northward journey had brought me to an impasse. There was now nothing to do, nowhere to go.