"Splendid," he said. "We may need every tarsk bit."
"What?" I asked.
"I have expensive tastes," he explained. "Further, I am an Alar, and we Alars are generous, noble folk."
"That is a known fact," I granted him.
"We have a reputation to uphold," he said.
"Doubtless," I said.
"If we run short," he said, "I may always strike some good fellow on the head and take his purse."
"Surely you do not behave so in your own camp," I said. "No, of course not," he said, rather surprised. "But they are Alars." "I see," I said.
"Not outsiders, not city folks," he said.
"I must warn you," I said, "that even outside the wagons striking fellows on the head and taking their purses is often frowned upon."
"Oh?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Many folks have strong opinions about such matters." "Interesting," he said.
"You would not like to be struck on the head, would you?" I asked.
"Of course not," he said.
"There you are," I said.
"But I am an Alar," he said.
"What difference does that make?" I asked.
"It makes all the difference in the world," he said. "Can you prove it does not?"
"No," I admitted.
"There you are," he said.
"I assure you," I said, "folks would not like it, and you might find yourself impaled, or cut to pieces."
"I am not impervious to such considerations," he said, "but I thought we were discussing purely moral issues."
"You should not behave in such a manner," I said.
"But it is not unseemly for me to do so, I assure you," he said. "Besides, such behavior lies well within my entitlements."
"How is that?" I asked.
"I am an Alar," he said.
"While we are traveling together," I said, "mainly because I do not wish to be impaled, or fed in bits to sleen, I would appreciate it if, as a favor to me, if nothing else, you would consider refraining from the exercise of certain of your Alar rights."
"Surely you would have no objection if fellows wished to make me loans or bestow gifts upon me?" he asked.
"Of course not," I said. "No one could possibly object to that." "Splendid," he said.
I relaxed.
"I was afraid you might be prone to eccentric reservations," he said.
"Not me," I said.
"Splendid!" he said, warmly.
We were in the camp of the wagoners, one of those associated with the supply trains of the soldiers of Cos and the Cosian mercenaries. It was in the neighborhood of dawn and now, after their breakfasts, wagoners were readying their wagons and harnessing their tharlarion and, indeed, some had already taken to the road. There seemed no numbering to their vehicles nor camp marshals in attendance. The trains, in spite of their length and numbers, and their diverse cargoes, seemed to me most casually organized. This differed considerably from the disciplines I would have expected to attend arrangements pertaining to the transportation and protection of such stores. I could not understand the apparent reluctance on the part of Ar to exploit these weaknesses.
"Are you ready?" inquired Mincon, our wagoner, he with whom Feiqa and I had traveled yesterday, jerking tight the harness of his tharlarion.
"In a moment," I said. "Hold still Feiqa."
Quite near to him, as he worked, knelt Tula. She tried to put her cheek against his left thigh. He brushed her away. Properly handled, women become as subservient and affectionate as dogs. They all desire to be totally prisoners of love, and they will never be fully content until they become so.
"Would you make me so much a slave, Master?" inquired Feiqa.
"Yes, I said.
"Then do so," she said.
Tula now wore a tunic. Mincon had fashioned it for her from her former garments, those she had worn yesterday as a free woman. It was brief and sleeveless, and of white wool. She had excellent legs. Another part of her former garments he had cut into a sort of shawl which she might clutch about her when the winds blew chill. Some other bits of them he had cut up and she had fashioned them into a form of footwear, which she had tied on her small feet. The stones of the Genesian Road, in Se'Kara would be cold. I considered again Tula's legs. They were well bared by her new tunic, as was appropriate for a slave. On Gor it is commonly only slaves, incidentally, who bare their legs, and although they usually do so eagerly, proudly and beautifully, they realize that, in the final analysis, whether they wish it or not, they will generally have little, if any, choice in the matter. Such things are up to the master. One need not speculate overly long, either, on the usual decision of the master, for most Gorean masters are vital, strong, dominant males. It is thus common for the enslaved females, and it is usually implicit in the only modes of garmenture most masters will permit them, that their legs, with all the delicious excitements of their thighs, calves and ankles, will be exposed to the gaze of free persons.
Contrariwise, almost no free woman would bare her legs. They would not dare to do so. They would be horrified even to think of it. The scandal of such an act could ruin a reputation. It is said on Gor, any woman who bares her legs is a slave. Indeed, in some cities a free woman who might be found with bare legs is taken in hand by magistrates, tried and sentenced to bondage. After the judge's decision has been enacted, its effect carried out upon her, reducing her to the status of goods, sometimes publicly, that she may be suitably disgraced, sometimes privately, by a contract slaver, that the sensitivities of free women in the city not be offended, she is hooded and transported, stripped and chained, freshly branded and collared, a property female, slave cargo, to a distant market where, once sold, she will begin her life anew, fearfully, as a purchased girl, tremulously as the helpless and lowly slave she now is.
"Oh," said Feiqa.
"Steady," I said to her. I wiped the needle. I then returned it to my sewing kit.
"Do not touch the wounds," I said.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were moist, and she seemed slightly afraid. In her eyes there was a sort of wonder, and awe. It seemed she found it hard to understand, truly, what had been done to her, from the Gorean point of view, the enormity of it.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"No," she said.
I wiped the tiny drops of blood away. I then fastened the tiny objects upon her. "They are beautiful," said Hurtha, admiringly.
"They are cheap," I said.
"That is all right," he said.
I did not want free women attacking the girl in rage, and perhaps tearing the objects free.
I turned Feiqa's head from side to side. Yes, they were lovely. She looked up at me. She now wore earrings.
I again regarded Tula's legs. True, the baring of the legs in that fashion, by so short a tunic, was truly an indication of slavery. Only a slave would be so bared. Mincon, of course, was proud of her. He owned her. He enjoyed showing her unmistakably as a slave. To be sure, it was not of the same degree of momentousness as certain other indications of slavery, irrefutable, irreversible, unmistakable indications, indications and degradations so fundamental that they would be likely to be inflicted only upon the most delicious and lowest of all slaves. It did not begin to compare, for example, with such things as the piercing of the ears.
"We are ready now," I told Mincon. "You may rise, Feiqa," I said.
"Go, stand behind the back of the wagon," said Mincon to Tula.
I put the rope on Feiqa's neck and then tied it to the side of the wagon, as I had before.
"Will it be necessary to chain you?" Mincon asked Tula.
"No, Master," she said.
"That is for me to decide," he said. He then took a length of chain from the wagon, that with which he had chained her to the wagon wheel last night, and, with a heavy padlock, fastened it on her neck. He then padlocked the other end of the chain to a stout ring, the central ring, at the rear of the wagon. She would walk behind the wagon, fastened to it by the neck.