Plunder of Gor by Norman John;

Author:Norman, John;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2016-03-14T19:21:59+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I put down the wooden pail, which I had just filled.

“What is wrong?” asked Paula. “Dear Phyllis, there is something wrong!”

“No,” I said.

“Here, to the side,” said Paula, concerned.

“No,” I said. “I must return, soon, to my master.”

“Surely there is time,” said Paula.

“How promptly this rendezvous takes place,” I said.

“Surely you do not object,” she said.

“We met but yesterday,” I said.

“To my joy,” she said.

“I did not expect our rendezvous to occur so soon,” I said.

“Surely you are as pleased to see me, as I you,” said Paula.

“It seems you are free of your house again, so soon,” I said.

“Are you angry, are you frightened?” asked Paula, troubled.

“No,” I said. “I thought you a display slave.”

“I have served so,” she said.

“I am surprised that a display slave could so easily slip her chains,” I said.

“A girl does not slip her chains,” she said. “You are well aware of that. Have you not worn them, felt their weight, felt them clasp your limbs, your throat, so obdurately? Do you think you could slip them? What is wrong with you this morning?”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“To see you, dear Phyllis,” she said.

“You are far from the house of Decius Albus,” I said.

“I have a coin,” she said. “I was sent to the Teiban market, to buy tur-pah.”

“May I see the coin?” I said.

“Surely,” she said, holding out her hand, opened, in the palm of which lay a copper tarsk-bit, “but why?”

“You are far from the Teiban market,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “and at considerable risk to myself, to see you, to keep our rendezvous.”

“I see,” I said. Of course, I thought. Decius Albus would see to it that she had a coin, to add credence to her story.

“Are you angry?” she asked. “Have I somehow offended you?”

“How is it that you are free in the city, to wander about?” I said.

“Many slaves are free in the city,” she said, “as you are.”

“I am not a display slave,” I said. “I am not a prize slave. I did not sell for a golden tarsk, or tarn!”

“I did not tell you that!” she said.

“It is common knowledge,” I said, “that Decius Albus will not buy a cheap slave, any who might go appropriately for less than eight silver tarsks.”

“It was only a golden tarsk,” she said. “The bidding must have been irrational. The agent of Master Decius was doubtless inattentive or incompetent. You are far more beautiful than I.”

“If you are so valuable, such a beauty,” I said, “why are you loose, marketing?”

“For weeks,” she said, “I pleaded to be a common slave, to serve in the house, in the kitchen, outside in the garden, anywhere, but free from the misery and sadness of the display chain.”

“And your pleas,” I said, “were acceded to, I take it, but recently.”

“Yes,” she said. “Only three days ago.”

“I see,” I said.

“But I am still a display slave,” she said. “My new service, that of a house slave, is yet on probation, to see if I might prove satisfactory as a house slave.

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