taker of bribes, refuge of scoundrels, home of cowards, (pg. 67)
betrayer of the mother city! Down with Ar’s Station. Curses upon her!” He then
spat vigorously upon the stone.
“Steady,” I whispered to Marcus. “Steady.”
The fellow then, not looking about, exited between the velvet ropes on the other
side.
Only yesterday there had been lines, though smaller than when we had first come
to Ar, to revile the stone. Today almost no one approached it. The enclosure was
within sight of the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder.
I put my hand on Marcus’ wrist, not permitting him to draw his sword.
“Remember,” I said. “They think that Ar’s Station opened her gates to Cos.”
“Cursed lie!” said he.
“Yes, indeed,” I said, rather loudly, for I saw some fellows look about at
Marcus, “it is a cursed lie for any to suggest that the men of Ar might lack
courage. Surely they are among the bravest on all Gor!”
“True, true,” said more than one fellow, returning his attention to his own
business.”
“Come away from her,” I said to Marcus.
Phoebe was not with us. We had stopped at one of the depots for fee carts on
Wagon Street, in southeast Ar. There we had backed her into a slave locker,
reached by a catwalk, on all fours, inserted the coin, a tarsk bit, turned and
removed the key. It is a simple device, not unlike the slave boxes used in
certain storage areas. Unlike the slave boxes, they do not require the immediate
services of an attendant. The lockers open outward, as opposed to the slave
boxes, which open upward. The lockers, thus, like slave cages, may be tiered.
The gate of the locker, like the lid of the slave box, is perforated for the
passage of air, usually, like the slave box, with a design in the form of the
cursive ‘Kef,’ the first letter of “Kajira,” the most common Gorean expression,
among several, for a female slave. The usual, and almost universal, temporary
holding arrangement is a simple slave ring, mounted in the wall. These are
conveniently available in most public places. The slave is usually chained to
them. Marcus had decided to keep Phoebe today in a box or locker, rather than at
an open ring. “Down on all fours, crawl within, backward!” Marcus had ordered
the slim beauty. She had obeyed, instantly. Gorean slave girls swiftly learn not
to demur at the orders of masters. I recalled her face, looking up at Marcus.
“Let this help you to keep in mind that you are a slave,” said Marcus. “Yes,
Master,” she had said. He had then closed the door, turning the key, removing
it, placing it in his pouch. I did not object to this incarceration (pg. 68) of
his beauteous slave as such things are excellent for their discipline. Also, it
seemed to me, aside from the value of its effect of Phoebe, an excellent idea.
If her were successful in his mad attempt to obtain the Home Stone of his city
he would doubtless be a recognized wanted man. Some might recall that Phoebe was
his slave, and thus attempt to trace him through her. In the locker she would
not be as easily recognized, surely not as easily as if she were kneeling at a
wall, braceleted to a ring. The keeping her in a box or locker seemed to me
superior, too, incidentally, to renting a tenement room, even though these were
now cheaper and more available than when I had been last in Ar, because of the
new egress of refugees, now from Ar herself. We might be remembered by the
proprietor or other tenants in such a place. Had we used such a room we could
have left her there, chained to a slave ring. In such a room, assuming slaves
are allowed in the building, there are usually two of these, one at the wall and
one at the foot of a straw-filled pallet. The depot, incidentally, had been
muchly crowded, thought not with fee carts. Most of the wagons, coaches, fee
carts, and such were gone. No longer were the schedules within and outside of
the city, being
betrayer of the mother city! Down with Ar’s Station. Curses upon her!” He then
spat vigorously upon the stone.
“Steady,” I whispered to Marcus. “Steady.”
The fellow then, not looking about, exited between the velvet ropes on the other
side.
Only yesterday there had been lines, though smaller than when we had first come
to Ar, to revile the stone. Today almost no one approached it. The enclosure was
within sight of the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder.
I put my hand on Marcus’ wrist, not permitting him to draw his sword.
“Remember,” I said. “They think that Ar’s Station opened her gates to Cos.”
“Cursed lie!” said he.
“Yes, indeed,” I said, rather loudly, for I saw some fellows look about at
Marcus, “it is a cursed lie for any to suggest that the men of Ar might lack
courage. Surely they are among the bravest on all Gor!”
“True, true,” said more than one fellow, returning his attention to his own
business.”
“Come away from her,” I said to Marcus.
Phoebe was not with us. We had stopped at one of the depots for fee carts on
Wagon Street, in southeast Ar. There we had backed her into a slave locker,
reached by a catwalk, on all fours, inserted the coin, a tarsk bit, turned and
removed the key. It is a simple device, not unlike the slave boxes used in
certain storage areas. Unlike the slave boxes, they do not require the immediate
services of an attendant. The lockers open outward, as opposed to the slave
boxes, which open upward. The lockers, thus, like slave cages, may be tiered.
The gate of the locker, like the lid of the slave box, is perforated for the
passage of air, usually, like the slave box, with a design in the form of the
cursive ‘Kef,’ the first letter of “Kajira,” the most common Gorean expression,
among several, for a female slave. The usual, and almost universal, temporary
holding arrangement is a simple slave ring, mounted in the wall. These are
conveniently available in most public places. The slave is usually chained to
them. Marcus had decided to keep Phoebe today in a box or locker, rather than at
an open ring. “Down on all fours, crawl within, backward!” Marcus had ordered
the slim beauty. She had obeyed, instantly. Gorean slave girls swiftly learn not
to demur at the orders of masters. I recalled her face, looking up at Marcus.
“Let this help you to keep in mind that you are a slave,” said Marcus. “Yes,
Master,” she had said. He had then closed the door, turning the key, removing
it, placing it in his pouch. I did not object to this incarceration (pg. 68) of
his beauteous slave as such things are excellent for their discipline. Also, it
seemed to me, aside from the value of its effect of Phoebe, an excellent idea.
If her were successful in his mad attempt to obtain the Home Stone of his city
he would doubtless be a recognized wanted man. Some might recall that Phoebe was
his slave, and thus attempt to trace him through her. In the locker she would
not be as easily recognized, surely not as easily as if she were kneeling at a
wall, braceleted to a ring. The keeping her in a box or locker seemed to me
superior, too, incidentally, to renting a tenement room, even though these were
now cheaper and more available than when I had been last in Ar, because of the
new egress of refugees, now from Ar herself. We might be remembered by the
proprietor or other tenants in such a place. Had we used such a room we could
have left her there, chained to a slave ring. In such a room, assuming slaves
are allowed in the building, there are usually two of these, one at the wall and
one at the foot of a straw-filled pallet. The depot, incidentally, had been
muchly crowded, thought not with fee carts. Most of the wagons, coaches, fee
carts, and such were gone. No longer were the schedules within and outside of
the city, being
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