Smugglers of Gor by John Norman

can tell from her speech.”
    “She cannot even speak the language properly,” said another.
    “Barbarians do not have caste,” said another.
    “Barbarians are stupid,” said another.
    “I am not stupid,” I had said.
    The fellow in blue continued to call lot numbers.
    Seventeen girls were called forth; five had been siriked, four, including myself, had been chained at the wall. The rest, unencumbered, had been at liberty to move about the room as they wished, saving that they might not, without permission, as noted, ascend the stairs leading to the barred gate.
    We stood in line, waiting, positioned as required, head down, wrists crossed behind our back.
    We had seen the use of the long rope, the cords, the strips of cloth, before. We were to be taken from the holding area. The double loop of cord was put about my left wrist and jerked tight, and, a moment later, my wrists were secured in place. A bit after that a length of the long rope was knotted about my neck, and then the two fellows proceeded forward, one fastening the wrists of the girl before me together, she who had claimed to have been of the high Merchants, and the other adding her to the coffle. Shortly thereafter the fellow with the strips of cloth was behind me. “Look up,” he said. I was then blindfolded. I felt a moment of panic, bound, tethered, and unable to see. How utterly helpless we are! This is done, commonly, from the rear forward. Supposedly this helps to keep the line tranquil, lessening the possibility of bolting. I remembered the unwise flight of the girl before me. I heard her whimper in terror, as she was blindfolded. We are so helpless! It is said that curiosity is not becoming to a kajira. It is not unusual to keep us in ignorance. Doubtless that helps to control us. Often we are not informed of where we are to be taken, and what is to be done with us. We are slaves. When we had been brought to this place we had been bound, coffled, and blindfolded, as well. We would not be able to recognize the inside of the building, its outside, the streets about, or such. We did know that we were in Brundisium, apparently a large city, and a port. Too, from the sounds, and the smells, it was clear that we were in the vicinity of water. Too, as noted earlier, we were familiar, at least with rumors, that we were to be taken north.
    I felt a slight movement on the rope, and then felt it pull at the back of my neck, and I moved forward.
    “Be careful of the stairs,” said a male voice.
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    “May I speak?” she asked.
    “Yes,” I said.
    She was kneeling beside me, on the boards, in a white tunic, of the wool of the bounding hurt, her wrists braceleted behind her, her leash of common brown leather looping up to my hand.
    “Why are we here?” she asked.
    “Are you curious?” I asked.
    “Forgive me, Master,” she said.
    It was early morning.
    The air was fresh, and keen. The wharves were crowded. Men came and went. Pennons fluttered from halyards. Large eyes were painted on each side of bows, that the ships might see their way.
    One could smell fish. The early boats had come in. Grunt and parsit were strung between poles. Crabs were sold from baskets.
    It was from such wharves that the small ships, mostly coasting vessels, not round ships, one every two or three days, had been plying north.
    Why should I be interested in them?
    Surely it was a foolishness.
    I recalled her lot number had been 119, not that it mattered.
    She was a slave.
    Who can understand the motivations of men, of oneself?
    I was angry with her, she no more than another marked collar slut. Still she had looked well at my feet in the warehouse. Were her bound curves that different from those of other helplessly trussed beauties? What had been in her eyes, as she had looked up at me? She did not even recognize me, I who had brought her to rope and iron! How uncertain she had been, how trembling and frightened, and dismayed, on the block, naked,