Kajira of Gor (56 page)

beside her in the vicinity of the serving table.

“When it comes time to serve the liqueurs,” said Susan, “you will serve those of

Cos and Ar, and I will serve those of Turia.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. The liqueurs of Turia are usually regarded as the best,

but I think this is largely a matter of taste. Those of Cos and of Ar, and of

certain other cities, are surely very fine.

I had little doubt that Drusus Rencius, of Ar, and Publius, at least once of Ar,

would prefer those of their own city. Susan, I suspected, knowing my feelings

for Drusus Rencius, was trying to be kind, giving me the liqueur that he was

almost certain to choose. On the other hand, did she not know that now I could

scarcely bear to face him, that I, only Ehn ago, had been proven before him to

be a natural slave!

“You are not a free woman,” whispered Susan. “Suppose the men look this way. Get

those knees apart!”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. Susan was younger and smaller than I but she, having

seniority over me among the women of Miles of Argentum, was dominant over me. I

must obey her as though she owned me, as though she was my Mistress. In such

ways is order kept among slaves. It is in accord with the precisions and

perfections of Gorean discipline. But the men did not soon call for their

liqueurs. Twice more, rather, talking and sipping, did they call for black wine,

and twice more did two slaves, Susan and Sheila, serve it to them. Eventually it

grew late, and the musicians were permitted to withdraw.

Still the men drank and talked.

“Why are you crying?” asked Susan.

“It is nothing,” I said. I gasped, and half choked. I held back sobs. I

restrained my tears. I wiped my eyes with slave silk.

Before the man I loved I had been stripped to the core. The one thing I had

desired most fervently to conceal from him, above all men, bad been made clear

to him. My secret Was revealed. My deepest and most secret self had been

casually disrobed and displayed for his consideration. I had been publicly

proven, before the man I loved, to be utterly worthless. I had been publicly

proven to be a natural slave.

“They are ready for their liqueurs,” whispered Susan.

We then brought them to them, on the two small trays.

“Liqueurs, Masters?” asked Susan.

“Liqueurs, Masters?’ I asked.

“Yes,” said Dertisus Heneius.

“’Yes,” said Publius.

Publius, to my surprise, selected a liqueur of Turia. “Those of Turia are the

best,” he said to Drusus Rencius, smiling, almost apologetically.

“Perhaps,” smiled Drusus Rencius, “but I prefer those of Ar.”

‘In the judgment of liqueurs,” said Publius, “’patriotism is out of place.”

“I have never confused objectivity with municipal pride,” responded Drusus

Rencius.

“Perhaps,” said Publius. “But you also thought that this Woman was not a natural

slave.”

“That is true,” laughed Drusus Rencius.

I looked at the silver tarsk oil the table near Publius. It seemed very large

and very heavy. It glinted softly in the light. I could see, the light, a dark,

crescentlike shadow on one side about its rim, oil the wood. He had not yet

placed it in his pouch. He had won it from Drusus Rencius.

“Look at me, Slave,” said Drusus Rencius.

I struggled to lift my head. I met his eyes. Then I lowered my head, ashamed.

“I was wrong about you,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“You are indeed a natural slave,” be said, “and an obvious one.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I looked again at the coin near Publius. Drusus Rencius had made a wager. He had

lost the wager. He had lost the bet.

“You may leave, Slaves,” said Publius.

“Thank you, Master,” said Susan.

“Thank you, Master,” I said. Then I turned and fled from the room, sobbing.

Behind the I heard Publius laughing, a great, roaring laugh. He was well

pleased, it seemed. Doubtless he should have been. He had won his bet.

36
   
In the Quarters of My Master

I was thrust, laughing and stumbling, down the hall before Drusus Rencius. I

wore nothing but a steel collar locked on my neck.

I preceded him, pushed’ and thrust toward his quarters. I laughed with joy. He

was not gentle with me. He was angry.

“To your belly!” he snarled, at the entrance to his quarters.

Then, in a moment, as I lay on the tiles I felt my hands jerked behind my back

and tied there, tightly. In another moment, I felt his strong hands cross my

ankles and loop them with binding fiber. Then, by the loops, they were drawn

closely together. Through my ankles I felt the jerking tight of the knots. I

then lay there at his feet, helplessly trussed. He flung open the door, angrily.

He then scooped me tip as though I might weigh nothing and threw me over his

shoulder. I was then, as a capture and a slave, carried helplessly over the

threshold. Within he put me on the floor, on the tiles, near the foot of the

couch, near the slave ring. He then closed and locked the door behind us. He

then came and stood near me, looming over me, looking down at me.

This morning, early, had been sent stark naked, even collarless, to the

courtyard, that I might bid farewell to my friends of Feast Slaves, who were now

leaving for Ar. I had spoken with them, and kissed them, shedding tears. My

favorites among them were Claudia, Crystal and Tupa, with whom I had been close

friends. I watched them all, one by one, naked, ankle-chained, then climbing

into the wagon, threading their chains about the opened central bar, then taking

their places. Many times had I, too, similarly secured, en route to various

destinations, usually in the city of Ar itself, been similarly secured and

transported.

“You are naked,” observed the voice.

“Yes, Master,” I said. The voice was that of Drusus Rencius.

I had not been given permission to turn, “Where is your collar?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” I said. “It was removed from me this morning.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” I said. “I suppose it is to be changed.”

“That is true,” said the voice.

“Master?” I asked.

“You are going to be put in a new collar,” he said.

“Master?” I asked.

“I have it here,” he said.

“You, Master?” I inquired.

He stepped about, in front of me. He showed me an opened collar, graceful and

slim, and of inflexible steel.

“Read it,” he said, indicating the legend which, in small, graceful letters, was

incised in the metal.

“I cannot read, Master,” I said. “I have never been taught.”

“Oh, splendid,” he said, irritably. “An illiterate slave!”

“Some men think they are the best kind,” I said, not a little irritated myself.

I was not illiterate in English, of course, only in Gorean. I had not been

taught to read in Corcyrus, probably in order to better keep the politics of the

city from me, and in order to guard against my better understanding my position

there. Many Gorean slaves, of course, are illiterate, and deliberately kept so.

In that fashion, for example, she may be used to carry messages about, even

having to do with herself. The common way in which a girl carries a Gorean

message is on foot, with her hand braceleted behind her. The message is then

inserted in a capped leather tube tied about her neck. Given the braceleting, of

course, even a literate girl may be used to carry messages in this fashion,

which may or may not have to do with herself. Some men feel that if a woman is

taught to read and write, particularly after she has been made a slave, she may

come to think that she is important. This delusion, of course, may be swiftly

removed from her by the whip. For what it is worth, literacy commonly increases

the value of a slave. It may usually be depended upon to add a few copper tarsks

to her value

“You seem bitter,” said Drusus Rencius.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“My own master has not even seen fit to change my collar,” I said.

“I see,” he said.

“What collar is it,” I asked, “the collar of a scullery maid, of a kitchen

slave?” I had not realized I had been so displeasing last night.

“Neither,” said Drusus Rencius, “or, perhaps, in a sense, both, and that of

other slaveries, as well.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“What is so hard to understand?” he asked.

“You have been empowered by Miles of Argentum to change my collar, have you

not?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

I touched the collar, fearfully. “I do not understand,” I whispered. I feared

for Drusus Rencius. I feared he had committed a crime.

“I do not need that power,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because it is my collar,” he said.

“Yours!” I cried. I almost turned about.

“Yes,” he said. “I bought you last night.”

I fainted.

lay now naked, save for my collar, on the tiles of the quarters of Drusus

Rencius, in the palace at Argentum.

I had apparently not long been permitted the luxury of unconsciousness in the

courtyard. I had awakened, held in a sitting position, my face, stinging,

seeming to explode, being jerked, by blows, first with the flat of a hand, and

then with its back, from side to side. Gorean men are not always indulgent with

their female slaves. I scrambled to my knees and looked up at my master, Drusus

Rencius, of Ar. “To my quarters, and swiftly, Slave,” he snarled.

“Yes, Master!” I had cried, joyfully.

I had then preceded him to his quarters, moving swiftly, but scarcely swiftly

enough, it seemed, from the point of view of Drusus Rencius, striding fiercely

behind me, like some impatient, grumbling giant. It seemed he could not wait to

get me alone. Many times was I hurried, pushed and thrust from be-hind. I was

even twice kicked. It was not my fault that I was a woman, and that my legs were

shorter than his! Then, at his portal, I had been ordered to my belly. I had

then been bound, hand and foot. I had then been carried into the room, over his

shoulder, as a slave, helpless. He had put me down on the tiles, near the foot

of his couch, near the slave ring. He had locked the door. He was now standing

near me, looking down at me. I pulled, futilely, at the ropes on my wrists and

ankles. I was bound, perfectly. The door was locked. I was a slave girl alone

with her master. I was utterly helpless.

He stepped back a bit. His face was unreadable.

“Whip me!” I begged. “I love you! Teach me that you own me!”

He took a step, further back.

“I beg the lash, Master,” I said. My heart was filled with joy and love.

His face was expressionless. He did not speak.

“Let me kneel before you,” I said, “and beg to be beaten with a slave whip.”

He did not speak.

“Whip me!” I begged. “I love you! I love you!”

“Slave,” he sneered.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Natural slave,” he said, angrily.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“I did not know you were a natural slave,” he said.

“You knew it before you bought me,” I said. “You knew it from last night.”

“Yes,” he said.

“But still you bought me!” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I love you!” I said.

“You are a natural slave,” he said. “Your love is Worthless.”

“It is, at any rate, real,” I assured him.

“I wonder,” he said.

“You paid for it,” I said. “You must have wanted it.”

“Perhaps,” he said “Master?” I asked.

“Perhaps I have purchased you not for your love, but for your hate,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“You have caused me much grief and pain,” he said, “particularly when you were a

free woman, in Corcyrus.”

“I am sorry, Master,” I said.

“And well you might be,” he said, “as you are now my slave.”

“I am sorry anyway,” I said.

“Perhaps it is my intention to humiliate you, to debase~ and degrade you, to

abuse you, to teach you, at my hands, fear, misery and pain!”

“You may do with me as you please,” I smiled. “I am your slave.”

“I wonder how you will like it,” he mused, “in your collar, hating me, but

utterly helpless, knowing that you must obey me, absolutely, and serve me, in

all things, with total perfection.”

“I do not hate you,” I laughed. “And you need not concern yourself with

obedience and service. As I am a slave, you may depend upon them. Too, I shall

render them to you eagerly, not only from the meaning of my collar but from the

bottom of my heart.”

“Perhaps I should debase and degrade you,” he said.

‘The more you debase and degrade me, Master,” I ‘said, “the more I shall love

you.”

“How you tortured me in Corcyrus!” he said, angrily, looking down at me.

“I was cruel and petty,” I said.

“Much misery did you cause me,” he said, angrily.

“I am sorry,” I smiled. I was not completely displeased, of course, to learn of

his discomfort.

“You are not truly sorry, are you?” he asked, a smile about his lips.

“Not really,” I admitted, shrugging in the ropes.

“Why?” he asked.

“I am a woman,” I said.

“Women enjoy taunting men, and tormenting them with desire,” he said.

“Some women, sometimes,” I said.

“You, then,” he said.