Authors: John Norman
"We are in collars,” said the brunette.
"Yes,” said Corinna.
"And slave fires burn in our bellies."
"Yes,” said Corinna, smiling, “the masters have seen to that. How much now, and how helplessly, are we theirs!"
"But might they not, sometimes, be kind to us, and grant us a caress, and more, for our own sake?"
"Surely,” said Corinna, “much as one might pat a kaiila, or pet a domestic sleen."
"More than that?” asked the brunette.
"Let us speak softly,” said Corinna. “Many times, doubtless more often than they care for, or would admit, masters grow quite fond of their slaves."
"Doubtless free women would object to this,” said the brunette.
"It is surely another reason they hate us,” said Corinna, “and with such ferocity."
"Might they not envy us?” asked the brunette slave.
"Doubtless they do, and cruelly,” said Corinna, “but one would dare not even suggest such a thing, lest they would see to it that the flesh were lashed from our bones."
"The master who is fond of his slave,” said the brunette, “would surely be concerned, at least to some extent, to assuage the needs of his property, to relieve the miseries of her tensions, to attend to her slave fires, which he has done so much to ignite and stoke?"
"Certainly,” said Corinna, “but he may keep her in suspense, see to it that she begs prettily, and such, and sometimes, the monsters, will bring us to the brink of ecstasy, for which each particle of our hungering, raging body cries out, and then pause, that we may the better know ourselves as subdued and helpless slaves, fully at the mercy of our masters, and then, if they wish, when they wish, if we beg desperately and piteously enough, they might grant us the tiny kiss or touch which sends us weeping amongst the stars."
"My master does not touch me,” wept the brunette.
"How cruel are the masters!” exclaimed Corinna.
The brunette pulled against the chain on her ankle. “If I were not chained,” she said, “I would crawl to him, cover his feet with kisses, and beg for his least caress."
"Of course,” said Corinna.
"But then he would not respect me,” said the brunette.
"Perhaps that is what he is looking for,” said Corinna.
"From an Earth girl?” asked the brunette.
"Why not?” said Corinna.
"My master does not desire me,” said the brunette.
"Do not be absurd,” said Corinna. “What woman can be desired, as a slave is desired?"
"I would be pleased to find myself of interest to my master, and would be grateful, and pleased, to be desired,” said the brunette.
"I am sure you are desired,” said Corinna.
"I want to yield, and yield,” said the brunette. “I want to yield so, and as no free woman, being free, could possibly yield, and how could I yield thusly, save to one who was my master?"
"You could not,” said Corinna, “nor could any woman. You must understand what it is for you to be owned, truly owned. The slave must yield with absolute fullness, and without reservation, to he who is her master. She is choiceless; she has no choice but to yield as she must, wholly, helplessly, and without reservation. No woman can yield with the fullness of the ravished slave to one who is not her master."
"Teach me to be a slave!” begged the brunette.
"You are a slave,” said Corinna. “Be what you are."
"I do not know how,” said the brunette.
"I am not sure you know you are a slave,” said Corinna.
"I am a slave,” said the brunette. “I want to be a good slave!"
"I am sure you are a good slave,” said Corinna.
"My master does not desire me,” she said. “He has chained me to a post!"
"Wait until tomorrow night,” said Corinna.
"I do not understand,” said the brunette.
"We will be returning to the habitats,” said Corinna, “and will be leaving the day after tomorrow, in the morning."
"I do not understand,” said the brunette.
"Tomorrow night,” said Corinna, “will be the last night in the camp, at least for some time."
"I do not understand,” said the brunette.
"There will be a feast tomorrow night,” said Corinna. “And do you think you will not be serving at that feast?"
"As a slave serves?"
"Of course,” said Corinna.
* * * *
It may be recalled that some days ago Lord Grendel, well in advance of certain human allies, arrived at the forest camp.
Whereas Cabot, as a human, had shortly found himself in immoderate difficulties with the Kur, Flavion, adept with a great Kur ax, Flavion, himself, found himself at a severe disadvantage when unexpectedly confronted with Lord Grendel, who was much larger than Flavion, much stronger, was similarly armed, and was a champion, who had earned several arena rings.
Whereas it might be conjectured that Flavion would have defended himself with vigor, even in so desperate a situation, the fact was that he flung down his ax, turned about, and lurched to the gate of the compound, the gate which, as we recall, he had securely latched, and fastened, in such a way that it might not be easily opened by Cabot, should Cabot have sought to avail himself of it, attempting to exit from the compound. The same precaution to which Flavion had had recourse, to ensure Cabot some inconvenience in leaving the compound, militated against his own rapid departure. He had torn away some of the fastenings when Lord Grendel's ax, flung with considerable swiftness and accuracy, struck him in the back, rather parallel to the spine, on the left side. Lord Grendel had won one of the
agons
of the ax in one of the festival games, splitting a post, at a distance of some fifteen Kur paces, which would correspond, approximately, to some twenty human paces. Following this cast Lord Grendel dragged Flavion, who was still alive, as Kurii are robust and tenacious of life, by his lamed, left leg, through the dust back to the center of the compound, where he turned him to his back, and looked down upon him. He then, with two blows of the ax, smote away the left foot and the right foot of Flavion, and then jerked him upward, that the two bloody stumps would be placed in the dirt, where the flow of blood might be slowed, if not staunched. The dust was like red mud, the stumps partly sunk into it. “Remember the arsenal,” said Lord Grendel. Lord Grendel then flung Flavion down, again, on his back, and stepped on his left forearm to hold the arm in place, and then smote away the left hand of Flavion, and then, similarly treated the right hand. “Remember the treachery contemplated at the Vale of Destruction,” said Lord Grendel.
Flavion lay in the dust, flopping and screaming.
"Finish him!” cried Cabot, in horror. “For the sake of Priest-Kings, finish him!"
Lord Grendel seemed transformed into something alien and terrible. “What are Priest-Kings to me?” he asked.
Flavion was piteously begging to be slain, but Lord Grendel put aside his reddened ax, and put his large, fanged mouth close to the left ear of Flavion. Cabot's translator barely registered what was said. “Remember the Lady Bina,” Lord Grendel had whispered to the fallen, shuddering Kur, and then he had straightened up, and backed away, and lifted his head to the far ceiling of the world and howled, as a primeval Kur might have howled, a cry of rage, of hatred, of victory, and satisfaction.
Cabot backed away.
Flavion managed to turn himself to his stomach and began to crawl on the bloody stumps, leaving prints and tracks of blood in the dust, toward the gate, but could approach it no more closely than some four or five yards.
As the Kur is robust and tenacious of life, it took Flavion several Ehn to die. He spoke much, though doubtless incoherently, but Cabot did not know what he said, for he had, long ago, turned off his translator.
Lord Grendel later cut off the head, and then sacked the body, and its parts, and dragged them into the forest, where he emptied them, for the feeding of birds, and small animals.
Ramar, the great sleen, investigated the remains, but did not feed.
It is probable that he recognized them as belonging to one who had once been a member of the camp, and was thus to be allowed to pass, unmolested.
Chapter, the Seventy-Ninth:
THE LITANY;
CECILY BETTER LEARNS HER COLLAR,
AT THE DISCIPLINE POST;
THE FEAST;
CECILY DANCES;
SOME ACCOUNT OF WHAT LATER OCCURRED
BETWEEN A MASTER AND HIS SLAVE
"Kneel,” said Cabot, “there."
"Yes,” Master,” said the brunette slave, and knelt before him.
"Now,” he said, “you are kneeling, before a man."
"Yes, Master."
"Is it appropriate?"
"Yes, Master."
"Why?
"Because I am a woman, Master."
"And what else?"
"A slave, Master."
"Keep your knees together,” he said, “closely."
"Yes, Master,” she said, and pressed her knees together, closely.
"What is your name?"
"Cecily,” she said, “—if it pleases Master."
"And what name would you like?"
"Whatever name Master wishes,” she said.
"You are Cecily,” he said.
"I am Cecily,” she said. “Thank you, Master."
"I believe,” he said, “you received some training in the pleasure cylinder."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"There are many litanies of servitude,” he said. “I believe you were taught one of these in the pleasure cylinder."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"We will now recite it,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she whispered.
As Cabot noted, there are many such litanies, or exchanges of questions and responses, or such. On the assumption that the reader might be curious as to the litany used in this particular instance, it went as follows:
Q: What is that on your neck?
A: A collar.
Q: What sort of collar?
A: A slave collar.
Q: Why is it on you?
A: It is on me because I am a slave.
Q: What is a slave?
A: Property.
Q: And what are the duties of such a property?
A: To please her master, in all ways, to the best of her ability.
Q: Whose collar do you wear?
A: I wear your collar, Master.
Q: And what does that mean?
A: That I am your slave, Master.
Q: What, then, are your duties?
A: To please you, in all ways, to the best of my ability.
Q: Do you beg to be permitted to do this?
A: I do so beg, Master.
Q: And are you aware of the penalties for failing to be found fully pleasing, in all ways, to the best of your ability?
A: Yes, Master.
Q: And are you afraid?
A: Yes, Master.
"You did well,” said Cabot. “If you had not done well, you would have been switched, and then, later, examined again, and if you did not do well then, you would be switched, again, and so on. Soon, you would do it well. You would do it perfectly."
"I was switched, more than once, in the cylinder,” she said.
"Do you recall the sting of those blows, even now?” he asked.
She shuddered. “Yes, Master,” she said.
"Spread your knees,” he said, “kneel straight, back on your heels, head up, palms of your hands down on your thighs."
The slave began to tremble.
"Head up!” he said. “Do you wish to be put in a high collar, to keep your head up?"
"No, Master,” she said, quickly.
Such collars are common with Kur pets. They are also used from time to time in slave training.
"Do you know in what position you have been placed?” he asked.
Certainly this was a rhetorical question, for she would have learned this position in the pleasure cylinder, and Cabot, himself, in the pleasure cylinder, near Lake Fear, and elsewhere, had put her in it often enough.
"The position of a Gorean pleasure slave,” she said. “Am I a pleasure slave?"
"Are you?” he asked.
"I would hope to give pleasure to my master,” she said.
"You,” he said, “a woman of Earth, desire to give pleasure to a master?"
"Surely that is not unusual for a woman of Earth,” she said. “In the history of that world millions of women have been held in bondage, and even now it is not known how many are in bondage. And in countless places, throughout that world, there are countless slaves, secret slaves, at the feet of their masters. It is not so rare, really, for there are men and women, and where there are men and women, there are masters and slaves. And untold millions of women fantasize themselves helpless in the chains of masters, fearing the whips of their owners, and millions, as well, are the slaves of their lovers, as they wish to be, though they dare not acknowledge this truth even to the unsuspecting lover. She fears being scorned for her realities and needs. She knows it is a slave he holds in his arms, but she is afraid to tell him so. How her heart cries out to kneel before him, to kiss his feet, to be bound by him, to feel the stroke of his switch, to be mastered by him, and yet she dares not speak. It then is only she who knows that about her neck, unseen, quite invisible, but as real as steel, is the collar of a slave."
"You seem to have inquired into these things,” he said.
"I have long known myself a slave, Master,” she said.
"As I recall,” he said, “your name was once Virginia Cecily Jean Pym."
"Yes, Master,” she said, “but I am now Cecily."
"That is a slave name,” he said.
"I understand that, Master."
"And you are a slave."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"A slave's duties,” he said, “are to serve and please her master, in all ways, to the best of her ability."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"Have you done so?"
"Master?"
"To all fours,” he said, angrily, “and crawl to the post of discipline."
"What are you going to do?” she said, frightened. Then she said, quickly, “Yes, Master!” And crawled, her master on his feet beside her, to the foot of the post. She was familiar with the post. She had been fastened to it her first day in the camp; she had been fastened, standing, to it, belly facing it, during the duel of Cabot and Flavion, and during the arrival and vengeance of Lord Grendel; and she had been chained to it often enough since then, sometimes with other slaves, usually by an ankle, the left, which is the customary chaining ankle for a female slave.