Authors: John Norman
"But a moment, Lords and others,” said Lord Arcesilaus. “But a moment.” He then raised his hand, lifting it toward the outer gate, well beyond the foot of the long, wide stairs leading upward to the dais.
Down at the gate a Kur, who had perhaps been waiting for this signal, turned aside, disappeared for a moment beyond the wall, and then, in another moment, reappeared, together with another Kur, and another figure, one much smaller.
These three figures then began to approach the foot of the stairs, the small figure first, and then a Kur on each side, and slightly behind it.
"No!” cried Lord Grendel.
"What is it?” asked a Kur.
"See,” said another, pointing.
"It is a human,” said another Kur, shading his eyes.
"A small human,” said another.
"Do not do this, I pray, Lord Arcesilaus,” said Lord Grendel.
"What is his concern?” inquired a Kur, puzzled.
"Ah!” said Corinna, frightened.
Cecily gasped, in misery.
Both remained on their knees.
The small figure was now, flanked by the two Kurii, ascending the stairs, slowly.
"It is a human female, is it not?” asked a Kur.
"Are you certain?” asked another.
"It is surely dissimilar from these,” said another Kur, indicating several of the kneeling slaves.
The Gorean slave tunic not only leaves little doubt about the sex of its occupant, but it proclaims it blatantly.
A free woman may be guarded with respect to her body. She may even be embarrassed by it, or ashamed of it. She may fear to show it. Certainly she may conceal it. How frightful if she were to be thought of in terms of it, her body, that embarrassing, troubling thing so appropriately concealed, rather than, say, in terms of her mind and personhood, or, perhaps, her clear, fine features, if her veil were to become disarranged, inadvertently. But beneath those robes and veils her body is there, embarrassing and troubling or not, in all its loveliness, as though waiting for its exposure or disrobing. And surely she knows it is she, ready to flame alive in its exposure, as much as any other aspect of her, her mind, her features, her emotions, the needs of her belly, all such things which constitute the wholeness of her. Does she, enclosed in those ornate blockades, wonder from time to time what it might be to feel a man's hands upon those stiff enwrapments, and wonder what it might be to feel them ripped from her, abruptly, imperiously, and feel the sudden flash of air upon lovely, startled skin?
Does she wonder what it would be to be a whole female, loving her sex, and rejoicing in it?
In any event the bodies of slaves are commonly well, if not entirely, exposed. They are, after all, are they not, the bodies of animals?
The garmenture of the slave is, in effect, another of her freedoms, though she may well regard it with some trepidation, realizing how well, how boldly and excitingly, it reveals her to men, and her vulnerability. The garmenture makes it clear what she is, property. A common justification of slave garmenture, though surely not the only one, nor the primary one, is that it is supposed to make the slave the desiderated object of raiders, thus supposedly diverting attention from precious, priceless free women. Some slaves have been stolen several times, from one city, or caravan, or another. Many are the cages whose bars they have grasped, many are the chains they have felt on their necks, many are the blocks from which they have been auctioned.
In any event, in slave garmenture, the slave, and others, are never in any doubt that she is a female, and that she has that remarkable gift of nature to males, the female body.
The slave, commonly, unlike the enrobed free woman, is happy, and pleased, to be a female. If she were a man, such a coarse and brutal beast, she could not be the marvelous thing she is, vulnerable, perhaps, but desired, and marvelous.
How could the slave not be frightened of her body, and yet thrilled with it? It is soft, beautiful, yielding, and alive. It is obviously a source of great pleasure to masters, who command it and put it to their purposes, as they will, and if the masters consent, and are kind, it is a source of untold rapture to herself, as well.
It is little wonder that the slave loves her body, and her tunic.
"It is a human female, a woman,” said Cabot, observing the approach of the small figure up the stairs, flanked by the two Kurii.
"She is so hidden,” said a Kur. It might be recalled that Kur females, free and slave, wear usually only some harnessing. To be sure, there are great differences amongst the harnessings, most of which would be lost on our friend, Cabot, with respect to quality, arrangement, ornamentation, and such. The Kur female who is an open slave commonly wears a collar, her master's collar. Commonly she would be denied harnessing only in the privacy of her master's dwelling, while being exhibited for sale, while serving certain feasts, and such. If she is not harnessed she is, in effect, naked. Cabot, and some humans, it might be noted, do not seem fully aware of the momentous distinctions involved in such matters.
"She is clad in the robes of concealment, and veiled,” said Cabot. “Such things are common on Gor with free women, particularly with those of high caste, particularly in the high cities."
The high cities, as it is explained to me, are usually larger cities, with many towers, and bridges amongst the towers. Many regard them as citadels of civilization. Ar, as I understand it, would be such a city.
The small figure approached, climbing the stairs.
"Send her away!” cried Lord Grendel. “Do not do this to her! She has suffered enough! If you care for me, spare her this humiliation!"
"What is his concern?” asked a Kur.
"The ears and nose, the cheeks, the eye, shattered bones, the crookedness of the body,” said Cabot.
"It is only a pet,” said a Kur.
"If you care for me, Lord Arcesilaus,” said Lord Grendel, “have pity, not only upon her but upon me, as well! Spare her this! Spare us all this horror!"
"It is only a pet,” said the Kur, again.
"Be patient, Lord Grendel,” said Lord Arcesilaus.
The small figure then, flanked by her two attendants, was upon the dais. She stood before the group. She was resplendent in the multicolored robes, so carefully assorted and arranged, of concealment. As noted, she was veiled, as well. The veiling was heavy, and opaque. Clearly a street veil was worn. Beneath it, Cabot conjectured, might be a house veil. Too, her head was almost entirely concealed within an ample hood, this well matched to the colorful robes.
"Stay, Lord Grendel!” pleaded Lord Arcesilaus.
Lord Grendel had turned away, and a moan escaped him.
Cabot's heart was torn for his friend, and he, too, turned aside, that he might tender him some minim of comfort, however inadequate it must be.
"Oh!” cried Corinna, softly.
"Ahh!” breathed Cecily.
"Ai, well!” cried several of the men. The Kurii were largely silent, having little or no reaction. Cabot then heard the striking of hands on the left shoulder, surely from the human males present.
Cabot steeled himself, and turned about.
The small figure had lifted back her hood and lowered her veils, of which there were indeed two, a street veil, and a house veil. They now hung about her neck. She shook loose long blond hair, and looked upon the group.
She smiled.
"Lord Grendel!” cried Cabot. “Lord Grendel!"
"Your barbarous knives,” said the scientist to Cabot, “could not accomplish that. It is done with the hereditary coils, with their innate equations. One stimulates the hereditary coils, and the restoration is accomplished from within. Too, in this fashion, one does not risk changes which might be brought about by knife work, whether clumsy or not. If you wish changes, of course, that can be arranged, by the insertion of fresh elements into the hereditary coils, but we supposed it appropriate, and sufficient, in this case, to let things develop naturally. Who are we to guess what humans would or would not regard as an improvement? So we contented ourselves with a simple restoration. It was not difficult. Growth is stimulated. It is rather, again, then, as though childhood became adolescence, and adolescence became youth. We would have preferred a long, glossy pelting but then she is a human female, and we felt that it would have been improper for us, in her case, to simulate the beauty of a Kur female. Too, it would have required a great many adjustments. It is done, as I mentioned, by means of the hereditary coils."
"Lord Grendel!” said Cabot. “Lord Grendel, turn about, and see! Look, Lord Grendel, look!"
Lord Grendel slowly, trembling, turned about.
"You are in the presence of a free woman!” said Cabot to Cecily, and Cecily quickly put her head down, to the dais. At a sign from Peisistratus, Corinna did so, as well, and the other slaves, even the Kur female slaves, did so, as well.
The Lady Bina smiled, again.
"How beautiful she is!” said a fellow.
The Lady Bina stood before the group, her veil descended, her hood put back, and was again as once she had been, incredibly fair, and marvelously beautiful.
She was, again, then, as she had been in the container, in the collar of Lord Arcesilaus, when she was his pet, as she had been elsewhere, in the game world, in the camps, as she had been in many places, before her encounter with the lumbering, bestial cattle humans.
"We hoped you would be pleased,” said Lord Arcesilaus.
A sob escaped Lord Grendel.
"You are pleased, are you not?” asked Lord Arcesilaus, concerned.
"Yes,” said Lord Grendel.
"You are looking well, Lady,” said Tarl Cabot.
"I trust you, too, are well,” she said.
The Lady Bina then said to the slaves, “You may lift your heads, girls."
"Thank you, Mistress,” said Corinna, and the other slaves.
The Lady Bina then looked directly upon Cecily.
"Thank you, Mistress,” said Cecily.
"What is your name?” asked the Lady Bina.
"'Cecily', Mistress,” said Cecily, “—if it pleases Mistress."
As the Lady Bina was not the owner of the brunette slave, she would not, of course, be authorized to name her. The slave's response, however, was not an unaccustomed one to such an inquiry, and, in its way, acknowledged that she was such as might be named as masters, or mistresses, might please.
"You are pretty, Cecily,” said the Lady Bina.
"Thank you, Mistress,” said Cecily.
"Very pretty, Cecily,” she said.
"Thank you, Mistress,” said Cecily.
"I seem to remember you from a container,” said the Lady Bina, as though with some difficulty attempting to recall the matter, “when you naively, in your presumptuous and foolish vanity, dared to consider yourself a free woman."
"Yes, Mistress."
"That was foolish, was it not?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"You have a pretty collar, slave girl,” said the Lady Bina.
"Thank you, Mistress,” said Cecily.
To be sure, her collar was no different, essentially, from that worn by thousands of other slaves.
Yet there is no doubt that such collars are extremely attractive on a female.
It is said that no woman knows how beautiful she is until she has seen herself in a collar.
And it is said, as well, that no man knows how desirable a woman is until he has seen her in a collar.
What man, seeing a beautiful woman, does not imagine her in a collar, and want her?
It is, accordingly, not surprising that Gorean masters keep their girls in collars.
To be sure, Merchant Law, in any case, prescribes the collar, the brand, distinctive garmenture, and such.
In no case is the female slave, goods, an animal, to be confused with her incomparably exalted superior, the free woman.
The Lady Bina, the free woman, then looked away from the slave, disdainfully, and looked at Cabot. She then arranged her robes a little differently about her throat, drawing them down, a little. In this way it was made clear, however briefly, however inadvertently, that her throat bore no close-fitting metallic encirclement. Then, as though scarcely noticing what she was doing, she rearranged the robes, in such a way, modestly, that her throat was again concealed. Gorean free women commonly conceal their throat, which, of course, is easily done with the robes of concealment, the veils, and such. If a woman's throat is bared, how does she know that a fellow, say, that one, sitting across from her, in a public cart, or such, is not idly fancying what it might look like in a collar. Indeed, it is natural for a Gorean male, seeing the bared throat of a woman, to think “collar.” The throats of slaves, of course, are commonly bared, save, of course, for the collar. As they are slaves, they are expected to display the collar, obviously, and publicly, such a lovely badge of servitude.
Indeed, as earlier noted, this display, as certain others, is prescribed by Merchant Law, which is a general, intermunicipal body of law regularly promulgated by the Merchant caste at the great fairs, and tending to be shared by disunited, often hostile, Gorean communities. Even were it not for such law, of course, practical considerations would dictate some obvious ways of marking the distinction between the female slave and the free woman. One might think in terms of a slave bracelet or a slave anklet, or such, but the collar is almost universally preferred, possibly because of the prominence of its mounting, its unmistakable visibility, its way of clarifying the nature of its wearer, as a collared animal, and its beauty.
"Lord Grendel,” said the Lady Bina, acknowledging his presence.
"Lady Bina,” he said.
He extended his hand, to touch her, but she recoiled, moving back.
"Do not touch me!” she said.
"Forgive me, Lady,” he said.
She drew her robes more closely about her.
"Lord Arcesilaus,” she said. “It is my understanding that you have had prepared a state breakfast."
"Yes,” he said.
"Shall we then to the tables?” she asked.
"There is no place prepared for you,” said Lord Arcesilaus. He, naturally enough, still muchly thought of her as a pet, and so no place would have been prepared for her, no more than for the slaves.