Authors: John; Norman
“Four times,” she said, “I was awakened from my sleep, the switch flashing upon me. ‘Stop thrashing in your chains, slut,’ I was told. Had I been doing so? I did not know.”
“Presumably you were doing so,” I said.
“The switch stung,” she said.
“That is its purpose,” I said.
I recalled having learned, during my interrogation, that physicians had determined that the slave, Alcinoë, after her time with me in the cell, was almost ready to be put on the block. Apparently she had begun to sense, or fear, the beginning of involuntary, radical changes in her body, incipient glimmerings heralding the onslaught of needs which would inevitably put her vulnerably at the feet of men, the fires which, in a woman’s belly, mark her, more than a brand and collar, a man’s slave.
“In any event,” I said, “he saw you, and I am sure he recognized you.”
“I did not see him,” she said.
“It is enough that he saw you,” I said.
“Are you sure,” she said, “that he saw me?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do not any longer think of yourself as concealed, as inaccessible, as a free woman. You are now an animal. Your features must be as brazenly exposed as those of any other animal, a kaiila, verr, or tarsk. Anyone, as upon them, may look upon you, and boldly.”
Tears sprang anew to her eyes.
“Is this truly surprising?” I asked. “Did you not see many slaves in Ar? Do you still think of yourself as free? What of your own girls? What if one had dared to veil herself, even in play?”
“I would have lashed her,” she said.
“You are surely well aware,” I said, “that as a slave, an animal, you may or may not be clothed. You are surely aware of such things. Your garmenture, if any, will be decided by those who own you. Your features, and, if owners wish it, your body, will be denied the least protection.”
“Yes,” she wept, “yes!”
“Keep the palms of your hands down on your thighs,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“And keep in mind that your features,” I said, “if not your body, must be regularly and fully exposed. Free women will insist on that. Your features, at all times, must be denied even the least thread of the most diaphanous veiling.”
“How easy then,” she said, in misery, “I all unknowing, for him to see me, and identify me!”
“For him,” I said, “or anyone.”
“Even a common soldier,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “even a common soldier.”
“And anyone might bring me to Ar,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “even a common soldier.”
“Such as you,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“How helpless we are,” she said, looking up, “we, so exposed, our lips, our features, our smallest expressions, naked, bared to the view of anyone!”
I was muchly pleased that slaves were denied veiling.
How beautiful and distraught she looked!
How this puts them so much the more where they belong, in our power!
“You may not hide yourselves,” I said.
Her eyes were bright with tears, some coursed down her cheeks, running under the fur.
“You are a slave,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I am a slave!”
Denial of the veil is one of the things, as noted, insisted upon by free women for the slave, this marking another dramatic difference between them, at least between those of high caste and the slave. Low-caste women, in their work, not unoften do without veiling. Good-looking girls of low-caste sometimes go about unveiled deliberately, hoping that they may catch the eye of a slaver, and perhaps be sold into a high household, or come into the chains of a handsome, well-to-do master. One of the most delightful vengeances of a free woman upon a rival is to have her rival reduced to slavery, and then have her at her feet, tunicked, and face-stripped, as a serving slave, perhaps to be later sold, out of the city. One of the most interesting things about barbarian slaves, which may surprise many, is that few seem to understand, at least at first, the shame that is done to them by denying them the veil. They seem more concerned with the baring of their bodies, which is suitable for slaves. But such are shameless and suitably enslaved. Are they not already half-slave, even before being fitted with the collar? They only become sensitive to such matters when, later, they become aware of the meaning of their bared faces. But, after a time, even Gorean women, as well as barbarians, in bondage, think little of their lack of veiling, at least when not in the presence of a free woman, particularly of high caste. Then they are often forced to feel their shame keenly. Commonly though, they, and barbarians, as well, come to revel in the lack of veiling, and, indeed, in the shame of their commonly brief and revealing garmenture, if allowed garmenture, become insolent in their shameful pride, so deplored by free women, of revealing their beauty, of both face and body, to the eyes of men.
One might note in passing how the slave tunic, or the scandalous camisk or ta-teera, are viewed by free women, slaves, and masters. The free woman regards such garments as a degradation, an unspeakable humiliation, a badge of shame, fit for natural slaves, say, women of alien or enemy cities. But, too, they often seethe with envy that it is not they who are exposed so blatantly, and desirably, to the eyes of males. Might they not, too, be so attractive, were they so excitingly clad, so invitingly bared? And how angry they are that men, who should be above such things, look with such obvious favor on mere slaves! The slave, of course, may at first be miserably shamed to be so garmented, to be put in such a garment, but, soon, she comes to exult in its attractiveness, its brevity and lightness, and the freedom it affords, not only of movement, but more significantly, its gift of psychological, emotional, and intellectual freedom. Too, of course, such a garmenture is sexually arousing, and frees the slave to be the warm, arousable, appetitious, excitable, needful, sexual animal, the slave, she has always longed to be. And as for the views of men with respect to such garmentures, one supposes they need no elaboration. By means of such garments, women, the most desirable properties a man may own, are dressed for his taste, delectation, and pleasure. Were it not for the security of their Home Stones, one supposes there would be few free women in a Gorean city. One wonders sometimes if they understand that the freedom which, in their arrogance, they take so much for granted is tenuous and fragile, a revocable gift of men. Let them think of Tharna, and tremble, or, if they wish, present themselves naked before her gates, petitioning entrance.
“Why is Seremides on board?” she asked.
“There is a price on his head,” I said. “Perhaps, then, to flee.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but one could flee anywhere, to Torvaldsland, to the deeper recesses of the formidable Voltai, to the vast Barrens, to the long Valley of the Ua, anywhere. Here, he is trapped, on a ship.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “he hopes to recoup his fortunes, at the World’s End.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said, “he knew you to be on board, and has in mind your apprehension, and eventual remanding to Ar.”
“Surely that venture,” she said, “would be fraught with peril. The price on his head, I suspect, is greater than that on mine.”
“I agree that is likely,” I said. He had been, of course, the captain of the Taurentians, and had been close to Myron, the
polemarkos
of Temos, commander of the occupation forces in Ar.
“Still,” I said, “do not underestimate your value in Ar.”
“To another,” she said, “but I think not to Seremides.”
“He might negotiate, anonymously, through others,” I said. I did not doubt that he had cohorts on board, if not brought with him, then later recruited.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“You do not think he seeks you?”
“I think,” she said, “he is after greater game.”
“What, then?” I asked.
“I am not sure,” she said. “I do not know.”
“In any event,” I said, “a slave is far from Ar.”
“Yes,” she said, “a slave is far from Ar.”
“Return to first obeisance position,” I said.
“Surely not!” she said.
“Now,” I said. “Good.”
“Now,” I said, “to second obeisance position.”
“Please,” she protested, her head to the deck.
“Must a command be repeated?” I inquired.
“No!” she said.
The repetition of a command is often a cause for discipline, and she was well aware of what that might involve.
She was now on her belly before me, her hands at the sides of her head.
“Lips to boots,” I said.
She pressed her lips to my boots, left and right, kissing them, and licking at them.
I let her continue to do this for a time.
It is pleasant for a man to have a beautiful woman, for she was beautiful, so at his feet, so at his mercy.
I noted a particular movement in her body, one I had seen before in a slave. I smiled. She was beginning to understand what it might be, to be a slave. Already, I suspected, she had begun to hope, forlornly, that I might be pleased to attend to her, as one who, in his lenience or indulgence, might attend to a slave.
“Enough,” I said. “Position.”
She knelt then before me, as before, back on her heels, head up, back straight, the palms of her hands down on her thighs.
“You wear your furs well,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“To be sure,” I said, “I would prefer you in a tunic, or less.”
“May a slave not open her knees before Master?” she said.
“Do you wish to do so?” I asked.
“I think so,” she whispered.
“No,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“Is a slave white silk or red silk?” I asked.
“Must a slave respond?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“A slave is white silk,” she said.
“That is unusual,” I said.
“For a slave,” she said.
“You are a slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, “I am a slave.”
“It seems, slave,” I said, “you have let the black wine grow cold.”
“Master?” she said.
“Thus, you are remiss,” I said.
“I have been detained!” she said, frightened.
“You are remiss,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I am remiss.”
“Then, rise,” I said, “hurry to the kitchens, to heat the wine, or replenish your vessel.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
She retrieved the vessel, wrapped in its cloths.
“And hurry,” I said, “run, run!”
“I was the Lady Flavia of Ar!” she said.
“Hurry,” I said, “run, run!”
She turned about, in misery, and, holding the vessel in its cloths, hurried away. She stopped once, to look over her shoulder, and then, frightened, disappeared through the second hatchway amidships, that between the second and third masts.
I feared for her safety, and that of all of us.
Night was falling. On the ice below the work lamps, on their tripods, had been lit. Pani, with bows and glaves, patrolled the perimeter below.
They had earlier stopped two men, set to trek the ice. One had been killed, the other flogged.
Rations were growing short.
I thought of the slave, Alcinoë. Off the block, sold for her simple quality as a female, she might bring one or two silver tarsks. In the south, delivered to the justice of Ar, she might bring a double handful of golden tarn disks. What a fool one would be, not to advantage oneself of such an opportunity. On the other hand, she was pretty, and might make a good slave.
It was hard to tell about such things.
Reasonably clearly, she was already beginning to sense what it might be to be a slave.
That was promising.
I wondered if, in the darkness of the Kasra keeping area, she might have pressed her fingers to her lips, and then softly to her collar.
I recalled she had been switched awake four times.
Presumably she had been thrashing in her chains.
She is coming along nicely, I thought, even predictably.
What woman can be truly fulfilled, who is not a slave, who does not know herself owned, who does not know herself the absolute property of a master, a master whom she knows she must serve with perfection, a master whom she knows, to her joy, will have the wholeness of her womanhood from her?
The watch was called, and I would go below.
I wondered why Seremides was on board. It might have been simply his intention to flee. Who, after all, would think to seek him beyond the farther islands? Or perhaps he wished to seek a fortune in a new, untried venue, a fortune, like many, obtainable by sword skill? Perhaps, on the other hand, he sought the former Lady Flavia of Ar. The reward for her return to Ar was far from negligible. Might it not purchase a galley, and several slaves, of high quality? But she had thought he was after greater game, of some sort. But what might that be? Also, as she could recognize him, her death might be worth far more to him than the gold her delivery to Ar might bring. To be sure, I, too, might recognize him. I had taken care to avoid being alone with him. Clearly I constituted a danger to him, and, as a free man, one far more dangerous than that posed by a slave. I had little doubt he would eventually seek his opportunity, perhaps a thrust in the darkness, a feigned misstep at the ice, the provoking of a quarrel, or such.