Authors: John; Norman
“Did you know of Gor?” I asked.
“I thought it only in books,” she said.
“What do you think now?” I asked.
“I have felt the thongs of a Gorean master on my limbs,” she said, “I have been collared, I have served on the floor of a Gorean tavern, I have striven in the alcove to be found pleasing by my master’s customers, I am no longer of the opinion that Gor exists only in books.”
“You are very pretty,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“Of your fellow female graduate students,” I said, “I wonder if you were the only one found worthy to be put in a Gorean collar.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I do not know.”
“So,” I said, “you were a student, a graduate student?”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Spread your knees more widely,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“You obey promptly,” I observed.
“I hope to please my master,” she said.
“What do you think of dancing naked?” I asked.
“I would have to obey my master,” she said.
“But what do you think of it?” I asked.
“I would hope to please my master,” she said.
“Do you know how to play the kalika?” I asked.
“No, Master.”
“You do not know slave dance, I take it,” I said.
“No,” she said.
“You may be taught such things,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Slave dance,” I said, “is very attractive in a woman.”
“I doubt that I could be so beautiful,” she said.
“One does not expect every woman to bring a hundred pieces of gold as a dancer,” I said.
“No, Master,” she said.
“I have seen many dancers, even public dancers, brothel dancers, street dancers, tavern dancers, who were not as beautiful as you.”
“I do not know how to dance,” she said.
“Perhaps, with the encouragement of the lash, you could learn,” I said.
“The slave who desires to please her master,” she said, “does not require the encouragement of the lash.”
“You would do your best?” I said.
“Certainly, Master,” she said.
“Would you like to dance—
as a slave
?” I asked.
“On Earth,” she said, “I dreamed of such things.”
“Speak,” I said.
“I thought of myself, frequently enough, as a property, as owned, as a girl who must unquestioningly, fearfully, obey masters, who might dance for their pleasure, about campfires in lonely places, on streets in shabby districts, to a master’s flute, on the decks of galleys, to the clapping of hands, on the floor of taverns, to music, silks swirling, bangles clashing, to shouts, to hands reaching for me, to the clash of goblets and the spilling of drink, to the cries of aroused men, pleased to look upon me as I would then be, a vulnerable, helpless slave, desperate to be found pleasing.”
“And did you dream of yourself helpless in the chains, or arms, of a master?”
“Yes, Master,” she said, putting down her head.
“Where were you sold?” I asked.
“In Market of Semris,” she said.
“In what pen, or slave house, were you first marked?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. “I, with other slaves—”
“Barbarians?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “—were transported naked and collared in a closed slave wagon, with blue and yellow silk, our ankles chained to a central bar, it run the length of the wagon bed. We traveled for days. At night, in camps, we were chained in the open, to trees or the wagon wheels. One or another of us were hooded and removed from the bar in one place or another. We were, I take it, distributed amongst various markets. Only three were left in the wagon when the hood was buckled about my head and I was lifted from the wagon. I felt the dust of a road beneath my feet. My hands were braceleted before me, and I was tethered by the bracelets to the stirrup of some large, four-footed beast, which I later learned was a kaiila. After some weary hours on the dusty road I was brought to a sales barn, where my tether was freed of the stirrup, and I was unhooded and debraceleted. Shortly thereafter, I was fed, watered, and rested. Later I was processed, washed, brushed, combed, and such, preparing me for my sale.”
“Which was in Market of Semris,” I said.
“That is my understanding,” she said.
“Did you enjoy your sale?” I asked.
“I was terrified,” she said. “I found myself turned about, and positioned, delicately, expertly, by the auctioneer’s whip, exhibited as merchandise, displayed, as a slave, while men cried out, and called bids on me.”
“I see,” I said.
“And then,” she said, “the auctioneer touched me, unexpectedly, and I leaped with a cry of misery, in piteous response, which delighted the men. I could not help myself! ‘Pleasure slave,’ I heard call. ‘To the taverns with her!’ I put my head in my hands, and bent over, and sobbed. I could not help myself. Then I was apparently sold, for I was conducted from the platform.”
“What did you go for?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. “But I gather it was for less than a silver tarsk.”
“You were purchased for a paga slut,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I was interested in this information not simply because it pertained to the slave, but because it seemed not untypical of certain mysteries commonly obtaining in the case of barbarian slaves. Many things seemed obscure about such barbarians, or reasonably so, for example, the location of their first acquisition, apparently a far world, the means by which they were brought to Gor, where they were initially housed on our world, why they seemed to be distributed about, almost tracelessly, and such. As nearly as I could determine they were derived from several places on the far world, and brought by different ships, or by some method of conveyance, at different times, to many different locations on Gor. Subtleties or secrecies seemed to be involved. In any event, I knew little of these matters, and, if others knew, they were apparently less than communicative.
“I have never had a private master,” she said to me.
“I have never owned a slave,” I said.
“Master must have seen me many times in the paga tavern,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
She put down her head, shyly.
“Did he find me of slave interest?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“If he found me of slave interest,” she said, “why was it that he never snapped his fingers, summoning me to his table, why did he not bind me, and thrust me before him to an alcove?”
“I did not want you thusly,” I said, “a girl for a coin, to be relinquished after some Ehn or an Ahn, or so, to be ceded in her turn to another, to be surrendered at the closing of a tavern’s portal. I wanted you whole, and mine, indisputably, legally, in every way. I did not want to rent you for the price of a drink. I wanted more. I wanted all. I wanted everything. I wanted to own you, completely, every strand of hair, every bit of you.”
“You sensed something in me?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I noticed your eyes upon me,” she said, “as one would look upon a slave one would own.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
She lifted her head.
“Surely you noted me putting myself before you often enough,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. How tormenting had been that flash of thigh, that whisk of a camisk as she turned, the flash of the bells tied about her left ankle.
“In my cage,” she said, “I hoped you would bid on me.”
“I am a poor man,” I said, “a low Scribe, one who labors in the registry. I could not afford you.”
“I thought that you might understand me, as others could not,” she said.
“Do not expect to be too much understood,” I said, “as you are a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
Surely she knew that her feelings, her thoughts, her hopes, her desires, her dreams, and such, were meaningless, and of no consequence, as she was a slave.
“I saw you look upon me,” she said, “as a master looks upon a slave, and I trembled, and shivered, and wondered, and I feared, and hoped, that you would be my master.”
I did not respond.
“I may be from Earth,” she said, “but I have learned here, as I suspected on Earth, that women are slaves, and that I am a woman, and a slave. I want to be what I am, a slave. I will try to serve you well, and please you so.”
To the side Callias and Alcinoë were asleep, in one another’s arms.
“It was with joy,” said the slave, “that I, my presence unknown to you, heard you speak of ineluctable, mysterious matchings, and sensings.”
“I did not know you were there,” I said, annoyed.
“I understand,” she said. “I only want to say to you that I, too, in the tavern, on different nights, looking upon you, felt such things.”
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Has Master?”
“Yes,” I said.
She looked at me. “It is strange,” she said. “I have come from far away, to find my master.”
“Strange, too,” I said, “that I should so find my slave, in one come from so far a world.”
“Do you think you might care for me, eventually, a little, Master?” she asked.
“I will buy a whip in the morning,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
It was hard to take my eyes from her. How beautiful she was, kneeling before me, in the light of the lamp.
“I am marked,” she said, “as Master determined, the common
kef
. I am thus well identified as a slave.”
“So?” I said.
“And,” she said, “I think that Master may like me, forgive me, Master, as I could not help overhearing words which gave me such hopes, and surely he knows my antecedents and origins, my affinities, as he will have it, if he is correct, with the Caste of Scribes, so lofty a caste, and my former station and position, as a student in a university, and thus, in a sense, my prestige, dignity, and such.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“So,” she said, “it will not be necessary to put me in a collar. I am above a collar.”
“You were collared in
The Sea Sleen
,” I said.
“I was a paga girl,” she said. “They did not know my specialness. I am now the slave of a Scribe, and the Scribes is a high caste.”
“Look to the side,” I said. “Do you see that slave, she, Alcinoë?” I asked.
“Certainly,” she said.
“Well,” I said, “she was once a free woman in imperial Ar, a high lady, a woman of importance and power, of wealth and station. What is on her neck?”
“A collar,” said the slave.
“What sort of collar?” I asked.
“A slave collar,” she said.
“Precisely,” I said.
“But she is Gorean,” said the slave.
“And you are a barbarian,” I said, “a thousand times less.”
The slave touched her throat, lightly, tentatively, apprehensively.
“Master will collar me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow you will wear a collar, a slave collar, and it will be locked on your neck.”
“I will not be able to remove it?”
“No,” I said.
Relief, to my surprise, flooded her features.
“Thank you, Master,” she said. “That is what I want. I want your collar on my neck, and I want it there, locked, as on the neck of any other slave, for I am only another slave. No more! That is what I am, and want to be. How happy you make me! I am grateful! I will try to be worthy of wearing your collar. Thank you, Master. I will love my collar.”
I then lay back on the comforters, which I had spread on the floor.
“Master?” she said.
“Please me,” I said.
She crawled to my side. “I will try, Master,” she whispered.
* * * *
“Wine, Master?” had said my slave.
“Wine, Master?” had said the slave of my friend, Callias.
“Yes,” I had said.
“Yes,” had said Callias.
As noted, the slaves had served the wine well.
I thought the supper was nicely prepared.
Too, as noted, the ka-la-na was excellent.
This morning we had all ventured to the high piers, bid farewell to Captain Nakamura, and watched that unusual ship, the
River Dragon
, unusual, at least for Brundisium, take its leave.
We watched it, until it could no longer be seen from the high pier.
“I wish them a good journey,” said Callias.
“I, too,” I said.
“Tersites,” he said, looking out to sea, “had eyes painted on the great ship.”
“I recall that, from your story,” I said. “It pleased me. Now she can see her way.”
“A day out from the cove of the castle,” said he, “we heaved to, and Tersites himself, with his own hands, poured wine, oil, and salt into the sea.”