Magicians of Gor coc-25, page 24
part #25 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
"I am no stranger to scrolls," she said.
"You are still young," I said.
"That does not mean I cannot feel," she said. "That does not mean I am stupid." I had no doubt that in time she would make an excellent slave. Indeed, I could well imagine her, even now, serving in a house, deferentially, with belled ankles.
"I heard one speaking earlier," she said, "of the loot area in the district of Anbar."
"Can you not wait to be shackled and thrown into the loot pits with other women, to await the collar and brand?" inquired Marcus.
"Take me there!" she demanded.
Instantly, appropriately, he lashed her head to the side with the back of his right hand.
She was struck to the ground with the force of the blow and at a snapping of his fingers, and his gesture, she struggled again to her knees before us, her mouth bloody. Her eyes were wide. It was perhaps the first time she had been cuffed. Marcus glared down at her. He did not have much patience with slaves. Phoebe had often learned that to her dismay. To be sure, she was scarcely ever struck or beaten now. She had become a superb slave in the past few months, under Marcus' tutelage.
"Forgive me, Master," she said. "I was not respectful. It was appropriate that I be cuffed."
In her eyes there were awe and admiration for Marcus. She saw that he would not hesitate to impose discipline upon her.
"It is common," I said, "for a slave to request permission to speak."
"Forgive me, Master," she said, putting down her head.
"You said you were no stranger to scrolls," I said.
"To some, Master," she said. "I did not mean to be arrogant. If I have not been pleasing, lash me."
"Have you read," I asked, "the Manuals of the Pens of Mira, Leonora's Compendium, the Songs of Dina, or Hargon's The Nature and Arts of the Female Slave?"
"No, Master," she said, eagerly. Such texts, and numerous others, like them, are sometimes utilized in a girl's training, particularly by professional slavers. Sometimes they are read aloud in training sessions by a scribe, a whip master in attendance. Most girls are eager to acquire such knowledge. Indeed, they often ply one another for secrets of love, makeup, costuming, perfuming, dance, and such, as each wishes to be as perfect for her master as it lies within her power to be. Also, of course, such diligence is prudential on her part. She will be lashed if she is not pleasing. Also, her very life, literally, is in his hands. Perhaps a word is in order pertaining to the Songs of Dina. Some free women claim that this book, which is supposedly written by Din, "a slave", which continues to appear in various editions and revisions, because of its intelligence and sensitivity, is actually, and must be, written by a free woman. I suspect, on the other hand, that it is truly by a slave, as is claimed on the title page. There are two reasons for this. First, "Dina' is a common slave name, often given to girls with the "Dina' brand, which is a small, roselike brand. Second, the nature of the songs themselves. No free woman could have sung of chains and love, and the lash, and the glory of masters as she. Those are songs which, in my opinion, could be written only by a woman who knew what it was to be at a man's slave ring. As to the matter of the poetess' intelligence and sensitivity, I surely grant them to the free women, but maintain that such are entirely possible in a slave, and even more to expected in her than in them. I suspect their position may even be inconsistent. When a women is enslaved, for example, surely they do not suppose that her intelligence and sensitivity disappear. Surely they would not expect theirs to do so, if they had them. No, she still has them. Also, it has been my personal experience, for what it is worth, that slaves are almost always more intelligent and sensitive than free women, who often, at least until taken in hand, tend to be ignorant, smug, vain and stupid. Also, it might be noted that many women are enslaved nto simply because it is convenient to do so, the ropes are handy, so to speak, or because they are beautiful of face and figure, but actually because of their intelligence and sensitivity, qualifies which appeal to many Gorean men. indeed, as I have suggested, the intelligence and sensitivity of many women actually tends to blossom in bondage, finding within it the apt environment for its expression, for its flowering. This may have to do with such matters as the release of inhibitions, happiness, fulfillment, and such. I do not know. "What of the Prition of Clearchus of Cos?" I asked.
"A Cosian?" said Marcus.
"Yes," I said.
"That will not be found in Ar," he said.
"It used to be," I said, "at least before the war."
"Yes, Master," she beamed. "I have read it!"
"You, a free girl, have read it?" I asked. To be sure, the book is a classic. "Yes, Master!" she smiled.
"Does your father know you have read it?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"What do you suppose he would do to you, if he found out?" I asked.
"I think he would sell me, Master," she said.
"And appropriately," I said.
"Yes, Master," she smiled.
"Stand," I said. "Turn about. Cross your wrists behind you."
"Yes, Master!" she said, eagerly, complying.
"Oh!" she said, bound.
"Turn about," I said.
Swiftly she did so, and looked shyly up at me. She tested the fiber on her wrists, subtly, attempting to do so inconspicuously, trying its smugness and strength, its effectiveness. She put down her head and suddenly, inadvertently, shuddered, with pleasure. I had used capture knots. She knew herself helpless. I supposed it was the first time she had ever been bound.
"May I speak?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I am tied as a slave is tied, am I not?" she asked.
"As slaves are sometimes tied," I said.
This comprehension was suddenly reflected, or exhibited, in her entire body, in fear, and desire and pleasure, she flexing her knees, twisting, her shoulders moving, and then, again, she stood before me, looking up at me, but now trembling.
"It is appropriate, is it not?" I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I regarded her.
She looked away.
She was trying to deal with her helplessness, to understand it, and its import. I wondered what her feelings would have been had she been a legal slave, and known herself totally at our mercy.
"Will it be necessary to leash you?" I asked.
"No," she said.
I then leashed her. "Now you will not run away," I said.
"I will not run away," she said.
"I know," I said. I looped the long end of the leash three times. She looked at the swinging loops, apprehensively. Most slave leashes are long enough to serve not only as a leash but also as a lash. The length, too, permits them to facilitate a binding, both of hand and foot. A common technique is to run the leash through a slave ring and then complete the tie as one pleases, simply or complexly. Many leashes, such as the one I had just put on the girl, are cored with wire. This prevents them from being chewed through.
"Tarry here a moment," I said to Marcus. To the girl I said, "Precede me." She went ahead of me some paces down the alley before I stopped her. "Do not turn about," I said.
I then turned back to Marcus. I pointed to the remains of the chest and touched the knife at my side.
He nodded and drew his knife. On the lid of the chest he carved a delka, and then set the lid against the remains of the chest, that the sign might be prominently displayed. As we were not in the officer's chain of command, he in charge of the guardsmen of Ar whom we had earlier encountered. I did not (pg. 196) think he would be likely to follow up the matter on the girl's disposition. He would presumably take it for granted, that she might even now be in the loot pits of the district of Anbar, awaiting the technicalities of her enslavement. Had he been interested in the matter he would doubtless have seen to it himself, or had his men see to it. Perhaps, on the other hand, he did not trust them, as they were of Ar. I did not know. If an investigation were initiated, which seemed to me unlikely, as many women were delivered on one pretext or another to the loot pits, and there would not be likely to be much interest in any particular one of them, Marcus and I could always claim that she had come into the power of the Delta Brigade, and we had thought it best not to gainsay their will in the matter, and indeed, I suppose, in a sense, that was true, as Marcus and I, were, or were of, as it seemed better to put it now, given the most recent information at our disposal, the Delta Brigade. Too, even if the matter were not perused further, there would now be at least one more delka in Ar. In a few moments we were out on the streets. Even though such sights were not rare in Ar, in the past months, a free woman, leashed, in the custody of guardsmen or auxiliaries, presumably having been appropriated for levies, or perhaps merely having been subjected to irrevocable, unappealable seizure at an officer's whim, yet men turned to regard her as we passed. In spite of her youth she was well formed. In four or five years I had no doubt she would constitute an extraordinary luscious love bundle helplessly responding in a master's arms. A fellow made a quick noise with his mouth as he passed her. She lifted her head, startled, in the leash collar. The meaning of the sound would be unmistakable, even to a girl, signifying as it did the eagerness and relish which the mere sight of her inspired in him. her face was soft and lovely, gently rounded. Her hair was long and dark.
"She moves well," commented Marcus.
"Yes," I said.
"I think she has just begun to sense how men might view her," mused Marcus. "I think so," I said.
"It is interesting," he said, "when a women first begins to sense her desirability."
"True," I said.
"And hers is such that a price can be put on it," he said.
"Yes," I said. Her desirability was so exciting that it could only be that of a slave.
"Look at her," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"She is ready for the block now."
"Perhaps," I said.
"I am sure she would perform well," said Marcus. "And if she were reluctant to do so, or hesitated for a moment, I am sure any lingering scruples would be promptly dissipated by the auctioneer's whip."
"Undoubtedly," I said. I had seen such transformations take place many times at the sales. It is not so much, I think, that the lash, in such a situation, as a punishment, changes the woman's behavior, that she obeys because she does not wish to be whipped, but rather that the whip convinces her that she is not free to be sensuous, sexual, marvelous creature which she is in herself and has always desired to be. In this sense the whip does not oppress the woman but rather liberates her to be herself, wild, uninhibited, free in a sense, even though she may be bound in chains, and sexual. To be sure, the whip is also used to punish women, and they do fear it, and mightily, for such a reason. Sometimes it is used too, of course, merely to remind them of what they are, slaves. "How graceful she is," he commented.
"Yes," I said.
I suspected that a perceptive master might have a woman such as she trained in slave dance, that she might please him also in this way. I could imagine her, even now, in the floor movements of the slave dance. I wiped sweat from my brow. How beautifully walked the girl, how conscious now, how proud, how pleased, she seemed, in the abundance of her beauty, her desirability and power. How different she was from many of the free women we had seen earlier being led through the streets, piteous, overfed, stumbling creatures following behind on their leashes, their heads down, loudly bemoaning their fate. But even those, I suspected, given diet, exercise and training, could in time, be transformed into dreams of pleasure.
"Slave!" hissed a free woman to the girl. Then she was behind us. Her voice fraught with hatred.
"She thinks you are a slave," I said.
"Yes," laughed the girl, delightedly.
For some reason free women hate female slaves. They are often quite cruel even to those whom they themselves own. I am not certain of the explanation of this seemingly unreasoning, inexplicable hatred. Perhaps they hate the slave for her beauty, for her joy, her truth, her perfections, her desirability, her happiness. At the root of their hatred, perhaps, lies their own unhappiness and lack of fulfillment, their envy of the slave, joyfully in her rightful place in nature. In any event, this attack on the part of the free women, which happily had been only verbal, as they often are not, and the abused slaves in any event dare not protest or object, as they are at the mercy of free persons, was in its way a profound compliment. So beautiful and exciting was the girl that the woman had naturally assumed she was that most marvelous, helpless, lovely and degraded of objects, the female slave.
"Turn left here," I said to the girl.
"Masters?" she asked, stopping.
"Left," I said. As she was free I did not demur to repeat a command. Also, punishment for having to repeat a command is always at the option of the master. For example, a command might not be clearly heard, or might not be clear in itself, or might appear inconsistent with the master's presumed intentions. Whether punishment is in order or not is then a matter for judgment on the master's part. In this case, of course, as we were on Tarngate, at Lorna, she has every reason to question my direction.
"Masters," said the girl, "may I speak?"
"Yes," I said.
"This is not the way to the district of Anbar," she said. Perhaps she thought we were strangers, brought in as auxiliaries, and did not know the city. To be sure, there were many areas in Ar which I did not know.
"That is known to me," I said.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"We are taking you home," I said.
"No!" she cried, aghast.
I regarded her.
"You are to take me to the loot area in the district of Anbar!" she said. "When I was within the chest I heard it so said!"
"You are going home," I said.
"We could sell her," said Marcus.
"Yes!" she said. "Sell me!"
"No," I said. "You are going home."
She tried to back away but in an instant was stopped, the inside of the leash collar tight against the back of her neck. "Perhaps you have forgotten that you are leashed, female," I said.
She approached me and fell to her knees before me, the leash looping up to my hand. She put her head to the stones, at my feet. I think she then, better than before, understood her helplessness, and the meaning of the leash, and why I had put it on her.
"I thought you said you would not run away," I said.
She lifted her head. "I cannot run away," she said. "I am leashed!"
"Yes," I said.
"I am in your power," she said. "You can do with me as you wish. I beg to be taken to the loot pits. I beg to be taken there, or sold?"
"No," I said.
"Keep me then for yourselves!" she said, looking from me to Marcus, and back again.
"No," I said.
"Surely you do not doubt that I am a slave, and need to be a slave!" she wept. "I do not doubt that," I said. "But I think it is a bit early to harvest you."
"Surely that is a matter of opinion," said Marcus.
"True," I granted him.
"Surely you have seen such slips of girls chained in the loot lines of conquered cities," he said.
"Yes," I admitted.
"They do no discriminate against them there, do they?" he said.
"No," I said.
"And surely you have been pleasured in various taverns by such," he said. "Yes," I said. "Even though they do not yet have the full perfections of their femaleness upon them."
"What scruple then," asked he," gives you pause?"
"She is rather young," I said. "Also we owe something to her father."
"What is that?" he asked.
"He is a brave man," I said.
"Brave?" asked Marcus. "Did you not observe his wringing of hands, his wailing unmaniless, his terror, his obsequiousness, not see to what extent he would go to accommodate himself to Cosian will?"
"It is true, Masters," said the girl, "if I may speak, as I gather I may, as you seem to insist upon treating me as a free woman. My father is a negligible coward."
"No," I said. "He is a brave man."
"I believe I know him better than you," she said.
"Surely Marcus," I said, "you would not begrudge the fellow a certain dismay over the destruction of his shop and the grievous impairment of his means of livelihood."
"His reaction was excessive," said Marcus.
"Exaggerated, you think?"
"If you wish," he said.
"For the benefit of whom, do you suppose?" I asked.
"I do not understand," said Marcus.
"What would you have done?" I asked.
"I would have scorned the Cosian openly," said Marcus, "or set upon him, and the others, with my sword."
"Are you a tradesman?" I asked.
"No," said he. "I am of the Scarlet Caste."
"And what if you were a tradesman?"
"I?" he asked, angrily.
"Do you think that in castes other than your own there are no men?"
"I would have scorned them even if I were a confectioner," said Marcus.
"And hurled sweets at them?"
"Be serious," said he, irritably.
"And presumably, by now," I said, "You would have been beaten, or maimed or slain, and your property confiscated. At the least you would have been entered on one of the lists of suspicion, your movements subject to surveillance, your actions the objects of reports."
"This is more of your Kaissa," said he, distastefully.
"As a warrior," said I, " surely you are aware of the virtues of concealment, of subterfuge."
"No," said he girl. "My father is a coward. I know him."
