Quarry of Gor, page 39
“See the collar,” exclaimed Dorna. “It reads ‘I am Mira, owned by Dorna of Tharna.’”
“No, it does not!” I cried.
“Can you read?” asked Miles.
“No,” I said.
“Then how do you know what it says?” asked Miles.
“You should not tell lies, Mira,” said Dorna. “I shall have to consider giving you an extra stroke of the switch for that.”
“I am not Mira!” I cried.
“Be silent, Mira,” said Florian, shaking me by the arms.
I was afraid he would break my neck. I remined still, helpless, held, tears in my eyes.
“Please hold her for me, noble masters,” said the Lady Dorna. “I shall return momentarily with men to take her off your hands.”
“Business presses,” said Florian.
“I will be only a moment,” said Dorna.
“No need,” said Florian. “We will conduct her to guardsmen and you can claim her later.”
“No, no!” she said.
“Surely you do not fear her theft,” said Florian. “Who would want so woeful and pathetic a slave?”
I did not think that that remark on the part of Florian was necessary or indeed accurate.
“First you take us for scribes and now for thieves,” said Miles, reprovingly, seemingly offended.
“No, no!” said the Lady Dorna.
“I am sure there is a guard boat with guardsmen about,” said Florian. “I recollect seeing one in the vicinity.”
“To the east,” said Miles.
“Yes,” said Florian.
I did not recollect seeing such a boat. And, normally, guardsmen, where practical, as here, are afoot.
“Please hold her, and wait,” said Dorna. “I can return almost immediately.”
“We have other things to do,” said Florian.
“Hold!” said Miles. “What luck! Approaching even now is a guard boat.”
“Excellent,” said Florian.
“The entire matter can now be smoothed out, simply and neatly,” said Miles.
“Perhaps one of the guardsmen can read,” said Florian. He then released my arms and fastened one hand in my hair, his left hand, and bent my head down to his hip. I was then in Gorean leading position. In this position, the slightest resistance or recalcitrance on the part of a slave, or even an unintentional failure to exhibit perfect submission, can result in agonizing pain. One hopes to accommodate oneself as perfectly as possible to the least signal from the captor’s grasp, to the least whim or caprice of his will. Too, one is not only vulnerable and helpless in such a position, but so held, in such awkwardness and humiliation, so amusing to the free, one is well reminded of one’s slavery.
Miles raised his hand, waving, summoning the guard boat to the edge of the canal.
“Once a determination is made,” said Florian, “I am sure a guardsman or so would be happy to deliver the slave to your domicile.”
“I think I shall withdraw,” said Dorna.
“Guardsmen are often overburdened, and do not wish to be taxed with unnecessary, onerous duties,” said Florian. “I understand they are sometimes sympathetic, particularly if a consideration might be involved.”
“I see,” came from somewhere within Dorna’s veiling, a brief utterance suggesting both interest and speculation.
The boat came gently to the side of the canal.
“How may we be of service?” I heard.
“Can one amongst you read?” inquired Florian.
“Publion,” said the fellow.
“Noble guardsmen,” said Dorna, “these two noble masters have been of great assistance to me. They have kindly apprehended my escaped slave, Mira. I am the Lady Dorna of Tharna. I trust I need not verify my identity.”
“Your robes proclaim your freedom,” said the fellow, “and it is offensive and discourteous to question the word of a free woman.”
“My slave’s collar shows her mine,” said Dorna. “It reads, ‘I am Mira, owned by Dorna of Tharna.’”
“That should do,” said the fellow.
“I will need a man to bring her to my domicile,” said Dorna.
“Understood,” said the fellow.
“It is nearby,” said Dorna.
“Good,” he said. “But first we must read the collar.”
“Is that necessary?” said Dorna.
“A mere formality,” said the man.
“I am a free woman,” said Dorna.
“Nonetheless,” said the man. “Routine requires some corroboration in such a case, however minimal. Please, forgive us.”
I, bent over, my hands on Florian’s wrist, was conducted to the edge of the canal. Two fellows had already disembarked and were waiting.
I suddenly recognized one of the fellows still in the boat. I had carried paga to him, not in the Golden Chain, but in the house of Bosk!
“Are you Publion?” asked Florian, of one of the fellows on the walkway, he closest.
“Yes,” said the man.
“We have a runaway girl here,” said Florian. “And this,” he said, indicating the Lady Dorna, “is her mistress. Please read the girl’s collar and see that she is returned to her proper chains.”
“Certainly,” said Publion.
“Probably you should keep her shackled and leashed,” said Miles to the Lady Dorna.
“An excellent suggestion,” said the Lady Dorna, uneasily.
Florian then raised his arm, lifting and straightening my body, his hand still in my hair, until only my toes were on the walkway. “Put your head back,” he said, “far back, and cross your wrists behind your back.”
In this way a girl’s collar may be easily read.
Publion stepped forward.
“Hold,” said the Lady Dorna, “I think we can dispense with the formality.”
“Lady?” asked the other fellow who had emerged from the boat, who seemed the senior of the two who were now on the walkway.
“You have my word that she is mine,” said the Lady Dorna. “Perhaps we can overlook certain unnecessary details of this transaction—”
“Lady?” asked the man.
“—for a small remuneration,” she said.
“Do you seek to bribe guardsmen of Port Kar?” asked a man in the boat, bearded, with a silver slash on his helmet.
“No, no, officer,” said the Lady Dorna. “I thought only to furnish a gratuity, betokening my appreciation.”
“That is different,” said the man.
“I thought it might be,” said the Lady Dorna.
“Come closer,” said the officer.
The Lady Dorna went to the edge of the walkway.
“How much?” asked the officer.
“Would a tarsk-bit be sufficient?” asked the Lady Dorna.
“No,” said the officer.
Florian had now returned me to leading position. I do not think the Lady Dorna realized that Miles had now moved behind her.
“Two,” said the officer.
“Very well,” said the Lady Dorna.
“Two—silver tarsks,” said the officer.
“Do not be absurd,” said the Lady Dorna, angrily. “That is far more than the slave is worth.”
“Two silver tarsks,” said the officer, adamantly.
“Very well,” said the Lady Dorna, in fury, reaching into her purse, slung at her hip.
Apparently the Lady Dorna now had coins at her disposal, a least to the sum of two silver tarsks. I recalled that, earlier, at the Lesser Al-ka Market, when she had wished to buy me, she had been without funds, as much so as a slave might have been, lacking even something which might have been put down on account. I gathered now, however, that that contretemps was no longer to be repeated. Currently she seemed supplied with considerable resources.
“Hand them to me,” said the officer, “one in the palm of each hand.”
“Have no fear,” said the Lady Dorna. “There are two.”
He raised his hands from the canal boat, toward her, and she bent down, extending her hands, parallel, to hand him the coins.
He did not take the coins, however, but gripped her wrists. “Take the coins,” he said to a subordinate, who removed the two silver disks from her hands.
“You may release me,” she said, acidly.
“Note the small, soft palms of her hands,” said the officer to his subordinate, regarding them as they were held.
“Such palms look well in nadu,” said the subordinate, “when a naked slave dares to put the back of her hands on her widened thighs, mutely begging a master to be put to his use pleasure.”
In the usual position of nadu the palms of the slave’s hands are placed down on the thighs. Slaves can be beaten for boldly daring to beg for use in such a way, exposing the delicacy of their palms to the master. Similarly tying the loose bondage knot in her hair may bring discipline. Many masters do not care for such blatant, piteous behaviors, such insolent boldness, resenting the slave’s attempt to appeal to them, to plead for the satisfaction of her needs. Who cares for the needs of a slave? Do the brutes, the monsters, I wonder, not know what they have done to us? It is they who, perhaps to their amusement, saw to the kindling of our slave fires, they who have made us the helpless prisoners of our needs. Do they understand what it is to be in a collar? Do they understand our torment, its depth, its urgency, its rage, its heat, and pervasiveness? How it puts us at their feet! Do they not understand that the strongest of a slave girl’s bonds, more stringent than the coarseness of swathed ropes, more obdurate than the clasp of weighty shackles, are her needs?
“Release my wrists,” said the Lady Dorna, sternly.
At that point the subordinate seized the Lady Dorna’s veils, wadded them, and thrust them back, deeply into her mouth, and then secured them behind the back of her neck. Her wrists were still held by the officer. Her eyes were startled, and wild. An instant later Miles had slipped a slave hood over her head, drawn it down, and buckled it shut. The subordinate meanwhile slapped slave bracelets on her held wrists, and the officer pulled her down, into the canal boat, and put her to her stomach. The subordinate, with his foot on her back, held her in place. “I think we may now be off,” said the officer. His two men descended from the walkway, slipping into the boat. Miles followed them. Florian, looking about, released my hair. I was facing the boat. I felt Florian’s sandaled foot against my fundament, pressing, and he gave me a vigorous push, and I, so impelled, half stumbled, half fell, into the canal boat which, even then, as Florian boarded, was drawing away from the walkway.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Incarceration of Dorna the Proud,
Once High Silver Mask of Tharna
“It will begin shortly,” said Florian. “I expect you will be interested in watching.”
Something in his voice or mien made me uneasy.
Too, I had work to do, within the Ahn, in the laundry. I would not care to be late and face the First Girl’s switch.
“I do not think so, Master,” I said. “I beg to be excused.”
“Lesha!” he snapped.
Automatically, reflexively, instantly, without thinking, I turned away from him, stood straight, lifted my head, tipping it back, and placed my wrists behind my body. I had done these things, and only a moment later realized I had done them. The response had been unquestioning and instantaneous. We are trained so.
Slave bracelets were snapped about my wrists, pinioning them behind my body. A moment later the leash collar was buckled about my neck.
“Do you think you have a choice?” he asked. “Do you think you are a free woman?”
“No, Master,” I said.
“You are a beast, an animal,” he said, “worthless and meaningless, goods, an object, a property, no more than vendible collar meat.”
“Yes, Master!” I said.
“What are you?” he said.
“La kajira! La kajira!” I said. “I am a slave girl! I am a slave girl!”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No, Master!” I said. “Only that! Only that!”
“Do not forget it,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Perhaps you should be whipped,” he said.
“Please do not whip me, Master,” I said.
He then came in front of me, and gripped the leash just inches from my neck, and, by its means, pulled my head toward him, closely. I could feel his breath on my lips. I went to “slave lips” and tried to press forward, but it was not permitted. I could move forward no more. I was but an inch from his lips, held in place. “No,” he said. “Another wants you, but I cannot understand why.”
So close to him, my wrists pinioned behind my body, so lightly and briefly tunicked, I was dreadfully uneasy.
“You would placate me, would you not?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And in the Golden Chain,” he said, “did I pay my coin, you would please me well, would you not?”
“I am kajira,” I said. “I must. I would have no choice.”
“And you would enjoy it, and do it to the best of your ability, would you not?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, “yes, Master.”
“And you would helplessly beg more, and want more?” he said, angrily.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Slave,” he sneered.
“It is what I am,” I said, “and what I want to be.”
“Are all the slaves at the Golden Chain like you?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “We are slaves.”
He drew back his hand and I feared I was to be cuffed, but he lowered his hand angrily, loosened the leash, turned about, and began to make his way down the hall. I hurried to follow, on my tether.
What could be his concern with the girls of the Golden Chain?
“Master,” I called. “You said another wanted me. You know how vulnerable and helpless a slave is! Who wants me?”
“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said, not slackening his pace.
“Master,” I called. “Where are you taking me?”
He stopped, and turned about, angrily.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, putting my head down. “Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira.”
He then continued on his way, I after him.
Shortly thereafter we turned from the hallway and began to make our way downward, descending steep, ill-lit, narrow stairs. He slowed his pace, presumably that I would be in less danger of falling. Aside from the wine cellars, I knew little about the forbidding, labyrinthine passages below the house. They were not such as to invite or encourage exploration.
It was four days ago that the men of the House of Bosk had abducted she whom I had understood to be the Lady Dorna of Tharna, the colleague of the dreaded Pa-Kur, high amongst the Assassins.
It had come as a great surprise to me when the hooding and veils of she whom I had taken to be the Lady Dorna of Tharna were torn aside, and her splendid robes drawn down to her shoulders, to discover that the beauty of her lovely neck was much set off and enhanced by the locked, close-fitting circlet of bondage. Dorna was collared!
I think it would be helpful, even advisable, at this point, to pause, to supply certain details, historical and otherwise, in the light of which ensuing events might be better understood. These have to do, in particular, with history, espionage, and inaction.
The city of Tharna was once ruled by a gynocracy. Convention, education, culture, and law, seemingly the very air one breathed, from the cradle on, was engineered to demasculinize men, to make them fear their nature, to betray their blood, to suspect and be ashamed of their most natural interests, desires, impulses, and urges. It was a travesty of biology, a meretricious, loveless, frustrated world. Thwarted drives and suppressed desires led to hypocrisy, belligerence, impatience, cruelty, and war. Women were victims, too, being unwittingly estranged from their own natures, taught to be what they were not; instructed to rejoice in their own misery, to see riches in their own self-denial and poverty. In public, women wore masks, one supposes designed to portray uniformity, contentment, serenity, remoteness, and beauty. Conformity reigned; difference and individualism were abhorred. Each must be alike, changeless, and perfect. And who will dare to look behind a mask? The masks in Tharna were silver, save one, that of gold, that of the Tatrix, Lara. Dorna, Dorna the Proud, stood high in Tharna, was indeed the highest of the “Silver Masks,” and was covetous of the Golden Mask, that of the Tatrix. As might be supposed, beneath the loveless, unhappy, sterile placidity of Tharna were the stirrings of a seething discontent. As the result of a particular confluence of historical circumstances, which need not be recited here, the storms and flames of revolution unexpectedly burst forth, resulting in a radical transformation of Tharnan society. Masks were torn away, melted down, and forbidden. Today there is only one free woman in Tharna, Lara, the Tatrix. During the revolt, one gathers that some of the “Silver Masks,” those not captured and collared, fled the city, presumably, undefended and unprotected, to soon find themselves in foreign chains. Amongst these, I suppose, was Dorna the Proud. She was now the slave of Pa-Kur, of the Assassins. I did not know how she had come into his possession, where or how he might have seized or purchased her. But now, clearly, it was his collar on her neck. I did not doubt that he had “found her flanks of interest,” as the masters say, but I suspected her value to him went far beyond her desperate attempt to please him fully and perfectly in the furs. She was beautiful, brilliant, and unscrupulous, a suitable participant in clandestine plots and villainies. Too, she was resourceful and talented. For example, she could assume the disguise of a free woman with aplomb, whereas most slaves, whether previously free or not, would be terrified to do so. I myself would not only be terrified to do so but I could not do so if I wished, at least without help. I was unfamiliar with the number and layering of robes, the arrangement of veils, even the mysterious hooks and fastenings which somehow managed to bring together and secure the often-sumptuous ensemble of the Gorean free woman. In some of the more extreme cases, the free woman cannot even dress herself, but requires the assistance of a skilled “woman’s slave.” Such “woman’s slaves” tend to be expensive.
