Blood Brothers of Gor

Chapter 14 WANIYANPI

"Pumpkin!" I said, pleased.

"Peace, and light, and tranquility, and contentment and goodness be unto you," he asid.

"I had heard that there were Waniyanpi in camp," I said. "I had hoped that it might be you, and others from your group."

"We have delivered vegetables to our masters," said Pumpkin. "You remember Carrot and Cabbage?"

"Yes," I said. "Greetings, Fellows."

"Sweetness be unto you," said Carrot.

"Sweetness be unto you," said Cabbage.

"Who is this?" asked a dark-haired woman, bellingerently. She, too, wore the garb of the Waniyanpi. That is a long, gray dress which falls between the knees and ankles. Her feet, too, were wrapped in rags. This garb is unattractive on women, doubtless intendedly so. On men, similarly, it appears ungainly and foolish.

"I do not think you met Radish," said Pumpkin.

"No," I said.

"Who are you?" asked Radish.

"Radish is the leader of our small expedition to the camp," said Pumpkin, "and is, for most practical purposes, first in the compound, in our home, Garden Eleven, although we all are, of course, the same."

"Of course," I said.

"Who are you?" asked Radish.

I looked at her. She was surly, and, obviously, badly in need of a whipping.

"I am Tatankasa, Red Bull," I said, "the slave of Canka, Fire-Steel, of the Isbu Kaiila, of the Little-Stones band of the Kaiila, in a mixtrue of both Kaiila and Gorean.

I continued to look at her. I did not think that she was, objectively, a bad-looking woman. Beneath the ugly garment she wore there were the suggestions of an attractive figure. I wondered what she would look like naked and bound, kneeling at a man's feet, under his quirt.

"You are a slave," she said.

"So are you," I said.

"We do not wear collars," she said.

"You do not need collars to be recognized as slaves," I said.

She glared at me, angrily. I considered stripping her, and putting her to my feet.

"Many who are slaves do not wear collars," I said. "Many who are slaves do not even know that they are slaves."

"That is true," said Pumpkin, agreeably.

"Do not speak further to this person," said Radish, turning away.

"How long are you going to be in camp?" I asked.

"I am sorry," said Pumpkin. "I should not speak further to you now. It is the wish of Radish."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Waniyanpi are supposed to be loving, accommodating and pleasing," said Pumpkin. 'Waniyanpi' is a Kaiila expression. It means "tame cattle."

"And is Radish loving, accommodating and pleasing?" I asked.

"Not really," said Pumpkin. "That is an interesting thought," He looked at me. "We are leaving in the morning," he said.

"I told you not to talk to him," said Radish, from a few feet away.

"Please be quiet, Radish," said Pumpkin. She turned away, angrily.

"Sweetness be unto you," said Pumpkin.

"How far away is your compound?" I asked.

"Some one hundred pasangs from here," said Pumpkin.

"I di dnot know you had kaiila," I said.

"We do not," said Pumpkin. "We came afoot, dragging travois, laden with our produce, in the charge of a boy."

"I thought Radish was the leader of the expedition," I said.

"She is the Waniyanpi leader," he said. "We all, of course, must take our orders from our red masters."

"How is she who was the Lady Mira, of Venna?" I asked. The Lady Mira, of Venna, had been an agent of Kurii. She had been in political command, under Kog and Sardak, of a force of approximately a thousand mercenaries, the human contingent accompanying Kog and Sardak, and their death squad, into the Barrens. The military command of these mercenaries, also under Kog and Sardak, who would have retained supreme command, had been in the hands of Alfred, a mercenary captain from Port Olni. The chain of command, then, for most proacitcal purposes, except tactical situations, would have been Kurii, then the Lady Mira, and then Alfred, the captain from Port Olni. After the joint attack and massacure of a few weeks ago, the Lad Mira had been captured and, presumably because she had been found with soldiers, sent to a Waniyanpi compound. Alfred had managed to escape with a mounted force of perhaps some four hundred riders. He, presumably, had, by now, made his way back to the Ihanke, to civilization and safety. Small bands of warriors, the sorts which make up common war parties, would not be likely to attack a force of that size.

"The Lady Mira, of Venna?" asked Pumpkin.

"The blond woman, given to you by the red savages after the battle," I said. "I think you were going to call her 'Turnip. »

"Trunip, of course," said Pumpkin.

"How is she doing?" I asked.

"She is fitting in very nicely," he said. "She has embraced the teaching zealously. She is now a happy and confirmed Same."

"And what if she were not?" I asked.

"Then," said Pumpkin, "regrettably, we would have to put her out of the compound, into the Barrens, without food and water."

"You would kill her?" I said.

"No, no!" said Pumpkin. "Waniyanpi are not permitted to kill. We would only have to put her out."

"You would, then, let the Barrens do your killing for you," I said.

"She might survive," he said.

"Possibly," I said.

"It always makes us sad to have to put someone out," he said.

"I can imagine," I said.

"Surely you cannot expect us to permit the existence of false ideas in the compound?" he asked.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I do not know," he said.

"Perhaps you fear your beliefs, if presented with plausible alternatives, might fare badly?"

"No, no," he said. "Truth does not need to be afraid of falsity. Truth is not fearful and weak."

"I am glad to hear it," I said. "So what is wrong with having a few false ideas around?"

"It is against the teaching," said Pumpkin.

"Perhaps it is feared someone might believe one," I said.

"How could anyone do that?" he scoffed.

"Perhaps some depraved or benighted individual," I suggested.

"Perhaps," he said.

"Thus," I said, "ignorance is the bulwark of truth."

"Perhaps," granted Pumpkin.

"But here is an interesting thought," I said. "What if your beliefs are not true, but false. How would you ever find out about it?"

"I suppose we might not," said Pumpkin. "Thus, it is fortunate for us that our beliefs are true."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"It is one of our beliefs," he said.

"Sameness is a lie," I said. "And it is not even a subtle or plausible lie. It is obviously and patently a lie."

"It is not to be questioned," said Pumpkin. "Even if it is a lie it is a lie which lies at the very foundation of our society. It is the premise of our world. All worlds have their myths. The alternative to the myth is chaos."

"The alternative of falsehood," I said, "is not chaos, but truth."

"One must belive something," said Pumpkin.

"Try truth," I said.

"Would you like to see Trunip?" he asked.

"Is she here?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "We did not wish to bring her, but the oy who was in charge of us picked her out to come along, thus giving us, appropriately, an exactly equal number of males and females."

"Why 'appropriately'?" I asked. "If you are all the same, what difference should it make? Why not all males or all females, or any ratio?"

"I suppose you are right," said Pumpkin. "We ourselves do not distinguish between males and females."

"That, at least, if peculiar, is consistent," I said. "But you have noticed, surely, that there seem to be some differences between males and females."

"We try not to notice that," said Pumpkin.

"Have you noticed," I asked, "that males are better at dragging heavy weights across the prairie than women?"

"We notice, of course," said Pumpkin, "that not all Sames are of equal size or strength."

"And have you noticed, further," I asked, "that there seems to be a correlations between the stronger Sames and those the red savages regard as males, and between the slighter, weaker Sames and those the red savages regard as females?"

"I try not to notice such things," said Pumpkin.

"Were you harnessed to a travois?" I asked.

"Yes," said Pumpkin.

"How many pulled it with you?" I asked.

"I, alone, drew it," he said.

"And what of some of the other travois," I asked, "those drawn by the smaller, slighter Sames. How were they harnessed?"

"Five to a travois," shrugged Pumpkin. "But the trek is long, and the weight is heavy."

"I see," I said. "Where is Turnip?"

"I will show you," said Pumpkin. "She is with one of the groups. You will be pleased to see how she turned out."

I followed Pumpkin through, and behind, several lodges. Then, in a few moments, we came to a place where a low, sloping shelter, of travois poles, sticks and canvas, had been erected. I could see some similar shelters in the nearby vicinity.

"Have these women been brought to the camp to be bred with other Waniyanpi?" I asked. "It seems they have been prepared for what you fold refer to as 'the Ugly Act. Is the day of Waniyanpi Breeding at hand?"

"No," said Pumpkin, laughing. "It is done for other reasons."

The five women sitting near the shelter, in their drab garments, all had sacks tied over their heads, knotted under their chins. For the day of Waniyanpi Breeding, male waniyanpi from one compound are marched, hooded, to the vicinity of some other compound. Near it they are led to hooded, stripped Waniyanpi women, selected for breeding, from the other compound, lying bound in a maize field. There, then, between hooded couples, under the whips of red masters, are fulfilled the offices of the day of Waniyanpi Breeding. This is supposedly the only physical contact, incidentally, which takes place between Waniyanpi men and women.

As would be expected, their tiny, pathological culture, implicitly or explicitly, to one degree or another, is opposed to sexuality. For example, sexual inertness and figidity are praised as virtues. Similarly, an attempt is made, though such things as verbal abuse and ridicule, to make individuals with truly powerful sexual drives succumb to irrational guilts and shames. "True persons," which is a euphemism for conformists to the social norms, are supposed to be "above sex," or, at least, to recognize its "relative unimportance," or to understand that it may be accpetable, in some "place," or other, which is never clarified. That a given individual of strong passions could scream with the need for sexual release is something that they cannot understand or which, somehow, terrifies them. They are flowers and, it seems, lack the senses which would enable them to understand such things as hungers and storms. Buttercups and lions will perhaps always be mutually unintelligible to one another. Most simply, perhaps, sexuality is regarded by the Waniyanpi as being inimical to Sameness, as being subversive of the Identity thesis so essential to its madness. Too, in an interesting concession to putative sexual difference, sexuality, by the Waniyanpi, is regarded as being demeaning to women.

It is not clear, historically, whether the values of slaves were imposed on the Waniyanpi by their masters, or whether the Waniyanpi invented their ethos to dignify and enoble their own weakness. It may be mentioned, that interestingly, since that there is, in the compounds, an unusual incidence of homosexuality, both of male and female varieties. This is perhaps a natural enough development considering the conditioned obstacles placed in the way of more usual relationships. It also fits in better with the values of Sameness. To be sure, officially the Waniyanpi disparage all sex, despite the relative countenance tacitly afforded by their ethos to the homosexual relationship. Where natural sexuality is prohibited there is little perversions. The prescribed choice for the Waniyanpi, of course, is loftly abstinence, pretneding no problems exist. The reason that Waniyanpi breeding takes place in a maize field, incidentally, seems to be that, in the medicine beliefs of the red savages, the example of their breeding is supoosed to encourage the maize to flourish.

"What are the other reasons?" I asked.

"There are two," said Pumpkin, regarding the hooded women. "The first is that we thus hide their faces from the red savages, and thus reduce the probability of their being taken away from us."

"Thier clothing," I said, "to a large extent, hides their figures."

"Yes," said Pumpkin, embarrassed.

"Frankly," I said, "I do not think they are in much danger. The red savages have their pick of many women, lovely, vital woman, many of them nude and collared, and trained, like she-kaiila, to service their pleasures. I do not think they would be likely to be much interested in Waniyanpi females." Such females, I adjudged, from seeing Radish, and the men, would be unpleasant and rigid, or, more likely, dismal, miserable slave market, even to give such women. It was interesting to speculate whether under a proper reginmen of whipping, bonds and training something might be done with them. "What is the second reason?" I asked.

"We do not want them to see red-savage males," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"It makes it harder for them, somtimes, then," he said, "to be content, again, in the compounds. It makes it more difficult for them, sometimes, to continue to accpet and practice the teaching, for them to adhere to the truths of Sameness."

"I understand," I said. That true men existed was something which, for most purposes, was to be kept from the Waniyanpi women. It was better for them, perhaps, not to know of their existence. Let them continue to think of men along the lines of the despicalbe, pathetic males of the Waniyanpi compounds. That would surely make their life easier. How miserable and frustrated they might be, to see a real man, and, their womanhood awakening, to know that they, Waniyanpi females, must continue, as though nothing had happened, to devote themselves to gardening and hpyocrisy. It maed sense that they should be hooded in the vicinity of the camp, particularly a summer camp. Surely it would be embarrasing, too, to Waniyanpi men, such as Pumpkin, if one of their females should tear off her cloths and throw herself naked to the feet of a red warrior, begging for the tightness of his ropes and the slash of his quirt.

"That one is Turnip, is it not?" I asked, indicating one of the seated women.

"Yes," said Pumpkin.

"Why is Radish not hooded?" I asked.

"She is so strong that she does not need the hood," said Pumpkin. "Too, for most practical purposes, she is first in the compound. It was on her orders that we hooded the other women."

"She did not trust them," I said.

"Of course she trust them," said Pumpkin. "They are all wonderful Sames."

"Then why are they hooded?" I asked.

"Even a Same," said Pumpkin, "might occasionally have a moment of weakness."

"I see," I said. "It has been nice speaking to you, Pumpkin. You may now go."

"Of course," said Pumpkin. "I trust her. She is a wonderful Same." he then withdrew. I wached him leave. I rather, for no reason that was clear to me, liked Pumpkin. This time, in speaking to him, he had seemed somewhat less dognatic than he had the first time, a few weeks ago, in the vicinity of the battlefield. He had a stong native intelligence, I suspected, which, for too long, had been somnolent. He had kept himself from thinking for years. Now, I suspected, he might be wondering whether or not he might think, and, if so, what might come of it. This can be an exciting time in the life of any human being. Somewhere beneath the gray garb of Pumpkin, I suspected, might lurk the heart of a heretic.

I walked over to the vicinity of the hooded Waniyanpi women, those near the closest shelter of sticks, poles and canvas. There were five of them. They were seated, mostly cross-legged, on the ground. Gray sacks had been tied over their heads, knotted with cords under their chins. I went and stood before she whom I took to be Turnip, the former beautiful agent of Kurii.

In moccasins my approach was undetected.

I cleared my throat, that they might know of my presence.

She whom I took to be Turnip, and the others, as well, lifted their heads in the sacks.

"Pumpkin?" asked the woman whom I took to be Turnip.

I did not respond. The women had remained seated, as they had been. Assuming that I must be a Waniyanpi male they did not, of course, show me respect, let alone submission.

"Carrot? Cabbage?" asked the woman.

I had cleared my throat, to announce my presence to the women. This sound, polite, almost apologetic, had been performed deliberately. It would be a way, I conjectured, in which a Waniyanpi male, cuouteously, might announce his presence to his lovely, hooded colleagues. I wished to see their reactions. They had been as I had expected, in effect, nothing.

"Squash? Beans?" she asked, her voice now slightly falthering.

I did not, again, respond.

"Surely you are of the Waniyanpi?" she asked. It did not occur to her that one who was not of the Waniyanpi would approach them, drab Waniyanpi women.

"No," I said.

Hurriedly, then, the five women knelt. They knelt with thier knees pressed closely together and thier heads inclined. Deference, thus, slaves, did the display, knowing themselves in the presence of one who was not of the Waniyanpi. Only their own men it was whom they needed not, and did not, show respect. How different, I mused, would have been their responses, from the beginning, had they not been females of the waniyanpi, but Gorean pleasure slaves. To be sure I had not announced my presence to them, and by design, as might have a typical Gorean male. Such a male, entering among hooded slaves, in particular, pleasure slaves, might have signified his presence by smiting his thigh once, or by twice clapping his hands, sharply, perhaps, at the same time, calling, "Position." Such women, then, had they been hooded Gorean pleasure slaves, and not Waniyanpi females, would have scrambled to kneel, and beautifully and vitally. Too, they would have knelt with their knees widely spread, exposing the soft interiors of their open thighs, their vulnerability to male might and their submission to male power.

Gorean pleasure slaves, incidentally, are occasionally used hoooded. The hood, of course, can increase the female's sense of vulnerability and sexual helplessness. She does not know, for example, where she will be next struck or caressed. Similarly the hood is sometimes used when the master leads or consigns the slave to others, she being hooded, perhpas, before the guests arrive, or, perhaps, after she has served them their supper and liquers. She may then, perhaps with other slaves, hooded, too, be turned about, and then knelt at the feet of one or another of the guests. She, and the other slaves, too, of course, must then serve the guest, or guests, to whom they have been assigned with perfection. Too, their use may be gambled for, or lots drawn for it.

I crouched before the woman whom I took to be Turnip. I held her by the upper arms. She raised her head, in the sack.

"No," she said, "you are not Waniyanpi. I can tell by your touch."

"Oh?" I said.

"That you touch me, as they would not," she said, "but, too, how you touch me, how you hold me."

"How is that?" I asked.

"With authority," she said, "as a man holds a woman."

"I see," I said.

With my hands, and thumbs, then, gently, I pressed back the sack, closely, about her face, that the outlines of her features might emerge though the cloth.

"You are she," I asked, "who was once the Lady Mira, of Vanna?"

"Yes," she said, "yes."

"Formerly of the merchants?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. I saw her lips move under the cloth.

"Formerly a mercenary," I said, "formerly an agent in the service of Kurii?"

"Who are you?" she asked, frightened.

"You may respond to my question," I informed her. My thumbs, then, were at her throat. She felt their presure.

"Yes," she whispered. "I was formerly a mercenary. I was formerly in the service of Kurii."

"What are you now?" I asked.

"Only a Waniyanpi slave," she said.

"It is true," I told her. I removed my thumbs from her throat.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"We met," I said, "a few weeks ago, in the vicinity of the field of battle. You had been stripped and yoked by your red masters. You were tethered to a wagon axle. It was before you were taken to a Waniyanpi compound."

"It was you," she said, "who struck me with a quirt and forced me to give you an account of the battle."

"Yes," I said.

"You were merciless," she said. "You made me speak as though I might have been a slave."

"It was appropriate," I said. "You were a slave."

"Even then?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She reached out her hand, timidly. She touched, and felt, the collar at my throat.

"You, too, now, are a slave," she said. "We are both the slaves of red masters."

"Yes," I said. "We are both perhaps fortunate to have been spared. It is their contry."

"Perhaps there could be a little tenderness between slaves," she said.

"I understad that you are now called 'Turnip, " I said.

"Yes," she said. "I am Turnip."

"I am Tatankasa, Red Bull," I said. "I am the slave of Canka, Fire-Steel, of the Isbu Kaiila."

"You ahve at least a single master," she said. "We belong to the band, to the Isbu Kaiila."

"How are you faring?" I asked.

"What a silly question!" she laughed, rather pronouncedly. "I am faring very well, of course!"

"I am glad to hear it," I said.

"Becoming of the Waniyanpi has changed my life," she assured me, speaking clearly and a bit loudly. "I cannot tell you how fulfilled and happy I am. It has wrought a most wonderous transformation in my existence."

"I see," I said.

"We are joyful dung," she said. "We are sparkles on the water, making the streams pretty. We are flowers growing in the fields. We are nice, We are good."

"I understand," I said.

"I am now a convinced and happy Same," she said. "I am now not a not-the-Same. That must be clearly understood. I am not a not-the-Same. I am a Same."

"I understand," I said.

"I have fully and happily embraced the teaching," she said.

"It will not be necessary, as first it might have appeared, to put me out into the Barrens, without food and water. All is one, and one is all, and the same is the same. The teaching is the truth, and the truth is the teaching."

I glanced about, at the other Waniyanpi women kneeling near her. They were, I take it, her harness mates, resposible with her, I supposed, for drawing one of the travois.

"Are you happy?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said. "I am wonderfully and gloriously happy. That must be clearly understood."

"I understand," I said.

"Oh," she said, lifted in my amrs. I then carried her several yards away, among the lodges. I then lowered her to her knees in a quiet spot.

"Are we alone?" she begged.

"Yes," I said.

She began to sob inside her hood.

She reached out, desperately, and held me about the legs, I standing before her. She pressed her cheek against my thigh. I could feel the hood, hot and damp, soaked with tears, between her cheek and my leg.

"Save me from them," she wept. "They are lunatics. They foreswear the most obvious truths of human nature. Among them the males cannot be men and the females cannot be women. It is a sick, perverted world! They struggle against passion. They are afraid to feel. They are terrorized by desire. They pervert their reason. They deny thier senses. They are all mad, all of them!"

I crouched down and took the sobbing woman in my arms.

"They will make me ashamed of my body," she wept. "They may drive me insane, I do not want their dismal peace, their pathological tranquillity, their vacuous serenity. I am not a turtle. I am not a vegetable. I am a woman. I want to be what I am, truly. I do not want to be ashamed of my needs or my sex. I want to live, and feel!"

She was Gorean woman. This had made the transitision to a Waniyanpi community additionally difficult for her. The transition, presumably, because of their conditioning and upbringing, having acclimated them to what, in effect, were Waniyanpi values, would doubtless have been much easier for a woman from Earth.

"It is not wrong to want to be alive, is it?" she asked.

"No," I said, "it is not wrong to what that."

"They pretend to be happy," she said, "but they are not happy. They are miserable, and filled with hate."

"Let us rejoice," I said, "that their madness is confined to a handful of isolated compounds in the wilderness." How frightful it would be, I thought, if such an arid lunacy should infect a wider domain.

"Save me from them," she begged.

"It is not pracitcal," I said.

She sobbed anew, and I held her more closely.

"You were found with the soldiers," I said. "That is doubtless why you were sent to a Waniyanpi community. It is your punishment."

"A most just and suitable punishment," she said, bitterly.

"Yes," I said. It was a particularly terrible punishment, of course, for a woman such as she, one who had some idea of the possiblities of life and feeling.

"Better to be the lowest slave, naked and chained, of the cruelest master on Gor," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Look," she said, drawing back, sobbing, putting her hands to the hood. "They are afraid even to let us see true men."

"It is perhaps moer merciful that way," I said. "That way perhaps, you will experience less distress and torment when you return to the Waniyanpi compound."

"But I have known true men," she said.

"That makes it much harder for you, of couse," I admitted.

"I hunger for the touch of a true man," she said. Waniyanpi males are weak, pathetic and meaningless."

"It may not be their fault," I said. "They may be only trying to fulfill the stereotypes of their culture."

"We were made to chew sip roots on the way to camp," she said, "to protect us, if our red masters should choose to seize and rape us."

"The precaution, however," I said, "proved unnecessary, did it not?"

"Yes," she said. "We are only Waniyanpi females. No man wants us."

I did not speak.

"They do not fear our men, do they?" she asked.

"No," I laughed. "Even a boy would think nothing of usuing you in the presence of an entire work crew of Waniyanpi males, if he felt like it. They would not interfere."

"Why are we not desired?" she asked.

"You are taught, explicitly or implicintly," I said, "to behave and dress unattractively, even, so to speak, to think unattractively. Most males, thusly, assuming them to be vital and healthy, would not be likely to find a Waniyanpi woman of much intrest. They might tend to think of them as being, in some odd way, repulsively unnatural, or, perhaps, worse, as being mentally ill. Too, of course, in camps of our red masters you must realize that there are alernatives available."

"We are not really like that," she said.

"I do not suppose you are," I said.

"We have needs and hungers, too," she said.

"I suppose you do," I said. It did seem to me that the usual male assessment of the Waniyanpi female ws likely to be somewhat hasty and negative. Men are often too abrupt, t seems to me, in their judgments. They might profit from some instruction in patience. Such women, unfulfilled as females, starved for male domination, I supposed, taken sternly in hand, stripped and put to a man's feet, might prove to be grateful and rewarding slaves. In a matter of days, I suspected, it might be difficult to tell one, licking and kissing at one's feet, warmly, lovingly and gratefully, from a more normal slave.

"I suppose, if a man were suffciently desperate," she said, "he might find us of intrest."

"Probably," I said. Studies and case histories suggested that this sort of thing was true.

"The least desirable," she said, bitterly, "are the last desired."

"Perhaps," I said.

"It is so ironic!" she said.

"What?" I asked.

"When I was free, in Venna, and elsewhere," she said, "I was desired and could not be obtained. Now that I am a slave and can be obtained, I am not desired."

"I see," I said.

"It is a new experience for me, and one not to my liking, not to be desired."

"Oh?" I said.

"I had thought, when free," she said, "that if ever I fell slave, men would put me frequiently to their pleasure."

"That is common with slaves," I said. "It was a fair assumption."

"And that I must needs fear only that I might not sufficiently please them."

"To be sure," I said, "a natural fear with slaves."

"But not once," she said, "have I been put to the service of my masters."

"Surely you have frightened fleer from the maize, gardened and picked produce," I said.

"But not once," she said, angrily, "have they put me to their intimate service, forcing me to perform with the skills and talents of the female slave."

"It is perhaps just as well," I said. "You were a free woman, and you have not had much training. If you did not do well, you might be whipped severly, or perhaps slain."

"Oh," she said.

"Being a slave girl is very different from being a free woman," I said. "From a free woman a man expects little, or nothing. From a slave girl, on the other hand, he expects, as it is said, everything, and more."

"I understand," she said.

"A free woman may be valueless and, if she wishes, account this a virtue. A slave, on the other hand, must be superbly pleasing. She must see to it, with all her intelligence and beauty, that she is her master's attentive, sensitive, skillful treasure."

"I would like to be such a treasure to a man," she said.

I did not speak.

"May I call you 'Master'?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"When I was free, I was regarded as being very beautiful. Indeed, it was said by some that I was as beautiful, even, as a slave."

"A high compliment," I acknowledged. I recalled the first time I had ever seen her, on her curule chair, on her high cart, in the column of the Kurii and mercenaries. She had worn the robes of concealment, but only a wisp of diaphanous silk, presumably by intent, had feigned to hide her features. I recalled, even then, wondering what she might look like in the shimmering dancing silks of an enslaved female or, say, stripped and collared, crawling at men's feet.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

How different, then, was that absurd pretense of a veil, that sweet diaphanous sheen of material, compared to the rude coarse sack which had now been tied over her head. How disgusting were the Waniyanpi.

"Surely I am no less beautiful now than I was then," she said.

"Perhaps," I granted her.

"And now I am a slave," she said.

"That is true," I said.

"Have me," she begged, suddenly. "Touch me. Caress me. Hold me. Take me!"

"But you are a Waniyanpi female," I said, "above sex. That has been decided by your masters."

"I am a slave," she said. "I need the touch of a man."

"But you have been rescued from sex," I said. "You have been accorded honor and dignity. You have been make identical to a certain form of male. That is supposed to be what you want. You are now, your nature betrayed and nullified, supposed to be happy and fulfilled."

"I am miserable," she wept.

"Interesting," I said.

"I am a woman," she said. "I need attention as a woman. Comfort me. Hold me. Be kind to me."

I did not speak.

"Whip me, beat me, if you wish," she said, "but pay attention to me as a woman. I am a woman. Let me, I beg you, be a woman."

"That is not permitted, as I understand it," I said, "to the Waniyanpi female."

"I have been put with the Waniyanpi," she said. "It was my punishment. But I am not one of them. Take pity on me. Have mercy on me. I am not truly a Waniyanpi female. I am a woman. I have the feelings of a woman. I want the sensations of a woman. I need the sensations of a woman. Have mercy on me, Master!"

"You do not now seem to be a proud agent of Kurii," I said.

"I am no longer an agent of Kurii," she said. "I am now only a female slave."

"And a pleading slave, it seems." I said.

"Yes," she said, "I am now only a pleading female slave."

I did not speak.

"I know, now," she said, "that I am not garbed attractively and that a sack has been put over my head but underneath these things I am a woman, with a woman's needs and desires. That cannot be concealed by all the lies and the corse, cruel cloth in the world. No shameful or pernicious raiment, no imposed masking of the features, no falsity of the tongue or mind can change what I am, a woman."

I did not speak.

"I strive to interest you," she said.

"It would not be good for me to accede to your request," I said. She must, after all, return to the compound of the Waniyanpi.

"You saw me stripped and in a yoke," she said, "tied to the axle of a wagon."

"Yes," I said.

"Am I not attractive?" she asked.

"You are," I said.

"And do you not find me attractive?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Have me," she said.

"It would not be wise," I said. I did not think it would be good for her.

"I beg to be put to your service, Master," she said.

"And if you were," I asked, "what would you fear?"

"Only that I might not please you sufficiently," she said.

"The answer is suitable," I said.

"Touch me, have me," she begged.

I did not respond to her.

"You are still here, are you not?" she asked, frightened, kneeling, reaching out. "You have not left me?"

"No," I said. "I am here."

"I have chewed sip root," she said, plaintively. "We women from the compound, dragging the travois, were all made to do that, to protect us should we be taken and raped by our masters."

"I understand," I said.

"You have nothing to fear," she said.

"I understand," I said. It would be difficult to explain to her, I conjectured, that my concern in this matter was not for myself, but for her. The memory of a man's touch, of any man's touch, I thought, would be a cruel souvenir for her to carry back to the compound. I did not think that memory would make the bleakness and loneliness of the compound easier to bear. It is better, perhaps, for one who must live on porridge never to know the taste of meat and wine. If one must live with the Waniyanpi, perhaps it is best to be of the Waniyanpi. It is, at any rate, safer. Sanity can be perilous in a country of lunatics.

"Please," she begged. "Touch me, hold me, let me know that men still truly exist."

"You surely, as a former free woman," I said, "have known the touch of men, their arms."

"But only on my own terms," she said, "never as what I am now, a slave."

"I see," I said. To be sure, perhaps it is only the female slave, the woman at the total mercy of a master, who can know, truly, what it is to be in the arms of a man, what it is, truly, helplessly, to feel their touch.

"Please," she said.

"You must be returned to the Waniyanpi," I said.

"Have me," she begged. "I will serve you even as a slave."

"What did you say?" I demanded.

"I will serve you even as a slave," she whispered timidly.

I seized her, cruelly, by the upper arms. I shook her once, viciously. "Oh!" she cried, in misery.

"You are a slave," I told her. I then shook her again, and flung her, viciously, to the dirt.

"Yes, Master!" she said, in the hood. "Yes, Master!"

"You are no longer a proud free woman," I told her. "You are now a slave, and only a slave! If you are used, of course, you will be used as the mere beast, and slave, you are!"

"Yes, Master!" she whimpered.

I looked down at her, angrily. Arrogance, even inadvertent arrogance, in a slave is not accepted. She lay on her side, in the dirt, her head in the hood. The gray dress had come up now, high on her right thigh. Her leg was beautiful. I clenched my fists, that I might not subject the frightened, lovely imbounded beast to the treatment suitable to her condition.

"Let me be a woman," she begged. "Let me be a woman!"

I considered the Waniyanpi. "It is against the law," I said.

I then lifted her up and threw her, she helpless and hooded, over my shoulder.

"I hate you, I hate you," she wept. "I hate you!"

I then carried her back to the shelter and put her, again, with her sisters, her harness mates, other females of the Waniyanpi.