Conspirators of Gor

Chapter Ten

I folded the ironed sheets carefully.

Afterwards I would deliver them about. One launders the sheets at the public troughs, and later sprinkles them, and puts them under the handled irons, heated on the plate over the house fire.

The tunic I wore was suitable for a woman’s slave, brown, high-necked, and mid-calfed, rather different from what a man would be likely to put on a slave. On the other hand, it was surely not the cruel farce of sul cloth which had been mentioned during the bargaining at the Tarsk Market. In the markets and the streets I had seen the typical garmenture of other women’s slaves, following their mistresses, heads down, modestly, supposedly that they might not reflect upon their mistresses by exchanging glances with passing men, garmentures which served to demonstrate at once the status and taste of the mistress and the presumed, irreproachable deportment of her slaves. To be sure, many a quick smile and sly glance was passed now and then between such a putatively virtuous pet and one hardy, bold fellow or another. Occasionally, caught in such a contretemps, I had seen a girl mercilessly switched, until she cowered, rolling under the blows, sobbing and crying out, and I scarcely dared to speculate what might occur when she was marched home to a whipping ring.

In the outer room of the Tarsk Market I had been revived abruptly and unpleasantly by a canister of cold water splashed on my body. It took only a startled, miserable instant to recall the occasion of my loss of consciousness, and one of the first sights to greet me were the eyes of that enormous, crouching beast, regarding me, peering out from within that dark, loose, blanket-like robe and hood within which he concealed, as he could, his massive, but strangely agile frame, that of some sort of hirsute, large-chested, muscular bipedalian, or near-bipedalian, form of life, surely one with which I was unfamiliar. It could rear upright, freeing its grasping appendages for the manipulation of tools, but, as I would later learn, it could also move on all fours, using the knuckles of its forelimbs, with great speed, much faster than a man could run, or a woman. Its entire mien suggested a kind of animal which was predatory, aggressive, and carnivorous. Yet I had gathered from the utilization of the device, or translator, which still hung from its neck, I could see the loose chain, it was rational. Interestingly this reassurance of rationality did not allay my trepidation but increased it, for it bespoke no ordinary beast but one which might pursue its ends not blindly, or even merely cunningly, but patiently, wisely, calculatedly. Surely it was an unfamiliar, fearful robe for intelligence to wear. It was no more than a dozen feet from me. None of the men were near it. I struggled a bit, and fell to my side. While unconscious I had been tightly bound. My wrists had been fastened together behind my back, and my arms had been tied tightly to my sides. Also a leather collar was on my neck, from which a leash dangled, and the end of the leash was clutched in one of the beast’s massive paws.

“Please save me, Masters!” I wept to the men about. “I will be a good slave! Keep me! Am I not pretty? I beg to please you, and wholly, unquestioningly, and abjectly, responding to your least whim, in all the ways of the female slave! I will please you muchly. Rescue me! Do not let me be taken by this beast!”

Surely they must have some pity, or feeling, for one who was, after all, a female of their own species, though one with a brand incised into her left thigh.

“Please, Masters!” I wept. “Please, Masters!”

“You have been paid for,” said the leader of the men.

“Return his money!” I begged. “Sell me to another!”

“The money was good,” said Petranos. “Everything is in order.”

“Please!” I wept.

“It is too late,” said a fellow.

“Please, please, please!” I begged, thrusting my head to the floor.

“This is an honest house,” said the leader of the men.

I felt the leash draw taut and my head was pulled up, and I must, along the length of the leash, regard the beast.

With a last, wary look about the room, before which the men shrank back, he backed through the portal, and I could not gain my feet, and was dragged from the room, my shoulder abrading on the wooden floor, and then I was on the stones of the street.

“Do not eat me!” I begged, from my side, looking to him, frightened, sore, lying on the street, he much as a gloomy boulder in the shadows.

Two or three of the men appeared in the doorway, dark against the light behind them from the room.

A low growl, of obvious menace, was emitted from the throat of the beast, and then men withdrew, and the door was shut, and I heard it bolted.

There was then little light in the street.

The leash was slackened, and gently snapped, twice.

This was a signal, to a trained animal.

I must try to rise to my feet, to be led.

Perhaps, then, I was not the first woman he had had on his leash! Who had taught a beast this? What of the others? Had they been eaten?

I tried to rise, but my legs gave way beneath me.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said. “I cannot stand. I am too weak. I am too frightened.”

I cowered then, and expected to be beaten with the free end of the leash, but my legs would still not hold me.

“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.

Again he administered the simple leash signal.

I tried to rise, struggling, but again slipped to the stones.

He then approached me, and sat me, facing him. He then crossed my ankles, and, with the free end of the leash, bound them together.

I watched, with an odd fascination.

In the house, of course, the slaves are familiarized with various bindings and tetherings to which they might be subjected. Accustoming them to bonds of various sorts is part of their training. Additionally, they are instructed in various responses to various bindings, for example, how to exploit them to their advantage, how to wear them attractively, how to move seductively within them, how to utilize them to enhance their desirability, how to use them in such a way, by movement and expression, as to excite and stimulate the master, and so on. To be sure, ropes, thongs, bracelets, chains, and such, are not only attractive on the slave, but, as she understands her confinement, her vulnerability, and her helplessness, they have their role in intensifying her sexuality, in heightening her receptivity, her readiness, and passion, as well. A slave will often beg for binding. To be sure, the very condition of bondage itself, aside from questions of restraint, with its signals, rituals, garmentures, behaviors, accouterments, expectations, and such, is richly and profoundly sexual; it is a way of life, a richly sexual way of life, and, given the radical sexual dimorphism of the human species, and the selections of millennia, a very natural way of life, one in fulfilling accord with the biotruths of human nature.

As I watched my ankles being tied I noted the beast was using warrior knots, the sort which quickly and easily secure a woman. As women are common loot on Gor, of greater interest than, say, goblets and tapestries, warriors are instructed in such knots. By their means a woman may be rendered wholly helpless in a matter of Ihn. I moved my ankles a little. They were well tethered.

Where, I wondered, would such a beast have learned such knots? Surely it was not itself a member of the Scarlet Caste. Perhaps it had once known a warrior, somewhere, on some world or other.

I knew little of Gor, but it did not seem likely to me that this form of beast would be indigenous to this world.

“I know you understand Gorean,” I whispered.

It looked at me, one lip moving back a bit, revealing the tip of a fang.

“In the Tarsk Market,” I said, “the device, the translator, transformed your language into Gorean, but it did not translate the masters’ Gorean into your language. Thus, you know Gorean.”

I knew that some individuals can follow a language which they do not care to speak, or are not adept at speaking Too, how could a beast such as this articulate the phonemes of a human language, presumably no more than we could recreate the sounds of its own speech. How could one speak the language of a jard, a vart or tharlarion, even if they had a language?

The beast reached to the small device on its chain, slung about its neck. It pressed a portion of the device, at its center.

I had the sense that the device had been deactivated.

Then, straightening up, it seemed to growl, a guttural rumbling, some Ihn in duration, perhaps ten or fifteen, above me, and I shuddered. “Please, Master,” I said. “Use the device, the translator. You cannot expect me to understand you.”

I fought not to understand, for I thought I could not, or should not, understand, and perhaps I did not want to understand, and perhaps I would refuse to understand, and then, to my astonishment, it occurred to me that I had understood.

I looked up at him, in amazement.

He had said that he was Grendel, high Kur, once from the world of Agamemnon, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, self-exiled from his world, that he might accompany and guard a woman, the Lady Bina, once, too, of that world.

“You understand,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

To be sure, I understood very little of what had been said.

“Most of my kind, if I have a kind,” he said, “cannot articulate Gorean, or well, certainly not without a translator. My throat is different, and my tongue, a little. There are reasons for this, which need not concern you. I can make myself understood in Gorean, if you will make the necessary adjustments. It is hard, at first, easy later.”

“Agamemnon,” I said, “was an ancient king, on Earth.”

“That is not his name, of course,” said the beast, “but you could not pronounce his name. ‘Agamemnon’ seemed a suitable substitute for the true name. It was suggested by humans, for some reason. They wanted, or needed, some name, it seems. Similarly, you cannot pronounce my true name. But I am called Grendel. That name, too, was invented by humans. I gather it is the name of a monster, a grotesque anomaly, a lonely thing of bogs, and marshes and wildernesses, unpleasant to look upon, hated and feared, perhaps the result of an experiment which turned out badly, so that seems appropriate.”

“I am a slave,” I said.

It occurred to me an instant later that I might have claimed to be a free woman, and thus, suitably, to be freed. Might I have confused or deluded him? Would he even understand these things? I would not have dared such a stratagem with a native Gorean, of course, even in my terror, for fear of the frightful consequences attendant on being discovered in such a deception.

I did not want to live the rest of my life in ankle chains, my throat locked in a high collar, of weighty iron, with points.

How one would long then for a common collar, and the simple exposure of a common tunic!

“Yes,” he said.

But of course I was a slave, and must be understood as such by the beast. I wore no collar, true, for the collar of the gambling house had been removed, but the slave mark was in my thigh, small, lovely, obvious, unmistakable. Too, I had been purchased. And I had been bound, and leashed, as a slave.

There was no doubt as to what the former Allison Ashton-Baker now was. She was slave.

“Sell me, sell me!” I said.

Again the lips moved back a bit, about the fangs.

“Please do not eat me, Master,” I said.

“I do not eat human,” it said.

I caught my breath. I shuddered with relief.

Was he telling the truth?

The mien of the beast, the size, the fangs, the eyes, set forward in the head, suggested the carnivore.

It reached down and scooped me up, gently, in its arms.

I felt very small within them.

“Please sell me,” I begged.

“I do not own you,” it said.

I twisted, helpless, in the bonds.

“Lie still,” it said.

I supposed that she spoken of as the Lady Bina owned me. Had she bought me for another, I wondered. Had she bought me for the beast?

Had I been bought as food for it, cheap food?

“Be still,” it said.

I then lay quietly, enfolded in its mighty arms, miserable, and it moved swiftly, but warily, along the dark street.

Once a fellow appeared, a shadow, in a doorway, but was greeted with so sudden, and fierce, a snarl, that he quickly withdrew.

I think I was as frightened as the fellow in the doorway, who withdrew so quickly, so silently, a shadow vanishing back amongst other shadows.

It was I, after all, goods, who was within the arms of the beast.

We continued on, for better than several Ehn.

I realized, as our journey continued, that I was being carried as a free woman is carried. The slave is commonly carried over the left shoulder, head to the rear, steadied by the bearer’s left arm. In this way the slave may not see where she is being taken, what lies before her bearer, and, too, she may understand herself as goods, so carried, as much so as a sack of suls, a roll of matting, a crate of larmas, a bundle of tur-pah. In this way, too, her bearer’s right arm is free.

I realized I had spoken, and more than once, without permission.

I had not been punished for this, nor even warned of so untoward an indiscretion, so culpable a presumption.

Too, I was being carried as a free woman.

I was reasonably sure that the Lady Bina, from her accent, was not of Ar, and from her demeanor, perhaps not of Gor itself. I suspected that I, in my ignorance, might be as much informed as she of Gorean ways and culture. Too, the beast, I suspected, was not of Gor. He did not even understand, I gathered, how a slave was to be carried. Thus, he might not understand many things about the treatment of slaves. This I might turn to my advantage. But he had tied me as a slave, and well. Too, had he not spoken of another world? I suspected then that not only the beast but the strikingly beautiful Lady Bina herself might derive from such a world. She, I was sure, was human, quite human. I did not understand the nature of the beast. It was a form of life, a fearful form of life, with which I was hitherto unacquainted.

I lay as quietly as possible in the arms of the beast, being carried through the dark streets.

My hopes of acquiring a suitable master had been muchly dashed after the burning of the gambling house, and my translation, with that of my chain sisters, to the Tarsk Market. What suitable master would have recourse to such a market for a slave? One would hope to find there, if slaves at all, only pot girls, kettle-and-mat girls, she-tarsks, so to speak. I certainly did not consider myself a she-tarsk. I had been popular enough, and as a slave, in the gambling house. Its patrons had not found the former Allison Ashton-Baker, barefoot, collared, briefly and seductively tunicked, remiss as, or displeasing as, a slave. And how she had enjoyed the eyes of the men upon her, well understanding such appraisals as evidence of her value! The free woman is doubtless priceless, but the slave has an actual value, what men are willing to pay for her. My thoughts of a master had varied from time to time. Sometimes it seemed to me that I would like a weak master whom I might control, manage, and manipulate, rather as a typical female companion on my native world was accustomed, given the culture in question, to control, manage, and manipulate their male companions, rather to the unhappiness, distress, and frustration of both. Would it not be pleasant to be owned by a weak man, with whom one would be sure of having one’s own way? To be sure, one must be careful. I would be in his collar, and there would be a whip on its peg. But I thought, rather, I must be a true slave, as I wanted a true man, one who would lust after me with power, who would be satisfied with nothing less than owning me, wholly, one who would be to my slave a master, one who would have me kneel before him, naked and collared, perhaps chained, my head to his feet, one who would own me, unequivocally. I wanted to be his, his property, a helpless object, goods, possessed by him, in all the fullness of law, in all the fullness of culture, in all the fullness of nature. I supposed then that I must be in my heart a slave, one radically female, and needful. To such a man I would have no choice but to submit, and wholly, and to such a man I longed to submit, and wholly. It was in the collar of such a man I wanted to be; it was the collar of such a man I longed to wear. It was the touch of such a man which would make me weak and helpless, a yielding, submitted slave. It was the touch of such a man which would set me afire. It was the touch of such a man for which I would beg. But, alas, how can one’s slave be satisfied, as in the lament of so many women of my world, where one has no master?

I was confident that I might exploit the ignorance, the weakness, of those unfamiliar with the nature of Gor.

Could I not win for myself, with a smile, a tear, a word, a frown, an easy life?

But I was unsure of these things, for much here seemed paradoxical, the nature of she who had bargained for me, and bought me, and the nature of he who was her agent, and had claimed me in her behalf.

I was being carried with all the gentleness and courtesy of a free woman.

Had I not seen free women standing as though forlorn before tiny lakes of drainage water and mud at intersections, until a suitable male approached, alert to her seeming distress, to whom she granted the daring privilege of carrying her to safety on the other side of the street? I supposed he knew what was occurring. I hoped so. There is a timing in such matters. Sometimes one had to circle a block in order to strand oneself opportunely.

Yet, though I was carried in dignity, as though I might be free, I was tightly, helplessly bound, bound as a slave.

I was a slave.

Would I be freed?

That seemed unlikely to me. There is a Gorean saying that only a fool frees a slave girl, and I suppose it is true. What man does not want a slave? Even on my native world I was sure that the men and boys I knew would not have minded in the least owning me. That sort of thing had been clear enough in the party on Earth, where they had looked delightedly and unabashedly on the collar on my neck, and my half-naked limbs.

I supposed they thought, how pleasant it would be to own Allison Ashton-Baker. What shall I name her?

Too, I had gathered, during my sale, that the Lady Bina had wished to reassure herself that I might be of interest to men.

I did not understand that.

Was a coin box to be chained about my neck and I would be sent into the streets? Was I to be put at the disposal of guests when I had finished serving a supper? Was I to be rented out?

To be sure, it is not unusual for a free woman to want her serving slaves to be attractive to men. A double cruelty is involved in this. In this way, by denying her girls the arms of masters she frustrates them, which pleases her, as she hates slave girls, and she also, in a way, punishes, or thinks she punishes, men, to whom she denies her girls, for their interest in slaves, which interest she, as a free woman, resents.

How could one care for a slave when a free woman was present?

But how could one care for a free woman, when a slave was present?

But how, I asked myself, could I now be of interest to men, given the work of the razor of Petranos?

“We are here,” said the beast.

One commonly irons, as one launders, on one’s knees. This is, of course, not different from the usual custom of free women, those of the lower castes. One of the things about your world which I found striking was the paucity of clutter and furniture in your dwellings. You do much with mats, cushions, and low tables, about which men will usually sit cross-legged, and women kneel. Whereas chairs, benches, and higher tables are familiar to you, as in the public eating houses, and common in the north, such things are much more common on my former world. There, almost anyone may sit upon a chair, whereas here, particularly in private dwellings, such an ensconcement is often reserved for individuals of status or importance. And certainly a slave would much fear to take a place on a chair, or, say, on a supper couch. It is not for such as we. Much storage is done in chests, kept at the edges of a room. Perhaps things are different in wealthier domiciles, with their larger kitchens and pantries, their walls, the interior colonnades, the fountains, and gardens, the rooms opening onto them, and such. I glimpsed something of that, once, when a portal had been briefly opened. From the outside, of course, little of luxury is suggested. Much seems drab, and plain, heavy, even forbidding. Sometimes bills are posted on the exterior walls, as though in public places.

I finished folding the sheets.

The Lady Bina had rented the upper-floor of a small, two-floor, common-wall house on Emerald. The front of the first floor, facing the street, was the shop of a pottery merchant, Epicrates, who, with his family, lived in the rear. His companion, Delia, like himself, could read. This is common amongst the Merchants. Indeed, thanks to her instruction, and a handful of coins, distributed over a few days, the Lady Bina was now passably literate. Certainly she could now manage the public boards and, I gathered, typical scrolls. She was apparently an apt pupil. Indeed, I gathered she could already read better than many allegedly literate Goreans. I had no doubt that my Mistress was not only extremely beautiful, but extremely intelligent, as well. She was very quick, and very ambitious. I was unclear as to her background, as much, or more, than that of the beast. It was almost as though she had never been taught, or socialized. There was something about her which, for all her intelligence, suggested the innocence of the animal, something wild and unconstrained, something immediate, direct, and untutored. As nearly as I could tell she was unencumbered by restraints or scruples. What she might want she would see to it, if possible, that she would have. In that small, beautiful body, slightly smaller than mine, there was a nature innocently prudential, vain, self-centered, independent, and calculating. I did not understand her. How had she been raised, or, in a sense, had she been raised at all? In her way she seemed as unsettlingly innocent, and as impatient, occasionally nasty, and possibly dangerous, if crossed, as an urt, or a small, lovely she-sleen. Oddly, I suspected more of humanity, or a sort of humanity, in the beast. It had, for example, or at least seemed to have, a sense of duty, of loyalty, of honesty, of honor. I recalled how my ankles had been bound outside the Tarsk Market. They had been fastened together with warrior knots. Might it be, somehow, familiar with the scarlet codes?

The beast had informed me that it was self-exiled, and had accompanied the Lady Bina to this world, from their former world, as a guard. I had, however, never noted coins passed between them. Guard he might be, but I did not think him a guard in any normal sense. Why, I wondered, had he left his own world, truly, and with her? It did not seem she owned him, or he her. Had he been outlawed, had he fled? What was his relationship, truly, to the Lady Bina? Had others banished him, denying him bread, fire, and salt? Was it substantially a coincidence that they were together, merely fellow expatriates? I did not think so. How had they come here? There must have been a ship. Indeed, how had I come here? There must have been a ship. The translator I had seen suggested a sophisticated technology. Yet here, on this world, I had seen little that would suggest such things. There were mysteries, apparently. And there were the mysterious Sardar Mountains, within which, supposedly, resided the gods of Gor, called Priest-Kings. It seemed a primitive world, but I, and others, had been brought here, and there was the translator.

The beast, in all things, save those in which her safety or health might be jeopardized, would give way to the Lady Bina. She was, of course, a free woman. Sometimes she would stamp her small foot, and pout, in annoyance, but he would be adamant, as a rock, if he feared for her welfare. He would even, with all his size and might, accept abuse at her hands, patiently, unflinchingly. I had seen her, in frustration, strike him, again and again, but he would make no effort to protect himself, or fend her away. I myself would have been afraid to lift my hand to him, lest it be bitten off. I had been purchased, obviously, at least in part, for the work of a female slave, that I might labor on behalf of my mistress, keep the domicile, clean and launder, purchase, prepare, and cook food, as I might, fetch and carry, in particular bringing water from the fountains, run errands, indulge her whims, tend to her wants, accompany her, head down, in the streets, and such. I did not care for the slavery, as I was a female slave, and had no master. It is one thing to perform such tasks for a master, knowing that even in small things I was serving him, each task then being subtly imbued with submission and sexuality, for a woman’s sexuality is subtle, warm, profound, and pervasive, and another to perform them for a woman. To the slave, shining the master’s boots can be a sexual experience, serving him, and being so close to something he has touched. How privileged is a slave to be permitted to kneel before such a man, put down her head, and lick and kiss his feet! How she hopes to please him! She will fondle the chain that fastens her to the foot of his couch. She is his. May he never sell her! But I had no master.

Lady Bina, I gathered, was proceeding splendidly in her literacy. She could now print, in the odd Gorean fashion, “as the bosk plows,” where the first line proceeds from left to right, the second from right to left, and so on. I did not know if the beast could read or not. Certainly it was not taking lessons from the companion of Epicrates. Few instructors, I supposed, would welcome so terrifying a pupil. I could not read, of course, not even my own collar. It said, I was told, “I belong to the Lady Bina, of Emerald Street, of the house of Epicrates.” Slaves are seldom taught to read. On the other hand, many are literate, as free women, particularly of the higher castes, are commonly literate. Free women of the upper castes, taken in war, and such, exposed on the block, often bring nice prices. Gorean men enjoy having former free women, particularly those who were formerly rich, or of the higher castes, in their collars. It is probably difficult for one of my former world to understand the awesome dignity and importance, the social and cultural status, of the Gorean free woman, for she possesses a Home Stone, a status incomparably far above that of the usual free woman of my former world. Accordingly, it would be difficult for one of my former world to understand the cataclysmic reversal of fortune involved should such a creature, formerly so powerful, exalted, and revered, suddenly find herself stripped and collared, a caught beast, helpless at a stranger’s feet. No longer is she a man’s equal, or superior, the haughty, protected possessor of a Home Stone, but a master’s property. But in time, they, too, lick and kiss the whip lovingly, for they, too, are women.

There is a common Gorean saying that curiosity is not becoming in a kajira. Certainly few things help us to keep our condition as clearly in mind as our being kept in ignorance. Why should we be informed? We are slaves. Would you speak to your kaiila or sleen about prospects, plans, projects, and such? I think the masters enjoy our frustration. We want so much to know, and feel so keenly our deprivation! How we wheedle, how we lie about the ankles of our masters and beg to be informed! But often our entreaties are greeted with laughter, and a foot may spurn us to the side. Is it not another way to remind us that we are in our collars? So, obviously, keeping a slave illiterate helps to keep her in ignorance. I am, incidentally, highly literate in my own first language, but here, I am only another ignorant slave girl, as it pleases masters I should be. One advantage to having a slave who cannot read is that one may use the girl to carry messages amongst friends or associates, messages which she cannot read. She does not even know if the message pertains to herself or not. More than one girl has been so delivered to a new master. A message might read, “Here is Lana, whom I sold to you yesterday evening. Put her at your ring, that she may know she is now yours.” A literate slave may deliver messages placed in a small leather tube, tied by a string about her collar. Her hands are thonged, or braceleted, behind her back. In this way she will be as ignorant of the message’s content as an illiterate slave. Messages of great importance, such as might be transmitted between armies, or cities, are carried by free persons, and are sealed with wax, bearing the imprint of a signet ring. In this way one is assured of the sender, and, if the seal is unbroken, of the security of the message.

As the sheets were now folded, and readied for delivery, I put the kerchief about my head.

It had been some weeks now since my purchase from the Tarsk Market. I was still terribly sensitive as to my appearance, following the work of the razor of Petranos. The hair that had been shorn from me had been discarded. That was from the soiling in the tarsk cage, lying on the straw, sleeping there, and such. The most common reason slaves are shorn is for punishment or cleanliness, or both. For example, slaves who work in the tharlarion stables are often shorn, and the girls in the mills, too. Too, when girls are put on slave ships, chained in their wire cages on tiered shelves in a hold, they are commonly shorn, and depilated, completely, to reduce the infestations of ship lice. The shorn hair is often utilized for catapult cordage, as it is much more resilient, and dampness resistant, than common cordage. Too, there are rumors that some shorn hair, taken from slaves, is used for wigs and falls, for free women. Naturally the hair is certified as having been that of other free women.

I did not think I was all that unattractive, as long as the kerchief was on me.

Interestingly, the Lady Bina was, in many ways, rather different from the typical Gorean free woman. She had observed other free women, with serving slaves, and so she had me heel her, at the proper distance, on the left, appropriately, head down, but she was not at all strict about my looking about, and I frequently did so. Might I not be of interest to a master, and might not one or another of the fellows about inquire of the Lady Bina, sooner or later, what she might be willing to take for her kerchiefed girl? My tunic was certainly not that of a pleasure slave, a paga girl, or such, or even a tower slave, but, too, it was not as calculatedly concealing as the common tunic of a serving slave. On the other hand, I had seen more than one serving slave, in such a tunic, unseen by her mistress, move in such a way that a passing fellow would be in no doubt that within that tunic there was a slave.

Once, before we were to exit the domicile, Lady Bina instructed me to hitch up the tunic a bit.

“Are you beautiful, Allison?” she asked.

“A little, perhaps,” I said.

“Let us see more of your legs,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“They are a little thin, are they not?” she asked.

“I do not think so,” I said.

“Show more of them,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “I may have use for your beauty.”

“Mistress?” I said, uneasily.

“For men,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Come along,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

As it was daylight the beast did not accompany us. It seldom went out until darkness.

One reason I had been purchased, I gathered, was to have a companion for the Lady Bina when she left the house.

We were in the Sul Market one afternoon.

“Allison,” said the Lady Bina, “are you attractive to men?”

“I think so, Mistress,” I said, “a little, sometimes, perhaps.”

To be sure, I thought myself quite attractive. Had I not been one of the most beautiful girls in the sorority, a sorority in which membership, clearly, was not unrelated to beauty? And now, of course, I was enslaved, and slavery much enhances the beauty of a woman. Collared and slave-clad what woman would not be beautiful? And there is the meaning and nature of the condition which in itself enhances the beauty of a woman a thousandfold, for she is then slave.

To be sure, not every woman is attractive, or particularly attractive, to every man. Too, of course, not every woman who yearns to be at the feet of a man yearns to be at the feet of every man. A woman who might plead for the collar of one man might tremble at being placed in the collar of another.

“Do you like being attractive to men?” she asked.

“Must I answer, Mistress?” I said.

“Certainly,” she said, “and remember that you are a slave.”

Slaves may not lie.

“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered.

Every woman likes to be attractive to men. Even women who hate men like to be attractive to them, if only to humiliate and torture them. In the college I had taken great pleasure in my attractiveness to boys and men, even those I held in contempt. Now, I realized, such might own me.

An important aspect of a slave’s life is closely associated with her attractiveness to men. The quality of her life is muchly affected by her desirability. How will she be fed, clothed, treated? Who will buy her? Must she compete with other slaves for the attention of the master? It is no wonder the slave strives to make herself exciting, attractive, and desirable, and as a slave. It is no wonder she strives to be pleasing to her master.

Too, it is not unknown for the slave to discover, sooner or later, perhaps to her trepidation, that she loves the man whose chain she wears.

Let her hope then that she will not find herself hooded and returned to a market.

“I would make test of your attractiveness to men,” said the Lady Bina.

“Mistress?” I said, puzzled.

“It is one thing for which you were purchased,” she said.

“There are no men in the house,” I said.

“There are many here, in the market,” she said, “large men, strong men.”

“Mistress?” I said, frightened.

“Have you had what they call Slave Wine?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, “in the house of Tenalion.”

“I shall give you ten Ehn,” she said.

“My head was shaved!” I said.

“You now have less than ten Ehn,” she said.

“Surely Mistress jests,” I said.

“You were purchased for twenty copper tarsks,” she said. “I am sure, now that you are cleaned up, and such, I could get at least twenty-five for you, if I sold you to a butcher, for sleen feed.”

“Surely Mistress would not do so,” I said.

“I could then purchase another girl, perhaps again at the Tarsk Market, one more attractive,” she said.

“I do not want to die,” I said.

“You are a slave,” she said. “You are supposed to want sex, even need it.”

“Please, Mistress!” I protested.

Certainly I had felt uneasiness, and, from time to time, after I had been collared, I had felt it acutely.

But, from the lingering effects of my Earth conditioning, and my newness to the state of bondage, I was not yet the helpless victim of the raging slave fires which so frequently tormented and dominated the bellies and bodies of many slaves.

Had I been I would have begged on my knees, or belly, for sex.

“Something like nine Ehn now,” said the Lady Bina.

“Please, no!” I cried.

The blue eyes of the Lady Bina regarded me, over the street veil, seemingly pleasantly, seemingly impassively. I did not sense that she was angry, or cruel. Again the mystery of her background alarmed me.

I cried out in misery and fled away, a few yards, and put myself to my knees before a stallsman.

I put down my head and pressed my lips to his sandals. “I am a slave vessel for your pleasure!” I said. “I am docile. I will be obedient. I am sure your touch would heat me, and well!”

“Are you mad?” he said.

“No, Master!” I said. “I beg use!”

“Here?” he laughed.

“Anywhere,” I said. “But soon, soon!”

“Where is your coin box, your pan?” he asked.

“I have none!” I said.

“What do you want?” he said.

“A copper tarsk!” I said. I thought it well to say something, that I might be more believable.

He laughed.

“A tarsk-bit, a tarsk-bit!” I said.

“No,” he said. “And how do I know you would give it to your master.”

“I have no master,” I said.

He regarded my tunic. “You are a woman’s serving slave?” he said.

“Yes, Master!” I said.

“No coin, no coin, nothing!” I said.

“On your way,” he said. “I am selling.”

“Master!” I begged.

He then pushed me with his foot to the stones, and turned to a customer, a free woman.

“How disgusting,” said the free woman.

The stallsman shrugged. “She is a slave,” he said.

I looked back, to where the Lady Bina was watching.

I then leapt up, and looked wildly about.

I next approached a fellow of the Leather Workers, or so I supposed, for he had several loops of harness slung about his shoulders. I barely noticed that several of harnesses slung about his shoulders were slave harness, a form of ingenious harnessing in which a slave might be variously, pleasingly, constrained and exhibited. In such fastenings, easily and conveniently applied, attractive and adjustable, a slave is well apprised of her bondage, as would be any who might care to look upon her.

“Please, Master!” I begged.

“Why are you wearing a kerchief?” he asked.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and he jerked it away. I heard men laugh. I put down my head, shamed.

When I looked up, he had gone.

Quickly I put the kerchief once more about my head.

“A mill girl,” I heard a fellow say.

“She has a serving-slave tunic,” said another.

“Probably she looked at a man,” speculated another.

There was more laughter.

I had no better fortune with two others.

I rushed back to my Mistress, and knelt and wept, “No one wants me! I am shorn! I am shorn!”

“I am disappointed, Allison,” said the Lady Bina. “It seems to me that you would be of interest to men, not that I am a likely judge in such matters.”

“I am sure I could be of interest, Mistress,” I said.

“I am sure some would find you of interest, Allison,” she said.

“Yes Mistress!” I said.

“Perhaps sleen,” she said. “Would you like to be thrown, naked and bound, into a sunken sleen cage?”

“No, Mistress!” I said.

“Five Ehn,” she said.

I rose up, again, and ran a few feet away. I tried to tear the collar from my neck. It read, “I belong to the Lady Bina, of Emerald Street, of the house of Epicrates.” It was locked on my neck.

I did not want to die!

“Four Ehn, Allison,” called the Lady Bina.

Then I straightened by body, and, carefully adjusted the collar on my neck, the lock directly at the back. Too, I adjusted the kerchief. I put back my shoulders. I recalled my instructresses from the house of Tenalion. “Remember,” they had told me, “you are a female slave, and the female slave is the most helpless, vulnerable, exciting, and desirable of all women.” I put up my head, and walked, unhurriedly, in the measured saunter of the slave, proud of her collar, and proud of her womanhood, and well demonstrating it, toward the buildings at the edge of the market. Thus I could be pinned against them. Thus I would have nowhere to run. In its way was this not an invitation? Might it not suggest to someone a convenience, an opportunity? I recalled how the instructresses had drilled me in that gait, at once arrogant, vulnerable, and ready, a gait that said, in effect, “I am a slave, what will you make of that, Masters?” When they were satisfied, they had invited two guards into one of the large training rooms. In this exercise I had been permitted a house tunic. One must learn to wear, and move well within, tunics, camisks, gowns, slave strips, ta-teeras, and such, of various sorts. “Walk,” had said the leader of the instructresses, “walk, Allison, in the third walk of the slave.”

There are, of course, a repertory of behaviors, walks, postures, prostrations, obeisances, and such, with which a slave is trained.

They are, after all, intended to be sold as dreams of pleasure to men.

“Aii!” had cried one of the fellows, leaping up.

In a moment I had been seized by both. I struggled in their arms. I felt myself being lifted from the floor.

“No, no!” laughed the chief instructress. “She is white-silk, white-silk!”

I was much shaken by this experience, but I had learned something of the power of the slave, for she is not without her power.

The two guards left, disgruntled. Doubtless they felt cheated. I am sure they made the instructresses pay later in the “coin of the furs,” not that the instructresses would much mind that. Indeed, I suspected I might have unwittingly figured in their plans.

“Disgusting slut, disgusting, half-naked slut!” hissed a free woman. At least she did not order me to kneel, to be beaten. They so hate us! Or so envy us? She was then away, somewhere. Actually, I was not really half-naked, as many men put their slaves into the streets, but reasonably modestly garbed, as I wore the tunic of a woman’s serving slave, to be sure, one rather more revealing than most.

I walked at the edge of the market, the walls of buildings to my right.

I had been told that larls stalking tabuk would sometimes delay their charge until their prey grazed beside a cliff, a wall of stone, a dense thicket. Indeed, sometimes they would herd, and drive, their prey against such barriers.

It was not so strange then that tabuk commonly grazed in open, or lightly wooded, areas.

The walls were at my right, at my right shoulder.

I gave as little evidence as I could of my fear.

I did not know how many Ehn might be left, perhaps two, perhaps three?

Suddenly an arm, abruptly, startling me, blocked my way, the palm of its hand on the side of the building.

“Serving slave,” pronounced a voice, a harsh, masculine voice. The arm before me, and the hand, were large.

“Master?” I said, stopped.

“Where is your Mistress?” asked the man.

“Somewhere,” I said.

“You do not walk like a serving slave,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“Are you running away?” he asked.

“No, Master!” I said, frightened.

I was well aware there was no escape for the Gorean slave girl.

“But you have slipped away,” he said.

“Perhaps, Master,” I said.

He removed his hand from the wall, so it no longer blocked my passage. But he now stood before me. I did not try to move about him, or turn, or run away. I was a slave.

He pulled off the kerchief, and freed it of its knot.

“I see this is not the first time you have slipped away,” he said.

I did not respond to him. I let him think that my shearing was a punishment shearing, perhaps from some indiscretion, for which a woman’s serving slave might be punished.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you were also well lashed.”

“Perhaps, Master,” I said.

My kerchief dangled in his right hand.

“Turn about,” he said, “and place your hands, crossed, behind your back.”

“Master!” I protested.

“Now,” he said.

My hands were then tied behind my back. He tied them tightly.

“Kneel down, and put your head to the stones,” he said.

I obeyed, a slave, but I expected my Mistress, at any moment, to intervene.

Surely she was about!

“Aii!” I cried, startled. “Oh, please, oh!” Then I cried, “Master! Master!”

He then turned me about, and tore my tunic down, to the waist.

I was then thrown forward, on the stones.

“Is this your slave?” asked the man.

I looked up, from my belly.

“Yes,” said the Lady Bina.

“I return her to you, for the lashing she deserves,” he said.

I gathered the fellow had a righteous, proper streak. I was, after all, a woman’s serving slave.

“Did you find her attractive?” asked the Lady Bina.

“What?” he asked.

“Did you find her attractive?” asked the Lady Bina. “Could you conceive of men wanting her? Willing to buy her? Do you find her well shaped? Did she squirm well?”

I kept my head down. I had been given little opportunity to squirm.

“What are you asking me?” he asked.

“You are a man,” she said. “I am asking for your assessment of the girl.”

“She was made for the collar,” he said.

“Good,” she said.

“But she is to be as a woman’s serving slave, is she not?” he asked.

“No matter,” she said.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“She is a barbarian,” said the Lady Bina. “Does that dismay you, or give you pause?”

“No,” he said. “Barbarians make excellent slaves.”

“Good,” she said.

“They kick and juice as well as any other woman,” he said. “Forgive me, Lady, as well as any other slave.”

“Of course,” she said. “I now bid you good-day.”

“May Tor-tu-Gor warm you,” said the man.

“Thank you,” she said. “Come along, Allison.”

“My tunic, Mistress,” I said, “and I am bound.”

“No matter,” she said, “come along.”

So I followed her through the market, my head down, until we reached a stall, where the Lady Bina, I standing beside her, bargained for a stone of suls. It was late in the day, and the prices tend to be lower at such a time.

“I will need you,” she said, “to carry the suls.”

She looked about. “You,” she said to a tall, strapping fellow, in the gray and black of the Metal Workers, “untie this slave.”

He came to stand before me, and I felt his eyes, Gorean eyes, peruse me. I lifted my head, and turned away, angered. He looked at me as though I might have been on a block.

“You are in the presence of a free man,” he said. “Get on your knees.”

I suppose few women of Earth had heard such commands, but, hearing them, and in such a tone, I expect there would be few who would not obey.

I, collared, a slave, knelt immediately, frightened.

I looked up at him, from my knees, and our eyes met. I suddenly had the strange feeling that I was kneeling before my master.

I turned aside my head, no longer daring to look into his eyes.

Was I before my master?

“Untie her,” said the Lady Bina.

“I do not free slaves,” he said. “I bind them.”

Then he turned away.

I sensed he was a master who would well know what to do with a slave.

“You,” said the Lady Bina to the stallsman. “Untie her.”

He looked at her.

“The knots are tight,” said the Lady Bina. “I am a woman, with only a woman’s strength.”

“Surely,” said the stallsman, and freed my hands.

I rose to my feet, and tied up, as I could, the torn tunic, and replaced the kerchief. I then, carrying the suls, heeled my Mistress from the market.

“May I speak?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You have, as of now, a standing permission to speak.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I said.

“So speak,” she said.

“Is Mistress pleased?” I asked.

“You may put that differently,” said the Lady Bina.

“Is Mistress pleased with Allison?” I asked. I feared that the Mistress was learning more of Gor each day, perhaps, in part, from Delia, the companion of Epicrates.

“Yes,” she said, “I am pleased. I think you did very well, Allison. I am quite pleased. I think you will do very nicely.”

I was not clear as to Mistress’ intentions.

I followed behind her, carrying the suls.

I could not forget the Metal Worker, who ordered me to his feet. I thought I had seen him before, and more than once.

How strange had been the moment when our eyes had met.

Could I be, I wondered, his slave?

I was sure that, in his collar, I would indeed be his slave, and might not any woman?

In him I sensed a strange sense of power. I had the feeling that if I knelt before him I would lift my wrists to him, closely together, that they might be braceleted. Was his the leash, I wondered, which belonged on my neck?

How his eyes had roved me, my tunic half gone from me! What a beast, and monster, he was! How I scorned him, the large, callous, appraising, imperious brute! What could a woman be to such a man but a slave! His collar would be well locked on a woman’s neck! How he had looked upon me as a mere object, and yet, I sensed, as an object which he might find of some interest, slave interest. How I loathed him!

Then I dismissed these thoughts, for we had turned onto Emerald, and would soon be at the domicile.

As the sheets were now folded, and readied for delivery, I put the kerchief about my head.

I then lifted the bundle, and held it on my head, steadying it with both hands.

It was in this fashion that I had seen tunic-clad girls bearing burdens.

It was my impression that my Mistress, and her guard, the beast, Grendel, had come to Gor, and, later, to Ar, with considerable resources, and might still retain an ample portion of these. These were in the form, I gathered, of jewels, in particular, rubies. I had accompanied the Lady Bina to the Street of Stones, actually a tiny district, only a few establishments, near the Street of Coins which, in effect, is itself not truly a street, but a district, where banking is done, credit extended, loans made, moneys changed, and such. In this “Street of Stones” she had exchanged a single ruby, which she had earlier shown to me, proud of its size, cut, luster, and hue. “This would purchase ten or more of you,” she said, “even if you were a silver-tarsk girl.” “Yes, Mistress,” I had said. I supposed it true, and that her estimate might well have been conservative. I do not know what she received for the stone, as I was not permitted in the shop. I must kneel outside, in the sun, head down, chained by the neck to a public slave ring. Such things are apparently common in Gorean cities, at least in the high cities, the tower cities, for the convenience of masters and mistresses. As slaves are animals it is easily understood that there are many places in which they are less than welcome. One would scarcely, for example, bring a kaiila into a shop. In particular, slaves are not permitted within the precincts of temples, lest these edifices be considered defiled by their presence. A free person might seek sanctuary in a temple, but a slave might be killed, if found within one, after which the temple must be purified.

I avoided, whenever possible, the bridges. This was usually possible as, in times of peace, one may enter most towers at the level of the street, and use the stairwells within them, to gain access to the various levels, with their corridors, from which one might reach apartments, ranging from simple one-room cubicles to large, elegant suites. Laundering is done variously in the cities. Most cities have public laundries to which garments, sheets, linen, and such, may be taken, weighed, and washed, and, for an additional fee, ironed. On the other hand, the public laundries do not deliver. There are, in addition, public laundering troughs, which are divided into those reserved for free women and those accessible to slaves. Women of high caste seldom launder, but women of low caste often do. If a household contains a slave or slaves they will do the laundry, as well as other domestic tasks. Many lower-caste households do not contain slaves. There are two primary reasons for this. Whereas slaves are abundant and cheap, it costs to keep them. Most obviously, they must be fed and, to some extent, clothed. Secondly, if the household is small, and a free companion is in the household, she may not care to have a slave on the premises. For example, Delia, the companion of Epicrates, was such a woman. In the towers there are often “tower slaves,” most often owned by the management of the tower. These slaves will launder, amongst attending to other domestic duties, sweeping, dusting, polishing, cleaning, scrubbing, and such, but there is an additional charge for such services. Accordingly, some residents in the towers rent work slaves whose services, being more intermittent and casual, are less expensive. Advertisements for such may be found on certain of the public boards. It was through Delia that the Lady Bina was first apprised of such matters.

It seemed important to the beast, and this did not much please the Lady Bina, who would surely have preferred a suite in a lofty tower, and an opulent mode of life, that they should live obscurely and appear impoverished. I supposed the beast’s desire for privacy was easy enough to understand, given its unusual nature and appearance. In the streets it would surely be noted, watched, followed, called to the attention of guardsmen, and so on. It would no longer be possible to move freely. It might be subjected to ridicule, derision, and abuse. Too, it was scarcely the sort of thing to parade on the bridges or keep in some exclusive residential tower. So, it was thus that it had taken up residence over a small shop on Emerald. Its existence, of course, was not entirely concealed from the world, as Delia and Epicrates were obviously aware of its presence, and it was occasionally seen in the streets, usually after dark. It was understood to be an unusual pet of the Lady Bina. Few understood it as a rational form of life. In some respects, despite its tendency to indulge the will of the Lady Bina, it ruled, and categorically, and the Lady Bina, however fretful and resentful, must abide by its will. Their housing was one such instance. The point of appearing impoverished was involved in this, as well, as the impoverished attract less attention and are less likely to be the target of aggression. Few thieves will rob where robbery seems pointless. It is a fool who dips his bucket in a dry well. To be sure, the Lady Bina did insist on raiment befitting a free woman of station. But the beast would seldom let her out at night, and, when he did, he was often in the vicinity, beside her, or following, sometimes lightly, stealthily, watchful, on the adjacent roofs.

Goreans tend to be curious as to whence one’s income is derived. If one has no obvious means of support suspicion is aroused. Few would suspect that the Lady Bina might have at her disposal a cache of rubies, or similar stones. And it would be well that such suspicions were not entertained, lest they provoke the interest of the unscrupulously acquisitive.

Indeed, I was not sure what resources the Lady Bina and the beast retained. Had the aforementioned ruby been their last? They had no new source of income of which I was aware, lest it might be from investments in the Street of Coins, but I knew of no such investments, and I suspected they would not wish their principal to be tethered to a particular location, nor, perhaps, would they care to have their wealth, if wealth they had, recognized.

In any event, whether as a mere aspect of their disguise, or because the pittances of my earnings might actually be important to their economy, I found myself serving as a work slave, a laundering slave, several customers having been located on the public boards by Delia, companion of Epicrates. The inference to be drawn, correctly or not, was apparently that the Lady Bina was so tragically impecunious that it seemed advisable for her to take in laundry, by means, of course, of her slave, the girl, Allison. I was never permitted of course, to touch this money. Delia would collect coins from some customers, the richer ones, and others, the ones less well off, would deliver the coins to the shop of Epicrates.

And so it came about that the former Allison Ashton-Baker, once of the upper classes of her world, once so superior and haughty, once so special and important in her own eyes, once one of the beauties of an exclusive sorority, at one of her country’s most selective and expensive schools, now tunicked and barefoot, carried laundry in Ar.

I had at first rebelled at this suggestion.

This had occurred after the incident of the Sul Market, that dealing with the Metal Worker. I was still smarting from that episode. I recalled my humiliation, my helpless fury, on my knees before him, put there by his words, half stripped and bound, and he one of lesser caste, only a Metal Worker! This may have motivated, at least in part, my transient, foolish recalcitrance. Did I think I was still Allison Ashton-Baker? Did I not know I was now a slave? I would be reminded. I would be left in no doubt. I would test my limits. I would be taught them.

When I had first been brought to the house of Epicrates I suspected little more than the fact that the Lady Bina and the beast were not native to Gor. I thought this might constitute my opportunity for a manipulable, easy bondage. Certainly neither the beast nor the Lady Bina had treated me as I might have expected to be treated in a Gorean household, at least at first. For example, I had not been carried across the portal bound, thrown to the floor, and put under the whip. This is sometimes done to inform the slave that this is a household in which she is truly a slave, and must understand herself as such. Subsequently there is likely to be little doubt about the matter. And if doubts persist, they may be quickly dispelled. I took this lapse, if lapse it be, on the part of the beast, as an indication of indulgence or weakness, or perhaps merely a lack of interest, and, on the part of the Lady Bina, to be a consequence of ignorance, of her lack of familiarity with Gorean customs, and the attitudes and behaviors expected of a free woman. For all her petulance, pettiness, willfulness, vanity, and nastiness, she did not yet have the acculturated arrogance and sense of social power of the typical Gorean free woman. To be sure, she was highly intelligent and might be expected to learn such things. Delia, I am sure, would be an excellent tutor in such matters. She, like Epicrates, was of the Merchants, and the Merchants often take themselves as a high caste, though few others do. The five traditional high castes are the Initiates, the Scribes, the Builders, the Physicians, and the Warriors. Many would prefer not to count the Warriors as a high caste, but there are few who would openly deny their title to the status, as they are armed.

“I do not do such things,” I had told them, “launder, and such.”

“What?” had asked the beast.

“Grendel?” had said the Lady Bina, puzzled, turning to the beast.

I was standing, facing them.

“I was an important person on my world,” I said. “I am not the sort of person who is set to such tasks.” Then I straightened my body. “You must find another,” I said.

I would never have had the courage, or the stupidity, to speak so in a normal Gorean household.

In such a household, I would have been only too aware of what I was.

Before a man, for example, I would have knelt, head down, waiting to be commanded, hoping, at any cost, to be found pleasing.

A bit of lip pulled back about a fang on the beast’s jaws. In this instance, it had an unpleasant look about it.

I thought it best to kneel.

“What?” said the beast.

I lifted my head.

“I was an important person on my world,” I said, falteringly. “I am not the sort of person who is set to such tasks.”

From the throat of the beast their emanated a low sound, scarcely audible to me, though doubtless quite audible to the beast.

It was not a pleasant sound.

“You must find another,” I said, boldly.

Then I was frightened, for I suddenly feared that the beast, though only a beast, might be familiar with how slaves were to be treated. Why might he not know such things? He may have learned them from others, or another.

I remembered then not the gentle graciousness with which I had been borne here from the Tarsk Market, carried nestled in its arms, as though I might have been a free woman, but remembered, rather, the perfection with which I had been bound, bound as a slave. And the knots had been warrior knots!

I was scarcely aware of its movements so swift it was, and I felt myself seized up, lifted, in mighty paws, and I sensed nails within them, and heard a roar of rage, and I was flung a dozen feet across the room, striking into a wall. Then I was pulled back, by one foot, to the center of the room.

I was on my belly.

The beast, with its size and weight, knelt across my body.

I was pinned to the floor.

It leaned forward.

“Do not! Do not!” I heard the Lady Bina scream.

It was my first experience of the sudden rage of that form of life, a rage easily aroused, swift, unexpected, unpredictable, terrible and overwhelming, a rage almost impossible to subdue.

I would learn later that it was the rage of the Kur.

Whatever might be the nature of that body in it coursed the blood of the Kur.

I felt massive jaws close about my head. I felt the tongue, and saliva, of the beast, its hot breath.

“No, no!” screamed the Lady Bina.

The jaws seemed to tremble. They tightened, relaxed, then tightened again. Had they closed my head would have been bitten away.

“No! Stop!” screamed the Lady Bina. I sensed she was dragging at the fur on the beast’s back.

I sensed a titanic struggle being waged within the beast.

Then the jaws were removed from my head.

“Good, good,” said the Lady Bina, soothingly.

“It seems you do not know you are a slave, and are in need of discipline,” said the beast.

“No, no!” I said. “I am a slave. I am a slave, only a slave! I am not in need of discipline, Master! I will obey! I beg to obey!”

“Cord,” said the beast to the Lady Bina.

A Gorean male might have so spoken, calmly, one recognizing what must be done.

Then, as I lay on my belly, helplessly, pinned down, I felt my wrists drawn up, over my head, behind me, and then, held, they were bound together.

“You will beg on your belly,” said the beast, “for the privilege of serving your Mistress, and other free persons, as they might please, in whatever manner they might please.”

“I am on my belly, Master!” I cried. “I so beg! I so beg!”

My hands were still held up, bound, behind my head.

He then rose up and drew me to my feet, and to the side of the room, where there was a slave ring fastened in the ceiling, some two or three feet in from the wall. I was then bound to the ring, my hands high over my head. I could barely reach the floor, with my toes.

“Go downstairs,” said the beast to the Lady Bina. “Fetch a slave whip.”

“They have no slave,” she said.

“They will have such a device,” he said.

I did not doubt it.

Such things are common in a Gorean household. Delia, companion of Epicrates, a free woman, I was sure, would not be without one. Who knew when a slave, perhaps near the shop, at a fountain, on the street, might be displeasing? Free women, abroad, often have a switch about their person.

The Lady Bina scurried away.

I heard her descend the stairs.

I half turned about, muchly suspended from the ring. “It will not be necessary to whip me, Master,” I said. “I was foolish! I am sorry! I will obey, unquestioningly instantly. I am a slave. I beg for the privilege of serving masters and mistresses to the best of my ability!”

“I see you have felt the whip,” said the beast.

“Yes, Master,” I said, “in the house of Tenalion of Ar!”

I had no wish for that experience to be repeated.

Soon the Lady Bina had returned.

“Please do not whip me, Master!” I said.

“But you have not been pleasing,” he said.

I was then whipped.

When I was released from the ring I fell to the floor, on my belly, my hands still bound.

“Have you anything to say, Allison?” inquired the beast.

“Yes, Master,” I wept. “I am on my belly. I beg for the privilege of serving masters and mistresses, unquestioningly, instantly, as they might please, in whatever manner they might please.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said, recalling my training. “I thank Master for my whipping. I hope that it has improved me.”

“Has it?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Go downstairs,” said Grendel to the Lady Bina. “Return the whip. But buy one. We should have one here.”

She left.

“You will not need a whip, Master,” I said.

“That is for me to say,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I later learned that the beast had indeed learned how to treat slaves, and that he had learned this on another world, a steel world, the former world of Agamemnon, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One.

He was, of course, a beast, only a beast. I wondered what it might be to have a human master. That I thought might be even more frightening, for the human would be of one’s own kind, selected for according to the radical, dimorphic relationships of master and slave over countless generations, one well aware of, and sensitive to, the psychology, the needs, the fears, the vulnerabilities, the tricks, the wiles, the vanities, the pettinesses, the weaknesses, the helplessnesses of his natural prey and possession, the female slave.

How terrifying, I thought, it would be to belong to a Gorean male, a natural male, one by whom one would be uncompromisingly exploited and mastered, as, of course, in one’s secret heart, one would wish to be.

I thought of the Metal Worker, in the Sul Market. How arrogant and hateful he was! How I loathed him!

My wrists were freed by the beast.

“What are you going to do now, Allison?” he asked.

“Prepare supper, Master,” I said.

I made my way toward the tower of Six Bridges.

I was wary, as I did not wish my laundry to be soiled.

There was a reason for my fear.

All this was before the incident of the blind Kur.

I had had no idea, of course, when I and my sisters were transported to Gor where we would be sold. I was delivered to the house of Tenalion of Ar. Had others been, as well? I did not know. The house was large. And in a city the size of Ar there are many slave houses, many markets. The most famous is the Curulean. And, of course, there are hundreds of cities, mostly small, even in known Gor, and each would presumably have its emporium for collar-girls.

Still, upon reflection, though one supposes the catch from the sorority, the harvested items in that particular “slaver’s basket,” so to speak, would be distributed about, it is also plausible, upon reflection, that it might be more convenient to the masters, from the point of view of transportation, that several, if not all, might be disposed of in one location, or a limited number of such locations. From such a location, or locations, they might then be distributed variously. In this way, the wholesaler, so to speak, need not march coffles about, bundle his beasts into closed slave wagons, ankles chained to the central bar, ship them bound hand and foot in tarn baskets, and so on. Such things may be done by retailers.

I had hopes, of course, at least at first, that I might meet some of my sisters in Ar.

Surely that was a possibility.

Ar is large, but the number of laundry troughs, with their flowing water, is limited. So, too, is the number of wells and fountains, where water may be drawn. Kajirae, as is well known, though I think we are no different in this from many of our sex, delight to chat, gossip, observe, speculate, exchange views, recount anecdotes, waft rumors about, and so on. And the foremost gathering places for this sort of thing, for kajirae, at any rate, as they are not allowed in the baths unless they are bath girls, are the laundering troughs, those to which they are permitted access.

In any event, I had hoped, at least at first, that I might, at the troughs, or fountains, or in the markets, or on the street, encounter some of those I knew from the sorority, but I had not done so.

Then later it seemed to me that it was just as well, and perhaps better, that we not encounter one another again.

I assumed they would not have been freed. They were comely, and it is said that only a fool frees a slave girl.

How could I bear that they might look upon me now, in my shame and degradation, now no more than a barefoot, tunicked, collared slave? And what of them? How could I bear to look upon my former sisters, shamefully garbed, their necks clasped in the circlet of bondage?

Yet I knew I would be thrilled to see them so, owned, but, too, so free, so natural, so alive, so basically and radically female.

But how could I bear to have them see me, as a slave?

It was no dog collar now buckled, and locked, about my neck, as at the party, but, on my neck, now, a true slave collar, marking me as what I now was, a true slave.

Yet somehow, though I scarcely dared admit it to myself, I had never felt so healthy, so alive, so excited, so meaningful, so female, as here. I suppose this had something to do with the air of Gor, and the food, fresh, wholesome, tasty, and uncontaminated. But even more, I thought, it had to do with the culture, and the ethos, in which I found myself. These were so natural, so open, so innocent, so honest, so real. Here I could be what I always sensed I was. Here it seemed I had found myself. I found I loved what I was. And there was no doubt about what I was, no confusion, no uncertainty, no ambiguity. I was slave. Here, in a collar, I felt myself a thousand times more free than I had on my own world. Forgive me, Mistresses, if you are reading this, but it is true. I must speak the truth, for I wear a collar.

Whereas the Lady Bina was extremely intelligent, she was not always well informed, nor always realistic, and, I fear, she was not always wise.

She thought very highly of herself, and justifiably.

But she knew very little of Gor, or, I suppose, of any other complex human world.

From what sort of world, I had often wondered, had she been derived.

She was certainly well aware that she was unusually beautiful.

Indeed, she seemed to believe that she might well be the most beautiful woman on Gor.

For all I knew she might be, but, too, I had little doubt that there were thousands of other quite beautiful women who entertained the same suspicion, if not conviction. It was rumored that the former Ubara, Talena of Ar, daughter of Marlenus, the current Ubar of Ar, until disowned, might have regarded herself, or been regarded by many, as the most beautiful woman on all Gor. To be sure, given all the veiling of free women, and the dispersal of the population, who can speak practically of such things? Perhaps the most beautiful woman on all Gor is in some tiny village in Torvaldsland or herding bosk on the plains of the Wagon Peoples. Too, I had little doubt there were thousands of fellows about who thought that their companion or slave was the most beautiful woman on all Gor, for any woman, even ones whose appearance might frighten tharlarion, may appear beautiful when seen through the eyes of love. No one knew where Talena might now be. A large reward had been offered for her capture and return to Ar but the reward had never been claimed. I supposed she was in a collar somewhere. Certainly if she were as beautiful as many said, it would be almost certain she would have a collar on her neck. For some fellows, Goreans, having such a woman in a collar might be worth more than what she will bring in gold, thrown stripped and shackled to the foot of a Ubar’s throne. But, of course, for others, the gold might be preferred. Much would depend on the man, and here men are the masters. I was pleased I was not Talena of Ar.

I have suggested that the Lady Bina, my Mistress, while highly intelligent, may not have been as informed as would have been desirable, or as wise as might be desired, or such. In some respects she was an interesting, indeed, a remarkable, combination of vanity, ambition, and naivety.

I dared not speak to her of such things, even in hintings or allusions, as I was only a slave, and was now well aware of that, and her mind was muchly made up, and even the concerned, well-intentioned counsels of the beast were ineffective. He, though a stranger to Gor, was at least no stranger to matters of rank, distance, and hierarchy, no stranger to questions of status, no stranger to probabilities, nor to politics and political relationships.

In short, the Lady Bina, counting on her unusual beauty, and well aware of its usual effect on men, and bolstered by an unchastened vanity, one as yet little bruised by the contact with reality, planned to become, however unlikely or incredible it might seem, literally the Ubara of Ar, Gor’s greatest city, unless it be rivaled by Turia, in the far south. She seemed to believe that little more would be necessary to bring this astonishing elevation about than bringing herself to the attention of the Ubar or his advisors.

“Do not proclaim such ambitions,” warned the beast. “You will be thought mad.”

“But I am not mad,” she said.

“No,” said the beast, “but you do not understand these things, at all.”

“How so?” she asked.

Once again I wondered about her background, her seeming lack of socialization, and such. How could she understand so little? Might it not have been better if she had undergone some frustrations and disappointments? Had she no sense of her place, or her limitations, or that limitations even existed? Did she think that only a dozen or so individuals might be involved, as in a tiny village? Ar was profound and complex, socially and economically. Her population consisted of hundreds of thousands of citizens. Most did not even know one another. What were her antecedents? What had been her experiences? Again, from what sort of world had she derived? It was as though she had been told of something important and precious, say, a particular jewel, and had decided she would have it. Did she not know that a jungle, formidable and dangerous, exacting and competitive, existed in the streets of Ar, a jungle which, as in many communities, for all its reality, was invisible?

“A Ubar, a great lord, a potentate,” said the beast, “does not companion casually or lightly. There are slaves for that sort of thing, hundreds, scattered about in various pleasure gardens. He companions to forge alliances, protect borders, acquire cities, extend dominions, obtain access to trade routes, a port on the shores of Thassa. You are unknown, and unconnected, you bring no cities or armies into his grasp, no fleets, or cavalries of tarns. You do not even have a Home Stone.”

I knew little of Home Stones, at that time.

Nor would I be permitted one, as I was a slave. Sleen, kaiila, verr, and such, other animals, too, have no Home Stones.

“I see,” said the Lady Bina. “Things would then be difficult.”

“A Ubar might companion a Ubara from another city, a coveted city, one of wealth and power, or companion the daughter of another Ubar, of such a city, such things.”

“I see,” she said, not pleased.

As I knelt in the background, inconspicuous but at hand, I saw that the Lady Bina was not so much dissuaded of her astonishing ambition, as convinced that its realization might be less easily achieved than hitherto anticipated.

“Occasionally,” said the beast, “a Ubar may companion the Ubara of a captured city, forcing companionship, however unwelcome, upon her, making of her free spoils, so to speak, thereby, as she is then companioned, entitling himself legally to the wealth of her treasury and the allegiance of her subjects. In such a case she may sit beside him, on a throne, within her fine robes, chained.”

“I suppose,” said the Lady Bina, “he may do this severally.”

“No,” said the beast, “for one may have but one companion, at one time.”

I had no doubt, of course, that a Ubar, or, indeed, any person of means, might have several slaves.

“What if a second Ubara is conquered?” asked the Lady Bina.

“You are thinking of companioning?” asked the beast.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then the Ubara of less consequence,” he said, “will be demoted to bondage, and then kept, or put up for sale, or such.”

“But surely,” she said, “companioning is not always involved in such matters.”

“Certainly not,” he said. “The conqueror holds rights to all in virtue of the right of conquest, in virtue of war rights. The usual ensuance in such matters is that the conquered Ubara will be marched naked in the triumph, chained to the stirrup of the victor’s tharlarion or kaiila, after which she, and the women of her court, similarly paraded, will serve naked at the victory feast, during which they will be enjoyed, and after which, in the morning, they will be lashed and fitted with their collars.”

“I see,” she said.

“Accordingly,” said the beast, “abandon your unrealistic ambition.”

“Perhaps if I presented myself at the Central Cylinder,” she said.

“I would not do so,” said the beast. “You lack a Home Stone.”

“So?” she said.

“You might be collared,” he said. “Sometimes unauthorized women are rounded up and held for bidding, house biddings, thence to be distributed amongst the various slave houses of the city.”

“I suppose there are others of wealth and power,” she said, “other than Ubars, in a city such as this.”

“Doubtless,” said the beast.

“But,” she said, “I think a throne would be nice.”

“Perhaps,” said the beast.

The Lady Bina then cast me a glance, which made me uneasy. That night, when the beast was absent, the Lady Bina summoned me to her.

She entrusted to me a message, which was written in black ink on cheap rence paper, in simple block letters, at that time almost childishly formed letters, as she, for all her dexterity and intelligence, was still far from adept in Gorean. Certainly she was not yet the mistress of cursive script.

I had learned from the laundry troughs that a lady’s notes, having to do with her small secrets, private exchanges, intrigues, affairs, arrangements, assignations, rendezvous, and such, were generally carefully crafted, written in a tasteful, dainty script, usually on small sheets of fine linen paper, or parchment, subtly scented, and attractively sealed. There would be no doubt that their authors were women of refinement, breeding, sensitivity, taste, and intelligence. Surely much thought went into these things, well beyond the delicacy of the message itself. After all, the ink, the paper, or parchment, the script, the perfume, the seal, and so on, are, I suppose, in their way, a part of the message itself. Do they not themselves convey much without a word being spoken? In content the letters were often carefully ambiguous, designed to seem to promise much but guarantee little. I supposed the Gorean free woman was entitled, as with her veils and concealing robes, to balance concealment with revelation, mystery with the hint of possible abandon, even rampant disclosure.

A Gorean saying, seldom heard in the presence of free women, has it that beneath the robes of every free woman there is a naked slave.

These notes, of course, are commonly carried about by the woman’s slaves, often concealed within their tunics.

Discretion is of the essence.

And then one hears about it at the laundry troughs.

I had no doubt that many a fellow’s breath came faster, and his heart beat more rapidly, when he received such a note.

“May I inquire, Mistress,” I asked, “the content of the note which I am to carry?”

At that time I did not realize how unwise was such a question. Happily, at least at that time, the Lady Bina lacked many of the habits, dispositions, and responses of the Gorean free woman.

“Certainly,” she said. “I am proposing myself to be Ubara of Ar.”

“I see,” I said. “Is Master Grendel to be informed of this?”

“No,” she said. “He might not approve.”

I did not doubt that.

“You will leave in the morning,” she said, “at dawn, as though on a common errand. Indeed, I will give you two tarsk-bits and you may later purchase some larmas which we may press for breakfast.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

In that way, I supposed, my true mission, that of import, might be judiciously veiled.

“Now,” she said, “relieve yourself, and we will chain you for the night.”

“I need not be chained, Mistress,” I said. “I will not run away.” Indeed, where would one run? By noon I had little doubt but what I would be returned, bound, on a leash, to the house of Epicrates.

“I suppose not,” she said. “But the Lady Delia has told me that a slut like you belongs on a chain.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

I knew that males commonly kept their girls chained at night, usually to the foot of their couch, where they might be conveniently at hand, if desired in the night. In larger houses, girls were sometimes slept in their cages, perhaps to help them keep in mind that they are animals, and thus suitably caged.

The Lady Bina, perhaps on the advice of the Lady Delia, chained me so that my mat would lie across the threshold, at the height of the stairs. My left ankle was chained on one side of the portal and my right wrist on the other side. In this way an intruder would have to pass me, indeed, step over me, and, in this passage, would be likely to be discovered. The left ankle is the ankle most commonly chained, probably because most masters are right-handed. Too, it is the ankle most often fitted with bells or an ankle ring, presumably for the same reason. And I was right handed. Master Grendel slept on the roof. Were I a slaver, or a raider, I do not think I would have cared to have my tarn alight in his vicinity.

Master Grendel, as the Lady Bina apparently was not, was well aware of the possible jeopardy in which an unguarded free woman might find herself on Gor. Too, she had no Home Stone, no family, no clan, no caste.

I wondered if the beast was aware of how beautiful the Lady Bina actually was, how attractive she might prove to a human male. Probably not, I thought. She was not of his kind. He, a beast, would be unaware of such things.

The next day, about the Seventh Ahn, miserable and sore, walking stiffly, I had returned to the second floor of the house of Epicrates.

“What is wrong?” asked Master Grendel.

“Put the larmas here,” said the Lady Bina. “Is there change?”

“A tarsk-bit,” I said.

“You are improving in your bargaining,” said the Lady Bina.

“I did not let them know I had two,” I said.

“Excellent,” she said. “She is clever,” she said to the beast.

One learns such things.

“Why are you bruised?” asked the beast.

“No matter,” said the Lady Bina.

“No,” said the beast. “Why?”

I looked to the Lady Bina, frightened.

“You may speak, Allison,” she said.

“Soldiers,” I said.

I had not been within a hundred paces of the Central Cylinder when a lowered spear had blocked my way.

I had made clear my business, that I was to deliver a message to the Ubar, or to some high officer, who might then convey it to him, and the note was then taken from me by an officer, not of high rank, perhaps the commander of a ten, who read it, laughed uproariously, slapped his thigh, and then, to my unease, shared it with others, while I knelt.

It, and its bearer, were obviously the cause of much amusement.

“Is there an answer, Master?” I had asked.

“Yes,” he said, and availed himself of a marking stick, and wrote something on the back of the note.

Still kneeling, I took the note.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Is your ‘Mistress’ free?” asked the officer.

I fear he thought some jest was afoot, perhaps sprung from the humor of some fellow officer.

“Certainly Master,” I said.

Surely a mistress would be free.

“We will give you something for her then,” he said. Then to four of his subordinates, he said, “Seize and spread her wrists and ankles and belly her.”

“Master?” I said.

“This,” said he, “is for your Mistress.”

He then, and some others, with feet and spear butts, belabored a slave.

I wept with misery.

“Here is one for your Mistress!” said a fellow.

“And here is another!” said another fellow.

“And another!” said yet another.

“Aii!” I cried. “Please no, Masters! Please, no, Masters!”

Then I was released, and lay before them, on the stones, sobbing, and bruised, a beaten slave.

One may not, of course, strike a free woman. They are not to be struck. They are to be held immune from such corporeal indignities. They are free. Indeed, there are penalties for such things. On the other hand, I then learned, and later confirmed, that a slave may stand proxy for a Mistress’s punishment.

Supposedly this is disconcerting to the free woman, and she much suffers, being outraged, scandalized, and humiliated at her subjection to this vicarious chastisement.

The Lady Bina, however, who knew little of Gorean culture, failed to detect the insult intended, and bore up well under the ordeal.

“I do not think anything is broken,” said the beast.

“No,” I said.

When a slave is beaten the point is usually to correct her behavior, or improve her, not to injure or maim her.

Still they had not been gentle.

“It is past the Seventh Ahn, Allison,” said the Lady Bina. “Did you dally, flirting about the stalls and shops?”

“No, Mistress,” I said. I had been pleased, incidentally, that I had seen nothing of the offensive Metal Worker, for whom I had looked, the better to avoid him, of course. Certainly I would not have wished him to see me as I was then, stiff and aching, miserable and bruised.

“Four larmas for a tarsk-bit, especially in the morning, is quite a good buy,” said the Lady Bina.

“I did smile at the stallsmen,” I said.

“Excellent,” said the Lady Bina. “Men are such manipulable weaklings.”

“Some men,” said the beast.

“Squeeze the larmas,” said the Lady Bina. “There are biscuits, and honey breads, in the pantry.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Wait,” said the beast. “There was a response to the note?” he said.

“Written on its back,” I said.

“It will not be important,” said the Lady Bina.

The large paw, five-digited, like a human hand, was thrust toward me, and I withdrew the note from my tunic, and, head down, handed it to the beast.

The beast perused the note.

Apparently he could read, unless he was merely taking the scent of the hand which had written the note.

“Oh!” I said, for the beast then did something which seemed shockingly incomprehensible. The lips of the beast drew back about its fangs, and it uttered a snorting exhalation of air, and then, three or four times, it leapt into the air and spun about.

I was muchly alarmed.

The beast was very large, and I did not know its ways. Had it gone suddenly, unexpectedly insane the apartment might have been damaged, and life lost. How long might such a behavior, or fit, endure? I backed away, on my hands and knees, terrified. The Lady Bina, on the other hand, seemed more annoyed than frightened.

I gathered she was familiar with such spontaneous, apparently irrepressible, exhibitions.

“Surely,” she said, “it is not so amusing as all that.”

Apparently the beast could read.

Such exhibitions I would later learn may, with slight variations, betoken enthusiasm or jubilation, high spirits, the appreciation of a deft witticism, an excellent move in a game, pleasure at unexpectedly glimpsing a friend, a fine shot in archery, a victory in the arena, one’s foe slaughtered at one’s feet, a splendid jest, and such.

“What does it say?” asked the Lady Bina, for the beast seemed in no hurry to surrender the paper.

“‘Put on a collar, and visit the barrack’,” read the beast.

“Do you think that would further my project?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Then he turned to me. “Squeeze the larmas,” he said to me.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

And so I made my way toward the tower of Six Bridges.

I was wary, as I did not wish my laundry to be soiled.

There was a reason for my fear.

All this was before the incident of the blind Kur.

I had taken a roundabout way to Six Bridges, to avoid encountering the laundry slaves of the establishment of the Lady Daphne, a private laundering house in the vicinity of Six Bridges. In Ar there are several private laundering houses and they tend to live in an uneasy truce with one another, allotting districts amongst themselves. Six Bridges was in the district of the house of Lady Daphne. These houses do not relish intrusions into their territory, either by other houses or by independent services. Two of her girls, large girls, for such are best at such things, had intercepted me twice, once a month ago, and once last week.

“Discard your laundry,” had said one last month.

“No,” I had said. “Go away. Let me alone.”

“A barbarian!” had said the other.

“What do you have under that kerchief?” inquired the first. She yanked it back, down about my neck.

“Nothing!” laughed the second.

“Go away!” I had implored them, tears springing to my eyes.

“As bald as a tarn’s egg!” said the first. “She must have been quite displeasing.”

I was not bald now, but there was not much hair there either, little more than a brush of darkness, soft to the touch. Still I was happy to have so much.

“She does not please me,” had said the second.

“Is the laundry heavy?” asked the first.

“No!” I said, frightened.

“Yes it is. It is too heavy for you,” said the first.

“Stop!” I said.

The bundle was pulled away from me and cast into the gutter, which, in this district, runs through the center of the street. The two then trod it underfoot, into the drainage and mire.

“You are to accept no more customers here,” said the first girl.

“The tower of Six Bridges,” said the other, “belongs to the house of Daphne.”

I had then recovered the garments and returned to the house of Epicrates.

After that, for four trips, though I was terrified of the bridges, I had ascended a tower several Ehn from that of Six Bridges and warily made my way, by stairwells, and connecting bridges, to the tower of Six Bridges. Once I had seen the two ruffians lurking below in the street, presumably alert to intercept either me or another.

I kept to the center of the bridges as much as possible, kneeling to the side if a free person was passing. The bridges I utilized were not really narrow. Most were two to three paces in width. But they were high, and railless. Sometimes I became dizzy. It made me sick to look over the edge of such a bridge. I stayed as far from their edges as possible. “A barbarian,” laughed more than one person passing me. How superior they felt to me! How superior they were to me! Too, you tread roads, paths, and bridges to the left. I suppose this is natural, and rational. In this way your right hand, which might wield a weapon, a dagger or staff, faces the stranger whom you pass. Thus, on the left, you are better positioned to defend yourself, if necessary. On the other hand, in the part of my old world, that called Terra, or Earth, that part from which I derived, one treads to the right. How uneasy that would make you! Presumably there are historical, political reasons for that, perhaps involving a blatant declaration of differences amongst states, different symbols, different currencies, different customs, different practices, different ways of doing things. One does not know. In any event treading on the left, for a long time, made me uneasy, particularly on the high bridges.

To be sure, it was easy enough, soon enough, for the delivery girls of the house of Daphne to ascertain, from amongst their customers, that competition lurked about.

Accordingly, it took Lady Daphne’s ruffians, both natively Gorean, little time to extend their surveillance to the local bridges, this easily done from a higher bridge, or even from the roof of the tower of Six Bridges itself.

Accordingly, last week, seeing one of the two approaching rapidly on the connecting bridge, I turned about to flee, only, to my consternation, to see the other, who had been following me.

Caught between them, on the high bridge, I sank to my knees, dizzy and sick, and put down the bundle, frightened, trembling.

I knew, weak and unsteady, I could be easily swept from the bridge, and might even, trying to stand and move, stagger, and precipitate myself over the edge.

I began to shudder.

How close the edge seemed, the sharp drop much closer than it could have been in reality.

I could then not even manage to kneel.

So I lay on my belly, my hands at the side of my head, unable to move. I just did not want them to touch me. I felt wind on my tunic, I saw a wisp of cloud pass by.

“What is wrong with her?” asked one of the girls.

“I do not know,” said the other.

I was aware of the laundry being lifted, and, piece by piece, cast from the bridge, doubtless fluttering to the street far below.

The two girls from the house of Lady Daphne then withdrew.

I lay there for a long time, not daring to move, while occasionally a man or woman moved past me.

“Are you all right?” asked a man.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Do you want me to carry you into the tower?” he asked.

“No, Master,” I said.

Later, inch by inch, I crawled on my belly to the edge of the bridge and looked over the edge.

Here and there below, on a lower bridge, and on the street, I could see bits of the laundry, cast about, scattered, and crumpled. While I watched, a sheet was taken by a wind and swept from the lower bridge, whence it fluttered to the street below. An occasional person looked up, and then moved on.

After a time, I backed away from the edge, and then, on my hands and knees, carefully made my way to the security of the tower and the descending stairwell.

I recovered what laundry I could from the lower bridge, and the street, and returned to the house of Epicrates. I was not beaten. Lady Delia, companion of the pottery merchant, Epicrates, with coins received from the Lady Bina and the beast, later remunerated a number of customers who had lost their goods.

“It would be better, in the future,” said the Lady Bina, “if you kept to the streets, for it would then be easier to recover lost articles.”

“Mistress wishes to continue her enterprise?” I inquired.

“Certainly,” she said.

“Perhaps we could avoid the district of Six Bridges,” I said.

“If it were not the district of Six Bridges,” said the Lady Bina, “it would be another district.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I had said, in misery.

“Too,” she had said, “Six Bridges houses several of our best customers.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.

And so it came about that I was taking a roundabout way to Six Bridges, this time, at least, again on the street level. Once more I was hoping to avoid the laundry slaves of the establishment of the Lady Daphne. I had first encountered them a month ago on the street, and then, more frighteningly, on the bridge last week. Usually, of course, I did not encounter them. Had I done so regularly our service would have been irreparably disrupted. Twice I had been accompanied in my rounds by the Lady Bina, and once by the Lady Delia. If the laundry slaves had been about then, and noted my passage, they had not disturbed me, as I was accompanied by a free person. The beast, of course, did not accompany me. It seldom went out while Tor-tu-Gor reigned amongst the towers. Had he been with me I would have had little doubt but what the laundry slaves of the Lady Daphne would have kept their distance, if not have fled altogether back to her house. Men sometimes became embroiled, as mercenaries, in the disputes between the laundering houses, but the routine policing of territories was generally entrusted to slaves.

I was within fifty paces of one of the lower entryways, a back entryway, to Six Bridges when, to my dismay, I saw my two nemeses, one emerging from a doorway to the left, the other from a doorway to my right. I had little doubt they had been waiting there, watching, for me to come close enough to surprise. Carrying the laundry, a rectangular bulk of it, steadying it on my head with two hands, I could not well have turned about and fled.

They were too close.

Both were smiling.

Both were carrying a peeled, supple branch.

I did not know how long I could hold the laundry, if those branches were laid against the back of my thighs, or across my arms and shoulders. They would avoid my face, I was sure, lest I be permanently marked or damaged.

I was, after all, goods, perhaps goods of some value.

The first of the two laundering slaves whipped her branch viciously through the air, twice. I heard its swift rush through the air. The other slapped her branch in her palm.

“Why are you not on the bridge?” laughed the first.

“You looked well, paralyzed, unable to move, cowering on your belly,” said the second.

“She is a barbarian,” said the first.

“I will enjoy this,” said the second.

“I mean you no harm,” I said. “Please! Please let me pass. I must do as I am told.”

“So, too, must we,” laughed the first.

“You were warned,” said the second.

They then, improvised switches at the ready, stepped forward. They lifted their arms, eager, grinning, but then, to my amazement, they stopped, and turned white.

“First obeisance position,” said a voice behind me, sharply, a male voice, “switches in your teeth.”

The two laundry slaves swiftly went to first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the ground, palms of their hands on the ground, the switches crosswise in their teeth.

Both were discomfited, frightened, in the presence of a man, presumably a free man.

“You, you with the laundry,” said the voice. “Remain standing, where you are, and do not turn around.”

I think the man then withdrew a few feet behind me.

Then he said to the two laundry slaves, “Get on all fours, and approach me, the switch in your teeth, both of you.”

I watched them, frightened, crawl past me. The first one cast me a look of terror, of misery.

In the house I had been trained to crawl thusly to a man, humbly, the switch held crosswise between my teeth. It is one way in which a slave may bear the whip or switch to her master.

She does not know how, or if, it will be used.

She will soon learn.

I did not turn around.

“Now turn about, and belly,” said the voice.

Then I sensed that the slaves had been put to their bellies, their heads toward me.

I then heard some small, frightened sounds, as though limbs had been jerked about, behind backs, and then tiny noises, as though wrists had been thonged together, and not gently.

I then heard two small cries, accompanying a ripping of cloth.

“Now,” said the voice, “let us see about these switches.”

“Mercy, Master!” said the first of the two laundry slaves.

“Were you given permission to speak?” he asked.

“No, Master, forgive me, Master!” said the girl.

A moment later I heard the switch being applied to the two slaves, a blow for one, and then a blow for the other, and so on.

There was much sobbing.

“Knees,” said the voice.

“Henceforth,” said the voice, “you are not to bother this slave, or any other, as they are about their work. If you do, you will be placed on a slave ship for Torvaldsland or Schendi. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” they said.

Then they cried out with pain, as though they might be being dragged at a man’s hip, in leading position.

“Move,” he said, and I saw the two slaves pass me, on the right, tied together, closely, head to head, by the hair, their tunics torn to the waist, their hands thonged tightly behind them, their backs and the back of their thighs richly striped from the blows of a switch.

“Stop!” he called.

Instantly they stopped.

“Tell your Mistress,” said the voice, “that this district is open, and will not be defended, or contested. It, and its pricings, are not to be managed, or controlled. If the Lady Daphne does not find these arrangements acceptable, her house will be burned to the ground.”

“Yes, Master!” they said.

“Now, go,” said the voice.

The two bound, chastised slaves then, awkwardly, as they could, uncomfortably, half stumbling, fled down the street.

“Do not turn around,” said the voice behind me.

I remained still, looking ahead, frightened, balancing the laundry, holding it in place with my two hands.

“A slave thanks Master,” I said. “A slave is grateful.”

I trusted he would not now, himself, take the laundry and cast it to the gutter. Would that not be a rich Gorean joke, at the expense of a helpless slave, a joke worth recounting in the taverns?

“You are Allison, the barbarian slut of the Lady Bina, are you not?” asked the voice.

“I am Allison,” I said, “girl of the Lady Bina, who resides in the house of the pottery merchant, Epicrates.”

“The barbarian slut,” he said.

“I am barbarian,” I said, “Master.”

“A barbarian slut,” he said.

“If Master pleases,” I said.

I sensed I was being regarded, from behind, as a slave may be regarded.

“How is it that Master knows a girl’s name, and that of her Mistress?” I asked.

“Hold still,” he said.

I stiffened, angrily.

I felt his hands at the side of my body, and then at the sides of my waist, and then at my hips, and then a bit down, at the sides of my thighs.

Had I been on Earth, and free, I would doubtless have spun about, and struck him. But I was on Gor, and a slave.

“Not bad, for a barbarian,” he said.

“I assure Master,” I said, “that many of us are quite as good as his native Gorean girls.”

Certainly we were all of the same species, and all in our collars.

“I am told we sell well,” I said, angrily.

“For copper tarsks,” he said.

My fingers dug into the laundry, angrily.

Did he know of the Metellan district, or the house of Menon?

“Do not turn around,” he said.

“No, Master,” I said.

“Straighten your body, girl,” he said.

“Is Master pleased with what he sees?” I asked.

“I have seen worse,” he said.

“A slave is pleased, if Master is pleased,” I said, acidly.

I was sure now whose was the voice whose face I could not see.

It was he from the Sul Market, he whom I loathed.

I had seen him about, from time to time.

“It seems Master follows a slave,” I said. “Perhaps Master will make an offer for her.”

“You are a vain slut,” he said. “What makes you think anyone would want you?”

“I am lovely,” I said.

“That is all you are,” he said.

“At least that is something,” I said.

“Certainly,” he said.

“How did you know my name, and that of my Mistress?” I asked.

“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“Are you any good in the furs?” he asked.

“Perhaps Master would care to try me, and see,” I said.

“You are boldly spoken,” he said.

I shrugged.

“Perhaps I will try you,” he said, “and see.”

“I am owned by another,” I said, quickly.

“But a woman,” he said.

“She might hire men,” I said.

“If she could hire men,” he said, “you would not be doing laundry.”

“Surely a barbarian slut could be of no interest to Master,” I said.

“Barbarians look well,” he said, “naked, collared, chained, licking and kissing at one’s feet, bringing the whip to a fellow in their teeth, and such.”

“I have laundry to deliver,” I said.

“Remain where you are,” he said.

“There is another, of course,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“Oh?” I said.

“What do you know of it?” he asked.

“Very little,” I said. “It is the pet of Lady Bina.”

“Do not be naive,” he said.

“Master?” I asked.

“Do you know what form of life it is?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“It is Kur,” he said.

So he knew that word.

“I know little of such things,” I said.

“What,” he asked, “is it doing on Gor, and what, too, is the Lady Bina doing on Gor?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“You are stupid,” he said.

“I find Master hateful,” I said.

“You would look well at my feet,” he said.

“I have laundry to deliver,” I said.

“Do not move,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You would find out what it is to be owned by a man,” he said.

“A slave thanks Master,” I said, “for his intervention in her behalf, in the matter of the laundry. With his permission, she now begs to be dismissed, that she may be about her work.”

“Are you red-silk?” he asked.

“Of what business is that of Master?” I asked. Then I said, quickly, “Yes, I am red-silk.”

One must be careful how one responds to a Gorean male, if one is a slave.

“But perhaps not yet,” he said, “in frequent, desperate need.”

“It seems not,” I said.

“You look well,” he said, “your arms up, bearing your burden.”

I was silent. I did not dare release the laundry and yet, holding it, my arms were lifted and, in effect, held in place, as much as though they were at the sides of my head, held in shackles, chained to a ceiling ring.

“Do women of your world bear burdens thusly?” he asked.

“Some do,” I said, “but not in the part of my world from which I derive.”

“You do it attractively,” he said.

This was partly an effect, I supposed, of the position of the arms, and its effect on the girl’s body. A common examination position, as noted earlier, requires the hands to be placed behind the neck, or at the back of the head. Too, there are chaining arrangements which fasten a girl’s wrists together, at the back of her neck.

“On my world,” I said, “I did not bear burdens.”

“You were of high caste?” he asked.

“I was well placed,” I said, “and of high social station.”

“And now you are a mere slave,” he said. “Excellent.”

“‘Excellent’?” I said, angrily.

“Certainly.” he said. “That makes you more interesting, once of superior station, now a reduced, meaningless chain slut.”

“Please release me, Master,” I said, angrily.

To this plea, there was no response.

I dared not turn my head.

“Master?” I said. “Master?”

He then came about, and was facing me.

It was indeed he of the Sul Market!

He was close to me, very close.

“Steady,” he said.

I turned my head away. There was a faded, stained, half-torn poster, advertising a carnival, on the wall opposite.

He then gently took my head in his hands, turned it to him, and held it, and I tried to pull away, but could not do so.

“No!” I begged.

He drew me to him.

“No,” I said, “no!”

Then I felt his lips on mine.

I tried to pull back, but could not do so.

“Part your lips, more,” he said. “Get your mouth open, more.”

I tried to shake my head, negatively, but could scarcely manage it.

“I want to feel your teeth,” he said. “Do not bite, of course, or your teeth must be torn from your head.”

I tried to protest, but could not well form words.

“You have good lips,” he said, “sweetly soft, bred for a master’s kiss.”

I struggled, futilely.

“Touch teeth, gently,” he whispered. “Now,” said he, “tongue, tongue. Surely you have been trained.”

“Please, no, Master, please, no, Master,” I murmured.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, tears ran from my eyes, forcing their way between the clenched lids.

“You are in a collar,” he whispered.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “I am in a collar!”

My body then shook, and I felt weak, and I pressed my lips to his, piteously. But almost at the same time, suddenly, unexpectedly, spasmodically, I thrust myself against him, needfully, beggingly.

I recalled slaves in the house, moaning in their kennels.

I remembered the kitchen of the eating house of Menon, at night, late at night, how I had thrashed in my chains.

I pressed myself against him, my fingers clawing into the laundry I carried.

“Interesting,” he said. “I suspect our barbarian slut is now just another well-oiled, nicely lubricated, juicing slave.”

“I hate you!” I said.

“You might do for a paga tavern,” he said.

How I hated him, but might he not be my master?

I knew I was ready, open, wet, gaping, and a master’s.

“Yes,” he said, “you are red-silk.”

“I am yours, I know I am yours!” I said. “Buy me, buy me, Master!”

“You are anyone’s,” he said.

He then thrust me back, away from him, and held me at arm’s length.

“I have now established what I wished to ascertain,” he said. “You are, as I thought, just another piece of collar meat.”

“Yours,” I said.

“Anyone’s,” he said.

“I cannot help it if I am a woman!” I wept.

“Nor should you,” he said.

“Buy me!” I begged.

“Only a slave begs to be bought,” he said.

“I am a slave!” I said.

“Obviously,” he said.

“Master!” I wept.

“It is a pity to waste you on a woman,” he said. “You are a man’s slave.”

“Yes,” I said, “yes, Master!”

“I thought you might be a hot little thing,” he said.

“Master,” I said, but I could not reach him.

“You have laundry to deliver,” he said.

Two or three fellows were standing about, smiling.

“You have aroused me, as a slave!” I said.

“You are scarcely warmed,” he said. “You do not even suspect what might be done to you.”

I knew Goreans sometimes set aside two or three days for a slave. It was common to devote a day, a morning, or an afternoon, to dalliance, a dalliance in which the slave, from time to time, might scream her need. But, too, of course, the use of a slave could be brief, dragging her to oneself by her leash or chain, throwing her over a saddle, or the arm of a couch, thrusting her, as one wished, to the carpet, kneeling, head to the floor, hands clasped behind the back of her neck, and such. Too, of course, the slave may be commanded to serve her master in a medley of modalities, at so little as a hand sign or a snapping of fingers.

“You have made me show myself slave,” I said, “publicly, in a street. I have been humiliated! I have been treated with contempt, I have been scorned!”

“All women are slaves,” he said. “You are no different.”

“I hate you!” I cried.

“Though not all are in collars,” he said.

“I hate you!” I screamed.

“You, at least, are in a collar,” he said.

I shook with frustration.

“Be careful of the laundry,” he said.

He then turned about, and left.

I turned to look after him.

After a bit, he turned, looking back. “Perhaps sixty copper tarsks,” he called. “Not a silver tarsk!”

Tears burst from my eyes.

He then resumed his departure.

After I had delivered the laundry, I returned to the street, to make my way back to the house of Epicrates.

On the wall opposite the back entrance, one of several, to Six Bridges, there was a faded, half-torn poster.

I had seen it before, but had paid little attention to it.

But, somehow, I had not forgotten it.

I now went to it, and, for the first time, regarded it with care. Amongst the animals portrayed on the poster, snow larls, large, striped urts, snarling sleen, performing tharlarion, prancing kaiila, there was another, where the poster was half torn. It was a beast, much like Master Grendel. It was clearly Kur.

Then I dismissed the matter from my mind.

As I made my way back to the house of Epicrates I recalled the Metal Worker. What a hateful brute he was. How I loathed him!

How he had humiliated me, and taught me my collar!

But it was nice of him, was it not, to have protected me from the girls of the house of Daphne? He needed not have done that. And how had he been there so opportunely? Was that a coincidence? I did not think so, which thought gave me considerable satisfaction. Too, I was sure I had seen him, from time to time, even before the Sul Market. It seemed likely that, at least from time to time, he had followed me. Certainly some men will so follow a slave about, or even a free woman. What then might be his motivation? Might he have some interest in a slave, even one who might be a mere barbarian slut?

Surely he was muchly different from most of the men I had known on my former world.

He was Gorean.

And I was a slave.

On the way back to the house of Epicrates, I hummed, and sang.