Conspirators of Gor

Chapter Seventeen

It was hard not to be excited by the roar of the crowd. I leaped to my feet, with thousands of others. “Hurry on!” I thought to myself, feverishly, with respect to the blue colors. He in whose care I was favored them. Perhaps, then, I thought, as I hated him, I should favor another color, say, yellow, or red, just so that it would be different, to spite him, though it would not do, of course, to call such a discrepancy to his attention. It could be my private concern. But I did not. He had wagered on blue, he in whose charge I was. Thus, insofar as I might have a color, which, of course, I was not permitted, it was his color, blue. How strange! His desire was my desire, his wager as though my wager. Odd, I thought. As I loathed him, what difference was it to me, his fate, his fortune? To be sure, it occurred to me that if he lost, he might be displeased, and I might be beaten. “Hurry on, blue!” I thought, rising to my tip toes. Across the track it was hard to see for the dust. Much was the noise about me. Some had glasses of the builders, though shorter than the usual glass. I felt myself immersed in the surf of screaming, shouting, cheering adherents. I did not cry out, of course. I had not been given permission to speak. We were in the high tiers. There were five in our party, if I include myself. I pulled a little at my wrists, which were braceleted behind me. It is only so that my sort were permitted in the stadium. To be sure, if the master lacks bracelets, one’s wrists may be thonged or corded behind one, or, with a strip of cloth, tightly scarfed in place. Venna was far more permissive than Ar, for in Ar slaves, unless discreetly concealed, were not permitted in the stadiums, let alone theaters. For example, one would almost never see them at the pageants, the plays, the concerts, the song dramas, the epic readings, the great kaissa matches, and such. This was in deference, supposedly, to the feelings of free women, whose sensibilities might be offended by the presence, in their vicinity, of the half-clad, shapely beasts of masters. One sort of slave, however, is likely to be more visible in a stadium, a certain sort of stadium, a “stadium of blades,” a more vulgar, violent milieu, the sort helplessly chained naked to a post, a sack of gold tied about her neck, she and it prizes to be awarded to a successful fighter.

“Hurry on, red!” cried another slave, two rows below me.

She had permission to speak, to cheer for her master’s favorite! I felt like pulling her to the ground by her hair, but I would not dare to do so. I knew it would be I who would soon be weeping, and pleading for mercy! It would not be another, but I, I knew, who would soon be the cringing, beaten slave. This was clear to me, even from my former world. I had sensed this ever since the party on my former world, when I had been disgracefully camisked and forced to serve, in a locked leather collar, and had found myself tearfully, stung again and again, helplessly groveling under the switch of the imperious Nora. It takes but one such experience to realize that one is a slave. I still, after all these months, dreaded and feared Nora, terribly. She was Mistress and I was slave. She had taught me that.

As you know, as in the tarn races, there are various factions, the blue, the yellow, the orange, the red, and so on.

Many Goreans take their allegiance to a given faction with great seriousness. This may continue for generations in families. There are sometimes riots between the adherents of these factions.

Orange won the race.

I sat down, on the tier. Many filed down the tiers, to place new bets. Hundreds clutched programs, which listed the mounts, and their riders.

The last race, just witnessed, was one of quadrupedalian tharlarion. These are bred for endurance and speed, but, even so, they are ponderous beasts, and no match for the more typical racing tharlarion, which is lighter and bipedalian. It is also carnivorous and more aggressive. In the race they commonly have their jaws bound shut. There have been several cases in which such beasts, before a race, or in the stable or exercise yards, have attacked their competitors, even their handlers. They are occasionally used for scouting or communication. Some hunt wild tarsk with lances from their saddles.

“Orange won,” said he in whose charge I was.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

There were five in our party at the stadium, the Lady Bina; Astrinax, who was our jobber; a man named Lykos, hired, I think, for his sword; he in whose keeping I was; and myself. I remembered the man, Astrinax, from Ar, as it was he who had arranged my sale to the gambling house. He had been hired in Ar by the Lady Bina to facilitate our journey, buying tharlarion and wagons, hiring teamsters, putting in supplies, arranging the stages of our journey, and such. Clearly such matters could not have been well handled by the Lady Bina, Lord Grendel, or myself.

I was pleased to have been permitted to come to the stadium. It would have been easy enough to have left me in the wagon, in the fenced-in wagon lot, shackled to the central bar.

I looked about myself. As I, the other slaves I noted in the audience were tunicked, and some more scantily than I. One, I saw, who regarded me disdainfully, and tossed her head proudly, was even camisked. How proud her master must have been of her, the arrogant brute, to so display her. And how smug, and how vain, she was, how proud of her beauty, to be so displayed, camisked.

“I am going below, to bet anew,” said he in whose care I was.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I felt my left ankle gripped, and, a moment later, it was shackled to the iron ring anchored in the cement under my seat.

He then departed, to seek the betting tables beneath the stadium tiers. The Lady Bina, Astrinax, and Lykos accompanied him.

I sat on the tier, alone, moved my ankle a little, and pulled a little at the bracelets. Had my hands been free, I would have better adjusted the tunic at my left shoulder.

I was an unattended slave. I was apprehensive. I realized what that might mean. Such a slave might be accosted, even fondled, with impunity. Still, there were many about.

We had arrived in Venna early this morning.

Apparently the small collation I had prepared for the Metal Worker yesterday evening had proved satisfactory. In any event, after he had eaten for a bit, I kneeling back, he signed me to all fours, a simple gesture, and indicated that I might approach, beside the small fire. Then, from time to time, as he fed, he held out tidbits to me, and I fed, too, delicately, from his hand. Afterwards he permitted me to lie by his side, “bound by the master’s will,” I crossing my shackled ankles, and holding my hands behind my back, my left wrist held in my right hand.

He said, “Speak.”

“Surely Master is not interested in hearing a slave speak,” I said.

“Speak,” said he.

“Of what shall I speak?” I said.

He then told me to speak, as I would, telling him about my former world, my former life, my capture, my training, my sales, my owners, even my thoughts and feelings.

I fear much that was foolish gushed forth from me, but words had tumbled forth, seemingly endlessly, for Ahn, even amidst grateful tears.

“What have you done to me?” I said, at last, lying in the dirt beside him, by the reduced embers of the fire, looking up at him from my side, bound by his will.

“Is it not clear?” he asked.

“Master?” I said.

“I have stripped you,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“It is time to put you on the common chain,” he said. “You are unbound.”

I struggled to my feet, and he then conducted me, his right hand on my left upper arm, to the common chain, on which several girls were already placed. He sat me by the chain, removed the shackle from my right ankle, looped it about the chain, and fastened it on me again, thus tethering me to the common chain. In this camp it was strung not between two trees, but between two heavy posts, to which it was bolted, the posts some twenty paces apart.

“So, Master,” I said, “the slave is stripped.”

“There are many ways to strip a slave,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

“Ordering her to disrobe, or tearing away her tunic, are but two,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

“To be sure,” he said, “that is pleasant.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

After I had confessed so much of myself to him, so revealed who was in my collar, I had almost hoped I would hear the issuance of a disrobing order, or that his hands, at my neckline, would have torn away my tunic.

But he had conducted me to the girl chain.

“It is all of the slave which is owned,” he said.

“That is understood by the slave,” I said.

“The slave’s every thought,” he said, “even her subtlest, least feeling, is owned by the master.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He rose to his feet. I swiftly knelt, and looked up at him. “Master,” I said.

“Keep your knees closed,” he said, annoyed, his voice brusque.

I quickly closed them. I smiled to myself, a little. I do have power, I thought.

“It seems this slave is in the care of Master,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“You hold the key to her shackles?”

“As of now,” he said.

“You knew the slave’s name, ‘Allison’, even from Ar,” I said.

“So?” he said.

“But the slave,” I said, “does not even know Master’s name.”

“Desmond,” he said.

“That is not a Gorean name,” I said.

“It is,” he said, surprised.

“Surely not,” I said.

“It is, in the vicinity of Harfax,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“My Home Stone,” said he, “is that of Harfax.”

“What was Master doing in Ar?” I asked.

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

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“I have heard,” said he, “there are tharlarion races in Venna tomorrow. To be sure, it is the season. Would you care to attend?”

“Yes,” I said, “yes, Master!”

“You may, if you wish,” he said, “remain chained in the wagon, with the curtains tied shut.”

“I beg to accompany Master,” I said.

“If you do so,” he said, “you will do so as a kajira.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You will see,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I had said.

* * * *

The crowd milled about, some descending the tiers, others climbing them.

The robing of a Gorean crowd is colorful, particularly on holidays, or in attendance at public events, races, and such. Doubtless that is all very familiar to you, but perhaps, as it is so familiar to you, you do not much note it.

Some slaves, as I, were on short ring chains, but many were loose, wandering about, though back-braceleted. I supposed it would then be difficult for them to pilfer small objects, dared they to do so. On the other hand, I suspected there were subtler reasons underlying this lovely constraint. Does it not remind the girl that she is a slave, and only a slave? Certainly she is constrained as one. But men, too, the monsters, seem to enjoy having women helpless before them, fully at their mercy, and what woman, rendered so helpless, does not then the better understand that she is a woman. Too, of course, it helps to draw a sharper distinction between us and free women, as though the scantiness of our tunics, and the obviousness of our lovely, slender, locked collars, compared to the richness of their robes, and veils, and half veils, were not enough!

I saw a lovely-legged, long-haired girl in a brief blue tunic. I did not know if that were because her master favored the blue, or if he might be a scribe.

A vendor went by, just below our level, on the walkway, hawking tastas.

I wished he in whose charge I was, Desmond, in the black and gray of the Metal Workers, would return. Though I hated him, I wanted to be helpless near him. I wanted to be such that he might exploit me, as he pleased.

Far below, on the broad, level area, inside the rail, I saw two girls, in tunics of yellow and blue, the Slaver’s colors, back-braceleted as other slaves, but also, interestingly, joined together, neck to neck, by a yard of chain. I stood up, to get a better look. There seemed something different, or interesting, about them, or something familiar, something I could not place. Perhaps, I thought, I had seen one or the other, perhaps both, somewhere in Ar, perhaps at the laundry troughs, or in a market. Perhaps in some way they were a matched pair, and were to be sold as such. It did not seem likely, on the other hand, they were twins, as one was blonde and the other darkly haired, rather like myself. Perhaps, then, they were matched in some other sense, or, even, not really matched at all, save in the sense of each being undoubtedly of slave interest.

After the rescue, if that be the word, of the blind Kur, I had learned more of the past of Lord Grendel. Some I had learned from the Lady Bina, but more, interestingly, from the translator. As the newcomer to our domicile was incapable, for most purposes, of uttering intelligible Gorean, Lord Grendel taught me the use of the translator, so that I might have a means of understanding the newcomer, and communicating with him. The Lady Bina was already familiar with the device. Interestingly the Lady Bina seemed muchly to esteem the newcomer, and even to stand in some awe of him. “He is true Kur,” she had whispered to me. Certainly she showed him more respect, or deference, than she commonly accorded to her own colleague, or friend, or guard, Lord Grendel, for whom she often seemed to entertain, for all his devotion to her, and for all her dependence on him, something like a patient, tolerant, pitying contempt. She regarded him as imperfect, and malformed, as if he might be a monstrosity or cripple of some sort. Perhaps, in some sense, he was. I did not know. To be sure, she realized that he had his uses. Sometimes, before we had left the domicile, I had lingered in the vicinity of Lord Grendel and the blind Kur, whose name I had heard many times, but could not begin to say. No equivalent to it, in Gorean phonemes, had been programmed into the translator. When it was pronounced in Kur the translator, in Gorean, would be silent. I had sometimes stayed by the two beasts while they spoke in Kur, turning on the translator, but lowering the volume, putting my ear to the device. They could hear the Gorean from the translator, even from across the room, and probably more clearly than I, who was adjacent to it, but it was of no interest to them, and they paid it little, if any, attention. After a bit, it was probably not even noticed by them. The blind Kur had expressed interest, in the beginning, in the machine’s being on, but Lord Grendel had authorized the harmlessness of its use with the explanation that “they are curious little beasts.” “Yes,” had said the newcomer, “they all are.” It seemed then that he knew something, as I had earlier suspected, about human female slaves. The newcomer had never seen me, of course, but I had no doubt he could have picked me out promptly from a hundred slaves by scent. To be sure, I had no doubt he could have performed the same feat with the Lady Bina, from, say, a hundred free women. So, too, of course, and more fearfully, might have a sleen, put on our scent. Much from the Lady Bina and from the translator I did not understand, that having to do with distant worlds, exotic engineerings, unusual weaponries, strange customs and holidays, diverse races and cultures, troubled histories, and such, and with mysterious projects, factions, and wars, seemingly current, but some things were clear, or reasonably so, that they were the remnants of advanced peoples who, having destroyed their ancestral world, and having migrated to the exile of artificial spheres, uncontaminated and unpolluted, livable and unradiated, coveted new and better worlds. I did learn, in passing, something, too, of Lord Grendel. In the plans of some Kurii, it had been hoped that an alliance might be formed between themselves and the humans of Gor, that the surface of Gor might be shared, putatively in peace, for a time. Supposedly this would be acceptable to those who were the guardians of two worlds, my world, called Earth in my native language, and Gor, the Priest-Kings of Gor, a mysterious set of beings regarded with great awe, both by humans and Kurii. Supposedly the Priest-Kings, whoever or whatever they might be, concerned to protect the two worlds of Tor-tu-Gor, in particular, Gor, a generally undamaged world, and their own, would allow this alliance, provided their weapon and technology laws were respected, laws designed to keep dangerous power out of the hands of species too aggressive, or stupid, to manage it with intelligence. Lord Grendel speculated that the Kurii would begin in peace, and then, bit by bit, eliminate Gorean humans, save perhaps for those which might be kept as work beasts and food, and have the surface of the world for themselves. The next phase would be when Kurii were abundant on Gor, and suitably emplaced. Then, by means of smuggled weapons, and the aid of the technology of the metal worlds, the Priest-Kings themselves might be attacked and eliminated, following which the world would belong to Kurii, who might then, with their various, competitive factions, contest it as they might. As a phase in this program, in order to facilitate an approach to humans, a series of experiments were to be performed, producing a set of hybrids, part Kur, part human, who, hopefully, could profitably interact with Gorean humans. This program was abandoned, after one such experiment, the result of which was the supposed monstrosity, Grendel, later Lord Grendel. He had several fathers, interestingly, as the genetic materials of several male Kurii were injected into, and fused within, a single human egg, which was eventually brought to term in the human female from whom the egg had been originally extracted. She, after the offspring was shown to her, had killed herself. Lord Grendel, part Kur and part human, was apparently not found acceptable by humans, and so the program was discontinued. Interestingly, for most practical purposes, he was not found acceptable by Kurii either, and became, in effect, an outcast on the steel world of his birth. A second plan was formed, to convert, bribe, or suborn, and then support, with power and riches, a human to further their projects. There was an attempt to recruit a disaffected human, one alienated from, and inimical to, Priest-Kings, a warrior, whose name was not spoken. Apparently this warrior not only declined to accept this commission, but became involved somehow in the politics of the steel world itself, participating in a revolt which brought about, in the steel world in question, a change in governance.

I, personally, saw little difference between Lord Grendel and another Kur. To the Kur, on the other hand, certain differences were apparently offensively obvious. For example, the paws and feet of Lord Grendel had but five digits, rather than the six found in the paws and feet of a normal Kur. There were other apparently subtle differences of appearance, as well, but these, or most of them, seemed negligible to me. Perhaps most interestingly, Lord Grendel could approximate human phonemes. One supposes, of course, that there might also be other differences, internal differences, of a sort less easy to detect, in physiology, and, perhaps, in sensibility, disposition, consciousness, and such. Lord Grendel, as I have mentioned before, claimed to be Kur. The newcomer accepted him as Kur. But the newcomer, of course, was blind.

I looked about myself.

The next races were with bipedalian tharlarion. Such races, given the beasts, are faster, rougher, and more dangerous. Such races are apparently difficult to anticipate and analyze, presumably from the unpredictability of the beasts, which are sometimes refractory, and sometimes wayward and aggressive. Sometimes a favorite will balk, and an unknown bound to victory. Some people will not bet on such races.

I could no longer see the two back-braceleted, neck-chained kajirae. As they had been in a blue-and-yellow livery, the colors of the Slavers, I supposed they might have been brought to the races to be offered. I supposed them such then that men might bid well on them. I suspected that if I were to be put up now, men might bid well on me, as well. Was I not different now than I had been, now that I was collared? Had I not been stalked by the Metal Worker? Had he not stood between me and a beast? To be sure, he had treated me with abruptness and authority in the market of Cestias, long ago, and had availed himself of my lips near Six Bridges, taking so presumptuous a liberty, when I was in no position to resist. He had given me a blanket in the wagon. But he had forced me to cook for him, the same night, and had put me to the indignity of all fours, as though I might have been a she-tarsk, and had fed me by hand. To be sure, I was grateful for the food. He had then had me lie beside him, “bound by his will,” reclined as the mere slave I was, and had had me speak, and speak. I had told him so much, and revealed so much of myself, baring myself, my past, my thoughts, my hopes, fears, and feelings before him, as only a slave might bare herself before a master, and then, when I was so open, so confessed, so exposed, so vulnerable, so helplessly exhibited, he had informed me that he had “stripped me.” And well then had I been stripped, stripping myself, before that man! How well he then knew me! What had I left to hide from him, but then it is all of a kajira that is owned. He had then put me on the girl chain. But as I lay there that night, in the dirt, shackled to the common chain, I was pleased, so pleased, that I had been able to speak. But, I wondered how it was that he, a master, should be interested, if indeed he had been, in the thoughts and feelings of a kajira. Surely we kajirae were only beasts to be worked and put to use, and to be whipped if we were not pleasing. But, I thought, perhaps he is the sort of master who would be satisfied with owning nothing less than all of a kajira. The kajira, of course, knows that it is all of her that is owned. That is clear in law. But how frightening it sometimes is for her to realize that that is true, that it is all of her that is owned.

I supposed the saddle beasts, the racers, were now being prepared for the final races, which would culminate the day.

Tor-tu-Gor was still bright, but there were long shadows, from the awnings, lying across the nearer track. Across the way, at the far track, male work slaves were scattering water on the track.

People were now beginning to return to the tiers.

I sat there on the tier, tunicked, my legs closely together, my hands braceleted behind me, my left ankle fastened to the tier ring. I picked out the slaves in the crowd, in their colored tunics. I saw one slave in a short tunic which was white, with broad, diagonal black stripes. Her master, I thought, must be an old-fashioned fellow, a traditionalist, or such. Such tunics, it seemed, were once quite common, indeed almost a universal uniform of kajirae, but, later, happily, a great deal of variety had been introduced into slave tunics, in color, cut, neckline, and such. Masters now had a great many options at their disposal when it came to clothing their properties, if they chose to clothe them. We girls, muchly concerned, like all women, with enhancing our appearance, with being attractive, even beautiful, muchly approved this state of affairs. And, of course, though the final word is the master’s, it is a rare master who is immune to the delights which a lovely slave might choose to present for his consideration. Surely he does not wish his girl to be out of fashion, which might cast discredit on his taste, or wallet, or both. And now we might compete in a hundred new ways with one another, almost like free women who compete by means of the many luxurious varieties of their own bright, colorful, beautifully draped garmentures. To be sure, there is no danger of mistaking the brief, slight, dramatically revealing tunic of a slave with the concealing robes and veils of a free woman. I noted, again, the slave in the white, black-striped tunic. It was not unattractive. She had good legs.

I pulled a little at the bracelets which held my hands confined behind my back. How different this is from my former world, I thought. Here one thinks nothing of lovely, collared, back-braceleted, briefly tunicked slaves moving about in a crowd. Such a striking contrast with the others about, those well robed, so fully clothed! But how taken for granted here such beauties are! It is no more than a cultural commonplace. But on my former world this sort of thing would attract a great deal of attention, say, the appearance in a crowd of a lovely young woman, barefoot or sandaled, half naked, briefly tunicked, her neck in a collar, clearly locked on her neck, her hands braceleted closely, helplessly, behind her, perhaps even on a leash.

“Oh!” I said, for a cloth had been, from behind, suddenly slipped over my head. It was looped twice about my head and knotted in the back. I was blindfolded! “Master?” I said.

There was laughter from about.

I felt my head pulled back by the hair, and I was then, head back, facing upward, toward the billowing, striped awning, which I could not see.

I felt harsh masculine lips crush my lips.

I could not move, for the hand in my hair.

I could not speak, for the pressure.

Too, I had not been given permission to speak.

Then I moaned, and squirmed, and fought, and feared, and involuntarily trembled, for I sensed my body might yield to him.

How could I help myself?

I was a slave!

I feared that, in a moment, I might, to the amusement of those about, press myself piteously against him.

Had he touched me, as one might touch a slave, so confidently, so certainly, and possessively, I feared I would have leaped to his touch, even spasmed.

Then the lips were gone, and I heard more laughter from those about.

I leaped to my feet, in consternation, in misery, unable to see, helpless, jerking against the bracelets.

“Kneel down, slut,” said an unpleasant masculine voice, and I instantly knelt, frightened, before the tier, putting my head to the cement.

“She is indeed a slut,” said another voice.

Had they detected the incipience of my response?

“Worse,” commented another, “a slave.”

“How helpless they are,” said another.

“She is a hot little beast,” said another.

“Ten tarsk-bits for her,” said another.

There was more laughter.

I heard, amongst the laughter, the peels of feminine mirth. I thought, angrily, put you in a tunic, and blindfold you, and subject you to such attentions, and see if you are any different!

A bit later, I felt myself drawn up, kneeling, and hands undid the blindfold. “Master,” I cried, “what was done to me!”

I was quickly, brutally cuffed.

My face stung. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“I do not recall,” said he in whose charge I was, “that you were given permission to speak.”

I looked at him, wildly, pathetically.

“You may speak,” he said.

With him were the Lady Bina, with her program, Astrinax, and the guard, Lykos.

“What was done to me!” I exclaimed, tearfully.

“You were put to lip rape,” he said. “You were not used under the tier, were you?” he asked.

“No, Master,” I said.

“It does not matter, anyway,” he said, “as you have had, as I understand it, your slave wine.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He held up, before me, a tarsk-bit. He handed it to the Lady Bina, who placed it in her pouch.

“I did not see who did it to me,” I said.

“No matter,” he said. “The tarsk-bit was paid.”

“The tarsk-bit?” I said.

“Look there,” he said, “and there,” pointing.

I followed his direction, and, in two places, I saw a slave on a tier, one below and well to my right, and another down, four tiers, to my left. They were blindfolded. I then saw another slave, looking down the tiers toward a vendor, which slave suddenly stiffened, fighting a blindfold wrapped about her face. I saw a large fellow hold her head back, and feast, at his pleasure, on her lips. She struggled, helplessly. I wondered if it were the same fellow who had pressed himself upon me.

“It is a jollity of the Vennan races, a game,” he said, “to harvest kisses from the lips of unattended kajirae.”

“So why was I unattended?” I asked.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“I am in your charge,” I said. “Why did you leave me? Why did you not stay, and protect me?”

“The tarsk-bit was paid,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“You are not a free woman,” he said. “You are kajira. Surely, on the street, in the market, or elsewhere, you have received a sudden slap, or pinch, on the fundament, when unattended, even though you were in the tunic of a woman’s slave?”

“Yes,” I said, angrily.

“Perhaps, even,” he said, “an occasional kiss.”

“Perhaps,” I said. It did not seem to me that he, or the Lady Bina, or the beast, needed to know about such things. Occasionally a fellow had taken me in his arms, suddenly, unexpectedly, held me to him, and kissed me. Such things were done almost as one might glance at a sunset, ruffle the fur of a pet sleen, or bestow a familiar slap on the flank of a kaiila. I was, after all, goods, a property girl, a collar girl, a vendible animal, a purchasable, perhaps lovely, thigh-branded beast, a female slave, a mere kajira. Once a ruffian, lounging against a wall, as I made my way to the market, summoned me to him. As he was a free person, I had to obey, of course. He put me before him, and said, “Clasp your hands behind your back.” I did so, of course. Much may be done with an unattended slave. Is she to disobey a free person? He then put his hand under my chin, lifted it a little, and said, “Slave lips.” He was very close to me. I complied, and waited, eyes closed, and then he took my head, and pressed my lips to the wall. “Kiss it, slut,” he said, “for three Ehn; then be about your business.” I remained thusly, my lips pressed against the wall, my hands clasped behind my back, for three Ehn. I counted the Ehn, for fear he might be behind me, watching. Some passers-by laughed. Doubtless I was not the first slave they had seen, so discomfited. I then, tears in my eyes, my fists clenched, then better aware of my slavery, left. Too, I was distraught. He had been cruel, but had I been found wanting? Was I so poor a slave, so unattractive a slave? Had my lips not been formed, at his command, as a slave’s lips, readied for attention? Had I not, eyes closed, waited, until I had been ignored or rejected, and my pursed lips put to a stone wall, against which I foolishly stood, my hands clasped behind my back, while strangers, some amused, passed by? How helpless, weak, and meaningless I felt! I had been neglected, ignored, and scorned, and not scorned as any slave is scorned, for she is a slave, but scorned even for the purposes of a slave! Is a woman fastened in a collar only to be fastened in a collar? Is its placement meaningless? Is that all she is to be left with, that there is a collar on her neck which she cannot remove? Was I such as to be put aside, dismissed, collared? Was I adjudged of no interest? Could I be so lacking? Was I so poor a slave? Was I not attractive, even beautiful, at least a little? My sense of my own worth, as a woman and a slave, was shaken. Was I so lacking? The young men I had known on my former world would have sought my kiss. Had I been interested in such things they would have been eager to pay for it! If I were truly of no interest to men why would I, and my sisters of the house, beauties all, have been brought to this world, for its girl markets, to be stripped, trained, caged, exhibited, and sold? I recalled a paga girl I had seen soliciting outside her master’s tavern. I had thrilled to her profound, vital, needful sensuousness. I felt a need to reassure myself, perhaps because I was a woman’s slave, and not a man’s slave. Of what value is a slave if she, in her collar, is not of interest to masters? I waited in the street for a time, and then chose a handsome, young Tarnster. Such, I was sure, would be interested in the lips of a slave. I trusted he would not strike me from him. I hurried before him, and knelt down, blocking his way, humbly, and seized his left leg, and pressed my head, lowered, against his leg, as I had seen the paga girl do. I then lifted my head and eyes to him, and said, as she had, “A slave would be kissed, Master.” “Very well,” he said, and lifted me up, and spent a few Ihn with me. “Is Master pleased?” I asked. “Very much,” he said, “which is your tavern?” “Ela, Master,” I cried, hurrying away, “I have only the tavern of my beauty.” I was much pleased, but, too, I was uneasy, for his touch had made me restless. I had suffered little in the way of slave fires, but I was a slave, and well aware of the deeper meanings of my collar. My most memorable experience along these lines, of course, was the interlude with the Metal Worker himself, in the vicinity of Six Bridges. After he had saved me from the girls of the house of Daphne, he had dealt with me at his leisure, and as he pleased, my hands incapacitated, unable to interfere, held over my head, balancing the laundry, my fingers, as he went about his inquiries, clawing into that large, soft bundle of sparkling sheets and linen which I dared not release lest it fall and be soiled, arousing me until, I fear, I had well shown myself, to his satisfaction, as he had apparently intended, slave.

“You were not concerned,” I asked, “with what was done to me?”

“The tarsk-bit was paid,” he said.

“Did you see?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“All of you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“The Lady Bina,” he said, “was quite pleased.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Yes, Allison,” said the Lady Bina. “I was curious to see if you would be selected for the game.”

“Mistress?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “It seems clear that you are of interest to men, or to some men.”

I was silent.

“I think,” said Astrinax, “we will need two or three more.”

I gathered then that I might not be the only slave for whom the Lady Bina might have use. I gathered, too, that one’s interest to men might be pertinent to the use, or uses, she might have in mind. But that is common to kajirae, that they are of interest to men. Why else would men brand and collar them?

“Did you note the behavior of our little barbarian?” Desmond asked the Lady Bina.

“Oh?” said the Lady Bina.

“She started to squirm,” said Astrinax, “and was on the verge of beginning to yield, as the collar slut she is.”

“Mistress!” I protested.

“In another moment,” said Desmond, “she would have thrust her pretty little body, bare under the nothing of rep cloth, against him.”

“Master!” I said.

“Come now, pretty slut,” said Astrinax, “it was obvious. Many about noted it.”

“What do you think, noble Lykos?” asked the Lady Bina.

“She has nice thighs,” he said. “She might, in a good market, bring nearly a silver tarsk. She is a hot little tart. That is important. I think she would do well on an alcove chain.”

“The taverns are interested in such girls,” said Desmond.

“Have your slave fires been lit?” asked Astrinax.

“No!” I said.

Desmond was looking upon me, grinning.

“No!” I said.

I knew, of course, that I would be no more immune than any other slave should men decide to do such things to me, making me then irremediably their needful, begging slave.

“It is pleasant,” said Desmond, regarding me, “to stoke such fires in a slave’s belly.”

I looked away.

How I hated him!

He saw me as what I was, a slave.

And never had I met a man before whom I felt weaker, more helpless, more slave.

“We will need some more men, too,” said Astrinax.

“Why is that?” asked the Lady Bina.

“For the wagons,” he said.

I did not understand that, as it seemed one driver for a wagon, particularly as the wagons were small, would be sufficient. There were, as of now, three wagons. Astrinax drove one, Lykos the last, and Desmond mine, the second wagon. Indeed, the tharlarion of the second wagon, my wagon, was attached, by its nose ring, to the back of the first wagon, and the tharlarion of the third wagon was attached, by its nose ring, to the back of my wagon. Accordingly, it seemed three Drovers, or teamsters, would be enough. To be sure, I knew little about such matters, and, possibly, Astrinax might be returning to Ar, rather than accompanying us into the Voltai.

“The race is about to begin,” said Astrinax.

“On what have you wagered, Desmond?” inquired the Lady Bina.

“Blue, as I would in Harfax, Lady,” he said.

“I thought, this time, I would hazard yellow,” she said.

“An excellent wager,” said Astrinax.

“Loyalty is admirable, Desmond,” said the Lady Bina, “but not invariably prudential.”

“One supposes not,” he said.

“Is this all there is to it,” I asked, “that I was taken in hand, blindfolded, and kissed, and that is all?”

“The tarsk-bit was paid,” said he in whose charge I was.

“All?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“I,” I said, “would favor red.”

“Why?” asked Desmond.

“Because it is not blue,” I said.

“I see,” he said.

“What are you doing, Master?” I said.

I was turned about, and the blindfold, retrieved from his belt, where he had placed it, keeping it at hand, was again wrapped about my head, twice, and knotted, behind my head, and I was, as before, securely and perfectly blindfolded. I jerked at the bracelets which held my hands behind me, in frustration.

“I will be unable to see the races,” I said.

“Possibly,” he said.

“It matters not to me, Master,” I said.

“And what does that matter?” he asked.

“Master!” I said.

“Your permission to speak has been rescinded,” he said.

I felt tears spring to my eyes, dampening the cloth of their prison.

I was not permitted speech!

On the tier, I writhed in helplessness, and fury, back-braceleted and on the short ring chain, and then the race began, and I could not see it. I heard movements about me! I sensed the agitation, the diverse partisanships abounding about, the excitement of the crowd, heard the cries, the cheering, the stamping, the screams and shouts, and I could see nothing!

It does not matter I said to myself, reassuring myself of my lack of interest in such things.

I sometimes heard cries of protest, even of rage, for some reason, which I did not understand, and, twice, I heard gasps of dismay, or of fear, perhaps as a beast fell, or was forced from the track.

It was nothing to me, of course.

I had never seen the bipedalian tharlarion compete. Also, actually, as a matter of fact, I had never seen the smaller, quicker quadrupedalian tharlarion compete either. There are classes of such beasts. I had seen, earlier, some races of the heavier-class quadrupedalian tharlarion, the larger, more ponderous beasts, the maneuvering, the shifting about for position, the lurching, thrusting, and buffeting, the grunting, the crowding. Below, near the rail, one could sense the ground shaking beneath their tread. These were similar to war tharlarion whose charge can shatter phalanxes, breastworks, palisades, and field walls.

You must understand that I did not care that I was blindfolded.

Who was interested in such things anyway?

I sensed people rising up, screaming, about me.

How helpless and frustrated I was! How I loathed the brute in whose keeping I was. I would be treated not as I might wish or please, but precisely as he would wish or please.

I was collared!

How excited was the crowd!

How often might a kajira have the opportunity to see such things? Did I prefer the shackles looped about a central bar, and the tied-shut canvas of a wooden slave wagon?

Too, this was all new and different, and thrilling, to me. I was not natively Gorean. I was only a slave girl, brought from a different world. I so wanted to see, to realize what was going on, to be a part, if only as a slave, of what was going on about me.

I tried to put my head back, and peep beneath the blindfold, if only to perceive an undecipherable line of meaningless light, but I could see nothing. The device, twice wrapped and then knotted, had been put about my head broadly, in the Gorean fashion.

I moaned to myself, helplessly.

I decided I must not yield, I must give him no satisfaction.

But I realized, almost simultaneously, that my concerns, so important to me, would be absolutely immaterial to him.

I might remain in darkness, or petition him for relief, as a slave her master.

I endured my privation for two races

Then, wildly, desperately, in misery, I threw myself to my knees at the feet of he in whose keeping I was, pressed my sodden cheek to his leg, and then began to kiss his leg, repeatedly, beggingly.

I felt his hand in my hair, not tightly, but holding my head in place.

“I beg to speak, Master,” I said.

“Speak,” he said.

“I would see,” I said.

“Do you beg it?” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said. “Oh, yes, Master!”

He then undid the blindfold.

“A new race will soon begin,” said Astrinax, turning to Desmond. “May I place a bet for you?”

“On blue,” said he at whose knee I knelt. A coin passed from him to Astrinax.

The Metal Worker put his hand near me, and I put down my head, and kissed it. “Thank you, Master,” I said.

“You are a pretty little thing, Allison,” he said.

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

“Master,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I am pinioned,” I said, “helplessly so. Perhaps Master might adjust my tunic at the left shoulder.”

I had been concerned with this for some time.

“No,” he said.

“‘No’?” I said.

“No,” he said. “I like it the way it is.”

“I see,” I said.

“Perhaps it might improve your price, a tarsk-bit or two.”

“As Master pleases,” I said.

He was a beast, of course, but then what girl would object to her price being improved a bit?

“I am sure,” he said, “the fellow who pressed himself upon an unattended kajira did not object.”

“Doubtless not,” I said. “Perhaps it was to that tiny inadvertence of habiliments that I owed the attention bestowed upon me.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Even in a serving slave’s tunic you would be an attractive little prey animal.”

“‘Prey animal’?”

“Yes,” he said. “An interesting little quarry beast.”

“I see,” I said.

“Surely you are aware of how men see women,” he said.

I was silent. I was afraid. But, too, I was thrilled. We are sought, hunted, captured, and owned, possessed by masters, who will deal with us as they please. They make us theirs, in reality, and law.

“The day is warm,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Who would you favor in the next race?” he asked.

“Blue,” I said. “Blue, Master.”

That seemed to me appropriate, as it was in his keeping that I was.

“An excellent choice,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Allison,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Your permission to speak is revoked,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

So I was not then to speak. He did not care for me to do so. It was then as before. I was silenced.

There were four more races, and in some there were as many twenty or thirty tharlarion encircling the long track as many as five times. The competitions were at times unruly, even violent, but no riders or beasts were lost. There are, of course, races of different length, and some beasts are favored in shorter races, and some in longer races, depending on differences in speed and stamina. It is similar with racing slaves, bred or otherwise, and kaiila. Some are superior at short distances, others at longer distances.

For the remainder of the day, to my relief, I was not left unattended. Either Astrinax, Lykos, or Master Desmond remained with me. When the Lady Bina went below to the tables, the shops, or such, she was always accompanied. I gathered that she was never to be left unattended. In this I suspected something of the will of Lord Grendel.

At the end of the day we were making our way from the tiers, descending toward the broad open area between the rail and the stands, from there to exit toward the wagon-and-cart yard, some adjacent inns, and some of the closer camps. Indeed, during the races, it is often crowded, for many prefer to watch from there, possibly for the better view of the beasts, and the greater proximity to the betting tables.

Debris was about, useless betting tickets, discarded programs, tasta sticks, food wrappers, and such. Such things would be cleaned up by male work slaves. I saw such a fellow, brawny, with a heavy collar on his neck. Such as I were not for such as he. To be sure, we might be cast to one or more, as a punishment, or, perhaps, put at the disposal of one, as a reward for, say, a successful fighting slave. Interestingly, we had the sense that such as they, even in their collars, were our masters. On Gor, I had the sense that, in some natural sense, perhaps in the order of nature, we belonged to men. Not all of us, of course, were owned, and collared.

I suddenly stopped, startled, and almost cried out, but realized I could not do so, as I had not received permission to speak.

“What is wrong?” asked Desmond.

I wanted to weep with elation. I jerked at the bracelets, holding my wrists behind me.

The two of them regarded me, disbelievingly.

Then, wisely or not, but unable to help ourselves, we rushed to one another, they in the brief blue-and-yellow tunics, the Slaver’s colors, the chain on their neck, joining them, and I.

They, too, had their small wrists pinioned behind their back, as was required of kajirae in the Vennan stadium.

But, weeping, sobbing with joy, we kissed one another, I them, and they me, again and again.

I realized, suddenly, that they, too, as I, did not have permission to speak. They, as I, doubtless in their training, had learned fear, and discipline. In my joy, overwhelmed with emotion, I had inadvertently fled from my heeling position, behind and to the left of he in whose charge I was, to approach them, but he did not rebuke me. I think all there were surprised, the Lady Bina, Master Desmond, Astrinax, and Lykos, and the keeper of the pair on the chain, with his switch, who was in his holiday regalia, that of the Slavers. Often enough, they wear dark robing or tunics, with only a small pair of chevrons visible, one blue, one yellow, on the left sleeve of their robe, near the wrist, to indicate their caste. Sometimes they do not identify their caste, as when, say, approaching free women.

We pulled futilely at the bracelets on our wrists; were it not for the obdurate impediments of masters imposed upon us, we would have doubtless embraced one another, joyfully.

As it was, tears streamed down our cheeks.

Perhaps it was the slaver who first saw fit to impose order on this small scene.

“Down!” he snapped, and his two barefoot charges, in their tiny tunics, immediately knelt, with their heads lowered.

How moving it was to see them as slaves!

And how well they had been trained!

And doubtless this was the first time they had seen me, as well, as what I now was, barefoot, tunicked, and collared, a slave.

“Let us see them,” said the Lady Bina.

“Lift your heads,” said the slaver, and his two charges complied, instantly.

“Pretty,” said Astrinax, appraisingly.

I noted that their knees were placed closely together. I wondered how long that would be permitted to them.

Our eyes met, those of the two slaves, and mine.

Each was nicely collared, the thin, flat band, encircling the neck, closely. Their collars would be fastened on them, the lock at the back of the neck.

Both were now kajirae, and lovely. I thought they were now even more attractive, as I thought myself to be, as well, than they had been before, in the house, in the sorority, on Earth.

“You may speak,” said the slaver to his charges.

“Allison!” they cried.

I looked wildly, piteously, at he in whose charge I was. “You may speak,” he said.

“Jane!” I cried. “Eve!”

“Get on your knees,” said he in whose charge I was.

I knelt, instantly.

“Jane, Jane!” I said. “Eve! Eve!”

“Allison!” they cried, joyfully.