Conspirators of Gor

Chapter Eighteen

The road here was narrow, and rough.

I looked up, at the stone channel of the aqueduct, some hundred feet over my head.

I do not think the road really has a name, or, if it does, I did not know it. It is called, however, like other such roads, the Aqueduct Road, for it follows the line of the aqueduct, to enable the approach of crews and service wagons, which tend regularly to the massive conduit, bringing fresh water from the snows and streams of the Voltai to Ar. This was the Vennan aqueduct, one of some five supplying the city.

Master Desmond had informed me that the Vennan aqueduct, the third longest, was some eight hundred and ten pasangs long.

Eve, Jane, and I were identically tunicked, as I had been before, in brief white rep cloth. Too, we now had identical collars. Given the roughness of the terrain, we were now sandaled. We were grateful for this.

We had left Venna four days ago.

“I cannot read my new collar, Master,” I had said to Master Desmond.

“No,” he said, “you are illiterate. I like you that way. It makes you more helpless.”

“A girl,” I said, “would like to know what is on her collar.”

“Come closer,” he said.

I then stood close to him, and lifted my chin, that he might the more easily read my collar.

“You seem uneasy,” he said.

“Master is very close,” I said.

“You are very close,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You would like to know what is on your collar?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You may then,” he said, “petition me properly. Kneel, kiss my feet, and make your request.”

I knelt, and pressed my lips to his feet, and kissed them.

I was thrilled to do this, before this man. How right it seemed to me that I should be so before him. But what was he to me? Could he be, I wondered, my master? Again and again I kissed his feet, I now only a slave, and he so far above me, standing, formidable and powerful, a Gorean male. How far I was now from my former world, from the former Allison Ashton-Baker.

“I would know what is on my collar, Master,” I said.

“Do you beg it?” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He then indicated that I should stand, and he took my collar in his hands, and lifted it a little.

“Master?” I said.

“It is very simple,” he said. “It says only ‘I belong to Lady Bina’.”

“There is nothing about the house of Epicrates, or Emerald Street?” I asked.

“No,” he said, “but do not be concerned. Many collars are similarly simple.”

“And if I were in your collar?” I asked.

“You are a bold slave,” he said. “It would presumably be something like ‘I am the property of Desmond of Harfax’.”

“It would not even contain my name?” I said.

“One may then change your name as often as one might wish, without changing the collar,” he said.

“It is fortunate I am not in your collar,” I said.

“It is perhaps more fortunate than you realize,” he said, quietly.

“I hate you,” I said.

“That might make it more pleasant to have you at my feet,” he said.

* * * *

The day’s races had been recently finished and our party, the Lady Bina, Astrinax, Lykos, Desmond, and myself, had descended the tiers, and were preparing to leave the grounds when we had encountered a neck-chained, matched set of slaves, both barbarians.

“In what way,” inquired the Lady Bina, “is this a matched set?”

“They are both barbarians,” had said the slaver, “and, apparently, speak the same barbarous tongue. Your girl seems to know them.”

“Can you speak to them, Allison?” asked the Lady Bina. “In their barbarous tongue?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “It is called English.”

“There are several barbarian languages, Lady,” said the slaver.

“Speak to them, a little, in that English,” said the Lady Bina.

Words burst forth amongst us, eager, wild, grateful words. “We are all collared, all slaves!” I cried. “Yes, yes,” cried Jane and Eve. It seemed that my apprehension, which had been separate from the others, had been an accident of my location in the house. The rest had been brought to the parlor, stripped, bound hand and foot, gagged, and placed in a truck, as though they might have been kindling, and taken to a transportation point. Apparently Mrs. Rawlinson had much enjoyed the scene, observing the reduction of her former charges to the status of captures destined for Gorean markets. Jane and Eve had been brought to Venna. I, and perhaps others, had been delivered to Ar. Others must have been variously distributed.

“That is enough,” said the Lady Bina, sharply. We were then silent, frightened. One obeys free persons. One hopes to please them. One does not wish to be punished.

“Interesting,” said the Lady Bina.

“Yes,” said Lykos, regarding Eve.

The fair Earth-girl slave put down her head.

“Yes,” said Astrinax, scrutinizing Jane, as a slave may be scrutinized.

I saw that Jane knew herself so scrutinized. She looked to the side, her lip trembling.

I then saw my friends, Jane and Eve, familiar from a thousand interactions on a former world, afresh, as they now were, as I had never thought of them before, as mere slaves, as lovely, exquisite, delicate animals, half naked, purchasable, timid under the eyes of men. But why not, I thought. They were young, they were beautiful, they were desirable. And they were now, as I, on Gor.

How different were things now, from my former world!

How far were we all, now, from the banalities, the boredoms, the competitions, and trivialities of the sorority!

How meaningless we had been, how worthless!

We now had worth, some value, at least what coin we might bring. And we must strive to please!

We were now such that men would have their will of us.

We were slaves.

And had I seen something in Eve’s eyes, before she thrust down her head, frightened, before Lykos, and had I not noted a momentary start in the eyes of Jane, before hurrying to look away from the gaze of Astrinax?

How can a kneeling slave, looking up, not wonder if he who looks down upon her is not her master?

Surely she knows she has a price.

Perhaps he before whom she kneels will pay it. She does not know. She will then be his. She will then be bought.

The Lady Bina then addressed herself to the men. “Can you understand them?” she asked.

“No,” said the slaver. “No,” said the others.

“Nor I,” said the Lady Bina.

“I assure you that they are competent in Gorean,” said the slaver.

“I trust so,” said the Lady Bina.

“It is certified,” said the slaver.

It was in no way unusual, after the brief indulgence accorded us, consequent upon the curiosity of the Lady Bina, who was apparently curious as to the nature of our native speech, that we had been abruptly silenced.

In the presence of masters it is expected, of course, that the slave will speak in the language of the masters. Not to do so is to invite the lash. Whatever she says is to be comprehensible to the master. In all ways, verbal and otherwise, the slave is to be open to the master. This is fitting, as she is a slave.

“You are offering them, I take it,” said the Lady Bina.

“Certainly,” said the slaver.

“But you have failed to sell them,” she said, “and the races are over.”

“For the day,” said the slaver.

“But you do not wish to return to the house with them still on your chain,” she said.

“I would rather not,” he said.

“I wonder,” said the Lady Bina, “if these two slaves might be of interest to men.”

“Certainly they would be of interest to men,” said the slaver. “They are lovely. They would grace any block.”

“Astrinax,” she said, “do you think these two slaves might be of interest to men?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Assess them,” said the Lady Bina.

“Remove their bracelets, and the neck chain,” said Astrinax.

This was done.

“Tunics off,” said Astrinax.

I turned aside while they were assessed.

“Oh!” said Jane.

I heard Eve whimper.

“Kneel,” said Astrinax.

Both, I gathered, were found suitable for slave meat.

“I will let you have both for ten silver tarsks,” said the slaver.

“One, for both,” said the Lady Bina.

“Impossible,” said the slaver.

“You may as well debracelet Allison,” said the Lady Bina to Desmond. “We are leaving the grounds.”

I rubbed my wrists, the bracelets removed.

“Both for five silver tarsks,” said the slaver.

“They are barbarians,” said the Lady Bina.

“Then four, for both,” said the slaver.

“We are looking for cheap girls,” said the Lady Bina, “for we are going into the Voltai.”

“No, please, Mistress!” cried Jane, and then, frightened, put her hand before her mouth. “Forgive me, Mistress!” she begged. Clearly Eve was in consternation, as well.

“You may speak,” said the Lady Bina.

“Not the Voltai!” said Jane, kneeling with Eve, wearing only their collars, their knees in the dirt. “There are beasts, bandits!”

“You need have no fear,” said the Lady Bina, “for obviously you are not to be sold for a reasonable price.”

“Surely you could not be thinking of taking merchandise of this quality into the Voltai?” said the slaver.

“One silver tarsk for both,” said the Lady Bina, “if you throw in the tunics. They will do until something more suitable may be arranged.”

“More suitable?” said the slaver, looking at me, grinning. I stepped back. My tunic was such that I might have easily been thought to be a man’s slave.

“Let us return to the wagons,” said the Lady Bina.

“Three,” said the slaver. “No? Very well then, one for each!”

I was not a good judge in such matters. A girl often does not know what she will bring until she had been thrust from the block. I did know that I had never brought as much as a full silver tarsk.

I looked upon Jane and Eve. Slaves are often naked, and one thinks little of looking upon them, and, commonly, they think little of being so looked upon. Still, I had known them from my former world. Our eyes met, and they lowered their hands. I saw that they now realized they were slaves.

“The tunics must be included,” said the Lady Bina.

We were at the gate of the grounds when we heard the slaver’s exasperated cry, “Hold! Done!”

We turned about and watched him approach. He had Jane’s upper left arm in his right hand, and Eve’s upper right arm in his left hand, and was conducting them toward us. Each had her tunic thrust crosswise in her mouth.

The Lady Bina withdrew a silver tarsk from her pouch and gave it to the slaver.

“They will be reluctant to enter the Voltai,” the slaver warned the Lady Bina.

“We will keep them well chained until we are well in the Voltai,” said the Lady Bina. “Then we will unchain them and they may run off, if they wish, to be eaten by animals.”

Jane and Eve knelt before the Lady Bina, looking up at her, pathetically, and, against the tunics thrust in their mouths, whimpered.

“Of course,” said the Lady Bina. “You may clothe yourselves.”

The two slaves gratefully slipped into their tunics, drawn over their head, fastened at the left shoulder, with a disrobing loop. Their tunics, I noted, were not much more ample than mine. When one is offering a woman, of course, one wants it to be clear that she may be worth buying. To be sure, long ago, at the party, we had, all three of us, been even more scandalously clothed, for we had been camisked.

Desmond, at a nod from the Lady Bina, fastened Jane and Eve together with the bracelets which he had removed from me a bit ago, the left wrist of Jane fastened to the right wrist of Eve.

Astrinax removed his belt, briefly, and, looping it, struck Jane twice, sharply, across the back of the thighs, and then served Eve identically, and they cried out, softly, and better understood themselves slaves. Astrinax then replaced his belt, and we continued on our way.

I went beside Jane and Eve, at Eve’s side. “We are slaves,” said Eve, “slaves!” “We are all slaves,” I said. “We are afraid to enter the Voltai,” said Eve. “It will be done with us as masters please,” I said. “Yes,” said Jane, “it will be done with us as masters please.”

Lykos was a spare fellow, dark-haired, familiar with the wicked blade, called the gladius, who had been hired by Astrinax in one of the camps between Ar and Venna. He was, as far as I knew, a mercenary, with a possible background in the Scarlet Caste. It was well that we had at least one such with the wagons, for the two beasts, Lord Grendel and the blind Kur, who were usually concealed, or shadowing the wagons from a distance, could scarcely accompany the Lady Bina about, for example, to the races. I did not know the caste of Astrinax, but it seemed likely, if he had caste, that he was of the minor Merchants. Master Desmond, of course, as far as I knew at the time, was of the Metal Workers. He was seldom visibly armed, but I supposed that he would have a weapon somewhere, perhaps in his pack, at least a knife, as few male Goreans are likely to be without a weapon of some kind. Slaves, of course, are seldom permitted to touch weapons. They might lose a hand for doing so, if not be cast to leech plants or sleen. This had been so ingrained upon me, in my training, that I was afraid even to look upon a weapon, beside a chair, hanging on a wall, or such.

Astrinax, I recalled, had wished to hire two or three more men. It did not seem likely, however, that he would be successful, as few fellows, even of the Scarlet Caste, cared to enter the Voltai, particularly on some obscure mission which might prove to be of some indefinite duration.

So it was our last night in Venna, before leaving for the Voltai.

Astrinax would make one last try, it seemed, in one of Venna’s larger, more popular paga taverns, The Kneeling Slave. He would be accompanied by Desmond and Lykos. The Lady Bina would remain near the wagons, in the camp’s “palace of free women,” a small, closely guarded area, scarcely a palace, more a small house, supplied with certain amenities, cakes, ka-la-na, and such. It was also within earshot of our wagons, within one of which was Lord Grendel. The Lady Bina enjoyed the company of free women, which she found instructive, and, in its way, profitable. I well recalled Lady Delia, the companion of the pottery merchant, Epicrates. As a slave, I trusted that the Lady Bina, who was an apt pupil in many things, would not learn too much about the character and behavior of Gorean free women, or, at least, would not strive to adopt or emulate it. In the house of Tenalion, I had heard certain slaves, being readied for their sale, beseeching Priest-Kings that they not fall into the clutches of a free woman. I had gathered, more than once, that I was fortunate to be owned by the Lady Bina, who, while often demanding, petty, and vain, entertained toward me, as far as I knew, not the least animus or hostility. This was quite different from being the slave of a typical Gorean free woman, particularly if one should be attractive. Such slaves, it seems, can seldom please, and they are often scolded, humiliated, and beaten. If they so much as look at a man they may be tied and lashed.

So I had learned, earlier in the day, that Astrinax would visit one of Venna’s more patronized taverns, The Kneeling Slave, to search again for two or three fellows to join our small caravan. He would be accompanied by Lykos, whose opinion, because of his blade skills, it seems, would be relevant and perhaps important. Indeed, from what I had heard of the Voltai, I gathered that blade skills might be as important as wagon skills. Too, I learned that Master Desmond would accompany them. “I need a goblet of paga,” he had told me. “And what of me, Master?” I had inquired. “Am I to be put on the common chain at the camp, or am I to be fastened to the slave post, nearer the wagons, with Jane and Eve, or am I to be merely left in the slave wagon, shackled to the central bar, or what?” “Have you ever been in a paga tavern?” he asked. “Certainly not,” I said. “Would you like to see one?” he asked. “If I were to exhibit enthusiasm,” I said, “would you then be certain to shackle me in the wagon?” “And tie shut the canvas?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Then,” I said, “Master, I would very much like to go.” “Do you think you can take it?” he asked. “I would suppose so,” I said. “I would think so, too,” he said, “as The Kneeling Slave, as I understand it, is a large, clean, expensive, well-appointed, superior sort of establishment, one catering to an elegant, elite sort of clientele. The girls may be belled, but they are not even chained, and they are clothed.” “I see,” I said. “It is not like the dingy holes in which one such as you might serve as a paga girl, nude and chained.” “Oh?” I said. “I understand it that one may even stand upright in some of the better alcoves,” he said. “I see,” I said. “I will take you along,” he said, “that you may see some truly beautiful slaves.” “And at what time,” I asked, “will Master call for the girl.” “You will be unshackled after supper,” he said. “Will Lady Bina accompany us?” I asked. “Certainly not,” he said. “Free women are not permitted in paga taverns.” “Oh?” I said. “Rejoice,” he said, “it is one place kajirae need not fear free women.” “I do not fear free women,” I said. “That is because you have never been owned by one,” he said, “that is, a typical free woman.” “I see,” I said. “It is dangerous for a free woman to enter such a place,” he said. “They may be marked by slavers. It is commonly supposed that a free woman who enters such a place courts the collar, and wants her bare feet in the yellow-dampened sawdust of the slave block. Sometimes a free woman, as an adventure, will disguise herself as a slave, even to the collar, and enter such an establishment.” “How bold they are,” I said. “And sometimes,” he said, “they end up in a different collar, one to which they have no key.” “I understand,” I said. “It is easy,” he said, “to transport a woman from a city, nude, bound, gagged, in a slave sack.” “Doubtless,” I said.

It was after dark when I approached the slave post.

“Who is there?” whispered Jane.

“It is I, Allison,” I whispered. “I have brought you something to eat.”

I could not well see the slaves, but, when they moved, I could hear the linkages which secured them to the post. Each was on a chain which led to a collar. Further, the left ankle of each was chained to the post, as well. Accordingly, they were twice secured. Beyond that, each was ankle shackled and wrist shackled. The Lady Bina, it seemed, had taken the warning of the slaver seriously.

“We have taken our gruel, face down, from the pans,” said Eve, bitterly.

“I have brought you some tiny honey cakes,” I whispered, “from the food cart of the masters.”

“You will be beaten,” said Jane.

“No,” I said. “It is with the permission of the Lady Bina.”

“The Mistress?” said Jane.

How easily, I thought, that word now comes to us!

“Yes,” I said. “Do not be concerned. They were left over. No one wanted them.”

“Garbage,” said Jane.

“I suppose so,” I said, “in a way.”

“Then when crumbs are found on our mouth, we will be whipped!” said Jane.

“I will take them away,” I said.

“No!” said Jane. “Please, no!”

“We have not had a sweet in weeks,” said Eve.

“Perhaps you remember how, on Earth,” I said, “we might indulge ourselves as we pleased.”

Small hands, shackled, reached toward me. “Please, Allison,” said Jane. “Please, please, Allison,” begged Eve.

I had brought four of the small honey cakes, and I gave two to each of the slaves.

They thrust them into their mouths, with soft cries of gratitude, and pleasure.

“Thank you, oh, thank you!” they breathed.

Simple things, a sweet, a kind word, a comb, a scrap of cloth, can mean much to a slave.

Then they shrank back, with a rustle of chain, frightened, for the light of a lantern had fallen upon us.

“What is going on here?” asked a voice, that of a camp guard, on his rounds.

“I am bringing food to the slaves, Master,” I said.

He held the lantern high, regarding us.

“Food is included in the post fee,” he said.

“This is extra, Master,” I said. “Tomorrow they are to be taken into the Voltai.”

“And what is in the Voltai, for pretty slaves?” he said.

“I do not know, Master,” I said.

Eve and Jane knelt by the post to which they were fastened, their heads down. I, too, remained kneeling, as I had been, as I was in the presence of a free man, though I lifted my head to the lantern. I could not well see the guard’s face.

He did not lower the lantern.

“Get your heads up,” said the guard to the chained slaves.

Instantly they complied.

At the post slaves are chained nude. A nude slave is quickly noticed. It is another way in which escape is made more difficult.

I remembered Eve and Jane from Earth, from the college, from the house. Here they were Gorean slave girls, naked, chained to a post.

“The Voltai,” said the guard. “Too bad.”

He then left.

“Tomorrow,” I said to the slaves, “you will receive new tunics, and collars. We are to be identically tunicked and collared.”

“You are well exhibited,” said Jane.

“As will be you,” I said.

“Mrs. Rawlinson arranged things well, did she not?” said Jane, shaking her chains.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do not let us be taken into the Voltai,” begged Eve.

“As I understand it,” I said, “we are to be back-braceleted and chained by the neck to the back of a wagon. At night, we will probably be shackled to the central bar, in a slave wagon. After a day or two, you will be released, to accompany the wagons.”

“We might then run,” said Eve.

“To be taken by bandits, or eaten alive by beasts,” said Jane.

“Stay near the wagons,” I said.

“There is no escape for us,” moaned Jane.

“No,” I said, “we are kajirae.”

I then prepared to withdraw.

“Thank you for the cakes,” said Jane.

“Yes,” said Eve, “so much!”

“You might remember,” I said, “that at the party we had been refused permission to feed, and had been denied lunch that day.”

“We were so hungry,” said Eve.

“Nora cast you some scraps to the floor,” said Eve, “on which you must feed, as a slave.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And she placed a pan of water on the floor from which you, head down, not using your hands, on all fours, were to drink, as a she-beast,” said Jane.

“I recall,” I said.

“Which water she spilled,” said Eve, “for which you were punished.”

I shuddered, and put my arms about me. How I had been punished, so mercilessly, so richly, switched! I had then, groveling and weeping under the blows, sensed that I was a slave, and should be a slave. I still feared Nora, terribly. I still thought of her as Mistress and myself as slave.

“Tonight,” I said, “I am to be taken to a paga tavern.”

“To be sold?” said Jane.

“I do not think so,” I said.

It could, of course, be done to me. It would have to be at the instructions of the Lady Bina, of course, my Mistress.

“I must let you rest,” I said.

“Here in the dirt, nude, in our chains,” said Jane.

“Do you not feel,” I whispered, “that they are right on you?”

There was a pause, in the darkness.

“Yes,” Jane whispered.

“Yes,” Eve whispered.

I then withdrew.

“Now those are slaves,” said Master Desmond, with an expansive gesture about the room, he in whose keeping I was.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I knelt beside the low table, about which Masters Desmond, Lykos and Astrinax sat, cross-legged.

It was a high tavern.

“Not one would go for less than two silver tarsks,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

I supposed men had much sweated in their bidding on them. I saw one fellow knot the wrists of a slave behind her and thrust her toward an alcove.

I recalled that he in whose keeping I was had said that in some of the alcoves a man might stand upright. The alcoves, I understood were furnished with a variety of conveniences, bracelets, chains, thongs, cords, scarves, hoods, switches, whips, and such, by means of which a girl might be encouraged to perform excellently, to do her best for one of her master’s customers. It was in her best interest to see that no client was disappointed, in the least.

I looked about. The girls were belled, on the left ankle. Each was clothed, in a sense. Each was silked, but diaphanously. In my brief, rep-cloth tunic, kneeling by the table, I felt myself less exhibited than they, in their soft, colorful, swirling silks.

I could understand how it was that men would seek the paga taverns.

Still, to one side, at more than one table, fellows were intent upon a game of kaissa.

How could that be? Were the slaves not beautiful enough?

I knew that a yearning slave, to one side, lying in her chains, must often await the outcome of such a game

There was music in the tavern, a czehar player, a drummer, utilizing the small tabor, two flautists, and a pair of kalika players. He with the czehar was the leader. That was common, as I was given to understand.

I could smell paga, and roast bosk.

A bit of silk flashed by. I drew my head back, for it had brushed across my face.

He in whose keeping I was laughed.

I did not care for that.

“Master?” I said.

“You were insulted,” he smiled.

“What flanks!” said Astrinax.

“Why do you not pursue her and tear her silk from her?” asked Lykos.

“She would tear out my hair, and beat me,” I said.

Master Astrinax had been, so far, unsuccessful in his recruiting. He had approached more than one table, without success.

Master Desmond, I noted, had an eye for the paga slaves. That was nothing to me, of course. Why, then, was I so angry?

“I have brought Allison here,” said Master Desmond, “that she might see what true slaves are like.”

“My collar is on my neck as well as theirs are on theirs,” I said, angrily.

“Then,” said he in whose charge I was, “you are a true slave, as well?”

“My thigh is marked,” I said, “my neck is collared, I am owned.”

“Then you are a true slave?” he said.

I looked at him. “Yes, Master,” I said, “Allison is a true slave.”

“Look at me, and say it,” he said.

“I am a true slave,” I said. “Allison is a true slave.”

“That is known to me,” he said.

“I hate you,” I said, tears in my eyes.

“Put your hand on her,” said Lykos.

“No!” I said.

“How would you like to be taken to an alcove?” asked he in whose charge I was.

How I had dreamed of being in his power, as a slave is in a master’s power.

“No,” I said, “no!”

“Why not?” he asked.

“You do not own me!” I said.

“True,” said Master Desmond.

“I have seen her like,” said Lykos. “Put her in your chains, and she will leap, begging, to your touch.”

“No, no!” I said.

“She would be an easy one to master,” said Lykos, “a little resistance, and then she is yours.”

“No, Masters!” I said.

“See that one!” said he in whose charge I was, pointing toward the paga vat.

She was indeed beautiful.

“See that auburn hair,” said Astrinax.

“That color,” said he in whose charge I was, “is prized in the markets.” Then he looked at me. “It is not common,” he said, “like brown hair.”

“Brown hair is beautiful,” said Lykos.

I cast him a look of gratitude.

“But common,” said he in whose charge I was. How angry I was with him.

“The hair of the Lady Bina,” said Lykos, “what I have seen of it, is beautiful.”

That was true. I had often seen the Lady Bina unhooded, unveiled, and her hair was strikingly blond, and her eyes were a soft, sometimes, sparkling blue. She was exquisite, in face and figure. I supposed, though the speculation was inappropriate, as she was a free woman, that she might bring a fine price off a block. I had sometimes wondered what she would look like, if marked and collared.

She with auburn hair, the paga slave, had dipped her goblet into the vat, and then, holding it with two hands, had turned, and conveyed it to a table.

“There is another beauty,” said Astrinax, gesturing with his head to another slave.

She had a swirl of long blond hair.

“That hair color is similar to that of the Lady Bina, is it not?” said Lykos.

“Perhaps, Master,” I said. It did not seem fitting to me, to speak of such things, to speak of the Mistress. To be sure, at the troughs, and in the Sul Market, I had heard more than one woman’s slave excoriate her Mistress, in the most detailed and vivid terms.

I noted that Master Desmond, whom I supposed of the Metal Workers, certainly he in whose charge I was, to my annoyance, was still appraising various paga slaves, as masters look upon such women.

“Master considers slaves,” I observed.

“See that one,” he said to me, pointing.

“Perhaps Master would care to gaze upon a slave closer at hand,” I said.

“Where?” he said.

“Here,” I said.

“You?” said he.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Surely you do not think to compare your beauty with that of the paga girls of The Kneeling Slave,” he said.

“On my former world I was thought quite lovely.”

“Perhaps for such a world,” he said.

“If we were such poor stuff,” I said, “we would not have been brought here, to be put in the collars of brutes such as yourself.”

“Some barbarians are of interest,” he said.

“You might learn much from the men of my world,” I said.

“Oh?” he said.

“They are sweet, pleasant, kind, gentle, sensitive, solicitous, accommodating, and wonderful, and they do what we want,” I said.

“Is that why the women of your world make such excellent slaves, why they lick and kiss our whips and feet, why they beg to be subdued and chained, owned and mastered, why they writhe in grateful ecstasy in the thongs and silken cords that render them helpless?” he asked.

“Ah!” said Astrinax. “See that one!”

“But, yes!” agreed he in whose care I was.

“You knew me in Ar,” I said. “You must have agreed to my keeping and management.”

“I like having you cook for me,” he said, “and I enjoy shackling you, such things.”

“I see,” I said. “I have heard that some men, for whatever reason, see a woman as their slave, as delicious, incomparable collar meat, special to them, and will not rest until she is chained at their feet.”

“And I have heard,” said he, “that some women, for whatever reason, look up at a fellow, from their knees, and recognize him as their master.”

“There is another beauty,” said Astrinax, indicating another paga girl.

“She has brown hair,” I said.

“At least,” said he in whose charge I was, “it is more than a hort or two in length.”

“My hair will grow,” I said.

“I think,” said he, “I will ask the Lady Bina to have it shaved off again.”

“Please do not, Master!” I said.

“You are going to be deferent, docile, obedient, humble, zealous, eager to please, and such, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master!” I said.

“What lovely girls,” said Astrinax.

“Superb,” said he in whose charge I was.

“But we have obtained no new men, no new swords,” said Lykos.

“Are all taverns like this, Master?” I asked Astrinax. I suspected not, for the apparent quality of the girls.

“No,” he said. “The prices here are such that the place should be burned down. In a typical tavern a drink is a single tarsk-bit, with which drink a girl may go, if you want her. Here, a drink is five tarsk-bits, five! And for all I know, the girl is extra.”

“No,” said Lykos. “She goes with the drink.”

“But five tarsk-bits!” said Astrinax.

“True,” granted Lykos, resignedly.

At that moment there was an exciting skirl of music, a flash of bells, a burst of color, a jangle of beads, and a cry of enthusiasm from the patrons, and a dancer was on the floor. After her entry she stood silent, not moving, posed, ready, on the floor. I could sense the anticipation, even the difference in breathing, of the men. Then the music began, softly, slowly, and the dancer, looking about herself, began to move, obedient to the melody of masters.

“Is she a slave?” I asked.

“Certainly,” said he in whose charge I was. “It may be hard to see, beneath the necklaces, so many of them, but there is a collar there, close-fitting, steel, and locked.”

“Much as mine,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“She is so beautiful,” I said. “She is so soft, so feminine, so utterly female, so vulnerable, so needful.”

“A slave,” said Lykos.

“It is so beautiful,” I said. “What is it called?”

“It is a form of dance fit for slaves, is it not?” he said.

“Yes,” I breathed, awed, rapt.

“Slave dance,” said he in whose charge I was.

“Slave dance,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said.

“I have seen something like it,” I said, “on my former world, but I scarcely dared look upon it.”

“It spoke to you of things which stirred you, things for which you longed, but which you feared, spoke to you of a distant, or forgotten, world, one a thousand times more real, I suspect, than that which you knew. It spoke to you of how women might be before men, as slaves, and how men might look upon women, as masters.”

“Yes,” I whispered, “but here it seems somehow different.”

“It is different here,” he said, “for this is such a world.”

“I think I know this dance, or sort of dance,” said Astrinax. “It will have its phases, its swiftness, and its slowness, its emotions, insolence, pride, defiance, apprehension, recognition, fear, struggle, defeat, surrender, and submission.”

I heard, it startling me, the cracking of a whip. The dancer reacted, as though struck, but the blade had not touched her. Occasionally it snapped again, and again, and, at the end of the dance, as is often the case in such dance, the dancer is prostrate, clearly submitted and owned. In this particular dance she was kneeling and the fellow with the whip was behind her. He placed the whip, coiled, against the back of her neck, and she lowered her head. The men about voiced their approval, and several smote their left shoulders with their right hand. Others uttered trilling noises or staccato bursts of sound. Others pounded on the tables. She then sprang to her feet and hurried from the floor, followed by the fellow with the whip.

“Paga, Master?” asked a girl.

She had not been summoned to our table!

Sometimes a master will summon a particular girl to his table. Masters have choices, of course, even if they are interested only in paga. I suppose it is natural for a master to wish to be served by one girl, rather than another. On the other hand, more than paga might be involved. The particular girl, summoned, is well aware that the fellow may be considering her for alcoving, as well.

The slave had addressed herself to he in whose charge I was! To be sure, a girl might approach a table, unsummoned. But how dared she? I remained, of course, on my knees. I had no permission to rise.

She glanced at me, condescendingly, and smiled, with the look of a high-priced girl upon one of lesser value, perhaps one who might regard herself as fortunate that men had deigned to put a collar on her, at all.

I recognize her soft, light, loose sheen of swirling, diaphanous yellow silk. It had been insolently cast before me earlier, and drawn across my face.

It was doubtless her way her of showing contempt for a lesser girl, and calling Master Desmond’s attention to the difference amongst slaves.

He was a handsome fellow. Might he not be interested in buying her?

“Yes,” said Desmond, “paga.”

She then backed away, smiling, and then turned about, making her way to the paga vat.

“An excellent choice, Kalligone,” said a tavern’s man, as the five tarsk-bits were placed in his hand. Before he left, he dropped a slender silken cord, short, coiled, on the table. There was little doubt what such a cord was for. Most masters, on the other hand, brought their own cords, bracelets, laces or thongs to a table. The tavern’s man then left the table.

“Master!” I protested, tears in my eyes.

“What is wrong?” asked he in whose charge I was.

“Nothing,” I said.

Shortly, the slave, whose name I took to be Kalligone, returned, and, two hands on the goblet, knelt before Master Desmond. Her knees, beneath the sheen of silk, were clearly spread. Of course, I thought, angrily, she is a pleasure slave! But then are not all paga girls pleasure slaves? Was pleasure not what men paid for? Was it not with pleasure in mind, inordinate pleasure, that men put collars on such women?

Kalligone did not neglect to glance at the cord, and smiled.

“Here,” said Master Desmond, holding out his hand.

“Master?” she said, startled.

“Here,” he said. He then took the goblet, and placed it on the table.

“Master?” she asked, again.

“Leave,” he said, “but remain on the floor. I may want you later. Go, quickly, on your pretty little feet, and jangle your bells.”

“You refuse Kalligone?” she said.

“Go,” he said, “while I permit you to retain your silks.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, frightened, and withdrew, to a jangle of bells.

“They are belled, like animals,” I said.

“Be quiet, or you, too, will be belled, little beast,” he said.

“I thank Master,” I said, looking after Kalligone.

“I think now,” he said, “you are avenged.”

“Well avenged!” I laughed. “Allison thanks Master.”

To be sure, how could a man refuse the tavern’s gift of a Kalligone? Perhaps, I thought, because there is another slave who, for whatever reason, is a thousand times more desirable, at least to him?

“But who, now,” he asked, “will serve me paga?”

“Allison,” I said, happily, reaching for the goblet, and holding it out to him.

“Put it down,” he said.

I placed it, puzzled, on the table. Astrinax and Lykos laughed. I did not care for the sound of their laughter. Some others, too, at the nearby tables, were looking on.

“Master?” I said, uneasily.

“Remove your tunic,” he said.

“Here,” I said, “Master?”

“Now,” he said.

I was then naked. Some had gathered around, amongst them the girl, Kalligone.

“What was your former name?” he asked.

“Allison,” I said. “Allison Ashton-Baker.”

“You are a barbarian, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“What were you on your former world?” he asked.

He knew, surely, for I had spoken to him of such things, in the camp, when I had lain beside him that night, “bound by his will,” when he had, so to speak, stripped me of myself, and I had lain open before him, in so many ways.

“A student,” I said, “at a small school, called a college, an expensive, exclusive college, and a member of an organization at the college to which only women might belong, called a sorority, and it the most expensive and exclusive of the college’s sororities.”

“You stood high in your world,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You had position, station, resources,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “I was of what one spoke of as the upper classes.”

“And you stood high in such classes,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said. “Quite high.”

“Very high?” he said.

“Yes, Master.”

“And what are you here?” he asked.

I touched my collar. “Kajira, Master,” I said.

There was laughter from those about.

“Excellent,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You are now going to serve a man paga,” he said.

“I know nothing of such things,” I wept.

“Take the goblet in two hands,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Now back away a little,” he said, “and spread your knees.”

“I am not a pleasure slave!” I said.

“Are you white-silk?” he asked.

“No, Master,” I said.

“Spread your knees,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Good,” said Astrinax.

“Good,” said Lykos.

“Now,” said he in whose charge I was, “I could not tell you from a pleasure slave.”

“See her turn red!” laughed one of the paga girls.

“Now take the goblet,” said he in whose charge I was, “and press it firmly, deeply, into your lower belly.”

The goblet was metal, and hard, and cold, and, within it, the paga swirled.

“Do not spill it, or you will be beaten,” he said. “Now,” said he, “lift the goblet, and touch it lightly to your left breast, and then to the right breast, and then lift it, and, looking at me over the rim, lick and kiss the goblet, slowly, softly, tenderly, lingeringly, and then, after a time, extend the goblet to me, arms extended, head down, bowed, between your extended arms.”

“As a submitted woman!” I said.

“As far more than that,” he said, “as one who is only a slave.”

I felt him remove the goblet from my hands, and then I knelt back.

“Now,” said he, “close your eyes, turn about, put your head to the floor, and place your hands behind you, wrists crossed.”

I glanced, frightened, at the coil of cord on the table.

I then obeyed.

“Alcove her,” said a fellow.

I remained for a time, eyes closed, as I had been placed, but I felt no bit of cord whipped about my wrists, fastening them together.

“You may open your eyes, Allison,” said Astrinax, “and kneel at the table, as you will, knees together, if you wish.”

I knelt up, blinking, just in time to see a frightened, stripped Kalligone, cast me a look over her left shoulder. Her hands were tied behind her. She was thrust, stumbling, toward an alcove. I did not think Master Desmond would be easy with her. He had, of course, paid his five tarsk-bits, and she, if wanted, would go with the drink.

“Masters!” I said.

“Do not be concerned,” said Astrinax.

“He does not own you,” Lykos reminded me.

“I was afraid he was going to alcove you,” said Astrinax. “You are not an unattractive little slut.”

“I hate him, I hate him, Masters!” I said.

“Put your tunic on,” said Astrinax.

I did so, in humiliation, and rage. I feared I tore it a bit, in my haste. A typical Gorean free woman, I was sure, later, had I belonged to one, would have lashed me for that, for such clumsiness. The Lady Bina, on the other hand, would simply locate me a needle and some thread.

“I must be about my recruiting,” said Astrinax.

“May fortune be with you,” said Lykos, but he did not seem hopeful. It was growing late.

“Dear friends,” said a tavern’s man, “we must, in ten Ehn, extinguish the lamps.”

I was half asleep, lying beside the table.

I did not so much as glance at he in whose charge I was, Master Desmond, whom I supposed of the Metal Workers. He had returned from the alcove, after an Ahn or so, in a splendid mood. Certainly I well loathed him, he in whose charge I was. Might I not be better placed in the charge of another, but who? Jane, as I understood it, would report to Astrinax, and Eve to Lykos. Both, of course, as I, were owned by the Lady Bina. In Venna I had seen nothing of Lord Grendel or the blind Kur. To be sure, I had not sought them. A few Ehn after Master Desmond had emerged from the alcove, a slaver’s man had entered, and freed Kalligone, who, perhaps as specified by Master Desmond, was to return on all fours to her cage, her silk clenched between her teeth. It would be removed, doubtless, before the cage door would shut behind her. Such cages are tiny, as I understood it, and this encourages the girls, for an additional reason, to be zealous in the alcoves, that they might strive to obtain a private master. Certainly Kalligone had approached Master Desmond without having been summoned. I supposed I should feel sorry for her. Rather, I was pleased that she was back in a cage. I hoped that it was small. In most, as I understood it, a girl can do little more than kneel, or sit or lie down, with her legs drawn closely up. In such constraints a girl is kept well apprised that she is a slave. To be sure, such a cage is luxurious compared to the “slave box,” usually used for punishment. Even the proudest and most recalcitrant of slaves, usually a recent free woman, of high caste, is quickly broken in such a device, and emerges a readied, humbled, and trembling slave, fearful only that she will not be found fully pleasing, and in all ways. In the kitchen, at the eating house of Menon, we had our chains and mats. Menon was a kind man. He was often criticized for being too lenient with his girls. There was, of course, a whip in the kitchen.

“Probably we should return to the wagons,” said Desmond.

“I have failed,” said Astrinax, wearily. “We have offered good fee, but none seem interested in essaying the Voltai, at least as of now.”

“Perhaps it is the season,” said Lykos.

“Wake up, Allison,” said Master Desmond.

“I am not asleep,” I said, acidly, rising to my knees.

I had resolved never to speak to him again, unless, of course, commanded to do so. I was not eager to sustain the attentions of a displeased free person. They tend to be quick with instruments of correction, usually of braided leather.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

“I do not like her tone of voice,” said Lykos. “Beat her.”

“Please, no, Master!” I said, quickly, frightened.

It had been made clear to me, quite clear, in the house of Tenalion, that a slave must speak to free persons as the slave she is. She is not to forget that. She is not a free woman, who might speak in any way she wishes. She is a slave, only that. A sharp or unpleasant word may bring her a lashing. Her voice, as her behavior, as a whole, must show that she is a slave, and knows herself such. She is to speak softly, politely, respectfully, humbly, and clearly, with excellent diction. She is not allowed the mumbling, the indecipherable gibberish, the ambiguities, the false starts and stops, the slovenliness allowed to the free woman. She is to address free persons always in the clear understanding that there is a collar on her neck, that she is subject to discipline, and that it will be inflicted upon her if he is found in any way displeasing.

“Please do not whip me,” I said.

“Is there something wrong?” asked he in whose charge I was.

I looked away.

“Beat her,” said Lykos.

“Please, no!” I said.

“Did she not fail to answer a question?” asked Lykos.

I knew Eve was to report to Lykos. I did not envy her.

“What is wrong?” inquired Master Desmond.

“How do you think I feel,” I asked, “kneeling down, my eyes closed, my head to the floor, my hands behind me, wrists crossed, and then you abandon me.”

“And alcove the girl, Kalligone,” laughed Astrinax.

“You were not abandoned,” said he in whose charge I was. “Astrinax and Lykos were here.”

“And no one cares how you feel, girl,” said Lykos. Again, I did not envy Eve.

“Have you no interest in my body?” I asked he in whose charge I was.

“Of course your body is of some interest,” said he in whose charge I was. “For example, your ankles shackle well. Of greater interest is the whole of you, which I think it might be interesting to own.”

“Master,” I said, uncertainly.

“To own the whole of you,” he said, “as a slave is owned.”

“So completely?” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“That goes far beyond law,” I said.

“No,” he said. “It is in law, as well, that the whole slave is owned.”

“I see,” I said.

“She needs a beating,” said Lykos.

“Quite possibly,” said he in whose keeping I was.

“No!” I said.

“She is a trim little thing,” said Lykos, “and I suspect, with a bit of proper stimulation, she would be writhingly helpless.”

“Surely not!” I said. To be sure, what did I know of such things? I did sense that if he in whose keeping I was were to touch me, I might cry out helplessly, and, a grateful, shameless slave, press myself piteously to him.

But I hated him!

He had knelt me, eyes closed, head to the floor, wrists crossed behind me, awaiting their pinioning, and then, when I had been released from this custody, I had seen him thrust a stripped, frightened, thonged Kalligone before him to an alcove!

I was quite angry.

How I had been treated!

I resolved to speak as little to Master Desmond thenceforth as possible. I would have to be subtle, of course. The lash is unpleasant. Let him then, over the coming days, puzzle over my coolness, my distance, my aloofness. Surely a free woman could make a man so suffer. Why then might not a slave? Let him try to fathom the mystery of my remoteness, my indifference, my troubling, inexplicable detachment. Perhaps he would then, eventually, regret his treatment of me!

“Allison,” said he in whose charge I was, “I have not been fully satisfied with your behavior, as of late.”

“Please do not whip me,” I said.

“You are hereby sentenced to the modality of the mute slave,” he said. “You are herewith denied permission to speak. You are silenced. You may not, even, in language, beg for permission to speak. As when gagged, one whimper will serve for ‘yes’ and two for ‘no’. Do you understand?”

I looked at him with misery.

I would not even be permitted to speak to Jane or Eve, or even to the Lady Bina or Lord Grendel, unless I was commanded to do so, which commands were highly unlikely of issuance, as free persons tend to be consistent where the discipline of slaves is in question. Indeed, if I were to attempt to circumvent the discipline of Master Desmond by an appeal to Lord Grendel, I had no doubt he would lash me well, and if I were to attempt to appeal to the Lady Bina I was sure she would make inquiries as to what was appropriate under such circumstances, and then, when informed, as custom recommended, would have me lashed as well.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

I whimpered once.

The road here was narrow, and rough.

I looked up, at the stone channel of the aqueduct, some hundred feet over my head.

We had left Venna four days ago.

The first two days Jane, Eve, and I had been chained to the back of the last wagon. This was done by each of us having her hands braceleted before her, and a chain run from the bracelets to a ring on the back of the wagon, three chains, three rings, this permitting us to walk abreast.

On the first day, as we were attached to the wagon, Jane and Eve had been in consternation that I could not speak with them.

“Speak to us!” said Jane. “We are your friends!” I could do little more than shake my head, tears running from my eyes.

“I do not understand,” said Jane. “What is wrong?”

Eve tried even to communicate in our native tongue, which you would understand to be a barbarian language. Forgive me, Masters and Mistresses, it is, of course, a barbarian language! But she was seized by Trachinos, cuffed brutally, and thrown to the dirt, in her bracelets. “Gorean!” he said. “Gorean, slave slut!” “Forgive me, Master!” she wept, kneeling and pressing her lips, again and again, to his feet. It is a common placatory behavior of slaves. Slaves are expected to speak in the language of their masters. This helps them remember that they are slaves. Too, of course, the masters wish to understand whatever slaves may say. This is an additional form of control, and surveillance. Trachinos then fastened Eve’s bracelets to the ring chain, and turned away. “Please, forgive me, Master!” she called after him. “So,” said Jane, “even when we are alone, we must speak in Gorean!” I nodded. I was pleased that she had said that in Gorean. We were learning well that we were slaves! “Can you not say something to us?” asked Jane. I shook my head, negatively, tears running down my cheeks. Jane was already on her chain. “What did you do?” asked Jane. I shook my head, again. “Surely,” she said, “you may use language to petition to speak.” I shook my head, again. Jane looked at me, disbelievingly. Commonly, of course, a slave will have a standing permission to speak. This permission, of course, is revocable at will, by the master or the mistress. Thus, in a very real sense, the slave requires permission to speak. This is similar to clothing. Usually, the slave will have a standing permission to clothe herself, if a slave garment can be dignified in such a way. On the other hand, some masters require a slave, each day, to explicitly request permission to clothe herself. This tends to impress her bondage on a girl. If she does not receive the permission, of course, she may not clothe herself. Her clothing, like her speech, is at the discretion of the master. Some masters expect a slave, each day, as in the matter of clothing, to request permission to speak that day. If she does not receive that permission, she may not speak. “May I clothe myself, Master?” “You may.” “May I speak, Master?” “You may.” What Jane had in mind, of course, were the usual formulas by means of which a slave, denied speech, may request to speak. Some typical petitionary formulas would be “I beg to speak,” “I would speak,” and “May I speak, Master?” The common understanding here is that the slave requires the master’s permission to clothe herself and to speak. She is, after all, a slave. The master’s permission is, actually, implicitly involved in many aspects of the slave’s life. To be sure, most of these permissions are standing permissions. And much depends on the particular master and slave. For example, it is almost universal that the slave may not leave the domicile without requesting permission, and it is often required that she will state the purpose of her departure and make clear her expected time of return. The master will be the first to partake of food, and his permission may be required before the slave is permitted to feed. The slave will commonly kneel when a free person enters the room, and, if knelt, will usually await permission to rise. If a slave is ordered nude to the furs she will remain there until the master sees fit to join her, or, if he wishes, put her about, say, her domestic labors. Sometimes the slave, nude and bound, must await the pleasure of the master. This can well heat her.

I heard, ahead, at the first wagon, the voice of Trachinos. The wagons were soon to move. Both Jane and Eve, in their brief tunics and close-fitting collars, were already attached to the back of the wagon, the last wagon, each by a chain looping up from their braceleted wrists to a wagon ring, bolted into the back of the wagon. I was with them, my wrists braceleted before my body, but was not yet on the wagon chain.

I heard steps approaching.

It was he in whose keeping I was! I instantly knelt, and lifted my braceleted wrists to him, pathetically, tears on my cheeks. I pointed to my mouth with my pinioned hands, and whimpered, pleadingly. It was only last night, in the paga tavern, that I had been put in the modality of the mute slave, but almost from the first moment I was suffering. I had struggled again and again last night, in the tavern, on the way back to the wagons, when my shackling was being attended to, to make clear my contrition, and my resolve to be more pleasing. I so desperately wanted to speak to him, to return myself to his favor, such as it might be, to express my shame and sorrow at my overweening, unconscionable pride, my insolence. I so wanted to prostrate myself before him, to lie before him on my belly, to cover his feet with kisses, to beg his forgiveness. I was in a collar! I had failed it! Did I think I was a free woman? I was no longer a free woman, if I had ever been a free woman. I was a slave, and knew myself a slave. And yet I had been a poor slave. I had not been pleasing! Did I not know I belonged in my collar? Yes, I knew I belonged in it. I had learned that well on Gor. Did I not know then how to behave in a collar? Yes, I knew! How then could I have behaved so ignorantly, so foolishly, so stupidly, so badly? I pleaded as I could, without words. But my protestations had been ignored. Master Desmond had declined to relent. It is hard to make clear, one supposes, to one who has not been put in such a modality, one who has never been “gagged by the master’s will,” how this deprivation can so sorely affect a woman, particularly a slave, the most helpless and vulnerable of women. We are not men, with their large bodies, their strength, their ferocity, their callousness, their speed, and power. We are different, so different! What have we, in our collars, what means, to win our ways? We have our slightness, our softness, our wit, our beauty, and our speech. Is not our speech our delight, our pleasure, our joy, our recreation, our weapon, our instrument, our gift? Is it not that whereby we can make known our feelings, our hopes, and fears; that whereby we can express ourselves, plead our causes, make known our wants, needs, and desires, that by means of which we can petition, influence, and wheedle? Is it not that by means of which we may beg for mercy, hope to be heard and understood, hope to placate the large, dangerous beasts who own us? Without it we are muchly helpless; without it how even can we best surrender and submit; without it how can we best acknowledge and serve our masters? Without it how can we well profess our love?

I knelt before him, pathetically, tears on my cheeks. I pointed to my mouth, with my braceleted hands, and whimpered, pleadingly.

He stepped back.

I threw myself to my belly before him, and reached with my closely linked hands, to seize his ankle, that I might hold it, and press my lips to his feet, kissing them, again and again. Do men not enjoy having women so before them, as helpless, prostrated slaves? But he seized the linkage between the bracelets and pulled me to my knees, and then to my feet, and then snapped the wagon chain on my bracelets. I whimpered, pleadingly, but he had turned away.

Again I had failed to please him, a free man.

I looked up, at the stone channel of the aqueduct, some hundred feet over my head.

Such structures are majestic, the products of, to me, almost incomprehensible feats of engineering, and I had wanted to express my wonder and awe at them, their size and massiveness, their efficiency, their beauty, the loveliness of the sky and mountains behind them, but I was not permitted to speak.

How helpless and alone, how miserable, one soon is, if placed in the modality of the mute slave!

He in whose care I was, and the others, the free persons, ignored me. Would it not have been more merciful if they had lashed me? I was no longer on the wagon chain, nor were Jane or Eve. They, at least, were kind to me, and spoke to me, though I could not speak back. They no longer spoke of running away. The country now was lonely. The small villages were far behind. The terrain grew steeper, and more formidable. Twice we had heard, at night, when we were shackled in the slave wagon, from somewhere back in the mountains, the roar of a larl. During the day we remained close to the wagons.

We had left Venna four days ago.

The last night at Venna we had visited the paga tavern, The Kneeling Slave. Master Astrinax had been unsuccessful in his recruiting. I had apparently displeased he in whose care I was, for I had been put in the modality of the mute slave. A tavern’s man was extinguishing the lamps.

The masters were preparing to rise from the table when suddenly a flat, linear object of metal clattered, ringing, on the table.

“That is the sword of Trachinos, he of Turia,” said a fearsome voice, that of a large, bearded fellow, clad in the brown of the Peasantry.

But I feared this was no Peasant.

Certainly he carried no staff, no great bow, no sheaf of long arrows, at his left hip.

The blade was the gladius.

“That blade,” said the fellow, pointing to it, “is for hire.”

“We are hiring,” said Astrinax.

“You are far from Turia,” said Lykos.

Turia, I knew, was far to the south, even beyond the equator.

“What brings you this far north?” asked Lykos.

“Sword pleasure,” said the stranger.

I gathered then he was a soldier of fortune, a mercenary, or perhaps a fugitive.

“Your accent,” said Astrinax, “does not sound Turian.”

“Do you dispute me?” inquired the fellow.

“Not at all,” said Astrinax.

“I might,” said Lykos.

“Outside?” asked the stranger.

“If you wish,” said Lykos.

“Whose girl is this?” asked Trachinos.

“She belongs to a woman, the Lady Bina, one supposes of Ar,” said Astrinax.

“In that tunic?” laughed Trachinos.

“Her Mistress might wish to put her out to men, for girl use,” said Astrinax.

“Good,” said Trachinos.

I trembled, and looked down. I was afraid to meet his eyes. Too, some masters do not permit their girls to meet their eyes, unless commanded to do so.

“She cannot speak,” said he in whose charge I was.

“You have cut out her tongue?” said Trachinos.

“No,” said he in whose keeping I was. “She has merely been placed in the modality of the mute slave.”

“Is that true, girl?” asked Trachinos.

It was surely a test. I kept my head down. I whimpered once.

I sensed Astrinax was relieved. He in whose charge I was was impassive. Lykos had moved his robes a little. I could then see the hilt of his gladius.

“She is pretty,” said Trachinos. This pleased me. I received few compliments. To be sure, I knew I was attractive. Otherwise a collar would not have been put on my neck.

Still I had no desire to lick and kiss the whip of Trachinos, though I would do it fearfully, and well, if it were pressed to my lips.

“Can you handle a wagon?” asked Astrinax.

“But she does not have much hair,” said Trachinos.

“There are two others chained to a slave post, in our wagon camp,” said Astrinax.

“I know,” said Trachinos.

“You have looked upon them?” said Astrinax.

“Yes,” said Trachinos. “They are pretty.”

“You seem to know something of us,” said Lykos.

“I am told you are going into the Voltai,” said Trachinos.

“Yes,” said Astrinax.

“That is why you have few fee takers,” said Trachinos.

“We will pay well,” said Astrinax.

“For what purpose are you entering the Voltai?” asked Trachinos.

“That has not been disclosed to us,” said Astrinax.

“Does it matter, if you are well paid?” asked Lykos.

“No,” said Trachinos.

“It seems you have brought a sword to the table,” said Lykos.

“You are going into the Voltai,” grinned Trachinos.

“We need drivers,” said Astrinax.

“I can drive, and so, too,” said Trachinos, “can my fellow, Akesinos.” He indicated a fellow standing in the shadows, just within the large double doors of the tavern.

“Forty copper tarsks each week,” said Astrinax.

“That is good fee, indeed,” said Trachinos.

“Perhaps you think us rich?” said Lykos.

“A lowly driver does not inquire into such things,” said Trachinos.

“You are aware there are dangers in the Voltai?” said Lykos.

“I do not fear them,” said Trachinos.

“He is our man!” said Astrinax.

Lykos rose to his feet, and thrust his robe back, behind his shoulder. He indicated the blade, flat, on the table. “You can use that?” he asked.

“Let us make trial of the matter,” said Trachinos.

“That is not necessary,” said Astrinax.

“Here is the last lamp,” said the tavern’s man. “The tavern is closing.”

Trachinos, not taking his eyes from Lykos, bent down and retrieved his blade. It seemed almost small in his grasp. He was a very large man.

“Is blood to be shed?” inquired Trachinos.

“Certainly not!” said Astrinax.

“If you wish,” said Lykos.

“Surely outside, outside, noble Masters,” said the tavern’s man.

“Do not extinguish the lamp,” said he in whose charge I was, he who had silenced me.

“Please, Masters!” protested the tavern’s man.

“Who shall move first?” asked Trachinos.

“I,” said Lykos.

I backed away, on my knees.

I could not follow the movement of the blades, so sudden, so swift they were, but, a moment later, I realized they had crossed six times, from the sound.

“Well?” grinned Trachinos.

“Hire him,” said Lykos.

“I vouch for my fellow, Akesinos,” said Trachinos. “He has killed four men.”

Lykos sheathed his blade, and nodded.

“We leave tomorrow, at dawn,” said Astrinax.

“Whose caravan is it?” asked Trachinos. “Who is in charge, who stands the fee?”

“You will report to this man, Astrinax,” said Lykos.

“Very well,” said Trachinos.

I had now regained my composure, after my withdrawal from the vicinity of the blade engagement, and was now kneeling beside the table.

I sensed I knelt within the regard of the stranger.

I did not look at him.

Then I felt his boot put against my upper right arm, and I was thrust to my side on the floor. “And what of this little vulo?” asked Trachinos. “Is she with the wagons?”

He had not hurt me, nor had he intended to. His action had been no more than a way of calling attention to me, as a slave might be indicated.

None of the men at the table objected.

I, of course, was well reminded, first, of my bondage, and, secondly, of the power of men, who might do with us, with women, if they pleased, what they pleased.

“Yes,” said Astrinax.

“Then her Mistress, as well?” asked Trachinos.

“Yes,” said Astrinax. “The Lady Bina.”

“And she is a she-tarsk, is she not?” asked Trachinos.

“Not at all,” said Astrinax. “She is thought to be marvelously, extraordinarily beautiful.”

The Lady Bina, perhaps in her vanity, or perhaps because she was not natively Gorean, was often careless in her veiling. I recalled that from as long ago as the Tarsk Market. Too, like many beautiful free women, I suspect she enjoyed seeing her effect on men. Certainly I, on my former world, before I was collared, had very much enjoyed that sort of thing, a form of amusing play, exciting boys and men and leading them on, and then, when well reassured of my attractiveness, pretending to dismay or annoyance, putting them from me, dismissing them. Then, of course, I was not in a slave collar. It is my suspicion that the free women of my former world and those of Gor, forgive me, Mistresses, are much the same. Do you not enjoy such games? And are you not, as much as we, prepared upon occasion to put your beauty to use, to barter it for position and wealth? For example, it is my supposition that, in the markets, and on the boulevards, and elsewhere, handsome slavers, perhaps disguised in the robes of rich Merchants, do not encounter with you in fact the difficulties which one might expect them to encounter in theory. Forgive me, Mistresses.

“Excellent,” said Trachinos.

He then, with his fellow, left the tavern. We followed them shortly, and the lamp was extinguished behind us, and the large double doors were closed and barred.

“I feel safer now,” said Astrinax.

“Do you?” asked Lykos.

“It would be better, of course,” said Astrinax, “if we could have had two or three more.”

“I do not trust Trachinos,” said Lykos.

“To be perfectly frank, my dear Lykos,” said Astrinax, “I do not trust you, either.”

“Oh?” smiled Lykos.

“No,” said Astrinax. “What do I know of you?”

“Probably little more than I of you,” said Lykos.

“It is hard to get men to go into the Voltai,” said Astrinax.

“It is perhaps the season,” said Lykos.

“No,” said Astrinax, “it is the Voltai.”

We had left Venna four days ago.

With the wagons were three slaves, Jane, Eve, and Allison, the latter not permitted to speak, not even to request permission to speak. One free woman was with the wagons, the Lady Bina. There were five free men with the wagons, Astrinax, who was much as our caravan master; Desmond, thought to be a Metal Worker, in whose care I was; Lykos, whom I supposed a mercenary; fierce, bearded Trachinos, clearly skilled with the gladius, at whose background I could scarcely guess; and his fellow, thin, reticent Akesinos, who spoke little, but watched much. And somewhere there were perhaps two beasts, though, as far as I could tell, they were not now with the wagons.

It was now near the Tenth Ahn.

The wagons were stopped.

“It is the six hundredth pasang stone,” said Astrinax, indicating a marker, across the road from one of the arched pylons supporting the aqueduct. “It is here we must wait, for a guide.” I had been interested to learn that pasang stones are found on many Gorean roads; commonly they contain a number, and an indication of a direction and destination. For example, on the Vennan road, as it is called in Ar, a stone is erected midway between Ar and Venna, lists a number, and points in two directions. Closer to Ar, the number lists the pasangs to Ar, with an indication of the direction of Ar. Closer to Venna, the number lists the pasangs to Venna, with an indication of the direction of Venna. To be sure, there are many varieties of pasang stones, and some list only the distance to a given point, as though the road had but one destination. Many roads, particularly small ones, lack pasang stones altogether. Either they are too short or too unimportant, or, perhaps, it is supposed the stones are unnecessary, given the supposed familiarity of the terrain to any who might be in the vicinity. Here, beside the Vennan aqueduct, the stones contained only a number, and no further indications. This was because here the pasang stones measured the length of the aqueduct from Ar, and the pasang stones were largely a convenience to the caste of Builders, concerned with the care of the aqueduct.

I did not know how Astrinax knew we were to stop here, or that a guide would appear.

I did know he commonly held the late watch when we camped.

Having shared the domicile of the Lady Bina and Lord Grendel in Ar, I probably had a better sense of the purport of this journey than the free men with the party. Surely it had to do with returning the blind Kur to his fellows. Whether it had a purpose beyond that I did not know. I did know that there had occasionally been conversations between the Lady Bina and the blind Kur, through the intermediation of the translator, when Lord Grendel had been absent. At such times I would be dispatched on one errand or another. The Lady Bina, as I indicated earlier, had a great respect for, and admiration of, what she regarded as true Kurii, in which category she placed the blind Kur, and from which category she excluded Lord Grendel. This went back, apparently, to a remote, metal world. Accordingly she endorsed the scheme of Lord Grendel’s assisting the blind Kur to regain his haunts in the mountains. On the other hand, she, herself, was reluctant to exchange the delights and comforts of Ar for the hardships of some distant, possibly hazardous journey far from civilization. She had little sense of the risks to which she might be exposed as a defenseless woman in Ar, a barbarian lacking a Home Stone. Lord Grendel, however, had informed her, despite his usual complaisance, that she would accompany him, if necessary, in chains. “I see,” she had said, annoyed. I was intrigued by the thought of the Lady Bina in chains. I sometimes thought she did not understand the extent to which she was actually in the power of Lord Grendel. If she felt his chains on her pretty limbs it would doubtless be clearer to her. I thought she would look lovely in chains. But then does not any woman? In any event, she later withdrew her objections to the journey, and, indeed, soon seemed eager to be on her way. This change in disposition followed, I think, the aforementioned conversations with her large, savage house guest, the blind Kur. She it was who contacted Astrinax, possibly through the eating house of Menon, with which establishment she was familiar, and engaged him to assist in the venture, buying tharlarion and wagons, putting in supplies, and such.

Lykos was standing on the wagon bench of the first wagon, with a Builder’s glass, scanning the horizon.

“What do you see?” asked Astrinax.

“Nothing,” said Lykos, closing the glass.

“How long must we wait here?” asked Desmond.

“I do not know,” said Astrinax.

“But you do know we must wait?” said Desmond.

“Yes,” said Astrinax.

Jane, Eve, and I, the wagons halted, had come forward.

When Master Desmond turned about, I knelt near him, that I might be before him. This required courage, more courage each day. I shook with fear. I knew that I had been found displeasing. I did not wish to be intrusive, and be punished. Too, I had the natural temerity of the slave before the free person. If a slave lacks this temerity, it is something she soon learns. A slave may desire her master, long for him, want more than anything to surrender herself wholly and unquestioningly to him, ache for him with all the flames of love, yearn to submit herself to him as no more than a negligible, meaningless, helpless, loving beast, be willing to die for him, but, too, she may well fear him, for the whip is his, and he is master.

But I was desperate.

Please, oh, Master, I thought, be kind. See Allison! She is here, before you. See her!

I looked up at him.

I could hardly catch my breath before him. Had I been able to speak, I would scarcely have been able to form words. Surely I would have stammered. I fear my lip trembled.

How different he was from the men of Earth!

How helpless, and slave, I was, on my knees before him.

I wanted him to pay me attention. I wanted him to find me acceptable once more, as he had before, as the animal I was, a slave, but perhaps one of some interest. Please, oh, Master, I thought, let me speak, let me speak! I have so much I want to say, so much I want to tell you, so much for which to beg forgiveness! Yes, I so wanted to be permitted to speak, and yet, now, some days since my sentencing, I feared even to beg mutely for the restoration of that coveted privilege, lest even that might displease him. It would be done, the sentence’s rescinding, if at all, at his wish, not mine. But as much as I wished to be allowed to speak, and as much as that deprivation cost me in helplessness and misery, what hurt me most was his neglect, his ignoring of me. I think I would have rejoiced had I been cuffed or kicked, or tied to a ring and beaten, for then, at least, I would have known myself as a reality, however negligible and contemptible, in his world. Even a girl in a collar wants to be seen, to be recognized, and noticed, even be it to no greater extent than being mocked, humiliated, and scorned.

Jane and Eve were present, with me, near the first wagon.

He turned away.

“Please, Master!” cried Jane, falling to her knees. “Master!” said Eve.

Master Desmond turned to regard them.

“Please, Master,” said Jane. “Please permit Allison to speak! I do not know what she did, but I am sure she is sorry. She has suffered much. Please let her speak!”

“Yes, Master,” said Eve. “We beg it for her, as she cannot speak! Please let Allison speak.”

“She is only a slave, a collar girl, as we! Please be kind, Master!” said Jane.

“Forgive her, Master,” said Eve. “She is miserable! She is penitent! Please, Master!”

“It seems,” said Master Desmond, “that you two wish to be placed in the modality of the mute slave, as well.”

“No, Master!” said Jane.

“No, no, Master!” wept Eve.

“There is a wide place here, a clearing, for wagons,” said Master Desmond. “We are not the first wagons to stop here, nor will we be the last. Work parties camp here, perhaps others, hunting parties, and such. There will be a well about. Find it. Fetch water, water the tharlarion, and rub them down.”

“Yes, Master,” said Jane, leaping up.

“Yes, Master,” said Eve, leaping to her feet, as well.

He then turned to me.

He was looking upon me!

“Your friends are foolish,” he said.

I made a tiny sound, a grateful, single sound. Tears were in my eyes.

Had they thought to sway a Gorean male? Had they no sense of the discipline under which their chain sister had been placed? How dared they think of interceding, of interfering? Did they not know the risk they undertook? I supposed not. Perhaps they did not yet understand they were slaves. Had they not yet ascertained the significance of their collars, what it meant to be in a collar? Many masters, I was sure, would have had them bound and lashed for their temerity. The will of masters is not to be questioned. The head is to be bowed before the master’s will.

“I would not have thought,” said he, “that a slave such as you would have had friends.”

I did not understand his words. How was it that he might think so of me? Ela, I could not speak!

Then I recalled that Astrinax, now with the caravan, long ago, had arranged my purchase from Menon, on behalf of the gambling house. I recalled both Astrinax and Menon had thought I would be a good buy for such a place, a girl willing to wheedle and smile, to pretend to emotions of excitement and enthusiasm, one who could adroitly feign dismay and sympathy, one who would ply customers with drink, urge them to remain at the tables, encourage them to recklessness in wagering, though it might lead to the loss of estates and honor, to shame, vagrancy, and destitution.

But surely they must realize that I was in a collar, that I had no choice in such matters!

Did they want me to do such things poorly? Such duties were easy, and silken. Did they want me to risk the fields, the laundries, the public kitchens, the stables, the mills?

And I remembered the test of the candy.

Of course, I would have stolen the candy, if such might have been accomplished with impunity. What intelligent girl with her wits about her would have forgone such an opportunity? What rational girl, in the conjectured circumstances, would not have done so?

And Astrinax had doubtless brought he in whose charge I was, Master Desmond, into fee!

“Put your head to the dirt,” said Master Desmond. “Keep it there for ten Ehn, and then you may rise, and do as you wish.”

He had not even seen fit to assign me a duty!

As I knelt so, different people passed me, Jane and Eve, with their buckets, and one or two of the free men.

When I rose up, I was crying.

I walked along the side the wagons, toward the back of the wagons. It was hot. Usually there is no one there. It is usually a good place to hide, to be alone. Suddenly I stopped, for, visible from where I stood, under the high channel of the aqueduct, on a distant hill, I saw a sharp flicker of light.

“Ho, slave,” said a voice behind me, that of fierce, bearded Trachinos.

I turned about.

A slave grows accustomed to being looked upon as a slave, having her lineaments frankly appraised, being undressed with a glance, and such.

I was taken in his arms.

He then took a free man’s liberties with the lips of a helpless slave. I whimpered, a weak, half-intended protest. I feared the responsiveness of my body. How weak we are, how needful we are, once a collar is fastened on our neck! Would you be different, noble Mistresses, were one fastened on your neck? Of course, for you are not slaves! Once before, at a night camp, our second day from Venna, he had put his hands on me, as well, and thrust me, standing, back against one of the mighty columns, or pylons, supporting the aqueduct. Astrinax had summoned him to the wagons, and, when he had flung me from him, he had had but a taste of slave.

“Yes,” he grinned, now holding me out, a tiny bit, from him, “you would be a hot little tasta.”

I squirmed a little, but was helpless in his grasp. How could he say such a thing? Surely I had given him no satisfaction, or only a little. I was a collared female. How could I help such things?

Do we not belong to males, such males?

There was sweat on his arms, and my tunic was damp from the heat.

“What did you see?” he whispered.

I shook my head, frightened. Surely he knew I stood under the sentence the mute slave.

He thrust me back against the broad, high wagon wheel, and I saw the point of a knife at my lips.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “You are silenced.” He then said, “It is difficult to speak when one is silenced. And, of course, it is difficult to speak well, if one’s tongue is slit. And it is impossible to speak, if one’s tongue is removed. Do you understand?”

I whimpered, once.

“And,” said he, holding the blade crosswise, I felt it touch my throat, under the collar, “it is quite impossible, as well, if one’s throat is cut. Do you understand?”

I whimpered, again, once, desperately, plaintively.

He then turned about, and left me.

I looked back, beneath the loftiness of the aqueduct, to the hills in the distance. There was no longer a flicker of light.

“Ho, Astrinax,” called Lykos, ahead in the wagons.

I, and others, including Jane and Eve, went to the first wagon, where Lykos was again standing on the wagon bench, the glass of the Builders once more in his hands.

“What is it?” said Astrinax.

“I am not sure,” said Lykos. “Join me. See what you make of it.”

“I see nothing,” said Astrinax.

Lykos took back the glass. “It is gone,” he said.

“What was it?” asked Astrinax.

“Something alive, more than one, several perhaps,” said Lykos.

“Larls?” asked Astrinax.

“I do not think so,” said Lykos.

I noted that Akesinos, the fellow of Trachinos, had joined the group. I had not noticed his arrival. I did not know how long he had been there. But Akesinos was the sort of fellow who might be somewhere, and not be noticed.

“The shadows in the Voltai can be deceptive,” said Akesinos.

“It was doubtless a trick of the light,” said Lykos.

“It is no trick of the light behind us, nor to the left, approaching,” said Master Desmond.

“Dust,” said Astrinax, shading his eyes.

“Wagons,” said Lykos, handing the glass of the Builders to Astrinax.

From the left a small group of riders, on bipedalian saddle tharlarion, were approaching.

There were five in the group. Each carried a lengthy lance.

“Tal!” called Master Desmond to the leader of the small group. The wagons, down the road, behind us, approaching from the direction of Venna, might not reach the six hundredth pasang stone until dark.

“Tal!” called the leader of the riders cheerfully to Master Desmond.

“They are hunters,” said Astrinax. “Wild tarsk, Voltai tarsk.”

The Voltai tarsk, as some forest tarsk, are much larger than the common tarsk. They are often ten to twelve hands at the shoulder. The beast tends to be territorial and aggressive. It is particularly dangerous when wounded.

“Racing tharlarion,” said Astrinax, considering the bipedalian mounts of the newcomers.

“No,” said Lykos. “Racing tharlarion are longer-legged, and finer-boned.”

“True,” said Astrinax.

“Those are rugged, powerful animals,” said Lykos.

“Hunting tharlarion,” said Astrinax.

“Consider the saddles,” said Desmond, “there are five boots to a side, as for javelins.”

“So?” said Astrinax.

“Perhaps then,” said Desmond, “cavalry tharlarion, war tharlarion.”

“Let us make festival,” said the leader of the newcomers. “You have meat and paga, I trust, and we have coin, though doubtless your hospitality may be depended upon, and wagons approach, as well, doubtless well supplied.”

“Welcome,” called Astrinax.

“Tonight we drink,” said the leader of the hunters. “Tomorrow we hunt.”

“And tomorrow night,” said one of his fellows, “who knows?”

I felt slightly chilled, even in the day’s heat, and despite the newcomer’s jollity. The results of addressing oneself to the pursuit of wild tarsk, I suspected, were difficult to anticipate.

I trusted such animals would not be in the vicinity of the wagons.

“This is a strange juncture for festival, the clearing at the six hundredth pasang stone, is it not?” asked Trachinos.

“It would seem so,” said Desmond.

Trachinos then turned away.

The newcomers, whom I took to be hunters, had dismounted, and were conversing with Astrinax, and Lykos.

Far down the road, behind us, one could make out a darkness, some dust rising from the road.

Master Desmond, shading his eyes, watched it for a time. He then turned to me. His eyes on me, I immediately knelt, and lowered my head.

It is appropriate for a female slave, gazed upon.

“Lift your head,” he said.

I did so, but feared to meet his eyes.

“You may speak,” he said.

I then looked at him, disbelievingly, my eyes wide.

“I saw you in the arms of Trachinos,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered. It seemed I could hardly form words. In a moment I was sure that this would pass. How strange it seemed, after several days, to hear my own voice.

“I think you will do very well for what I have in mind,” he said.

“There was a flickering of light, in the hills,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“I tried to resist,” I said.

“But you were not entirely successful,” he said.

“I am a slave,” I said.

“It is interesting what the collar does to a female,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

Certainly it informs us that we are females, and properties, the properties of men.

“Perhaps Trachinos will buy you,” he said.

“I would rather be purchased by another,” I whispered.

“You once served in a gambling house, did you not?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “on the Street of Chance, in Ar.”

“Good,” he said.

“Thank you for permitting me to speak,” I said.

“I may have need of you, tonight,” he said.