Explorers Of Gor

34
The Blond-Haired Barbarian Dances; What Occurred In The Rain Forest Between A Master And His Slave

"Watch out!" I said.

The tarsk, a small one, no more than forty pounds, tasked, snorting, bits of leaf scattering behind it, charged.

It swerved, slashing with its curved tusks, and I only man. aged to turn it aside with the point of the raider's spear I carried, one of four such weapons we had had since our brief skirmish with raiders, that in which we had obtained our canoe, that which had occurred in the marsh east of Ushindi. It had twisted hack on me with incredible swiftness.

The blond-haired barbarian screamed.

I thrust at it again. Again it spun and charged. Again I thrust it back. There was blood on the blade of the spear and the animal's coat was glistening with it. Such animals are best hunted from the back of kaiila with lances, in the open. They are cunning, persistent and swift. The giant tarsk, which can stand ten hands at the shoulder, is even hunted with lances from tarnback.

It snuffled and snorted, and again charged. Again I diverted its slashing weight. One does not follow such an animal into the bush. It is not simply a matter of reduced visibility but it is also a matter of obtaining free play for one's weapons. Even in the open, as I was, in a clearing among trees, it is hard to use one's spear to its best advantage, the animal stays so close to you and moves so quickly.

Suddenly it turned its short wide head, with that bristling mane running down its back to its tail. "Get behind me!" I called to the girl. It put down its head, mounted on that short, thick neck, and, scrambling, charged at the blond-haired barbarian. She stumbled back, screaming, and, the animal at her legs, fell. But in that moment, from the side, I thrust the animal from her. It, immediately, turned again. I thrust it again to the side. This time, suddenly, before it could turn again, I, with a clear stroke, thrust the spear through its thick-set body, behind the right foreleg.

I put my head back, breathing heavily.

Pressing against the animal with my foot I freed the spear.

I turned to the blond-haired barbarian. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. There was blood on her left leg, on the outside of the leg, about six inches up from the ankle.

I crouched down beside her. "Give me your leg," I said.

I looked at the leg. She sat on the floor of the rain forest, Her leg felt good in my hands.

"Is it serious, Master?" she asked.

"No," I said. "It is nothing. It is only a scratch." She had been fortunate.

"It will not leave a scar, will it?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"That is good," she said. She leaned back in relief, bracing her body on the palms of her hands. "I want to be pretty," she said, "both for myself, and for my master, or masters."

"You are pretty," I said. "Indeed, in the past few weeks, you have become even beautiful."

"Thank you, Master," she said. She looked at me. "I'm yours, you know," she said.

"Of course," I said.

"Yet you have not taken me since Schendi," she said.

"That is true," I said.

"You made me yield well to you there, and as a full slave," she said.

I did not speak.

"And when you threw me on my back, head down, over your sea bag, and raped me with such brutal dispatch I well learned that I was no longer a free woman."

"It is a useful lesson for a slave girl to learn quickly," I said.

"And I remember the girl I saw there, briefly in the mirror. She was so beautiful."

"Yes," I said.

"But she was so beautiful she could be only a slave."

"Yes," I said.

"But I am an Earth woman," she said. "I could not dare to be that girl."

I smiled. Did she not realize that she had seen in Schendi, in those brief moments, the slave she had for so long concealed within herself, that she had seen then, frightened, scarcely daring to recognize her, her own self? What cruelties could men inflict upon women, I wondered, which could half compare with those they inflict upon themselves.

She leaned forward, and examined the wound on her leg.

"It is superficial," I said. "It will not scar."

"I have a slave's vanity, don't I?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Is it permissible?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Good," she said.

She continued to look at the wound on her leg.

"I do not think I could stand to bring a lower price than Tende or Alice," she said.

"What a slave you are," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Have no fear," I said. "Your value on the sales block has not been reduced."

"Thank you. Master," she said.

I then rose to my feet and walked a few yards away, to a fan palm. From the base of one of its broad leaves I gathered a double handful of fresh water. I returned to the girl and, carefully, washed out the wound. She winced. I then cut some leaves and wrapped them about it. I tied shut this simple bandage with the tendrils of a carpet plant.

"Thank you, Master," she said. She reached up and put her arms about my neck. I took her hands and, slowly, pulled them from my neck. I put them to her sides. She looked at me. I cuffed her, snapping her head to the right. "Master?" she asked.

"Next time," I said, "stay behind me."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Stand, Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

It had been this morning, shortly before noon, that we had surmounted the height of the falls, that almost on the summit of which Kisu, in the face of the distant, oncoming forces of Bila Huruma, had danced a naked slave called Tende.

I went over to the slain tarsk.

We had then continued on, up the river, for several hours. In the late afternoon we had brought the canoe to shore, concealed it, and then went inland to make our camp.

"I feel the desire for meat," had said Kisu. "I, too," I said. "I will hunt" Kisu and I, warriors, wanted meat. Too, ahead of us we suspected that the river, as we had been warned at the last village, would become ever more dangerous and treacherous. We felt the long-term strength of meat protein would be a useful addition to our diets.

"I will need a beast of burden," I had said.

The blond-haired barbarian, immediately, had sprung to her feet. She had stood before me, her head down. "I am a beast of burden," she had said.

"Follow me," I had said.

"Yes, Master," she had said.

I lifted up the wild tarsk.

We had proceeded into the rain forest for better than two Ahn before we had come upon the tarsk. It had charged. I had killed it.

"Bend down," I told the girl.

I threw the tarsk across her shoulders. She staggered under its weight.

I then turned from her and left the clearing. My hands were free for the use of the spear. Gasping, behind me, stumbling, staggering under the weight of the tarsk I had killed, came my slave.

I looked upward, through the trees. "It is growing dark," I said. "We will not have time to reach the encampment before nightfall. We will make a small camp in the forest, and proceed in the morning."

"Yes, Master," she said.

As the girl, on her knees, tended the roasting tarsk, I cut a long stake, some four and one half feet in length and some four inches in width. About its top, about two inches from the end, I cut a groove, about an inch deep.

"What is that for?" she asked.

"It is a slave stake," I said, "for securing you for the night."

"I see," she said. She turned the tarsk on its spit. It glistened. From its sides droplets of fat and blood, popping and sizzling, dropped into the fire.

With a large rock, blow by blow, heavily, inch by inch, I drove the long, thick stake into the ground. I left about four inches of it exposed.

"The tarsk is ready," she said.

I took one end of the spit in two hands and lifted the tarsk from the fire, putting it down on leaves. I then crouched beside it, and began to cut into it, to the spit I looked up. The girl, kneeling by the fire, watched me. I rose to my feet I tied a long leather strap on her neck and led her to the slave stake. I tied the free end of the strap about the slave stake, using the prepared groove in the stake which I had earlier cut. "Kneel," I told her. "Yes, Master," she said. She then knelt there, tethered to the stake by the neck. I ha4 left her about seven feet of slack in the strap. I then returned to the meat, and began to cut slices from it, and feed. After I had begun to feel full I looked at the girl. I threw her a piece of meat, which struck against her body. It fell to the ground. She picked it up in two hands and, watching me, began to eat it.

After a time I wiped my face with my forearm. I was finished eating. I again looked at the girl. "Do you want more?" I asked. "No, Master," she said.

We had drunk earlier, from the water cupped at the base of the leaves of fan palms.

I then lay on one elbow, near the fire. I regarded the beautiful slave. It is pleasant to own women.

"Are you going to tie my hands behind my back before you retire?" she asked.

"Yes," I told her.

"That is common in slave security, isn't it?" she asked.

"It is common in the open," I said, "when one does not have cages, or chains and slave bracelets, at one's disposal. A girl's hands, of course, need not be tied behind her back. They might be tied over her head or before her body, usually about a small tree."

"Are girls secured at night, in the cities?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I said, "sometimes not. They are collared. The cities are walled. Where would they run to?"

"But not all girls wish to escape, do they?" she asked.

"No," I said. "All the evidence supports the thesis that very few girls desire to escape their masters. Slavery apparently agrees with them. But all girls, whether they wish to escape or not, know that escape is almost impossible. Besides, if they should escape, they would doubtless soon fall to another master, perhaps worse than the first"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Too," I said, "I am not certain that it is altogether wise for a girl to attempt to escape. For example, if she is caught, her feet may be cut off."

"I would be afraid to try to escape, Master," she said.

"You tried to escape in Port Kar," I said. I had caught her, and tied her and returned her to Ulafi, who had been at that time her master. I had wanted her shipped to Schendi that I might, by means of her, following her sales and exchanges, be led to the lair.pf the treacherous Shaba, traitor to Priest-Kings.

"I did not even begin to understand at that time," she said, "what might be involved, the almost total impossibility of escape and the drastic nature of the penalties which Gorean men might, without a second thought, so casually inflict upon me. I did not even begin to understand at that time what it might mean to be a slave girl on Gor."

"But you understand a little of what it might mean now, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, kneeling there by the slave stake, the tether tied on her throat. She fingered the tether. "If I had known then what I now know," she said, "I would not have dared to move."

I nodded.

"I would have been afraid," she smiled, wryly, "to have moved even so much as a muscle, for fear one of Ulafi's men would have put me under the lash."

"Of course," I said.

Intelligent women learned swiftly the realities of Gor.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Not all masters would secure their slaves at night, would they, even in the open?"

"No," I said. "Much depends on the girl and the area."

"A master would not be likely to secure a conquered love slave, would he?" she asked.

"He might," I said, "if only to remind her that she is a slave."

"I see," she said.

"There is another reason, too, for securing a slave at night," I said, "for example, for locking her in her kennel or, if she is to be kept out-of-doors, chaining her to a ring in your courtyard."

"What is that?" she asked.

"To keep her from being stolen," I said.

"We could be stolen, couldn't we?" she said. She trembled.

"Of course," I said. "Slave theft is not unknown on Gor."

"I have heard," she said, "that girls are often chained at night to slave rings at the foot of their masters' couches."

"That is true," I said.

"But surely there is little danger," she said, "of a girl being stolen from her master's compartments."

"Not while he is there," I admitted.

"Then why are they chained like that?" she asked.

"Because they are slaves," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, putting her head down.

"It is nearly time to tie you for the night," I said.

"Oh, please, Master," she said, lifting her head, "let me speak but a moment more with you. Do not tie your slave just now."

"Very well," I said.

She knelt back, happily, on her heels. She put her hands on the tether at her throat.

"Wasn't it horrifying," she asked, "what Kisu did to Tende today?"

"What?" I asked.

"Making her dance naked," she said.

"No," I said.

"Oh," she said.

"She is a slave," I reminded her.

"Yes, Master," she said. She looked at me. "It is permissible for a slave to dance naked?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She looked down. "Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Am I a slave object?" she asked.

"Of course," I said. "And a very delicious one," I added.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"Does it trouble you to be an object?" I asked.

"I do not feel like an object," she said.

"Technically," I said, "in the eyes of Gorean law you are not an object but an animal."

"I see," she said.

"In one sense," I said, "no living human being, nor bird nor squirrel, can be an object. They are not, for example, tables or rocks. In another sense all living creatures are objects. For example, they occupy space and obey the laws of physics and chemistry."

"You know what I mean," she said.

"No," I said, "I do not. Speak more clearly."

"A woman is treated like an object," she said, "when men do not listen to her or care for her feelings."

"Surely women, in the single-minded pursuit of certain goals, can treat other women and men, in that way?" I asked. "And men could treat men in that way, and so on? Is not the problem you have in mind a rather general one?"

"Perhaps," she said.

"Similarly," I said, "do not confuse being treated as an object with being an object. Similarly, do not confuse being treated as an object with being regarded as an object. For example, individuals who treat human beings as objects very seldom think that they are really objects. That would suggest insanity."

"You do not respond properly," she smiled.

"Is your criterion for being treated as an object that men do not agree with you?" I asked. "If so, that is somewhat obtuse."

"I suppose perhaps it is," she said. "If men do not do what we want, then they, so to speak, have not listened to us or paid attention to our feelings."

"That is a very interesting way of thinking," I admitted. "By the same token, if women did not pay close attention to the wishes of men and comply with their desires, then men might be entitled to regard themselves as being treated as objects."

"How silly," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"It is hard to talk with you about these things," she said.

"I think so," I said.

"You are not familiar with the slogans," she said.

"That is perhaps it," I admitted.

"I shall try again," she said.

"Do so," I encouraged her.

"Men," she said, "are only interested in women's bodies."

"I have never known a man who was only interested in a woman's body," I said. "This is not to deny that some such unusual person might somewhere exist."

She looked at me.

"If what you say is true," I said, "it would be the case that it would make no difference to a' man whether the woman with whom he was relating was conscious or not. Indeed, if what you say is true, it should not even make a difference to him whether he held a sentient woman in his arms or an unconscious mechanism designed to resemble such a woman. I submit, with all due respect, that that is not only libelous, but preposterous. Surely no rational person, male or female, if they took a moment to reflect, could entertain so peculiar a hypothesis. No man with whom I am familiar would be content with a woman who lacked consciousness. That sort of thing is simply stupid. It seems to me it would even have limited propaganda value."

"The men of Earth can be confused and terrorized by such assertions," she said.

"Some, perhaps," I said, "idiots."

"Perhaps," she said. "But such assertions can be politically effective."

"Yes," I agreed. 'The trick is to make a charge so obviously false or hopelessly vague that your interlocutor, who is usually concerned to be polite and congenial, makes a fool of himself trying to treat it seriously. It is a little like the fellow who tries to respond to the charge that he is a mad sleen by discussing the results of his blood tests."

"Perhaps what is meant," she said, "is that men do not pay sufficient attention to the thinking and feelings of women."

"That is a totally different charge," I said, "and one that may well be true."

She looked at me.

"It is a common property of human beings," I said, "that they, for better or for worse, do not pay much attention to the thoughts and feelings of others. Thus, it would not be surprising if most men did not pay much attention to the thoughts and feelings of women. If it is any consolation, they do not pay much attention to the thoughts and feelings of other men either. Similar remarks, of course, hold for women. Many women, for example, are excellent in not listening to others. No one sex has a monopoly on dogmatism." I looked at her. "If you are interested in this sort of thing from the Gorean viewpoint," I said, "free men and women are usually attentive to the thoughts and feelings of one another. Not only are they free, but they may even share a Home Stone. Free women, in being free, command attention when they speak. It is their due. The case with slaves, such as you, my dear, is of course much different. The difference, however, is that respect and attention is not due to you, that it need not be accorded to you. You are slave. In actual practice, of course, masters tend to pay a great deal of attention to the thoughts and feelings of their lovely slaves. It is rewarding and delicious to do so. How wonderful it is to know another human being so intimately, especially one one owns. There are no secrets between masters and slaves. Her deepest thoughts and desires, as well as her most trivial fancies and observations, are open to him and, because he owns her, of great interest to him. A man is much more likely to be in-tensely fond of a girl he owns than of a free individual toward whom he stands in a mere contractual relationship. The latter he does not own; the former he does. The owned girl is a valuable; she is precious; this makes her much different from a business partner. For what it is worth, the most intimate and deepest loves I have know have been between masters and their slaves, that between the love master and his love slave."

"But the woman is still a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said, "totally and categorically. She may even be sold, if he wills."

'The attention and love such a girl obtains," she said, "need not be accorded to her."

"No," I said. "It is a gift of the master."

"He could, at any point," she said, "simply order her to silence and put her to his feet."

"Of course," I said, "and sometimes he will, if only to remind her that she is a slave."

"She is, then, for all her freedom, yet absolutely under his will."

"Yes," I said. "She is his slave."

"I love you, Master," she whispered.

I listened to the crackling of the fire, and the sounds of the jungle night.

"As an Earth woman," I said, "you are doubtless not accustomed to thinking of yourself as an article of property."

"No, Master," she smiled.

"But I think, now," I said, "that you. may be ready to understand the sense in which you are a slave object."

"Yes, Master," she said, tears in her eyes.

"You are a beautiful woman, who. is owned," I said. "You may be bought and sold."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Too," I said, "not the least attention need be paid to your desires, your thoughts or feelings."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"That is mainly what it is to be a slave object," I said.

"I understand, my master," she said.

"You see," I said, "it has nothing to do with consciousness or feelings."

"I acknowledge the justice of the expression," she said, "but somehow it seems quite inapt."

"Perhaps you will not think so," I said, "when you are put in chains and sold to a master who terrifies you."

"No, Master," she smiled.

"Why do you feel the expression is inapt?" I asked.

"Because I do not feel like an 'Object'," she said. "Never have I been so alive, so excited, and so vital, or have I felt so significant and real, as when I have been a slave. Never in the constrictions of my freedom could I have understood such experiences to exist as I have felt on this world as a lowly slave. I had not dreamed such happiness could exist. I did not know I could experience such joy."

"Perhaps I should whip you," I said.

"Please, no, Master," she said. "Be merciful to your girl."

I shrugged. I determined that I would not whip her, at least at the moment.

"So you see, Master," she said, "though in some respects I am a slave object, an article of property that may be bought and sold, a thing whose desires, whose thoughts and feelings, need not be in the least respected, in another sense, that of feeling and emotion, I am so far removed from the notion of an object that the use of such an expression is totally inadequate to convey the least understanding of my felt realities. I was far more of an "object," a thing manipulated by the internalized demands of others, a thing not daring to feel, a thing not daring to be true to itself, when I was free than I am now, a slave girl in the uncompromising shackles of your bondage."

"I concede," I smiled. "For most practical purposes the expression 'slave object' is not well chosen to express the realities involved. Indeed, for most practical purposes, the expression is not only misleading and infelicitous but, as you have pointed out, inapt."

"You see," she said, "in some respects I am an object, and in other respects I am not an object."

"Yes," I said, "and in the deepest respects you are not an object."

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

I looked at her, kneeling there before me, the bit of bark cloth at her hips, the two necklaces, one red and black, one blue and yellow, about her throat, my tether knotted on her throat, fastening her to the slave stake. "But you are a slave animal," I said.

"Yes, Master," she smiled. "I am a slave animal."

"It is time to tie you for the night, my pretty slave animal," I said.

'The animal begs that you not tie her just now," she said.

"Very well," I said. I looked at her. I reclined on my elbow. She knelt "Most slave girls, you have told me," she said, "do not desire to escape."

"That is apparently true," I said. 'That is strange, isn't it?" I asked.

"I do not find it strange," she said.

"Oh?" I asked.

"I do not want to escape," she said.

"You will be tied anyway," I told her.

"Of course, Master," she smiled.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Animals have needs," she said.

"What sorts of needs?" I asked.

"Many sorts," she said.

"Sexual?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. She put her head down. Her lip trembled.

"Look at me, Slave," I told her.

She looked at me. There were tears in her eyes. "Do you admit that you have sexual needs?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she sobbed.

"Is your admission merely intellectual?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said. "It is deeper than that." The intellectual admission that one possesses sexual needs is cheap. It is well within the range of even the clever bigot. That sort of admission, automatic, expected and innocuous, serves often not only in lieu of an authentic emotional admission but serves often, too, as a psychological device whereby just such an honest concession to the needs of one's deeper nature may be avoided.

"Do you have sexual needs, truly?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"And do you wish them satisfied?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Say then, aloud," I said, "'I have sexual needs, truly. "

"I am a woman of Earth!" she protested. "Please do not make me say that."

"Say it," I said.

"I have sexual needs," she said, "-truly."

"Say now," I said, "'I want them satisfied. "

"I want them satisfied," she said.

"Say," I said, "'I will never again deny my sexual needs. "

"I will never again deny my sexual needs," she said.

"Say," I said, "'I will be such and behave in such a way as to attempt to secure the satisfaction of my deepest and most honest sexual needs. "

"I will be such and behave in such a way," she said, "as to attempt to secure the satisfaction of my deepest and most honest sexual needs." She looked at me. "Even though they might be those of a slave?" she asked.

"Even though they might be those of a slave," I said.

"Even though they might be those of a slave," she said.

"Even though they are those of a slave," I said.

"Even though they are those of a slave," she repeated.

"Say now," I said, "'I am a slave. I am your slave, Master. "

"I am a slave. I am your slave, Master," she said. She looked at me. "I cannot believe how I feel," she said. "I am so incredibly happy, Master."

I nodded. I sensed then that the locks on the dungeon door had been opened, that the bolts had been slid back.

Then she put down her head. "I am a girl in need," she said, "I beg the touch of my master."

"Look at me," I said. "And speak clearly."

She lifted her head. "I am a girl in need," she said, boldly. "I beg the touch of my master."

I smiled, and she reddened. She had now, at last, explicitly begged for my touch.

The hands of the small, naked slave girl hidden in the dungeon, crouching on the damp, narrow, stone stairs, pressed upward against the iron door which had been bolted shut above her. It moved a quarter of an inch upward, and did not strike against its familiar bolts. The bolts had been withdrawn. She trembled and sobbed, fearing to be the victim of some cruel trick. She thrust harder against the iron door above her. An inch of light, narrow and straight, almost blinded her. She put down her head. Then again she thrust upward against the weight. She sobbed in misery. Her small strength might not be sufficient to lift the door, to thrust it back. She struggled. Then, slowly, inch by inch, she pressing upward, the door began to open; she could feel the stone of the stairs hard under her bare feet; her muscles ached; there was a heavy sound from the protesting, thick hinges; she cried out, thrusting upward; the door then, suddenly, opened, suddenly swinging back, falling away from her; there was a clang of iron on stone. Fearing to move, blinded by the sunlight, she knelt trembling on the stairs. She did not lift her head above the level of the opened door. Perhaps she feared that her mistress, Janice Prentiss, would come and whip her and put her back in the dungeon. But did not her mistress know that it was she herself who was the lovely, frightened slave? Did she not know that it would be only she herself who would feel the blows of such a whip, or she herself who would see again the iron door of the dungeon close above her head?

The blond-haired barbarian, my tethered slave, looked at me, and smiled. "I am ready to please you, in any way that you might see fit, Master," she said.

I reclined on one elbow, watching her.

"Command me," she said.

"I do not," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

"If you desire to please me," I said, "you may do so. I accord you my permission."

"But I am an Earth woman," she said. "Are you not going to order me?"

"No," I said.

"Surely you do not expect me, an Earth woman, to please a man, I mean really please him, of my own free will?" she asked.

I smiled. "It is a startling thought," I admitted.

She smiled.

"Do you want to please me?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You may then do so, if you wish," I said.

"But I am a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"But are slaves not commanded?" she asked.

"Not always," I said.

"It is strange," she said. "I never thought that in all my life I would kneel before a man and tell him that I was ready to please him in any way he saw fit. Now I have done so, and he does not command me."

"Perhaps, if you wish," I said, "you might please me in some way that you see fit."

"But I am a slave," she said.

"Precisely," I said.

"You know, don't you," she asked, "that I want to please you as a slave?"

"Of course," I said. "That is natural. You are a slave."

"Command me," she begged.

"No," I said.

"But I am an Earth woman," she said.

"Not really any longer," I said. "You are now a Gorean slave girl."

"Yes, Master," she said. She rose lightly to her feet. She lifted the tether away from the slave stake. The tether, knotted on her throat, fastened at the other end to the slave stake, was about seven feet in length.

I watched her.

"I have sexual needs," she said. "And I want to please my master."

I shrugged.

She looked down at the slave stake. "I note that this night," she said, "you did not fasten me to a small tree, as to a slave post, but that you prepared a slave stake." She then lifted the tether. "I note, too, Master," she said, "that this tether is somewhat longer than would be needful to secure a miserable slave."

"You are a highly intelligent woman," I said. 'That makes it all the more pleasant to own you."

"You knew what I would want to do, didn't you? she asked.

"Of course," I said.

Suddenly she put her head in her hands, sobbing. "I dare not," she wept. "I dare not! Command me! Command me!"

"No," I said. I did not hurry her.

In time she took her hands from her face, and wiped away her tears. "Tie me for the night," she begged.

"Very well," I said.

"No," she said. "No!"

"Very well," I said.

She straightened herself. She smiled. Her eyes were moist "What I am now going to do," she said. "I do fully and completely of my own free will. I have sexual needs. I shall exhibit the desperation of these needs before my master, in the hope that he will take pity on me and satisfy them. It is also a girl's hope that in what she does her master will not find her fully displeasing."

She then, gently, removed the bark skirt from her hips and dropped it to the side.

She then flexed her knees and lifted her hands, the backs of the wrists facing one another, gracefully over her head.

"Wait," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

"Have you begged to perform?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"You may now do so," I said.

"I beg to perform before my master," she said.

"Very well," I mid. "You may do so."

"Thank you, Master," she said.

She then danced before me, of her own free will, a girl in need, and one desiring to please her master.

Her dance grew ever more desperate and, at times, I had to throw her from me.

Then she lay at the slave stake. She held out a hand to me.

I went to her and seized her by the upper arms and threw her to her feet She looked at me, frightened.

"You did not do badly, Slave Girl," I said. "But now it is time for you to learn how to truly dance before a man."

"Master!" she cried in misery.

"Be as you were," I told her.

Immediately, frightened, she stood again before me, knees flexed, hands raised above her head, gracefully, the backs of her wrists facing one another, in one of the attitudes of the slave dancer.

I jerked the tether on her throat. "This is a tether," I said. "It is to be well incorporated in your dance. You are a tethered slave. Do not forget it. You may fight the tether, you may love it. It may confine your body, you may use it to caress your body, an invitation to your master, a surrogate symbol of his domination of you. You need not dance always on your feet. A woman can dance beautifully on her knees. moving as little as a hand, or on her back, or belly or side. In all things do not forget that you are a slave."

"Are you now commanding me to dance before you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "you dance now as a commanded slave. And if I am not well pleased have no fear but what you will be well beaten, if not slain."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then stepped back from her. "When I clap my hands," I said, "you will dance, Slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then struck my hands together, and, terrified, the girl danced.

She had not been taught the tether dance, one of the most beautiful of the slave dances of Gor, but she improvised well. Indeed, it was hard to believe that she had not had training. I am inclined to believe that the need dances and display dances of the human female may be, at least in their rudiments, instinctual. I suspect there is a genetic disposition in the woman toward this type of behavior and that certain of the movements, closely associated with luring behavior and love movements, may also be genetically based. One reason for supposing this to be the case is that a girl's growth in certain forms of dance skills does not follow a normal learning curve. It is rather like the human being's ability to acquire speech, which also does not follow a normal learning curve. It seems reasonably likely that facility in acquiring speech, which would have enormous survival value, has been selected for. Similarly, a woman's marvelous adaptability to erotic dance may possibly have been selected for. At any rate, whatever the truth may be in these matters, feminine women, perhaps to the horror of their more masculine sisters, seem to take naturally to the beauties of erotic dance. At the very least, perhaps inexplicably, they are marvelously good at it. These genetic dispositions, of course, if they exist, can be culturally suppressed.

I watched the girl dance. She was quite good.

The needs of human beings are a matter of biology. The values in a culture are the values of certain men. Many people take the values of their culture for granted, as though they were somehow a part of the furniture of the universe. They should realize that the values they are taught are the values of particular men, and often, unfortunately, of men who, long ago, were short-lived, ignorant, uninformed, unhealthy and quite possibly of unsound mind. Perhaps human beings should, from the viewpoints of contemporary information and modern medicine, re-evaluate these perhaps anachronistic value structures. Values need not be something one somehow mysteriously "knows," a result of having forgotten the conditioning process by means of which they were instilled, but could be something chosen, something selected as instruments by means of which to improve human life. It is not wrong for human beings to be happy.

"Now you are becoming a woman," I told her. She knelt on one knee, her right; her left leg was flexed; the tether was taken, in a turn, about her left thigh; her hands, too, were on her left thigh; her head was down, but turned toward me; her lip trembled. "Continue to dance, Slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I watched her, and marveled. It is interesting to note that such movements, those of slave dances, despite the inhibitions of rigid cultures, may occur in a girl's sleep, and may even occur, almost spontaneously, when she, nude, alone, passes before a mirror in her bedroom. How shocked she may be to suddenly see her body move as that of a slave. Could it have been she who so moved? Later, perhaps to her surprise, she finds herself standing before the mirror. She is naked, and alone. Then, perhaps scarcely understanding what is occurring within her, she sees the girl in the mirror has begun to dance. The movements are not dissimilar perhaps to those of women who, thousands of years ago, danced in firelit caves before their masters. Then, knowing well that it is she herself who is the dancer, she dances brazenly, boldly, before the mirror. Well does she present her bared beauty before it in the movements, the attitudes and postures of the female slave. Then perhaps she falls to the rug, scratching at it, pressing her belly to it. "I want a Master," she whispers.

I now stood up. My arms were folded.

The girl now was upon her knees at my feet, the tether on her neck slung back behind her to the slave stake. Still in her dance, she began to lick and kiss at my body.

I then took her by the upper arms and held her, half lifted from her knees, before me.

"Please do not whip me," she begged.

I then, by the upper arms, dragged her to the side of the slave stake. I put her on her knees there. She looked up at me. "You danced well as a slave," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said. She looked up at me, trembling.

"What are you?" I asked.

"A slave," she said.

"Fully and only a slave? I asked.

She regarded me. Her entire body began to shake.

The secret slave in her then was summoned forth. She crept from the dungeon, into the sunlight. She knelt then on the gravel of the courtyard, small, and beautiful and naked, at the feet of masters.

"Yes, Master," said the blond-haired barbarian. "I am fully and only a slave." Then, suddenly, she threw back her head and sobbed with joy. Then she put her head to my knees and, holding them, covered them with kisses. Then she put her head to my feet. She covered them, too, with kisses. I felt her hair on my feet. I felt the hot tears of her joy. "Yes," she whispered, "I am fully and only a slave."

The secret slave, I saw, was then free of her dungeon. Never again could she be put back in it.

The blond-haired barbarian raised her head. Tears were In her eyes. The secret slave, too, had raised her head. Tears, too, had been in her eyes. "Thank you, Master," said the blond-haired barbarian. "Thank you, Master," had breathed the secret slave.

"You are my slave," I said to the blond-haired barbarian. I took her by the hair. I looked into her eyes. "You are the slave of men," I said.

"Yes, my master," she said.

The secret slave then knelt joyfully in the sunlit courtyard, on the cruel gravel. She kissed the steel collar thrust to her lips. She closed her eyes, joyfully, as it was locked upon her small, fair throat. She wore then, locked upon her neck, that for which she had yearned in the long years of her imprisonment, the sweet, liberating, uncompromising collar of public bondage.

"I am free," breathed the blond-haired barbarian. "At last I am free!"

"Beware how you speak. Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I feel so free," she said.

"In a sense you are free and in a sense you are not free," I said. "The sense, or one of the senses, in which you are free," I said, "is the sense of emotional freedom. You, a slave, have now honestly admitted to yourself, in your own heart, fully, that you are truly a slave. This eliminates conflicts. This produces a sense of emotional joy and fulfillment. You are now at peace with yourself. You are now content with yourself. The sense in which you are not free is an obvious one. You are a slave, totally, and are fully at the mercy of your master, or masters."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I seized her hair and twisted her head to the side, cruelly. "Oh!" she cried.

"Do you think you are free?" I asked.

"No, Master," she wept.

I released her. I crouched back a bit, watching her. She lifted her head. "I am very happy," she said.

I did not speak.

"I love being under the total domination of a male," she said.

I moved more closely to her. I took her by the upper arms, crouching near her.

"Did I please my master by my dancing?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"How can I please my master more?" she asked.

I then, by her upper arms, my grip tight upon them, pressed her gently but forcibly backwards. She then lay beside the thick slave stake, her shoulder blades in the dirt. The tether was still upon her throat.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"I have never been so happy before in my life as this night, Master," she whispered.

She lay on her side, her back to me. I tied her hands behind her back.

"You are Janice," I told her, naming her.

"Thank you, Master," she said, putting her head back.

I had used her several times during the night. And several times she had, squirming in the helpless throes of the slave orgasm, screamed and sobbed herself mine.

"I had not known such sensations could exist," she had said.

"They are attainable only by the slave," I told her. 'They are the surrender and submission spasms of the owned woman, the girl who must yield absolutely and totally, holding nothing back, to her master."

"I see, Master," she had said.

"They cannot, in the nature of things, be attained by the free woman," I said, "for she is her own mistress, not the slave of a master."

"Yes, Master," had said the girl.

"Did you like them?" I asked.

"I loved them," she said.

"Do you like being a slave?" I asked.

"I love it," she said. Then she had said, "Please, Master, rape me again," and I had done so.

I checked the knots on her wrists. The girl was secured.

"Thank you for naming me 'Janice'," she said.

"It is a pretty name," I said. "And it will give me a means by which to summon you, when I wish you to fetch and serve."

"Yes, Master," she said. Then she turned about, to lie on her right side, to face me. Her hands were tied behind her back. "I love wearing that name as a slave name," she said.

I looked at her.

"It was the name of that girl on Earth whom I was," she laughed, "that pretentious, foolish little slut, so haughty and smug, so proud of herself, so concerned to deny that anyone so lofty as herself could possibly be a slave. It gives me great pleasure to see that her master now puts her own name on her and forces her to wear it, openly and publicly, as a slave name."

'The name 'Janice'," I said, "apart from such considerations, is a beautiful name for a slave."

"I will try to be worthy of it," she said.

"If you are not," I said, "it may be soon changed."

"Yes, Master," she said. A free woman's name, of course, tends to remain constant. A Gorean free woman does not change her name in the ceremony of the Free Companionship. She remains who she was. In such a ceremony two free individuals have elected to become companions. The Earth woman, as a consequence of certain mating ceremonials, may change her last name. The first and other names, however, tend to remain constant. From the Gorean point of view the wife of Earth occupies, a status which is higher than that of the slave but lower than that of the Free Companion. The case with slaves, of course, is much different from that of free women, either those of Gor or Earth. Their names are simply given to them, as the names of animals. They may be altered or changed at will. Indeed, sometimes a slave is not even given a name. The names a slave wears, of course, are functions of the master's pleasure. They can own a name no more than they can own anything else. It is they who are owned. Some masters have favorite names for girls. Some masters may reward a hard-working girl with a lovely name; others may torment a slave who has been insufficiently pleasing with a cruel or ugly name. Most girls, of course, are given beautiful and exciting slave names, for the masters wish the girl, too, to be beautiful and exciting. She is, after all, a slave. What names count as being beautiful and exciting, of course, is partly a cultural matter. For example, many women of Earth might be astonished to learn that their names, which they may regard as simple or common, names such as 'Jane' or Alice', are found extremely beautiful to the Gorean ear. To be sure, the Gorean commonly alters the pronunciation somewhat, to conform with phonemic variations with which he is more familiar. Further, as I may have mentioned, many Earth-girl names are found extremely provocative to the Gorean male. This probably has to do with emotive connotations resulting from his familiarity with such girls in his markets. Such names may suggest to him, usually correctly, that their lovely bearer is going to be an unusually helpless and delicious slave. I once saw a girl in her chains dragged from the very market block and raped in the aisle for no other reason, apparently, than that the auctioneer had mentioned that her name was Helen. Needless to say, a slave girl, as she changes collars, may change names. Most girls, In passing from the hands of one master into those of another, will have had various names.

"The name 'Janice', on Gor, is a slave name, isn't it?" asked the girl.

"Yes," I said. "Do you object?"

"No, Master," she said. "I find that delicious, and wholly appropriate."

She leaned to me, her hands tied behind her back, and kissed me, gently.

"Let us rest now, Slave Girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I awakened, suddenly, startled for the instant. Then I realized what was happening.

It was perhaps an Ahn before dawn.

She lifted her head from my body. It was hard to see her in the light. The fire had burned down. "Please do not whip me, Master," she said, frightened.

"You may continue," I told her.

She again bent her head to my body. She knelt beside me in the darkness. Her hands were tied behind her back. The tether was on her throat.

"Stop for a bit," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said. I felt her cheek against me. Thee she put her head down, on my belly.

"Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Master," she said. "I know that I should not do that. Beat me, if you must."

"I am not angry," I said.

"I could not help myself," she said, "though I feared I might be beaten. You do not know what it is to be a female slave. I am so weak. I was so overcome with desire for my master."

"I am not angry," I told her, "But do not let it happen too often. It is I who will instruct you as to when to serve my pleasure."

"But what of my needs?" she asked.

"Your needs," I said, "will be satisfied if, and when, I please."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"It is perfectly acceptable for you to lie alone in the darkness, miserable, tormented by your needs," I said, "for you are a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said. "But may I not, upon occasion, beg to be used?"

"Of course," I said.

She then, lifting her head, began to lick and kiss softly at my body. I looked up at the stars. I listened to the noises of the jungle night. "How sweet, and strong and beautiful it is," she said.

I said nothing.

"Are you angry with me, Master?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"I love to kiss you," she said. Then she again put her head down on my belly.

"Do not stop, Slave," I said.

Again she lifted her head.

Then I took her by the hair and drew her close to me.

"Master?" she asked.

"Perform," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then forced her head downward and held her in place, as is common with slaves.

"You are skilled," I told her.

She moaned softly.

"Quite skilled," I said.

She moaned again, a sweet, soft, piteous moan.

"Aiii," I whispered, softly, and, not releasing her, holding her head to me, reared to my feet, half crouching. She was gasping, sobbing. She was half lifted from her knees. I looked down at her. How incredibly beautiful she was in the jungle night, so small, so white and soft, her small hands tied behind her, the tether on her throat. I gasped, and put my head back, taking air into my lungs. Then I lowered her gently to the ground. She looked up at me. "I love you, Master," she whispered. I forced myself to remember that she was only a slave. Then I lay beside her. I wiped her mouth with the back of my forearm. I held her head in my hands and kissed her on the forehead. Then, shuddering, I clutched her. In a few minutes I was calm. In a quarter of an Ahn she felt me move against her thigh. "You are strong, Master," she said. "You are beautiful," I told her.

"You have told me," she said, "that I might, upon occasion, beg to be used."

"It is my intention to use you again," I said. "You need not beg."

"But may I not beg, if I wish?" she asked.

"Of course," I smiled.

"I beg to be used, Master," she whispered.

"You are an incredibly beautiful and desirable woman," I said. "How miserable it would be for men if you were not a slave."

"But I am a slave," she laughed. "And men may buy me, and do what they want with me."

I kissed her.

"Will you not accede to the plea of your aroused slave, Master?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I said.

"I must now be silent on the matter and await your decision," she said.

"That would be wise," I said.

"You could beat me, if you wished, couldn't you?" she asked.

"Of course," I told her.

"I desire you," she whispered.

"We shall see," I said.

"Oh," she laughed. Then she said, "It is well that I spoke the truth." She kissed me. "Do you customarily subject your girls to such an examination?" she asked.

"When it pleases me," I said.

"Of course, Master," she said. "We are slaves."

I again placed my hand upon her, and she put her head back. "You see that I did not lie, Master," she said.

"Yes," I said. I felt her small body move beneath my hand. She lifted her body, piteously. "Am I not ready for my master?" she asked.

"Yes, Slave," I said. "You are well ready."

"Ready as is an Earth woman for the penetration of an equal?" she asked.

"No," I said, "ready as is a Gorean slave girl, begging for the least touch of her master."

"It is true, Master," she said. "No longer am I an Earth woman. I am now only a Gorean slave girl, nothing more."

"Are you loving and obedient, Slave?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I kissed her.

"If I dared," she said, "I would again beg to be taken."

"You may beg," I told her.

"Please take me, Master," she begged. "Please take me, Master."

"What a slave you are," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"How do you wish to be treated?" I asked.

She pressed herself against me, kissing, half sobbing. "Treat me as the amorous, worthless slave I am," she said.

"You are not worthless," I said. "You have a market value, Indeed, it has been improved this night."

"But I am a total slave," she said.

"That is true," I said, "and a squirming, aroused, amorous one."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I held her head in my hands. I kissed her about the throat.

"Please take me, Master," she begged.

"With mercy?" I asked her.

"No," she whispered, "without mercy."

"How incredible was that experience," she said.

"There are many ways to take a woman," I told her, "even many ways to take her without mercy."

"Perhaps it is only the free who permit themselves to be imprisoned by routine," she said.

"Perhaps," I said. "I would not know." I kissed her, gently. "Sleep now," I said. "It is nearly light."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"It is light, Master," she said, softly.

I awakened. I rolled over and lifted myself on one elbow. I regarded her in the glistening, moist jungle dawn. She was lying beside me, the tether on her throat, her hands tied behind her back.

"We must soon be on our way," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. I saw that she was very beautiful. Yesterday she had been a woman who had been enslaved. This morning she was a slave.

"Master?" she asked.

I took her ankles and threw them apart.

"Yes, my master," she whispered.

Later I stood over her, and looked down upon her. She looked up at me. "I love you, Master," she said.

"You will doubtless be bought and sold many times, Slave," I said, "and will have many masters."

"I will try to love my masters," she said.

"That would be wise on your part," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she smiled. I looked down upon her. Perhaps someday she would find her love master, he to whom she would be the perfect love slave. Sometimes such individuals know one another immediately, sometimes not. Sometimes a man simply sees a naked woman in her chains upon the block and knows suddenly that she is the perfect one, she who is destined to be the perfect love slave for whom he ha. always sought. Sometimes a girl, kneeling before a new master, is seized by a sudden wild emotion. Perhaps it is something in the way his steel is locked upon her body; perhaps it is something in the audacity and assurance with which he handles her. She lifts her head, meeting his eyes. Quickly she puts her head down, trembling. She knows then she has met one who may well be her love master, one to whom she can be but the most helpless of love slaves. I looked down at the girl, lying at my feet. Perhaps someday, I mused, she would find her perfect love master, he to whom she would be the perfect love slave. Until then let her be bought and sold, and passed from hand to hand, subject to exchanges, and vendings and barterings; let her know the joys and miseries of diverse bondages; it did not matter, for she was only a slave.

I kicked her with the side of my foot. "On your feet," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I let her stand there, tethered and bound, and naked, while I ate some of the roast tarsk. I brushed black ants from it. I then removed the one end of the tether from the slave stake and drew her to the tarsk. "Kneel and feed," I told her. She knelt and, putting down her head, bit at the tarsk. After a time I pulled her away from it and, again using the tether as a leash, led her to a fan palm. I tied the tether to the fan palm. "Drink," I told her. "Yes, Master," she said. While she quenched her thirst, and then knelt beside the fan palm, I destroyed the signs of our encampment. I even, slowly, painfully, drew up the slave stake and discarded it in some growth. It need not reveal that a slave, or slaves, had been tethered here. I then tied the pieces of roast tarsk together, in a heavy ring of meat. Then, fetching the lovely slave, my pretty beast of burden, I stood her in the clearing. I untied her hands and removed the tether from her throat. I threw her the bit of bark cloth for her hips. "Dress," I told her. "Yes, Master," she smiled. She wound the bit of cloth about her hips, and tucked it in. She then thrust it down further, well over her hips, that the loveliness of the slave belly be well revealed.

"Do I meet with the approval of my master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She posed before me, smiling. "The morning garb," she said, "of the well dressed slave girl."

"Often," said I, "slave girls are kept naked, save for their collar and brand."

"Ah," she said, "and I do not even have a collar. How deprived I am! But I am wearing my brand."

"You cannot take it off," I said.

"That is true," she smiled.

"It marks you well," I said.

She drew up the bark skirt. "Yes," she said, "it does."

"How did you get it?" I asked.

"Some cruel brute burned it into my flesh with a hot iron," she said.

"I recall," I said.

"I love my brand," she said.

"Most girls do," I said.

"It makes me prettier, doesn't it, as well as marking me as what I am, a slave?"

"Yes," I said, "a brand makes a woman a thousand times more beautiful. It is not just the aesthetic loveliness of the mark, of course, though that in itself incredibly enhances a woman's beauty; it is, of course, even more, its meaning."

"I understand, Master," she said.

"What is its meaning?" I asked.

"It means that I am a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said. "one of the most helpless, beautiful, exciting and desirable of women, she who is owned, she who is at the complete mercy of the master, she who must well serve and obey in all things."

She entered my arms and melted to me.

"We must be on our way," I told her. Then I lowered her to the ground.

"You're going to rape me, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

I threw the ring of tarsk meat about her neck, over her shoulders. She stumbled a bit under the weight. Then she straightened herself.

"I know why most slave girls do not desire to escape their masters," she said.

"Why? I asked.

"Because we love them, and desire to please them," she said.

I turned her about, and thrust her in the direction of our main camp, where Kisu and the others awaited us.

I followed her.

I carried the long leather strap, that which had served as her tether, looped in my hand.

I looked up at the sun. We must hurry.

"Har-ta, Kajira!" I said. "Faster, Slave Girl!" I struck her with the straps, a sharp blow, that she might understand that she was not to daily.

"Yes, Master," she said.