Fighting Slave of Gor

11 THE ROOM OF PREPARATION

"Poor slave," said the girl. "How the Mistress has abused you"

I lifted my head, slightly, from the flat stones. I lay on my side. The room was quite dark. My feet and ankles were chained together, the chain joining them apparently run through a ring in the stone. I was naked. I wore my collar.

"Lie quietly," said the girl.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

I felt a cool rag, moistened with water, bathe my forehead.

"I am not a Mistress," she laughed. "I, too, am only a poor slave."

"What has happened?" I asked. "What time is it? Where am I?"

"Last night," she said, "you were sent to the chamber of the Mistress"

I was silent.

"I wager she well taught you that you were a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I was well taught that I was a slave"

The girl continued to bathe my forehead. "What time is it?" I asked.

"It is early evening of the day following that in which you were sent to the Mistress' chamber," she said.

"How can that be?" I asked.

"When the Mistress was finished with you," asked the girl, "did she not remove your chains and place a bowl of meal for you at the foot of her couch?"

"Yes," I said. I had been made to eat from it on my hands and knees, head down, not permitted to use my hands.

"Did she not then thrust your tunic under your collar and tell you to find the guards, that they would know what was to be done with you? And did she not then send you from her presence?"

"Yes," I said. "But I do not recall finding the guards"

"The meal was drugged," she said.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"In one of the rooms of slave preparation," she said. "It is in such rooms as these that slaves are often readied for their sale."

"Am I to be soon sold?" I asked.

"I fear so," she said, "since you have been placed here."

I sat up, bitterly.

"I am so sorry for you," she said. "It is such a horrifying and degrading experience to be sold, almost incomprehensible."

"Have you ever been sold?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "many times."

"I am sorry," I said.

"It does not matter," she said, softly. "I am only a slave." I sensed that she leaned back. "Do you wish me to bathe your forehead more?" she asked.

"No," I said. "But you have been very kind" I heard her wring out a rag, hearing the water drip into a pan of water. Then she got up, apparently taking the rag and water to the side of the room. In a moment or two she had returned.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She held a flask of water to my lips from which, gratefully, I drank.

"How cruelly they have chained you," she said. As I had sat up, my wrists, chained closely together, were near my ankles, similarly closely chained. A length of chain, joining my wrists and ankles, running through a heavy ring, secured me in place.

"Are you hungry?" she asked

"Yes," I said.

From a loaf of dried bread, breaking pieces from it, she fed me.

"Would you like again to drink?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. She again held the flask of water to my lips.

"I stole some meat for you," she whispered. She then, piece by piece, fed me small pieces of boiled meat.

"You should not have taken such a risk," I said.

"Eat," she said. "It will give you strength."

"What would they do to you, if they found out that you had stolen the meat?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said. "I suppose they would only whip me. Perhaps they would cut off my hands:"

"Why would you take such a risk, only for me?" I asked.

"Are you not of Earth, Jason?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "I am of Earth. How did you know my name?"

"I have heard you called that," she said. "Is it not the name you have been given?"

"Yes," I said. "It is the name I have been given." I wore the name `Jason' now only as a slave name. Slaves have no names in their own right. They are only animals. They are called whatever their masters wish.

"Do you know of Earth?" I asked.

"Yes," She said, ruefully, "I know of it"

"What is your name?" I asked.

She was silent.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"It is a shameful name," she said. "Please do not make me say it."

"Please," I said.

"Darlene," she said.

"That is an Earth-girl name," I said, excitedly. I trembled in the chains.

"Yes," she said.

"It is a beautiful name," I said.

"It seems to well arouse the lust of Gorean masters," she said.

"Why would they put such a name upon you?" I asked.

"To make it clear to all that I am no more than a slut and a slave," she said.

I had heard that Earth-girl names were often used as slave names on Gor, often being given to the lowest, and the most exciting and sensuous of slaves.

"How cruel Goreans are," I said. Then I said, "I am sorry. Forgive me."

"Why?" She asked.

"I did not mean to insult you," I said.

"I do not understand" she said.

"You are Gorean, are you not?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Then what are you?" I asked.

"Only a poor Earth-girl slave," she said.

I was stunned. "Your Gorean," I said, "is flawless, superb."

"The whip has taught me much," she said.

I was silent, overcome with pity for her. How tragic, I thought; to be a girl of my own world, and be brought cruelly and helplessly to the world of Gor, to be made a slave.

"On Earth," she said, "my name was Darlene. It was then, of course, my own name, and not a mere slave name, put upon me by the whim of Masters"

"I must see you," I said. I pulled at the chains.

"Eat, Jason," she said. "There is a little meat left."

I finished the meat, her small fingers delicately placing it in my mouth.

"You have risked much, bringing me this meat," I said, "for one who is only a slave." `

"It is nothing," she said. "You area man of my world."

"You are a fine and brave girl," I said.

"I am only a miserable slave," she said.

"I must see you," I said. "Is these no way some light can be brought into this place?"

"There is a small lamp," she said. "But I would fear to light it."

"Why?" I asked.

"You area man of Earth," she said. "I would be so ashamed to have you see me, a girl of Earth, as I am now."

"Why?" I asked.

"I am clad only in the rag and collar of a slave," she said.

"Light the lamp," I said, kindly. "Please, Darlene."

"If I do so," she said, "please try to look upon me with the gentility of a man of Earth."

"Of course," I said. "Please, Darlene."

"I will light the lamp," she said. She rose to her feet and went to the side of the room.

I heard the striking together of stones, probably iron pyrites, and saw sparks. Inwardly I gasped as I, in a flash of sparks, followed by darkness, caught a brief glimpse of the luscious, kneeling girl at the side of the room. She wore the scandalously brief shreds of a tattered slave rag, sewn of brown rep-cloth, torn open at her thighs, I assume deliberately, held but by a single, narrow strap over her left shoulder. Her breasts hung lovely, sweet and full, scarcely concealed, within the thin brown cloth. In the spark of light I had seen the glint of the collar, of close-fitting steel, about her throat. She was barefoot.

The stones struck together again, and again I saw her, kneeling oven a bit of moss, tinder, which she was intent upon igniting. She had dark hair, short but full, which fell about her face. Again I glimpsed the lusciousness of her curves, her collar, her bare feet. Had I been a slaver I thought surely I would have marked her down for inclusion on a cargo manifest.

Then she had the bit of moss lit and, into it, she placed a straw. This straw, burning then at one end, served to light the wick of a small, clay oil lamp. She then shook the straw, extinguishing it and, with her fingers, moved the bit of moss about, spreading it, and the tiny flame there dissipated into scattered glowing points which then, rapidly, disappeared. She took the lamp then in her hands and approached me, then crouched down and set it to one side, then knelt back, on her heels. I looked at her then in the tiny light of the lamp,, kneeling back on her heels, small, luscious, her beauty so full and sweetly curved, so poorly concealed in the tattered rag, the knees of her bared legs placed closely together.

She looked at me, in piteous protest.

How could any male, any with even a single drop of blood in his veins, any who still drew breath, look upon such a woman with gentility?

She shook her head. "Please" she said.

I wanted to thrust apart her knees and, taking her by the hair and an ankle, throw her to her back, on the stones. I wanted to have her, ruthlessly, with cries of joy. I clenched my fists. I was chained. How I envied then the rude beasts of Gor, who have such women for their pleasure.

"Forgive me," I begged her.

"You looked upon me," she said, shrinking back, shuddering, "as might have a man of Gor, one whom a woman knows is her master, one whom she knows she must obey."

"No, no," I protested. "That is not true. No."

"It is perhaps fortunate for me," she smiled, relaxing, "that you are closely chained."

"Perhaps," I smiled.

She laughed. She looked at me. She touched the rag she wore. "I suppose it is difficult" she said, "to respect a girl who wears the slave rag, the Ta-Teera."

"No," I said. "Of course not."

"Even one," she smiled, indicating her collar, "who wean the collar of a slave?"

"Of course not," I said.

To be sure, it was not easy to respect a woman who wore only the scandalous and sensuous Ta-Teera, and whose throat was locked in the lovely, exciting collar of a slave. How could one see such a woman, truly, except as a slave? And how could one treat such a woman, truly. except as a slave? And the slaves of Goreans were true slaves. How natural then that they should treat them as what they were, their owned slaves.

"Of course not," I said. "I respect you deeply and fully."

To be sure, the sight of such a woman, so clad and collared, tended to provoke not emotions of respect but deeper and more primitive emotions, emotions such as love, desire and lust, and dominance and uncompromising ownership. Such a woman was, under the enhancements of a civilization. the primitive woman, who must hope to please the brute who owns her.

"I accord you full and total respect." I said.

"A moment ago," she chided me, smiling. "you looked upon me as though I might have been a slave girl."

"Forgive me," I smiled.

"You do respect me, don't you, Jason?" she asked.

"I do." I said. "totally."

"Then I forgive you." she smiled.

"Thank you." I said. I was grateful and relieved that she had forgiven me for my lapse. for my having looked upon her, for an instant, as a man upon a woman. I had looked upon her for that shameful instant not as a person, but as e luscious, desirable female, one fitted by nature to kneel at the feet of a strong man.

She smiled at me. "I care deeply for you, Jason," she said. "You are the first man I have met, in years, who has been kind to me, who has regarded me with gentleness and respect"

I smiled, and shrugged.

"Too," she said, "you are the first man of my world I have seen in years. What lovely memories of their sweetness, their pleasantries and courtesies, you recall in me."

"Your life as a slave must have been hard," I said.

She smiled. "We serve, and obey," she said.

"Doubtless some of your masters must have been harsh," I said.

"Please do not ask a girl to speak of her bondage," she said. She put her head down.

"I'm sorry," I said, softly.

"You cannot even begin to suspect," she said, "what it is to be a slave girl on a world with such men as those of Gor."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"They are overwhelming," she said. "On occasion I have even been forced to yield to them."

I looked at her.

"As a slave," she said, bitterly.

"I'm very sorry," I said. I almost wanted to scream with pleasure at the thought of the lovely Darlene being forced to yield as a slave. How I envied the brute who would have held her in his arms!

"Jason," she said, softly.

"Yes," I said.

"No," she said. "It is nothing."

"What is wrong?" I asked. "You seem troubled, fearful."

"You know what room this is, do you not?" she asked.

"It is a room of slave preparation, you have told me," I said.

"Yes," she said. "Do you know what your presence in this room indicates?"

"That I am to be soon sold," I said, bitterly.

"I fear so," she said.

"How soon am I to be sold?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said. "I am not privy to the secrets of masters."

"But doubtless it will be soon," I said.

"I fear so," she said.

She was silent.

"Jason," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you wish to be sold?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Of course not."

"I can help you to escape." she whispered.

I shook in the chains. "How?" I said. "No," I said. "It is too dangerous."

"I have stolen the key to your chains," she said, "and to your collar. I have stolen clothing for you. I can show you a secret exit from this place."

"It is madness," I said. "What escape can there be for a slave on Gor?"

"Do you wish to try, Jason?" she asked.

Suddenly we were silent and regarded one another, alarmed. We heard two men talking, approaching.

Then two guards, gigantic fellows, brawny, stripped to the waist, their heads shaven save for a knot of hair behind the crown, stood behind the barred gate to the cell. The gate was ajar, doubtless that the girl could come and go, attending me.

The girl faced them, making herself small, kneeling, the palms of her hands on the floor, her head down to the stones. It excited me to see her in such a posture. She was a slave girl in the presence of masters.

"Have you fed the slave, Darlene?" asked one of the men, the larger of the two.

"Yes, Masters," she said, not raising her head.

"Then leave him, Darlene, Slave Girl," he said.

"Yes, Masters," she said, not raising her head.

Then the two men turned away and went down the hall.

Quickly the girl raised her head and, turning about, regarded me. Her eyes were wide. Her lip trembled. "I fear there is little time," she whispered.

I nodded.

"Do you wish to try, Jason?" she asked.

"Surely there would be incredible danger in this for you," I said.

She shrugged. "No one knows that I have the keys," she said. "They will not believe that I could free you."

"But what if you were caught?" I asked.

"I am a slave girl," she said. "Doubtless I would be fed to sleen."

"I cannot permit you to take such a risk," I said.

"They will not know it was I," she said. "They will not believe it could be I."

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

"Yes," she said. "I will be safe. The danger will be yours."

"Free me," I said.

She rose to her feet and ran to the side of the room, where there was a small store of moss, tinder for lighting the lamp. She snatched two keys from the moss.

I clenched my fists in the manacles.

She fled back to me, wildly, and thrust one of the keys into the shackle on my right ankle. She opened it. She then, with the same key, opened the shackle on my left ankle and the manacles on my wrists.

We listened. We heard nothing in the corridor. I rubbed my wrists.

I felt her jam another key into the lock on the back of my collar. She twisted the key, freeing the single-action double bolt.

"You would not get far in a collar," she said, whispering, smiling.

"No, I would not," I said, smiling.

I jerked the collar from my throat.

She took the collar and, carefully, noiselessly, put it to the side, where it might not be seen from the threshold. I looked at the collar, lying on the stones. It was of sturdy steel. I would not have been able to remove it. It had well marked me as a slave.

"I am naked," I said. "Where is the clothing?"

She went to the side of the room and picked up a bag, fastened with a drawstring, the knot on the string sealed with a wax plate, the plate bearing the imprint of a stamp. "The guards said," she said, "that this is clothing. They did not know I overheard them. Doubtless it is true."

I looked at her.

"I did not dare to break the seal," she said. "I did not know until moments ago whether you would be willing to attempt escape or not."

"What is this seal?" I asked, indicating the wax plate with its stamp.

"That is the seal of the House of Andronicus," she said.

"When did this come to this house?" I asked, frightened.

"The day before you arrived," she said. "Do you think perhaps it is not clothing?"

I broke the seal, breaking it away from the knot. I undid the knot. I tore open the bag, thrusting back the loop of the drawstring.

My heart sank.

"Is it not clothing?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"It is clothing," I said.

"What is wrong?" she asked. "Even if they are slave garments they might serve to get you into the streets."

"Look," I said.

"Oh," she wept, miserably. "I had no way of knowing."

I lifted clothing from the bag, dismally. This was, of all things, my old clothing, the clothing I had worn on Earth the night on which Miss Beverly Henderson, a lovely quarry of Gorean slavers, had been abducted and I, unwittingly, had become implicated in her fate.

I held my old jacket clutched in my hand, angrily. I had not known what had happened to my clothing. I had awakened naked, chained, in a dungeon cell in the House of Andronicus. My clothing, unknown to me, even my jacket, and, as I saw, my coat, too, had apparently been transmitted to Gor with me, though for what purpose I could not imagine.

"How cruel they are," she said.

"I do not understand," I said.

"This was sent here, doubtless," she said, "that it might, for the instruction and amusement of buyers, be used in your sale."

"That is doubtless it," I said. I looked at her, miserably.

"The seal is broken on the bag," she said. "What can we do now?"

"We have no choice but to continue," I said.

"It is too dangerous," she said.

"We have no choice," I said. "Before, when I awakened, when I asked you what time it was, you told me, that it was early in the evening."

"Yes," she said.

"That was some time ago," I said. "Do you think that it might be dark by now?"

"Yes," she said, trembling.

"Perhaps, in the darkness," I said, "I might be briefly unnoticed, at least long enough to obtain more suitable, less conspicuous garments."

"It is all my fault," she said, miserably.

"Do not be afraid," I said to her, reassuring her. I took her by the shoulders and looked down into her uplifted eyes.

"I shall try to be brave, Jason," she said.

I lowered my head, gently, to kiss her, but she turned her head away, looking down. "Please, don't, Jason," she said. "Though I wear a collar do not forget that I am a woman of Earth"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Do not fear. I will not take advantage of you." I chastised myself. How forward I had been. I scarcely knew her. Too, I was naked, and she wore only the scandalous Ta-Teera, and her collar.

"Thank you, Jason," she whispered.

"Men have been cruel to you, haven't they?" I asked, gently.

"I am a slave girl," she shrugged.

I could well imagine the torments and ecstasies with which the Earth beauty would have been afflicted by the brutes of Gor.

"It was my intention," I said, "to kiss you only with the gentleness, and tenderness, of a man of Earth." It had not been my intention to subject her mouth, her throat and breasts, her belly, the interior of her thighs, to the cruel, commanding, raping kisses of the Gorean master.

"How wonderful you are, Jason," she said. "If only the men of Gor were more like you."

"Please let me kiss you," I said. She was so lovely.

She turned her head away. "No," she said. "I wear a collar."

"I do not understand," I said.

"I am a woman of Earth," she said. "I would be ashamed to be kissed while my throat is locked in the collar of bondage.

"Of course," I said. "I am sorry."

"Dress now, Jason," she said. "There is little time."

"I do not understand," I said.

"The guards may make their rounds soon," she said.

"I see," I said. I removed my clothing from the bag. I began to draw on my undergarments.

"There is another reason, too, why I did not let you kiss me," she said.

"What is that?" I asked.

"I scarcely dare to speak of it," she said.

"Tell me," I said.

"You do not know what a collar does to a woman," she said. "When a woman wears a collar she does not dare to let a man kiss her."

"Why?" I asked.

"She fears she might turn into a slave girl in his arms," she said, softly.

"I see," I said.

"I want you to respect me," she said.

I nodded. One might exult in a spasmodic slave, subjecting her to the conquest of the helpless bond girl, but, it was true, how could one, in such a situation, respect her? One would surely be enjoying her too much to respect her.

"Where are you from?" I asked. ' "I do not understand," she said.

"You are from Earth," I said. "I would be curious to know from what land." There is no Gorean expression for `country' in the precise sense of a nation. Men of Earth think of cities as being within countries. Men of Gor tend to think of cities and the lands controlled by them. The crucial political entity for Goreans tends to be the city or village, the place where people and power are. There can be, of course, leagues among cities and tangential territories. Men of Earth tend to think of territory in a manner that might be considered circumferential, whereas Goreans tend to think of it as a more radial sort of thing. Consider a circle with a point at its center. The man of Earth might conceive of the territory as bounded by the circumference; the man of Gor would be more likely to think of the territory as a function of the sweep of the radius which emanates from the central point. Geometrically, of course, these two conceptions are equivalent. Psychologically, however, they are not. The man of Earth looks to the periphery; the man of Gor looks to the center. The man of Earth thinks of territory as static, regardless of the waxing and wanings of the power that maintains it; the Gorean tends to think of territory as more dynamic, a realistic consequence of the geopolitical realities of power centers. Perhaps it would be better to say that the Gorean tends to think more in teens of sphere of influence than he does in terms of imaginary lines on maps which may not reflect current historical realities. Certain consequences of these attitudes may be beneficial. For example, the average Goran is not likely to feel that his honor, which he values highly, is somehow necessarily connected with the integrity of a specific, exactly drawn border. Such borders generally do not exist on Gor, though, to be sure, certain things are commonly understood, for example, that the influence of, say, the city of Ar, has not traditionally extended north of the Vosk River. Another consequence of the Gorean's tendency to think of territory in terms more analogous to an area warmed or an area illuminated than an area laid out by surveyors once and for all time is that his territoriality tends to increase with nearness to his city or village. One result of this attitude is that most wars, most armed altercations, tend to be very local. They tend to involve, usually, only a few cities and their associated villages and territories, rather than gigantic political entities such as nations. One result of this is that the number of people affected by warfare on Gor usually tends, statistically, to be quite limited. Also, it might be noted that most Gorean warfare is carried out largely by relatively small groups of professional soldiers, seldom more than a few thousand in the field at a given time, trained men, who have their own caste. Total warfare, with its arming of millions of men, and its broadcast slaughter of hundreds of populations, is Gorean neither in concept nor in practice. Goreans, often castigated for their cruelty, would find such monstrosities unthinkable. Cruelty on Gor, though it exists, is usually purposeful, as in attempting to bring, through discipline and privation, a young man to manhood, or in teaching a female that she is a slave. I think the explanation for the Gorean political arrangements and attitudes in the institution of the Home Stone. It is the Home Stone which, for the Gorean, marks the center. I think it is because of their Home Stones that the Gorean tends to think of territory as something from the inside out, so to speak, rather than from the outside in. Consider again the analogy of the circle. For the Gorean the Home Stone would mark the point of the circle's center. It is the Home Stone which, so to speak, determines the circle. There can be a point without a circle; but there can be no circle without its central point. But let me not try to speak of Home Stones. If you have a Home Stone, I need not speak. If you do not have a Home Stone, how could you understand what I might say?

"I am from a place called England," said the girl.

I was startled that she had said `I am from a place called England' rather than something like `I am from England'. Her construction was Gorean in nature. Yet, of course, she did speak in Gorean.

I had now drawn on my trousers and shirt. I buckled my belt.

"I speak English," I said, in English. "I am from America. I can speak with you in English. Marvelous!"

She looked down. "I am only a slave," she said, -in Gorean. "Let us speak in Gorean. I fear to speak but in the language of the masters."

I went to her and lightly touched her face.

"Do not be afraid," I said. "There is no one here but me. Speak English to me." I had spoken in English.

She looked up, shyly. "It is a very long time since I have spoken in that tongue," she said. She had spoken in English.

"I believe you," I laughed. "I would have thought you would have said something like `It's been a long time since I have spoken English.'"

She smiled. "You see how long it has been?" she asked.

I smiled. "Your Gorean is flawless," I said.

"Is my English really so poor, Jason?" she asked.

"No," I said. "It is quite good. It is precise. But I cannot place the accent."

"There are many accents in England," she said.

"True," I smiled, "but the accent does not even sound like an English one:"

"Alas," she smiled. "I fear I have been too long on Gor."

I sat down and began to draw on my shoes and stockings. "That is it," I said. "There is a Gorean flavor to the accent."

She put down her head. "I have not been permitted for years to speak my native language," she said. "We girls," she said, her voice soft, the fingers of her right hand touching the narrow, close-fitting metal loop at her throat, "must learn the language of our masters."

"Of course," I said. I stood up. "I am ready," I said. "Show me the exit."

"Please," she said. "Will you not put on this garment?" She held up the necktie which I had left on the floor.

"I scarcely think I need a necktie," I smiled.

"It has been so long since I have seen a man of Earth in such a garment," she said, "please."

"Very well," I said.

She came close to me and lifted the tie.

I looked down into her eyes. I lifted up the collar of my shirt. "Would you like to tie it?" I asked. I did not think I would mind having her arms intimately about my neck, even if but briefly, or having her so close to me, performing this simple, homely task.

"I do not know how to tie it, Jason," she said.

"Very well," I said. I took the tie, and, in a moment, had tied it. I then turned down and smoothed the collar of my shirt. I adjusted the tie as well as I could, not having a mirror.

"How handsome you look," she said.

This pleased me.

"Your thigh," I said, suddenly. "It is not marked." Her left thigh did not bear the brand. I must have noticed this before but, somehow, it had not registered with me. The Ta-Teera, as it had been torn, did not conceal the branding area on her leg.

"No," she said. "No," she then said, angrily, "I am not branded on the right thigh either." I had, almost without thinking, moved in such a way as to ascertain this. Most girls wear their brands on the left thigh, where they may be conveniently caressed by a right-handed master. Some girls, on the other hand, are right-thigh branded. Some, too, though very few, are branded on the lower left abdomen.

"Are you disappointed?" she asked.

"No," I said. "No!"

"Do you want Darlene branded?" she asked.

"No," I said, "of course not!" I was surprised that she had spoken of herself as she did, using her name. This is not uncommon, of course, among Gorean female slaves. I reminded myself that she was a female slave, and had doubtless been long on Gor, doubtless well accomodating herself to the harsh realities of her collar. How marvelous, I thought, that some beautiful women are slaves. How I then, for an instant, envied the brutes of Gor, who could own such a woman as stood before me.

"Would you prefer to have me branded, Jason?" she asked, angrily.

"No," I cried. "Of course not!" But what man would not prefer to have a beautiful woman branded? I realized she had not referred to herself, this time, by her own name. It was almost as if she had caught herself.

She looked at me, angrily.

"I was only surprised," I said, chagrined, embarrassed, "that you were not branded. The female slaves I have seen hitherto on Gor have been branded."

"Well, I am not," she said.

"I can see that," I said.

"Do you speak to me as a Gorean brute?" she asked. She, with her small hands, tried to pull together the rent fabric at her thighs.

"No," I said, quickly. "I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I am very sorry."

"Perhaps I am marked on the lower left abdomen." she said. "That is sometimes done. Would you care to look?"

"No," I said. "Of course not!"

Angrily she tore open the Ta-Teera at her lower left abdomen. She held the cloth apart. "Is there a mark there?" she asked.

"No," I said. "No!"

I wanted to take her by the arm and thrust my right hand through that rent in the garment, and, half lifting her, forcing her back to the wall, holding her against it, make her cry out piteously to be had, after which to put her to its foot and rape her as a slave.

"Please forgive me," I said. "I am very sorry!"

She looked at me.

"Please forgive me," I said. "I am very, very sorry."

"I forgive you," she said. "I should not have become angry." She looked up at me. "Can you forgive me, Jason?"

"There is nothing to forgive," I said.

"It is only that I am so sensitive," she said, "that my beauty, if I am beautiful, is so blatantly exposed to the vision of masters."

"I understand," I said. "And you are, indeed, beautiful."

"Thank you, Jason," she said. "You are very kind."

"You are beautiful," I said, " quite beautiful."

"I suppose that it is not hard to tell that, if it is true," she said, "when one is clad as a Gorean slave girl."

"No," I smiled. "It is not"

"What brutes they are, to clothe us for their pleasure," she said.

"At least," I pointed out, "you have been permitted clothing."

"Yes," she smiled. It was true that often, in slave pens, and in the houses of slavers, women were kept nude, save for their collars. This effects a saving in the laundering of slave tunics. Too, it is sometimes thought to have a useful disciplinary effect on the girls. They learn that even a rag is not something they can take for granted, but must, so to speak, be earned. Too, it might be mentioned, some masters commonly keep their girls nude in their own compartments. Most, however, permit the girl some garment, usually a brief, sleeveless, one-piece slave tunic. This helps the master to control himself, should he wish to do so. Too, it is enjoyable, at a snap of his fingers, to have the girl remove it, or, indeed, if he wishes, to tear if from her at his whim.

"In the Ta-Teera though," she said. bitterly, "it is sometimes like being more naked than naked."

"I understand," I said, softly. It presented her as a displayed slave.

She was silent.

"Yet doubtless," I said, "it affords your modesty more comfort than might a mere collar"

"Yes," she smiled, "a bit more than might a collar alone."

How I then again envied the Gorean brutes who might order such a woman, at so little as a snap of their fingers, to strip to her collar.

"I was not branded," she said, "because the masters thought a brand would mar my beauty."

"I understand," I said. Actually, however, though I was not prepared to argue, I found this quite surprising. From What I had seen a brand made a woman at least a hundred times more beautiful and exciting. The brand's marvelousness, of course, is not simply a function of its aesthetic enhancement of the woman's beauty, adding beauty to her beauty, raising her almost geometrically to a new dimension of loveliness, but was doubtless as much or more a function of its meaning; it marked the loveliness into which it was burned as that of the most desirable of women, a female slave.

"I do not need the jacket," I said.

"Please, for me, Jason," she wheedled.

She was so pretty!

"Very well," I said. I drew on the jacket.

"Now, the coat," she said.

"I certainly do not need the coat," I said.

"Oh, please, please, Jason," she wheedled.

"Very well," I said. I drew on the coat.

"How marvelous you look," she said. "How long it has been since I looked upon a handsome man of my world, so smartly attired."

"I feel like a fool." I said. "These garments are so incongruous on this world. Too, they seem clumsy and out of place, almost rude and barbaric, compared to the lines and simplicity of Gorean garments."

"No, no," she said. "They are perfect!"

"If you say so," I smiled.

"You have been very kind to me," she said, "to let me see you dressed in this fashion, as a man of my old and dear world. You have pleased me very much. What lovely memories do you recall for me!"

"It is nothing," I said. Indeed, it was such a little thing to do for the girl, and she seemed so appreciative. I gathered it meant much for her. "Perhaps now," I said, "you should show me the secret exit, that I may attempt to escape from this place."

"Hurry," she said, slipping in front of me and out the barred gate, which was ajar.

"Slowly," I said. "There may be guards in the hall."

"No," she said. "It is not yet time for their rounds but it will be quite soon. We must make haste."

I followed the girl, swiftly, from the cell. Behind me I left the collar, opened, on the floor, and the chains, open and discarded, strewn about the ring.

I was well pleased t0 leave the room of slave preparation. I quickly followed the girl, heart pounding, through the dimly lit corridors. I thought it fortunate we encountered no guards. She knew the way well. Once we heard, in the distance, the striking of a gong. "What is that?" I asked. "It is a signal," she said, "that it is time for the guards to begin their rounds." "Hurry," I said. She moved quickly before me.

How brave she was. She risked much, doubtless, for one who was only a man of her world.

What a fine and noble girl.

Suddenly she stopped before a large, heavy door. She turned, breathless, to face me.

"Is this the door?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

I took her in my arms. "You must come with me," I said. "I cannot leave you here."

She shook her head. "I cannot go," she said. "Leave met Escape!"

"You must come with me," I told her.

"I am only a half-naked slave," she said, "in a Ta-Teera and collar. I would be picked up in a moment. Go."

"Please," I said. "Come with me."

"Do you know the penalties for an escaped slave girl?" she asked.

"No," I said, frightened.

"I tried to escape once," she said. "This time my feet could be cut off."

I shuddered.

"Please, hurry," she said. "Every moment that you delay prolongs our danger."

"You are the finest and bravest girl I have ever known," I said.

"Hurry," she whispered.

I lowered my head to her, to kiss her, but, again, she twisted her head away.

"Do not forget that I am a woman of Earth," she said.

I continued to hold her. She was sensitive to the pressure of my hands upon her arms.

She looked up at me.

"Our relationship has been so beautiful, Jason," she said, "please do not spoil it."

"I'm sorry," I said. I released her.

She opened the door and peered through. It was dark on the other side of the door.

She turned about and faced me. She smiled. "I wish you well, Jason," she said.

"I, too, wish you well," I said.

"Hurry," she said.

"I will never forget you," I said. Then I slipped through the door.

My arms were instantly pinioned to my sides. I heard a woman's laugh behind me.

"Light the torches." said another woman's voice. I recognized it as that of my Mistress, the Lady Tima.

Torches were lit. I found myself on a semicircular stage, in a sort of an amphitheater. My arms were held at my sides by the two gigantic brutes, guards, whom I had seen earlier. There was much laughter, that of women, which rang about me, which showered down upon me. To my left and right torches were ignited. I was well illuminated. I could not see too well into the tiers but I could see, dimly, that they were filled with robed, veiled women. I struggled, futilely. There was much laughter.

I saw the girl whom I had thought was named Darlene removing the collar from her throat with a key. She handed the collar and key to an attendant, a husky brute with a knife thrust in his belt, who handed her a loose, white gown which she, fastening a clasp at her throat, donned. Too, she was handed a whip. She shook out its blades, and snapped them once. The sound was fearful

I looked up into the tiers.

I recalled the words of the heavy man on Earth. "I think I know a little market where you might be of interest," he had said.

I moaned.

I felt the whip of the Lady Tima pushing up my chin. She was dressed in brief black leather. She wore leather wristlets, studded. There were keys, and a knife, at her belt.

"Welcome to the market of Tima," she said.

I looked at her with misery.

She gave a sign and an attendant, at one side, struck a gong with a hammer. It was the same sound I had heard earlier, in the corridors. I now realized its significance.

"Let the sale begin," said the Lady Tima.

The girl whom I had known as 'Darlene' strode forward She indicated me with the whip. "This is a man of Earth," she said. "I will now take the first bid on him."

"Four copper tarsks!" I heard a woman call.

I was to be sold.