Kajira of Gor

24 The Mill

I stood in a long line, single-file, of some twenty girls. We were all naked. We were in the yard of one of the linen mills of Mintar, of Ar.

I heard the second of the two heavy gates close behind us.

I looked back, and about me, across the yard, at the high walls, with their guard stations.

"Do not even think of escape, Tiffany," said a girl behind me, Emily. "There is only one way out of here," said another girl, behind her, "and that is to please your way out."

Almost any woman, I supposed, could become pleasing.

And even women who, objectively, seemed rather plain, I knew, as their attitudes changed, and as they became submissive, and yielding to their femininity, in their deepest emotions, could become beautiful. Still, of course, in a mill, few would know this. Such a woman, I supposed, aching for a man's touch, might be kept indefinitely in the mill, working her long hours of tiring labor, her left ankle chained to the loom. The mills, incidentally, like certain other low slaveries, such as those of the fields, the kitchens and laundries, serve an almost penal function on Gor. For example, a free woman, sentenced to slavery for, say, crimes or debts, may find herself, once enslaved, by direction of the court, sold for a pittance into such a slavery. Such slaveries also provide a place to utilize women who are thought to be good for little else. Most women, after a short time in such a slavery, strive to convince masters of their fuller potentialities for service and pleasure. If the woman prefers to remain in such a slavery, of course, that, too, is found acceptable by the masters.

"But that, too, is dangerous," said another girl, "for if you are too pleasing, the whip masters will hide you and keep you for themselves."

"You are all sluts," said a large, ugly woman, Luta, a few spaces back. A whip cracked, and we all jumped, frightened. We were naked. We did not want to feel it. "No talking in line," said a man. We were then silent. Luta need not have spoken as loudly as she had. I do not think the man would have minded it if we had spoken quietly among ourselves.

I was afraid of Luta. She was large and strong, and I could tell she did not like me.

"Next," said a man at a table, and we moved up one space.

Only two of the girls in this line had been in the slave wagon on the Argentum road with me, Emily and Luta.

Though Emily bore an Earth-girl name she was Gorean. On Gor Earth-girl names are commonly used as slave names. If you have an Earth-girl name it is probably, somewhere on Gor, being used as a slave name. Similarly, if you were to go to Gor and give that to them as your name they would assume immediately that you, too, bearing such a name, were a slave. And, indeed, if you were taken to Gor, I suppose you would be.

"Next," said the man at the table. We moved up another space.

I was not now collared. It had been removed from me a few Ehn ago, before I had been assigned to this line. I had worn it for only a few Ahn. Outside of Ar we had stopped at the office and holding area of a man associated with the various enterprises of Mintar, including his mills. There we were to be divided up and, with others, transferred to closed slave wagons. One does not usually take an open slave wagon on the streets of Ar, in deference to the sensibilities of free women. While others were in the holding area I was taken by Tenrak, which was, as I had later learned, the name of the leader of the two drivers, to the shop of a metal worker.

There something was done to me. Then I was returned to the holding area, now a slave. At the holding area I was put in a transfer collar. The others were already in theirs. These collars were color-coded for our destinations, some girls being delivered to one place and some to another. There is an ordinance in Ar, incidentally, that all female slaves must wear some visible token of bondage. This is commonly a collar.

Sometimes, too, however, it is a bracelet or anklet. This was the first time I had ever ridden in a common slave wagon.

My ankles were shackled about the central bar. The girls were shackled on the bar in the order of the drivers' delivery schedule, the first girls to be delivered being shackled closest to the wagon gate, and so on. Our wagon was checked at the great gate of Ar. A guardsman climbed into the back of the wagon, crouching down, doing this work. I, naked, in the colored-coded collar, my ankles chained, sheared, attracted no undue attention. I did cry out, however, for the guardsman, in leaving, touched me aggressively, and intimately. I recoiled, wildly, frightened, trying to cover myself. But he was then gone. I looked after him, shuddering. I was horrified. He had been so bold! But then, of course, I was only a slave. I saw Luta looking at me, with hatred. I dared Dot meet her eyes, and looked down. In a moment the wagon was passing through the great gate at Ar.

"Next," said the man at the table.

I then stood before the table, naked.

"Thigh," he said.

I turned sideways, so that he might see my left thigh.

"Common Kajira mark," he said, and made an entry on a sheet. "Face me, Girl," he said.

I did.

"Arrived sheared," he said, and made another entry. "what is your name?" he asked.

"Whatever Master wishes," I said.

"what have you been called?" be asked. "Quick!"

"I have been called Tiffany," I said.

"You are now "Tiffany,'" he said.

"Yes, Master," I said. He wrote something down, presumably the name. He seemed to have beard it before, unlike the drivers. Some other "Tiffany" had perhaps, at some earlier time, stood where I stood. I also realized that I had now been named. I had lost the name "Tiffany Collins" a few Ahn ago, when I had been marked, when I had become slave. That name was gone, as soon as the iron, hissing, curling smoke, had been lifted from my flesh. A free person had been locked in the branding rack. A mere animal was released from it.

The name "Tiffany" had now been put on me as a mere slave name, a name which might be removed or changed at the whim of masters. I wore the name "Tiffany" now as Susan had worn the name "Susan," now merely as a named animal, merely by the will and decision of masters.

"Have you had experience in a mill, Tiffany?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said.

"Come around to the side of the table and kneel here," he said. I did so. He then bent over and, cupping his left hand under my left breast, held it steady and, with a grease pencil, across it, above the nipple, inscribed four characters. "That is your mill number, Tiffany," he said, "four thousand and seventy-three."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Now, go there," he said, indicating another table, several yards away, near the wall.

"Yes, Master," I said. Tenrak and Durbar, at the office of the man of Mintar, outside the gate, had received ten copper tarsks for me. This did not seem to me much but it was, of course, enough to give them each five nights of pleasure in a paga tavern. I recalled that Drusus Rencius had thought I might go for something between fifteen and twenty tarsks. I had gone for only ten. On the other hand it had not been all open sale. Too, of course, I was shorn and being considered in terms of utilization in the mills. Some girls, Tenrak had assured me, go for as little as five copper tarsks. Ten copper tarsks, he assured me, was a good price for a mill girl.

I now stood before a man near the wall Behind him was a table, on which there were, aligned, several collars, all seemingly identical in appearance and design. He had an aide with him.

The man looked at my left breast, reading the characters written there.

"Four-zero-seven-three," he said. He was then handed a collar, the next in a series of diminishing rows.

"Name?" he asked.

"Tiffany, if it pleases Master," I said.

"Can you read?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said.

He then showed me the collar, indicating the engraving on it. "This is a company collar," he said. "It says, "I belong to Mintar of Ar. I work in Mill 7. My number is four-zero-seven-three.'"

"Yes, Master," I said. The collars would die then, only in the Girl Numbers. "Lift your chin, Tiffany," he said.

I did so, and the collar was placed about my neck and snapped shut. The first collar I had worn had been a color-coded transfer collar, put on me at the holding area outside the gate, probably primarily to comply with the ordinance that female slaves in Ar must wear a visible token of their bondage; otherwise we might simply have had our destinations written on our bodies. This was my first owner collar.

The laws of Ar, incidentally, do not require a similar visible token of bondage on the bodies of male slaves, or even any distinctive type of garments. The historical explanation of this is that it was originally intended to make it difficult for male slaves to make contact with one another and to keep them from understanding how numerous they might be. On the other hand, male slaves are not numerous, at least within the cities, as opposed to the great farms or the quarries, and they are, in fact, usually collared. Some, however, depending on the whim of the master or mistress, may wear a distinctive anklet or bracelet. A consequence of this ordinance from the point of view of a female slave is that she cannot now even permit herself to be taken for a free woman by accident; her bondage is always manifest; it is helpful from the man's point of view, too; he always knows the status of the woman to whom he is relating; one relates to free women and slaves quite differently, or course; one treats a free woman with honor and respect; one treats a slave, commonly, with condescension and authority.

"Kneel and kiss the whip of Mintar," he said. He took a Whip from the table and held it before me. "Again and again," he said, "tenderly, lingeringly." I did so. I trembled, thrilled, forced to kiss a man's whip, and in the intimate manner of a slave. I supposed that I would never see the man whose whip I was kissing.

"what is your name?" he asked. "Tiffany," I said.

"In what mill do you work?"

"Mill 7."

"What is your girl number?"

"4073," I said.

"Whose collar do you wear?"

"The collar of Mintar of Ar."

"Who owns you?"

"Mintar of Ar."

"Who do you love?"

"Mintar of Ar."

"Welcome to Mill 7, Tiffany," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

He then replaced the whip on the table and handed me, from a basket, two tunics. They were folded, and washed, and brown. "Thank you, Master," I said. I held them close to me. I would later discover that they were rather common slave tunics, brief, with no nether closure. Too, they were sleeveless, slit at the sides, and with a plunging neckline. Oil the front of the left shoulder there was a design, in white and yellow, bearing what I would later learn was an inscribed "Mu." This was a design, I would later learn, which was common to many of the different enterprises of Mintar. "Mu" is the first letter of the name Mintar. White and yellow, or white and gold, are the colors of the merchants. The tunic had nothing specific to the mills, of Mill 7. Such a tunic might have been worn by girls laboring or serving in almost any of his holdings. It was thus, in a broad sense, a company tunic. I wondered how many girls Mintar owned, or were owned by the enterprises of Mintar.

"Go now, over there," he said, pointing, "and get in that line, where you see that small yellow flag. You wrn be in the chain of Borkon. He will be your whip master."

"Yes, Master," I said. Borkon, I realized, whoever he was, was he whom I must now strive to please. "Is that all, Master?"

"Yes," he said. "Did you expect to be intricately measured, to be toe-printed, and such? You are not a high slave. You are a low slave, a mill girl." "Yes, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master." I then leapt up and ran to stand in the indicated line. In a few Ehn I was joined there by Emily and Luta. The other girls were being sent to other lines.

In a few Ehn more we were approached by a short, muscular man in a half tunic. He came walking towards us, across the yard. He had emerged from one of the mill buildings. His arms were extremely thick. There was a whip at his belt.

When he stopped near us, we knelt, a common behavior for slave girls in the presence of a free man.

"Stand," he said.

We stood. We straightened our bodies. He walked about slowly.

"So," he said, "it is the usual collection of she-urts and she-tarsks. Strn, I see at least two of some interest. What is your name?"

"Tiffany, Master" I said, frightened.

"We are going to get on well, aren't we, Tiffany?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said, shuddering. He felt me.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Emily," said the girl behind me.

"We are going to get on well, aren't we, Emily?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

He then stepped back from us. "You are slaves," he said.

"I am Borkon, your whip master. Within these walls you will be to me as my own slaves, in all ways. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," murmured several of the girls.

"Louder," he said, "all of youl"

"Yes, Master!" we shouted. - "You will work, eat' drink, juice, sleep, dream and excrete upon my command," he said.

"Yes, Master!" we said.

"if any of you retain any pride or courage," he said, "I will remove it from you. It will get in the way of your being a good slave. Do any of you retain any pride or courage?"

"No, Master!" we cried.

"I do," said Luta.

"Step forth, and kneel," he said.

Luta obeyed. Although she was a large, strong woman and could have beaten any of us, smaller, weaker women, she looked small, and suddenly timid, kneeling before Borkon.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Luta, Master," she said.

"How long have you been a slave, Luta?" he asked, removing the whip from his belt.

"A week, Master," she said.

"It is amazing that a woman such as you has survived this long," he said. "I would have thought you would have been slain by now."

"Master?" she faltered.

"On all fours," he said.

She obeyed.

He then lashed her, and she, in a moment, sobbing and gasping, disbelief in her eyes, was on her belly in the yard, a whipped slave.

"Are you not supposed to be on all fours?" he asked.

She struggled, sobbing, to this position.

"I am authorized, if I wish," he said, "to kill you, or have you killed." She shuddered.

"I do not find you particularly pleasing," he said. "I am considering whether or not to have you fed to sleen this evening."

"Master?" she asked.

"You are a slave," he said. "You will serve and yield, or die. I will let you make the decision."

"Master?" she asked, frightened.

"The decision is yours," he said. "Choose as you will. It makes no difference to me, one way or the other."

"Please, Master!" she cried.

"Do you choose to serve and yield, or die?" he asked. "I give you ten Ilin in which to make your decision. One! Two! Three!"

"I will serve and yield!" she cried.

"Speak more clearly," he said.

"I choose to serve and yield!" she wept.

"And without reservation?" he asked.

"And without reservation!" she said.

"Do you desire to serve and yield, and with no reservations whatsoever he asked. "Yes" she said "I desire to serve and yield and without reservations Whatsoever!"

"And do you beg to serve and yield and with no reservations whatsoever" he asked.

"Yes' yes," she echoed. "I beg to serve and yield and with no reservations whatsoever!"

"You may now kiss my feet," he said.

Luta, desperately, humbly, fearfully, kissed his feet "More," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Do you now have any pride?" he asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"Do you now have any courage?" he asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"Kiss the whip," he said, "and as a slave."

Luta did so, fearfully.

"Return now to your place," he said

Yes Master," she said and, rising up, hurried to her place "We are all going to be pleasing, and meet our work quota aren't we?" inquired Borkon.

"Yes' Master!" we said, including Luta.

He then lifted his whip to the lips of the first girl in the he. "I kiss the whip of Borkon," she said "Who do you love?" he asked.

"Borkon," she said.

In a moment or two I felt the whip pressed, too, against my lips. I kissed it "I have kissed the whip of Borkon," I said "Who do you lover" he asked.

"Borkon," I said In another moment or two, after Emily, he stood before Luta. She, too, kissed the whip.

"Who do you love?" he asked.

"Borkon," she said "I love Borkon!"

In another moment or two we were following Borkon across the yard and toward one of the buildings. I knew I would have to please him well. He was my whip master.