Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Thirty-First: RUBIES

"Behold!” cried Cabot to the slave. “Come here!"

She sped to him, lightly, swiftly, in her tiny tunic.

Cabot was pleased with her.

Over the past few days she had progressed irrecoverably in her bondage. Her carriage, her kneeling, her subtlest movement, was now that of a slave.

In Cabot's hands she had been spoiled for freedom.

Cabot had no doubt that she would now go for at least two tarsks.

Freedom was now well behind her.

She had learned bondage.

Even if she were to be freed now she could never be more than an unhappy slave, a miserable slave pretending to be a free woman. She might attempt to imitate a free woman, true, but the farce would be hypocritical and hollow, for she had once worn a collar, a slave collar. The role of the free woman to her would now be shallow, empty, and meaningless.

She had learned herself slave.

If Cabot freed her, and cast her aside, she would doubtless have no hope of happiness other than to find a new master, a new man from whom to beg a collar, a new man to kneel before, and serve.

But, then, who would be so foolish as to free one such as she?

One would want her as what she was, a slave.

One would keep her as what she was, a slave.

So keep them for your pleasure.

It is what they are for.

She hurried to Cabot, and knelt at his side.

She was so soft, so radically feminine, and graceful.

Cabot noted the position of her knees.

How free she now was, how fulfilled, how unabashedly alive and sensuous!

Freedom was now behind her, forever, even if it meant the auction block.

She was muchly unaware of these changes in her mien, her attitudes, and her emotions.

She thought herself much the same as before.

But she was mistaken.

She was now slave.

She did not even realize how her body might betray her.

That is something men seldom make clear to a slave.

Sometimes a slave, in attempting to flee a bondage of great cruelty, perhaps that of the laundries or mills, might don the garments of a free woman, hoping to elude recapture, but, to the alert, practiced eye, even beneath the cumbersome Robes of Concealment, and the veils, might be detected the body of a slave. Woe to her if she were then picked up and remanded to free women, that her body might be subjected to a discreet, private inspection. Lo! The brand is detected, and perhaps even a collar! The free women are outraged, but overjoyed, for they then have at their mercy what they hate most, a female slave. And one who has dared to attempt to pass herself off as one of their own exalted sisterhood! The hapless, terrified slave is then stripped, held down, and lashed. She is then pulled by the hair to a kneeling position, and bound, mercilessly, and then, to the rejoicing, exultant shrieks of her nobler sisters, who find revels and festival in such things, she is pulled to her feet and driven, spit upon and jeered, muchly switched, to waiting guardsmen.

How gratefully she throws herself to her belly before them and licks and kisses their sandals.

Perhaps she may be spared?

They, at least, are men.

"Look, girl,” said Cabot, pointing downward, at the sand.

She cried out, and put her hand before her mouth.

There was no mistaking the nature of the prints in the sand.

"Kurii!” she said. “In the night, Kurii!"

"One,” said Cabot, “only one."

"We must flee, Master,” she said.

"No,” said Cabot. “Look here!” Again he pointed downward, and she rose to her feet, came to his side, and looked downward.

"See,” said Cabot. “Small prints, barefoot, the prints of a woman!"

"It is Lord Grendel then,” she said, “and Lady Bina?"

"Yes,” said Cabot. “I am sure of it!"

"It could be a trick, to trap Master,” she said. “A Kur, and a slave, or pet."

"I do not think so,” said Cabot. “The prints do not come down to the beach. They come from the lake."

"How could that be?” she asked.

"A boat, a raft,” said Cabot.

"It is death to be on the lake,” she whispered.

"It may be death to be on the beach,” said Cabot, “if discovered."

Cabot looked out, over the lake. It looked quiet. It was hard to believe that beneath that placid surface menaces might stir.

"We set the fire, as a signal, three nights ago,” said Cabot. “This might be the signal that it was seen."

"The prints?"

"Surely."

"Lord Grendel would not know it was your signal,” she said.

"He has come to investigate,” said Cabot. “He has found the ashes of the fire, and that is not all he found."

"What else?"

"What I left."

"I do not understand,” she said.

"On this stone,” said Cabot, “I left rubies."

"You left rubies about!” she said, shocked.

"Do not concern yourself,” he said. “You may own nothing."

"But my master!” she said.

"They are all here,” he said.

"How could he find them, in the dark?” she asked.

"He has the vision of a Kur,” said Cabot.

"How do you know he found them?"

"They have been rearranged,” said Cabot.

"How would he link them with Master?” she asked.

"He was present at the trial of Lord Pyrrhus,” said Cabot, “and might well have seen the strings of rubies given to me by Agamemnon, which I wore over my robes."

"He knows then that it is you who left them?"

"He would at least surmise such,” said Cabot.

"How do you know it was he who rearranged the rubies?” she asked.

"I do not know,” he said, “but I believe it was he."

"Why, Master?"

"The rubies are arranged in the shape of a letter,” he said, “the fifth letter in the Gorean alphabet, Gref."

"Master?"

"The first letter,” he said, “in the name ‘Grendel'."

"Might not anyone have so arranged the rubies?” she asked.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “but look here, to the side, in the sand. Here, the print of a hand, pressed down, firmly, deeply, into the sand."

"So?” she said.

"Look,” he said.

"Five fingers!” she said.

"Not six,” said Cabot.

"Grendel, Lord Grendel,” she said.

"I think so,” said Cabot.

"What will we do?” she asked.

"We will set a fire again, tonight,” he said. “And wait."

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"Gather wood,” he said.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"And before it grows dark,” he said, “you will please me."

"Yes, Master,” she said.