Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Forty-Fifth: THE LADY BINA DESIRES TO MAKE HERSELF USEFUL

"How long must I wear this bell?” asked the Lady Bina.

"You are not trusted,” said Cabot. “It has been decided in the camp that you will be belled. It helps to keep track of you."

"When we are outside the camp, when we march, why are my hands bound behind me?"

"That you may not attempt to silence the bell,” said Cabot. “If you were to flee, its smallest sound would be heard for a hundred yards by Kurii, who could then bring you back for punishment, or execution. Too, should you escape from us, its note could easily be detected by those of the purple scarves, who would, following the edict of Lord Agamemnon, as you are human, kill you on sight."

She made a tiny, angry, fuming noise, and stamped her small, bared foot in the dirt.

This brought forth a note from the bell.

"I myself,” said Cabot, “would put your pretty little ankles in shackles."

"You are a beast,” she said, holding the bell.

"I would take no chances,” said Cabot, “with a traitress."

"I am not a traitress!” she said.

"The tiara is pretty in your hair,” he said.

"They force me to wear it!” she said.

"Surely you know why,” said Cabot. “It is another sign that you are not to be trusted. It is an ensign of your treachery and shame."

She looked away, angrily.

"There are many in the camp,” said Cabot, “who wanted to kill you, and several are still of that view."

She looked at him, suddenly, frightened.

"Be glad,” said Cabot, “that there is only a bell on your neck."

"I am a free woman!” she said.

"Assuredly,” said Cabot. “Unfortunately."

"'Unfortunately'?"

"Yes,” said Cabot. “Women such as you belong in collars."

"Like that ugly, despicable slave slut, to whom you have given the name ‘Lita'?” she said.

"She is not ugly,” said Cabot. “Indeed, if you were both exhibited naked on a slave block, I would suppose you would go for a similar price."

"I have blonde hair!” she said.

"That is common in certain areas on Gor,” said Cabot, “for example, in the north, in Torvaldsland."

"I am the most beautiful of all women!” she said.

"I do not think even Lord Grendel would believe that,” said Cabot.

"But surely I am very beautiful!” she said.

"True,” said Cabot. “But there are thousands in the Gorean markets who are as beautiful."

"Surely not!” she said.

"It is true,” said Cabot.

"But I am a free woman!” she said.

"True,” said Cabot.

"And that makes me special!” she said.

"It makes you very special,” he said.

"Free women are priceless,” she said.

"True,” said Cabot. “But as soon as you put them in a collar, they are no longer priceless. They are then priced at what men will pay for them, some priced higher than others, as worth more coins, some priced lower than others, as worth fewer coins."

"I am a free woman, am I not?” she demanded.

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

"Why then,” she said, “am I dressed like this!"

"Officially,” said Cabot, “with our Kur friends, in order that you not be able to conceal weapons, but unofficially, from the point of view of our human allies, because we enjoy seeing you so."

"I might as well be a slave,” she said.

"Precisely,” said Cabot.

It may be recalled that the Lady Bina, before leaving the area of the slaughter bench, had demanded, and received, the garment of Lita, the slave, in order that she not be unclothed. Lita, now, again, had her simple tunic. On the other hand, a similar garment, sleeveless and brief, had been fashioned for the Lady Bina. Indeed, it may have been a bit shorter than even that of the slave, which was already scandalously brief, or, as the saying is, “slave short,” and, in addition, its light fabric, unshaped and loose on her body, was split at both hips, to the waist.

Cabot found it difficult to look at her and not think “slave,” but that, of course, is a feature of such garments.

Indeed, it is, as I understand it, natural for any human male who sees a woman in such a garment to think of her as “slave,” what she would be like in one's arms, how much she would cost, what she would look like at one's feet, and so on.

Such garments can be a terror or a joy, a shame or an excitement, a misery or an exquisite pleasure, to those females who have no choice but to wear them, and have learned to be grateful, for even so little.

Sometimes a new slave, not daring to appear on the street so clad, must be whipped from the house, shuddering and cringing, to be set upon her errands.

But soon she puts such misery and shame behind her, realizing that it is now what she is, a slave.

And some things which would be wholly shocking and inappropriate for a free woman are not only prescribed for a slave, but are fitting for her.

And slaves understand this.

And so her deportment is rapidly transformed. She soon begins to stand well, to kneel well, to walk well, and such. Indeed, she will be whipped if she does not. The slave, you see, must move beautifully and gracefully. Slovenly carriage is not permitted to her. She is not a free woman. She is in a collar. And she soon begins to take delight not only in the attractiveness of her garment, but in its lightness and softness, and in the freedom it grants her. How different it is from the gross, constricting, layered bundlings of the free woman's many robes and veils! And she surely cannot fail to be aware, and acutely, sometimes shyly, but surely happily, and soon even gratefully, though she might at first be reluctant to admit this, of the blatant public exhibition of her beauty. After all, what beautiful woman, however sweet, gentle, tender and modest, does not want her beauty recognized, noted, honored, and admired, even celebrated? And what beautiful woman, too, however sweet, gentle, tender, and modest, does not want to be looked upon by males with interest, and avid, keen desire? Let them wonder what she would be like in their arms, how she would be at their feet, in their collar! And then, as she better learns her collar, she becomes unapologetic, even bold, in the garment, and wears it, naturally, even thoughtlessly, with verve and pride, thinking nothing of it, accepting, understanding, and rejoicing in its rightfulness on her, she now well aware of, and excited by, its meaning, that she is beautiful and purchasable, that she is slave. So she now wears it with assurance, with grace, with vitality, and contentment, and joy. She may even wear it with an almost insolent, brazen pleasure, though she understands that she may be quickly put to her knees.

She now understands, you see, that she has been found to be the most desirable of women, the female slave.

In her considerable bareness, in her tiny tunic and collar, she now has little to fear, unless she should be in the least displeasing to masters, or, to be sure, unless she comes within the purview of a free female.

Surely they know how exciting and marvelous they are in such garments. In them they know they are dressed for the pleasure of men, and, in this, they find much pleasure themselves.

They, too, you see, are human.

Too, such garments, as is well known, are a badge of beauty, an emblem of desirability, of beguiling allure, of fascination and excitement, an evidence of an attractiveness so exquisite that it not only warrants interest but collaring.

Such a garment proclaims that its wearer has been found “slave beautiful,” beautiful enough to be a slave.

And what woman would not be proud to be found to be “as beautiful as a slave"?

And at the feet of a master, wholly dominated, uncompromisingly owned, they learn their womanhood, and love.

"Outside,” said the Lady Bina, “I saw some cattle humans. I did not like the way they looked at me."

"They probably remember you from the slaughter house,” said Cabot.

"They frighten me,” she said.

"They are taken to be stupid and harmless,” said Cabot. “Let us hope that they are so."

"I do not like them,” she said.

"Few people do,” said Cabot.

"Their eyes were like those of tarsks,” she said. “Small, in all that flesh."

"Lord Grendel turned them away, did he not?” asked Cabot.

"Yes,” she said.

"Look,” said Cabot, getting up. “Here comes Lord Grendel."

"I hate him,” she said.

"Kneel,” said Cabot, “and put your head to the ground."

"Never!” she said.

"You are his prisoner,” said Cabot.

"Prisoner?"

"Yes,” said Cabot. “Surely you know that you are his prisoner, little traitress. And it is only that which keeps you alive. If it were not for his protection, and his intervention, you would have been slain long ago."

"I cannot do such a thing,” she said. “I will not do it!"

"Do it now,” said Cabot.

Swiftly the Lady Bina knelt, and put her head to the ground.

"Tal,” said Cabot, to his friend, Lord Grendel.

"Tal,” responded Lord Grendel.

"You have been in converse with Lord Flavion?” said Cabot.

"Yes,” said Lord Grendel.

Lord Flavion was chief amongst the scouts in the camp, and stood high, though not in the rings.

"He is going out, again, tonight,” said Lord Grendel.

"He should rest,” said Cabot.

"He does not rest,” said Lord Grendel. “Had we a hundred like him I would attempt the palace of Agamemnon itself."

"I wish him well,” said Cabot.

Some days ago Flavion had made his way through the enemy lines, to join the insurrection.

His contributions had proved numerous and invaluable.

"May the Nameless One be with him,” said Grendel.

Then Lord Grendel looked down. “What have we here?” he asked.

"A human female, in suitable position,” said Cabot.

"I see,” said Lord Grendel.

He looked down at the girl.

"Do you like her like this?” asked Cabot.

"Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “She is very pretty, thusly."

"Do you not wish, thusly,” said Cabot to the kneeling girl, “to show your gratitude to your captor, and that you wish to be found pleasing to him, as his prisoner?"

"Yes,” she said. “Yes!"

"Rise up, Lady,” said Lord Grendel.

The girl sprang to her feet, and looked at Cabot, angrily, but, too unmistakably, there was something deep in her eyes, that seemed uncertain, even trembling.

She had been knelt, and in a common position of obeisance, by a man. This is common, of course, with slaves, but it is quite rare with free women. This position, of course, and the subjection to male dominance so clearly implicit in it, heats the thighs of slaves. Inadvertently, they moisten. Autonomously, involuntarily, interestingly, whether they wish it or not, their body responds. It readies itself for penetration. Women in such a position find themselves in a condition of need and arousal. They hope that their masters will soon see fit to remind them of the meaning of their collars. They are, after all, slaves.

"I think she should now report to Lita, to assist her in her duties,” said Cabot.

"I am a free woman,” she said. “Why should I work?"

"Many free women work,” said Cabot. “Even free women of the upper castes often work. Not all have slaves or servants. Too, work is quite common with free women of the lower castes."

"I do not see why I should work,” she said.

"Prisoners often work,” said Cabot.

"Not I!” she said.

"Lita will help you,” said Cabot. “She will show you what to do. I have given her instructions."

"Instructions?"

"As to your duties,” said Cabot.

"'Duties'?” she said.

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

"Duties—duties fit for a slave!” she cried.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"But I am a free woman!” she cried, looking to Lord Grendel.

"But a prisoner,” Cabot reminded her.

"I will never be so demeaned!” she said. “Never!"

"You are not only a prisoner,” said Cabot, “but you are a woman who has a bell on her neck."

"So?” she said, warily.

"Thus you are a belled woman,” he said.

"Is that meaningful?” she asked.

"What do you think?” he said.

She shook the bell, angrily, but could not pull it from her neck.

"Commonly,” said Cabot, “save in the Tahari, it is only slaves who are belled."

"Take it off!” she demanded.

"To be sure,” said Cabot, “it is not a slave bell, or bells, but a leading bell, merely one to lure docile beasts to an unanticipated slaughter."

She glanced uneasily toward the perimeter of the camp.

"It might, of course, be pleasant,” said Cabot, “to put you in slave bells, perhaps ankle bells, wrist bells, waist bells, neck bells, and such."

"I am a free woman,” she said. “I will not work."

"As you will,” said Cabot, “but our Kur friends will be watching you."

"So?” she said.

"Several of them,” he said, “have urged your death by torture."

The Lady Bina shuddered.

"Including the camp master, who is watching you, even now,” said Cabot.

She looked about, and saw the camp master, indeed, regarding her, and not pleasantly. She made it a point not to meet his eyes.

Women often fear to meet the eyes of those who have authority over them. What if their glance should be interpreted as boldness?

What might then be the consequences?

Indeed, some masters do not permit their female slaves to meet their eyes. Commonly, however, the Gorean master wishes a slave to meet his eyes, that he may the better see the beauty of her eyes, and the better read her least expression. Indeed, few women know themselves more helplessly exposed, or more helplessly understood, or better read, than by a Gorean master.

In the presence of a master, it is difficult for them to conceal the least nuance of thought, or emotion, or feeling.

They are in his collar.

"You will work, and work well,” said Cabot.

"No!” she said.

"But, yes,” said Cabot.

"Lord Grendel will protect me!” she said.

"I am sure he would do so, if at all possible,” said Cabot. “But he might not have time. A throat may be bitten through in a moment, a sudden blow may snap the neck, a heart, even, may be gouged out in an instant. To be sure, you might, with some luck, be avenged, and you might find some consolation in that possibility, but that only if the culprit were identified, and there is little assurance of such a thing."

"You are trying to frighten me,” she said.

"I think you should hasten to Lita's side,” Cabot said, “to be instructed in your duties."

The Lady Bina looked from side to side, angrily.

"There is the camp master,” said Cabot. “He is still looking this way. I do not think he is pleased. He has his whip."

"His whip?"

"Certainly."

"He is one who wished me slain?” she said.

"Yes,” said Cabot. “One of several."

The Lady Bina turned white.

"And have no fear,” said Cabot, “aside from other considerations, hostility, and such, he will not hesitate to put the whip to you. You are not even of his species."

"Give me other clothing,” she said, “not this thin, tiny thing!"

"You may remove it, if you wish,” said Cabot.

At that point the camp master, who was not a patient sort, cracked the whip, suddenly, sharply, and the sound resounded throughout the camp.

That is a sound which is unmistakable.

Certainly it is familiar to slaves, even to those who may not have felt it, but well understand they are subject to its jurisdiction, and its remonstrances, and even to its gratuitous whims.

And, needless to say, it is a sound which even free women, as they are women, understand.

The Lady Bina then, uttering a small cry of misery, turned about and rushed from their presence.

"The human female runs interestingly, does she not?” asked Grendel.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “and attractively, I think. It has to do with the hip structure."

"Doubtless,” said Grendel.

"And most cannot begin to outrun males either,” said Cabot.

"Doubtless,” said Grendel.

"And that is doubtless why many of them end up in collars,” said Cabot.

"Doubtless,” said Lord Grendel.