Mariners of Gor

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Surely you have not forgotten the slaves,” said Aeacus.

“No,” I said.

Many were the savory odors which emerged from behind the screen, from sauces, stews, and soups, rich with shoots, herbs, nuts, spices, vegetables, and peppers, even tarsk and vulo, as well as parsit, crabs, and grunt, emanating from pots brought in from the central kitchens, which served the long tables, outside, the barracks messes, the larger halls, and the smaller halls, such as that of the Three Moons.

“And who will serve us?” asked Leros.

“These,” I said, and, holding them bent over, in leading position, one on my left, one on my right, I produced two slaves, lengthily tunicked, as the Pani seemingly preferred.

“Show them to us,” called one of the fellows.

I then straightened the slaves, and held them upright, each by the hair, standing, half on their tip toes, before the diners.

“Hands at your sides,” I informed the slaves.

“Splendid,” said a fellow.

The diners, at the small tables, some fifteen, those who had held the high watches on the great ship, sitting cross-legged, slapped their left shoulders with their right hands.

Both were beauties.

“First obeisance position,” I informed the slaves.

Both then went to first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the floor, palms of the hands down on the floor, at the sides of their head.

“Speak,” I said.

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the first, “that her service will be found pleasing by masters.”

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the second, “that her service will be found pleasing by masters.”

“Speak,” I said.

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the first, “that if her service is not found pleasing by masters, she will be well punished.”

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the second, “that if her service is not found pleasing by masters, she will be well punished.”

“Kneel up,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” they said.

“Head up,” I told them.

“Yes, Master,” they said.

Sometimes masters have the girls in position keep their heads down, until given permission to raise them.

When the head is up, of course, the girls’ features are well revealed.

They looked straight ahead, kneeling back on heels, back straight, belly in, shoulders back, hands palm down on the thighs.

“Well done, Callias,” said a fellow.

“You must have looked through the kennels early, and well,” said another.

“Pleasant vulos,” said a man.

“Tastas,” said another fellow.

“Master!” said one of the slaves.

“Do you object?” I asked.

“Please, Master,” said the other slave.

“Perhaps you do not care to be so characterized?” I said.

“Consider, Master,” said one of the slaves, and was then, suddenly, silent.

To be sure, a free woman, and particularly one of high station, would be outraged, and surely justifiably, to be so characterized, so familiarly, so intimately, so dismissively. Slaves, of course, as beasts and properties, to be looked upon with relish and objectivity, are accustomed to such appraisals. Indeed, they are indicative of interest and approval. Such things can warm the thighs of a slave. Do they not suggest that the object within her collar has come to the attention of free men? Do they not portend the possibility of eventual caresses, for which she hopes, which she is zealous to earn?

“Dear fellows,” I said, “it is possible these two were once free women. Many slaves were. Thus, your words may not comport with the dignity of ones who were once such.”

There was laughter at the tables.

“Thank you, Master,” said the first slave, uneasily.

“Thank you, Master,” said the second.

“Are you slaves?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” said the first slave.

“Yes, Master,” said the second slave.

“Very well,” I said, “pretty vulos, little tastas, split your knees.”

“Master!” said the slaves.

“Now,” I said.

A murmur of appreciation coursed through the men.

“How do you like them?” I asked.

“Superb,” said a fellow.

“For such meat,” said a fellow, “chains, and the block, were invented.”

“Do you not think they might prove to be ready juicers, both of them hot little collar puddings?”

One of the slaves gasped. And, even in the lamp light, I thought both turned white.

“Yes, yes!” laughed the men. Some pounded their shoulders, others drummed on the small tables before them.

They had been spoken of as though they might be common slaves.

But, to be sure, they were now common slaves.

“They are ship slaves, of course,” I reminded the fellows. “They are not to be put to slave use, without the permission of their owners, the Pani.”

Moans greeted this announcement.

To be sure, the fellows were well aware of the restrictions involved. This was nothing new to them. Such slaves had not been brought from the continent, months away, to instigate rivalries, generate dissension, undermine discipline, raise issues, occasion brawls, if not killings, and foment disruption at the World’s End. The fellows should have been grateful enough to the Pani that the slaves were made available for serving the general feast, in its several locations.

“What is your name?” asked Leros of one of the slaves.

“Adraste,” she said, “if it pleases master.”

“You are very beautiful, Adraste,” he said. This was said with much the same objectivity with which one might have commended a kaiila.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“And what is your name,” asked Aeacus, of the other slave.

“Alcinoe,” she said, “if it pleases Master.”

“You are not a bad-looking slave,” said one of the fellows.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

I thought I saw the trace of a smile on the lips of Adraste. And, if I am not mistaken, I thought I saw a flicker of annoyance course the features of the lovely Alcinoe, whom I, at least, thought quite nice.

I had two reasons for wishing a private supper, limited to a few, in this case the personnel of the high watches on the great ship, whom I knew and trusted. First, I was much afraid that if the two slaves would, for example, have been assigned to the long tables, those in the courtyard, one or another fellow might have recognized them. I did not think that Cabot was on the grounds, but Seremides surely was. Thus I was trying, for what it was worth, to conceal the identity of the two slaves. The fellows of the high watch, with the exception of myself, would know them, if at all, as only two slaves, to be sure, two rather attractive slaves. The second reason I wanted to have the small supper in a private area, was to give me the freedom to come and go, as I might please. For example, I was much afraid that the sorry return of the exploratory force, and the possible imminence of the forces of Lord Yamada, might further increase apprehension amongst the men, hasten the formation of reckless resolves, and lead to some rash action. If one were concerned to protect an endeavor such as our common enterprise, or forestall or thwart a conspiracy which might result in the ruination of that enterprise, whatever it might be, and perhaps the death of hundreds, subtlety seemed advisable. Certainly it would seem inadvisable to act openly, where one might fall within the purview of conspirators themselves, whoever they might be. One does not, if wise, arouse suspicion, and court a knife in the darkness. But, too, of course, what did I owe, really, to Lords Nishida and Okimoto, or to Lord Temmu, who, as far as I knew, might be as bad as, or even worse than, Lord Yamada. I was loyal, of course, to the ship. And I was reasonably clear that I owed my life to Lord Nishida, from long ago, and perhaps to Tarl Cabot, strangely enough, as he was of Port Kar, enemy to great Cos.

“Let the serving begin,” I said, and the slaves sprang to their feet, and the men cheered.

“Is there paga?” inquired a fellow.

“Enough to keep you drunk for a month,” I said.

This brought another cheer.

The slaves had now retired behind the screen, I think gratefully, to prepare for the serving. I found them bickering as to precedence, as to who might serve what dish, and when. Whereas I knew little or nothing of such things, decisions were in order, so I specified, very clearly, who should serve what, and in what order. I tried to distribute the best dishes, or what I took to be the best dishes, evenly between them. Both, of course, were to serve paga, but demurely, as one might serve another drink, not as it is commonly served in the taverns, or to a private master, in the privacy of his own quarters.

I heard some striking on the tables, in the dining area. The fellows were hungry, and growing impatient.

“Forgive me, Master,” said Alcinoe, “but I am not a serving slave.”

“Nor I,” said Adraste.

“You chose us for this that we would be demeaned, did you not?” said Alcinoe.

“Doubtless it amuses the Master,” said Adraste, “that I, who was Ubara, should serve men, as a serving slave.”

“And that I,” said Alcinoe, “who was second only to the Ubara herself should serve so, as well!”

“Perhaps you would prefer to serve the long tables, in the courtyard,” I said, “serve, say, Tarl Cabot, if he is there, and Seremides, who may well be there, and others?”

“No, Master,” said Adraste, quickly.

“No, Master,” said Alcinoe.

“But that we should serve, at all,” said Adraste.

“At all,” added Alcinoe.

“It does amuse me,” I said, “that the former Talena, the former Ubara of Ar, and the former Lady Flavia of Ar, her confidante, now slaves, should serve common fellows, as might any other slave.”

“Very amusing,” said Adraste.

“And I will tell you, pretty Adraste, how you will serve them,” I said.

“Master?” she said.

“Remove your clothing,” I said.

“Excellent!” laughed Alcinoe, delighted. She clapped her hands with pleasure.

“There are no free women out there,” I said.

“Surely you cannot be serious,” she said.

“Get it off,” I said.

Frightened, Adraste drew her tunic off, over her head.

“How wonderful, how splendid,” said Alcinoe, “she who was Talena of Ar, now a stripped serving slave!”

“Men,” I told Adraste, “find it pleasant to be served by naked slaves.”

“Master,” moaned Adraste.

Alcinoe laughed.

“It improves the appetite,” I told her.

“Take that, haughty, vain, deceitful slut!” said Alcinoe.

Tears ran down the cheeks of the former Ubara.

“Naked slave!” laughed Alcinoe.

“Alcinoe,” I said.

“Master?” she said.

“Remove your clothing,” I said.

Her eyes regarded me, wide, startled.

“Now,” I said.

“Yes, Master!” she said, and hastily drew off her garment, over her head.

“Slave!” said Adraste to her.

“Slave!” said Alcinoe.

The slaves now wore only their collars. How beautiful are women, so!

“I hate you, Master,” said Adraste.

“I hate you, Master!” said Alcinoe.

“I was Ubara!” said Adraste.

“I was second to the Ubara, her confidante,” said Alcinoe.

“Pick up your plates,” I told them.

They did so.

“I only regret,” I said, “that your rivals, other free women, your enemies, women loyal to Ar, are not out there.”

The slaves moaned, softly.

It is very pleasant, of course, for a free woman to come into the ownership of a former enemy, or rival, and have her serve her guests naked, as the lowest of serving slaves.

I picked up a cloth. The slaves’ hands were occupied, each holding a dish which they might serve. “Let us wipe away these tears,” I said. I wiped the tears from the cheeks of Adraste, and softly touched the eyes of Alcinoe, that her eyes not sparkle with her distress, and shame.

I then went to the men’s side of the screen.

“Two slaves,” I said.

The slaves, miserable, trying to hold themselves erect, each holding a dish, emerged from behind the screen.

“Excellent!” cried men.

Some struck their left shoulders with the palms of their right hand. Others pounded on the small tables with pleasure.

“Now,” said Leros, “we shall have a proper supper, even at the World’s End!”

There was much assent to this.

I then fetched a slave whip which I had earlier put to the side. “Pass the whip about,” I said. “Each slave, when she first serves you, is to kneel and kiss the whip, and then place the plate before you.”

Let them learn well, I thought, what they are, the former Talena of Ar, once Ubara, and the former Lady Flavia of Ar, once her confidante, that they are now slaves, only that.

I tossed the whip to Aeacus. Adraste knelt beside him, at the edge of the small table, bent forward, and kissed the whip, which he extended to her. She then put the plate before him, humbly. He handed the whip to Leros, and Alcinoe knelt at his place, and leaned forward, kissing in her turn the whip proffered to her lips, and then, as Adraste before her, placed the plate humbly before the free man. Soon Adraste would return, with another plate, and the whip would be passed to the next fellow. “Fellows,” I said, and loudly, that the slaves might hear as well, “if the service is not fully pleasing, or is lacking in any respect, use the whip on them.”

“Yes,” said more than one man. “Yes!”

The slaves, I was sure, would be zealous to please. I did not doubt but what they would do their best to serve well.

For the men, of course, it is pleasant to be served by naked slaves. I supposed that free women speculated that private dinners amongst free men, to which they were not invited, were often so served. Let the mother, the aunt, the sister, and such, familiar with a son’s, a nephew’s, or a brother’s quiet, refined, demure, tastefully attired slave not speculate on how she serves his guests at a private party nor, more interestingly, what occurs later at his slave ring.

I went behind the screen, where the slaves were preparing to continue serving.

Now that the feast was in progress, I felt I might slip away, unnoticed.

Alcinoe was standing at the edge of the serving table. She was lovely in the lamplight. She turned, to look at me. Then she fled suddenly to my arms, and I held her to me. Tears coursed her cheeks. Words rushed out of her, as though a stream had broken forth from behind some obstruction, sweeping debris to the side, and, released at last, it rushed forth, threatening its banks, in a churning, grateful torrent. “Thank you, oh, thank you, Master,” she sobbed, “thank you for making me serve naked! I feel so female, so slave, serving men, so exposed, my masters! I am thrilled. I am a different form of life, I know that now, I am now fulfilled. Let them look upon me! It is such as I who belong to them! I am now as I should be! I would serve all your feasts, Master, naked, as a woman, and slave. It is so right, and I am so happy!”

I crushed her to me. She was slave, and in my arms!

“Thank you for giving me no choice, for making me do what you will have me do,” she said. “Thank you for your command, your power, your uncompromised, unqualified domination! Be ruthless with me, be severe. It is what I want! I respond in a thousand ways! I revel in it. I need it, I am a woman, I am incomplete without it! Yes, make me serve men naked, or as you wish! I love it! It is what I am for!”

I held her tightly.

She could not have begun to free herself.

She was slave.

“My body is so different from that of men,” she whispered, “a body designed by nature for their pleasure. To look upon it, do they not know it was made for them, and is such that it belongs to them! That they find it different and beautiful, and desirable, excites me. How meaningful, and warm, and real it makes me feel! I want them to look upon it, with zest and pleasure. As the body of a woman is it not theirs, a fitting belonging, like the whole of a woman, of men? I have always wanted to show it, to display it, and I am grateful that I must now do so. Must we always be content with a disarranged veil, the hem of a skirt, lifted about an ankle? Better the slave in her collar, given no choice but to be bared before masters! Does not the free woman, in her heart, yearn to cast aside her robes, and show herself as what she is, woman! Does she truly wish to bargain with the promise of her beauty, dangling it before her like a closed purse, whispering its hints from behind an opaque screen? Are not such mercenary ones better put on the slave block, in chains? The beauty of a woman is not a thing of shame. Who could think so? Does she truly think it a thing of shame? Surely her beauty is not a thing of shame, not a blemish, or crime, to be concealed from view. Does she truly wish to conceal her beauty? Does she not rather, in her heart, desire to reveal it? How different is it, truly, from that of a thousand other beauties, that of grass and wine trees, that of tabuk, of sleen, or kaiila? Is it not a thing with which to be pleased? Let the slave, brazen in her sex, be proud. Let her say to the free woman, ‘Here I am, a female, found pleasing by men, and collared, for their pleasure. Are you so much? I am helpless, and theirs. I must be obedient, and fear the whip! Would you not be so? Abuse me, and hate me, if you wish. I am content. I am happy. Are you so?’”

My lips drank from her the wine of her bondage.

She gasped, her small arms clutched me.

“Oh!” she said.

When I would thrust her from me, the mark of my buckle would be in her body.

“Own me,” she begged. “I am your slave! You know that!”

That one could own such a thing as she much pleased me.

She was slave in my arms.

“I love you,” she said, “I love you, I love you, my master!”

“Beware,” I said.

“Do not have me sold!” she said. “Do not put me on the block! I am so helpless!”

“I do not own you,” I said.

“It is your collar I would beg to wear!”

“Surely you wish to be free,” I said.

“No, no, no!” she wept. “I want to be a slave!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am a slave,” she said. “It is in my heart to love and serve! I want to give all. I want a master! I want to be owned! Chain me, tie me, master me! I want to be so desired, so wanted, so lusted for, that it would not occur to a man to keep me other than as what I am, as a slave, even to the whip! That is how I want to be kept! Oh, I would strive to be found pleasing!”

“Surely you want freedom,” I said.

“I am not a man,” she said. “I am a woman!”

“Even so,” I said.

“No,” she said, “a thousand times no! I have known the emptiness, the loneliness, of freedom, the pretensions, the selfishness, the uncertainties of freedom, the confusions, the lack of place, the opacities and ambiguities of freedom, the lack of purpose, the lack of meaning and identity!”

“It is true,” I said, “that a slave has her purpose, and her meaning. Such things are quite clear. It is also true that what is expected of her is clear, and that there is no doubt as to what she is. That is as clear as the collar on her neck.”

“It is in my sex and my heart,” she said. “It is an ancient and needful thing in my body, to belong, to be owned, to kneel, to revere, to submit, to serve, to please, to find myself at a master’s feet, where I desire to be!”

“Surely freedom is precious,” I said.

“So, too,” she said, “is bondage.”

“I have heard so,” I said.

“What woman does not wish to be owned,” she said, “what woman does not wish a master?”

“Some, I suppose, free women, would deny it,” I said.

“Such expressions are expected of them,” she said, “even required of them. How they would be ostracized and scorned, put from society, if they did not say such things! Indeed, they might be remanded to slavers.”

“Some,” I said, “might suppose themselves, honestly enough, if naively, to subscribe to such expressions.”

“Then,” she said, “let them find themselves at the feet of a man, stripped, and in his collar. Let them find themselves mastered, and then let them examine their feelings anew.”

“Might they not cover their chains with tears?” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “and then kiss the chains that bind them, so helplessly, so securely!”

“Many free women,” I said, “fear the collar.”

“And long for it!” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Many were the civilized women, educated and refined, and barbarian females, illiterate and primitive, not even able to speak Gorean, brought, shackled, to the markets of Ar, lamenting their fate,” she said, “but before Tor-tu-Gor had run half his course, they had only one thing in common, their submission to masters, the love of their collar, and the fear that they might be freed.”

“Would you impose your views and values on all?” I asked.

“I leave that to others,” she said.

“I see,” I said.

“Do you speak for all women?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Whatever might be the truth in these matters,” she said, “for those of us who are slaves, and know we are slaves, and would be slaves, and are complete only at the feet of men, do not be cruel, do not begrudge us our collars!”

“You would be owned?”

“Wholly, and helplessly!”

I regarded her, not speaking, not releasing her.

“Is it wrong for one who is a slave to want to be a slave?”

“No,” I said. “It is not wrong.”

“Keep me in a collar!” she said. “I belong in it, I want it.”

“I do not own you,” I said.

She sobbed, pressing herself against me.

I looked to the former Talena of Ar, once Ubara.

“And perhaps you, Adraste,” I said, “would be pleased, in your collar, to serve naked, at another’s feast.”

Swiftly, she turned away.

I thrust Alcinoe from me, and she slipped to the polished floor, of dark wood, and knelt there, holding my leg, pressing her cheek against it.

“Master, Master,” she said.

I disengaged her hands and held them apart, looking down on her, she on her knees at my feet. Then, holding her hands, I put my right foot against her left shoulder, and then spurned her to the floor, as the slave she was, and she turned, tears on her cheeks, and looked up at me. “I love you,” she said. “I love you! Care for me, care for me, just a little, Master!”

“You are a slave,” I said, turning away.

She sobbed.

At the exit, I turned, again. “Continue serving,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” said Adraste.

“Yes, Master,” said Alcinoe.

I then left the small dining area, the Hall of the Three Moons.

It was dark outside now, but, under torches, there was still feasting at the long tables in the courtyard.

What a glorious victory had been that of the exploratory force!

I would ascend to the parapet.

When I reached the height of the wall, the inner wall, the highest wall, I looked over the wall, down, toward the village. Near me were two Pani, guards, on the parapet, as well. The village, or where it had been, was dark, but, as far as I could see, scattered about, to the south, were a great number of campfires.

The force of Lord Yamada, or his generals, was in place.

I stayed sometime on the parapet, for the most part, however, not looking over the wall, but looking back, down to the courtyard, where I might observe the tables.

As I feared, later, near the nineteenth Ahn, a number of men withdrew from the tables, and I saw them gather in a corner of the courtyard. Others were now joining them, from various barracks, and halls.

I thought of Alcinoe.

I attempted to scorn and detest her. Did I not know she was a slave? Was I not a free man, and a warrior? Why then, I asked myself, would I die for her.

What a weakling and fool I was!

I wondered if she should be freed?

Did I hate her so much?

Were her soft lips not made to be pressed to the feet of a master?

I laughed, and the two Pani guardsmen regarded me, puzzled.

Free her, I thought. Never!

How absurd such a thought, for such a woman!

If I owned her, I thought, she would well know herself slave. Her collar, as it is said, would be well locked.

Women such as Alcinoe belong in a collar.

Accordingly, they are to be kept in one.

They do constitute a danger, of course.

They are appealing, desirable, helpless, and owned.

One must thus be careful lest one begin to care for them, lest one begin to succumb to their charms.

What curvaceous, cunning little brutes they are!

Take no chances with them!

Keep them in the strictest and most perfect of bondages. Do not let them forget they are slaves. Let them fear the whip. If necessary, they may be taken to the market and sold. Such women, after all, however delightful in their collars, are nothing. They are only slaves.

I hastened down the steps from the wall.

Many had now left the tables.

I saw Seremides hobble out of the darkness. “They are going to take the ship!” he said.

“I know,” I said.