Renegades of Gor

9 The Camp of Cos

"Who is it?" she asked, kneeling in the darkness of the tiny tent, the large sack covering most of her body.

"It is I," I said, reassuring her.

I crouched beside her and unfastened the drawstrings of the sack which I had tied under her body and about her thighs, to hold it on her. I then pulled it from her and unbraceleted her hands from behind her back.

"Were you successful?" she asked, shaking her head, loosening her hair. "Cook," I said.

I then sat, cross-legged, in the tiny tent. We were just within the fringes of the Cosian camp. There were, in this vicinity, clouds of tiny tents and shelters, some of them belonging to soldiers, most to civilians, sutlers, merchants, slavers, and such. The nearest investment trench was a half pasang away. One could see the walls of Ar's Station from where we were. The girl busied herself, preparing food. It seemed peaceful here. It was difficult to believe that fighting took place daily in the vicinity of the walls, indeed, sometimes at night.

"There is little but porridge," she said.

I nodded.

There would be even less, I supposed, in most homes in Ar's Station.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked. She was putting twigs and leaves in a small pit outside the entrance of the tent.

"It is said the city will soon fall," I said.

"The defenses cannot be long maintained?" she asked.

"It is thought not," I said.

"You wish to gain entrance to the city," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"I have business there," I said.

"Your accent is not of Ar," she said.

"I would hope not, in this camp," I smiled.

She used a tiny fire maker and set fire to the leaves and twigs. She blew on the small flame, encouraging it.

We could smell cooking fires about. It was near dusk.

"Your plans have not proceeded as you hoped?" she asked.

"I do not complain," I said. "Things might have proceeded better than they have, but they have gone much as I expected they would.

She added sticks to the small flame.

The first portion of my plan had been to reach Ar's Station as swiftly as possible, which meant, in effect, to do so on tarnback, and in such a way as to gain immunity from the attentions of Cosian tarn patrols. That I had managed. The patrols, which were thick in the vicinity, given my habiliments and accouterments, and my brandished pouch, presumably a diplomatic one, had taken me for a courier. Also, although I had not planned it, the presence of the blindfolded, braceleted girl before me, apparently a capture, presumably picked up enroute, and doubtless soon to be collared, added to the effect. The ears of the delicate Phoebe must have burned as she heard the snapping of wings near us and the shouting of ribald, raucous jests, of which her beauty and its probably disposition were the subject. At times I had even received an escort, which happily, at their patrol limits, had been suspended.

I had hoped, of course, somehow, ideally, to be able to enter Ar's Station on tarnback. As I had feared, however, this had not been possible. Even my garb as a courier had not permitted me access to the airspace over Ar's Station. I had been immediately pursued and fired upon by flights of Cosian tarnsmen. I had made the attempt in the afternoon and again in the evening of the first day I had arrived in the vicinity of Ar's Station. Had it not been for the strength of the bird and my start I might have been downed over the city. I had escaped the second time only with considerable difficulty, by taking my way over the citadel and harbor, past the chained rafts closing the harbor, and across the Vosk itself, eluding my pursuers only after a long run, under the cover of darkness.

In these attempts I had, of course, not taken Phoebe. I had no wish to risk a quarrel's penetrating that beauty, which properly refined and improved, would, in my opinion, not have shamed even the central block of the Curulean. Too, her weight, slight as it was, might have made the difference between falling to pursuers and eluding them.

I had, accordingly, before these excursions, sat her down, closely, before a small tree, her legs on either side of it. I had then tied a rope on her left ankle, looped the rope about another tree, a yard or so away, and brought it back, to tie about her right ankle. I did this is such a way, adjusting the length of the rope, that though her legs were forced to be rather extended, they were also permitted to flex enough for comfort. I then pushed her belly against the bark and braceleted her arms about the tree. The extension of her legs, of course, was such that she could not reach the ropes on her ankles with her braceleted hands. It also, of course, made it impossible for her to rise to her feet. I had sat her down there, and she would remain there, sitting, and as I had placed her. The location of the tree was close enough to the road that she might, if I had not returned by morning, call out, attracting attention to herself, thus saving herself, even if, at the same time, making it almost certain that soon thereafter her thigh would know the fiery kiss of slave iron, and her neck the clasp of a master's collar.

She built up the fire.

I watched her.

She unfolded and adjusted a single-bar cooking rack, placing it over the fire. From this she suspended a kettle of water. The single bar, which may be loosened in its rings, and has a handle, may also function as a spit. "And what did you do today?" I asked.

"I knelt in a body hood," she said.

"It was only a sack," I said.

"It served," she said.

The sack I had drawn over her was an improvised body hood. There are several varieties of body hoods on Gor, which is not surprising in a society in which slavery, and particularly female slavery, is an essential ingredient. Most body hoods are made of leather or layers of stout canvas. I have seen at least one in which two layers of canvas were sewn about a lining of linked chain. They may be fastened by means of such devices as cords, straps and laces. They may be tied shut or locked shut.

The prisoner is entered into some body hoods from the back, her legs being placed through openings in the lower portion of the hood, the hood then being pulled up and, from the back, lacked shut. Most of these hoods do not have openings for the arms, but some do. In most hoods the arms are confined within the hood, either free within the hood itself or bound or braceleted within it. Some hoods are open at the bottom, and fastened on the prisoner by means of thongs or straps, often looped about the thighs. Others are constructed in such a way that they may be opened at the bottom, for the master's convenience. Sometimes the hood is thrust up and fastened about the prisoner's waist. The typical hood provides hand and arm security with the advantages of the blindfold. Most body hoods, unlike many common slave hoods, do not have provisions for an internal gag. The prisoner, of course, may be gagged before being hooded. The body hood, like the slave hood, tends to keep a female docile. This may be a particular advantage early in her training, when she may not yet fully understand her new nature and its meaning. Another advantage of the body hood is that it is intriguing and attractive on a woman, baring her legs but usually, unless the arms are also intriguingly bared, concealing the rest of her, this sort of thing exciting male interest, and yet in virtue of the predominant concealment afforded, making her seizure less likely than if she lying about more exposed in common hoods.

Slavers, in moving their wares through the streets, sometimes place them in body hoods. To be sure, it is more common to throw a cloak or sheet, which might be of various lengths, over their heads, this usually being fastened on them by means of a cord or strap looped once or twice about the neck and fastened under the chin. In many cities free women object to the marching of naked slaves through the streets. Still, even though the girls may be covered with cloaks or sheets, the men will usually come to watch, and call out to them, and jeer, and such. It is understood, of course, that the girls, beneath those cloaks or sheets, are slave naked. It is sometimes very trying, though also perhaps very instructive, for a new slave, perhaps a woman of a conquered city, to be marched thusly through the streets, stung with pebbles, pinched and slapped, subjected to the most intimate forms of raillery, jocosity and abuse. "Do you object?" I asked.

"No," she said, suddenly, quickly. Then she put herself on her belly, on the dirt floor of the small tent, before me. She lifted her head, looking up at me. "When," she asked, "may I use the word "Master' truly to you, in all honesty?" "But you are a free woman," I said to her.

"I beg the collar!" she said.

"Is that not an unusual request for a free woman?" I asked.

"My freedom is now a mockery," she said. "After what you have done to me these past two nights, how could I even thing of being free? Do you think that that delusion can be meaningful to me any longer?"

"You have then learned something about yourself?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "I have learned that I should be branded, that I should be in a collar!"

I smiled.

"Do not frustrate me," she begged. "Let me be what I truly am, in all honesty!" "The porridge water should be salted," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, and crawled to the front of the tent.

"Salt it lightly," I said. She was learning to serve.

"Yes, Master," she said.

The days I had spent here had not been fruitless. I had muchly reconnoitered. I had thought that perhaps I might have been able to ascend the walls of Ar's Station on one of the scaling ladders, in a morning attack, but I had soon thought the better of it. Resistance was still such that few Cosians could reach the parapets, and those who did were usually driven back. Whereas I supposed it was possible that I might enter the city in this way this modality of ingress seemed dubious at best. It was difficult to see how my projects would be furthered if, while attempting to identify myself and explain my mission, I were to be cut open with a boat hook. Similarly I was not interested, in the midst of friendly overtures, in receiving a bucket of flaming oil in the face or, say, being struck from a ladder by a roofing tile brought from the interior of the city. I had also considered trying to enter the city through its main gate, in the confusion, when it opened for sorties by the defenders. There had been no sorties, however, for twenty days. That in itself was an index of the straits of the defenders, their will and numbers. Also, it did not seem to me practical to try and enter the city during the daylight hours from the harbor side because of the besiegers. Similarly, during the night hours, it seemed the defenders might be unusually alert.

I did not, of course, know any appropriate signs and countersigns. One might well be set upon as soon as one tried to haul oneself unto a wharf. Indeed, they probably patrolled the pilings and such in small boats. An additional problem, at least to a swimmer, I had gathered, from talking with some of the soldiers, were Vosk eels. These often lurk in shadowed areas, among the pilings beneath piers. Whereas they normally feed on garbage and small fish it is not unknown that they attack swimmers. In the last few weeks, too, given the fighting at the rafts, and in the harbor, predictably, river sharks, usually much farther to the west, had made their appearance.

My second plan, or the second portion of my plan, involved the women from the Crooked Tarn. Late this afternoon, as I had expected, they, in the keeping of the sutler, Ephialtes, had arrived. I had made contact with him away from his wagon and I had had him blindfold the women, with the exception of Liadne, the first girl, and the only slave among them, before I inspected them. Liadne, who was delighted with her name, showed them off to me, proudly. She had done a good job with them, in only three days. The free women knelt very straight, their bellies sucked in, their shoulders back, their breasts thrust forward. Too, they knelt back on their heels, their knees spread, as those of slaves. They were all there, Lady Temione, Lady Amina, the Vennan, Lady Elene, from Tyros, and Ladies Klio, Rimice and Liomache, all from Cos. All of them had, or had desired, to exploit men. now they knelt before me, not knowing who it was before whom they knelt. I regarded them. Once they had been haughty, proud free women. They now knelt within the fringes of a military camp, frightened, confused, chained, blindfolded, shave-headed prisoners. They did not know in whose power they were, or what their fate might be. I had plans for them, or some of them. They, or some of them, would learn soon enough what these might be.

I watched Phoebe pour some meal into the boiling, salted water.

Temione and Klio had had marks on their bodies. Perhaps they had dared to be initially recalcitrant, at least to some small degree. Perhaps, incredibly enough, they had even had some reservations, free women, to being handled and treated as slaves, being stripped, and chained behind a wagon, for example, or to having to obey promptly and perfectly the orders of a slave, Liadne, who had been put over them, as first girl, kneeling before her, addressing her as Mistress, and such. Perhaps, free women, they had dared, at least initially to think that they might be above such things. They had learned differently. Too, their treatment might, in some trivial ways, perhaps smooth, or make a bit less traumatic, the transition to bondage, which was a likely, as well as suitable, disposition for them. To be sure, there is probably no fully adequate way for one to anticipate, or prepare for, psychologically, the actual transition to bondage, even if one eagerly seeks it, even if one welcomes it joyously, for with it comes a new and profoundly different understanding of one's self and nature; by it, you see, a categorical and radical transformation of one's realities is effected; in it one realizes, suddenly, that one is now no longer what one was before, that one is now something absolutely different, that one is now no longer a free person, but a property, subject to buying and selling, an animal, a slave. Phoebe knelt near the fire, back on her heels. Occasionally she would kneel, up, off her heels, and stir the porridge.

"Keep you back straight," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

Her body was slim, her hair was long, bound behind the back of her head with the black cord.

Others about, too, were cooking.

She still wore the garmenture so much like the curla and chatka, the cord at her belly and the long, single strip of cloth, the latter passing over the cord from the outside to the inside in front, and then up, and over it again in the back, moving from the inside to the outside, the whole then, above the cord, pulled up and adjusted, snugly.

She stirred the porridge.

The bottoms of her feet were dark with dirt.

There was a scuffling sound outside and, looking up, we saw a stumbling woman, naked, a rope on her neck, her hands tied behind her, being dragged among the tents. She cast us one wild, desperate glance, and then was dragged past. Phoebe knelt even straighter.

"I think it is a good thing that I kept you covered in my absence yesterday and today," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

"Do you know why I did so?" I asked.

"That I may learn discipline?" she said. "That I may learn that I am truly your servant, and what it is to be the servant of a man such as you? And that I may learn to be a good servant?"

"Such things," I said, "but there is, too, another reason."

"What is that?" she asked.

"That it is more likely that you will be here when I get back," I said. "I would not run away," she said.

"I was not thinking of that," I said.

"I do not want to run away," she said, "but, too, I would be afraid to run away."

"But you are a free woman," I said. "It is not as though you were a slave." "But if you caught me," she said, "you would punish me, would you not, and terribly?" "Yes," I said. "But still it would not be as though you were a slave." She shuddered. "If I were a slave," she said, "if I were to be branded and collared, I would not even dare to think of running away."

I nodded. Gorean, she was not unacquainted with the severities typically inflicted upon wayward slaves, slaves foolish enough to attempt escape. Too, escape, in effect, is impossible for the Gorean slave girl. The lay, the culture, and such, are not set up to permit it.

"But why then?" she asked.

"That it would be less likely that you would be stolen," I said.

"Really?" she asked, pleased.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you really think a man might want to steal me?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Would you?" she asked.

"I might consider it," I said. "I think you would look well on all fours, bringing me a whip in your teeth."

"Phoebe has gathered, the last two nights," she said, shyly, "that she may not be without attractions to master?"

"Perhaps," I said.

"Even though I am a free woman?" she asked.

"Most slaves begin as such," I said.

"I want to live for a master," she said, suddenly, looking at me, "and to give him pleasure. I want it to be the meaning of my existence!"

"I see, free woman," I said.

"'Free woman'!" she said. "I am free in name only! You know that in my heart I am a slave!"

"True," I said.

"I want a master to be everything to me," she said, "even if he scarcely notices me, or cares if I exist."

"I see," I said.

"But you have not imbonded me!" she chided.

"No," I said.

"If I were stolen," she said, "I wager that that oversight would soon be remedied." "Probably," I said. "Particularly if it were done by a professional slaver."

She hummed a little tune.

"Surely you fear the whip," I said, "and the hazards of the collar?" "The whip is good for us," she said. "Perhaps it is hard for you to understand that, as you are not a woman. It makes our womanhood a hundred times more meaningful. The essential point here is not being whipped, of course, which hurts, but being subject to the whip, and being truly subject to it. You see the distinction, I am sure. We know that men are by nature sovereign over us. That comprehension requires no greater insight. Accordingly, men must then either fulfill their nature, or deny it, and in denying their nature, deny us ours, for ours is the complement to theirs. Accordingly we despise men who surrender their natural sovereignty. Surely we would not be so stupid, would not be such weaklings and fools as to do that, if we were men. It would be too valuable and glorious a thing to give up. Its surrender would be a tragedy. But we are not men! We are women, and want, truly, with everything in our hearts and bellies, to be women, and we cannot be women truly if men are not truly men! Lay down the whip, and we will attack you, and undermine you, and use your own laws, institutes and rhetorics to destroy you, inch by inch. Lift it, and we will lick your feet in gratitude. Own us, dominate us! Enslave us, properly, so that we may love you as women are meant to love, wholly and irreservedly, totally, without a thought for ourselves!" She looked at me, tears in her eyes. "Is it so wrong to want to be ourselves?"

"But there are hazards in slavery," I said.

"I accept them," she said, "and would try to please my master." "You would be well advised to do so," I said.

"I know," she smiled.

"Attend to the porridge," I said.

She removed it from the fire and covered it, to let it stand for a bit. She then set out two bowls, with spoons, and two trenchers, for some bread.

She served, deferentially.

I considered her flanks, and breasts. They were excellent. Although her garmenture was assuredly scanty, she was more extensively clothed than many of the women in the camp. There were men here.

She spooned the porridge into the bowls and set the bread, wedges, from a round, flat loaf, on the trenchers, and knelt back. She would wait, of course, until I had taken the first bite.

Considering the size of the besieging force there were not as many women in the camp as might have been expected. I hoped this would work in my favor. The paucity of women, relatively, rent slaves even bringing a copper tarsk a night, had largely to do with the coming and going of the slave wagons, which tended to carry off most of the captures, apprehended refugees, women who had fled from Ar's Station for food, giving themselves into bondage for a crust of bread, and such, to a dozen or so scattered markets, markets such as Ven, Besnit, Port Olni, and Harfax.

I bit into the bread and Phoebe then, too, began to eat, taking a small spoonful of the porridge.

It had become dark now.

We could hear the pleasure cries of a woman a few tents away.

"Do you think she is free?" asked Phoebe.

"Probably," I said. "There are not too many slaves in the camp now." "What do you think he is doing to her?" she asked.

"Mastering her," I said.

"Do you think she is tied?" she asked.

"Probably," I said.

She looked down, shuddering, blushing. The intensification of sexual pleasure, both physically and psychologically, by the application of selected restraints is well known.

"The women I have seen in this camp," she said, "do not appear to be overdressed."

"They are prisoners of strong men," I said. She listened to the girl's cried. "She is passionate," said Phoebe.

"She had probably been given little choice," I said.

"Nonetheless," said Phoebe, "she is passionate."

"Her destiny is doubtless to be the collar," I said.

"So, too, I would were mine," said Phoebe, boldly. "You are already a captive and servant, a full servant," I said. "I would go beyond that," she said, "to my ultimate meaningfulness, that of the slave."

"Eat," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I considered, again, the women from the Crooked Tarn. They had knelt well, their knees spread as those of slaves. Liadne had done well with them. I had wanted them to learn, of course, not only discipline, but something of the arts of pleasing men. Liadne, herself, was not an experienced slave, for, I recalled, she had been startled to find herself utilized, with her ankles chained, but she would still, presumably, be worlds of sensuousness beyond the simple free women in her charge. What could she have shown them in three days? Something, I supposed. Perhaps little more than how to make slave lips and do a little squirming, naked. That might be enough, however, for my purposes. The Cosians in the front trenches, and behind the earthworks and hurdles, who would have borne the brunt of sorties in the past, and had doubtless contributed more than their share to the assaults, would not, I thought, be averse to finding a woman among them, particularly one naked and on a chain.

"She is quiet now," said Phoebe.

"He is probably letting her subside," I said.

"What is that?" she asked, suddenly, lifting her head.

"War trumpets," I said. I rose up and went outside the tent. She followed. Others, too, about, from others of the small tents, had emerged.

From Ar's Station came the sounds of trumpets, far off. "It is a night assault," I said.

We looked toward the city.

We could see lights there. These were probably bundles of sticks set afire by defenders, and thrown, suspended on chains, over the walls, to illuminate them. "There must be many women left in Ar's Station," she said.

"Doubtless," I said.

"How they must be afraid," she said, "hearing such alarms." "Perhaps," I said.

"There are many encampments of slavers, and slavers' men, and cages, and slave wagons about," she said.

"Yes," I said.

The women of a city are, of course, among its prize loot. The women of Ar's Station, even the youngest and most beautiful, might now be pale, and drawn and scrawny, but water, and slave gruel, forced down their throats if necessary, could bring back their color, and fatten them for the block. Females, of course, make superb acquisitions, and gifts.

We listened for a time to the distant trumpets, watched the small spots of light in the distance.

Those about us, one after another, returned to their tents. It was only another attack, far off.

"Men are dying there," I said, looking toward Ar's Station.

"I am afraid," she said.

"Go into the tent," I said.

We reentered the tent and finished our meal, in silence.

"Do not try to enter the city," she said.

"Your thigh would probably look well, roped to a post, awaiting the branding iron," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

"Do not move when the iron presses into you," I said.

"Am I to be enslaved?" she asked.

"My remarks are general," I said.

"You are planning on leaving me!" she said.

"I do not know if I will see you again or not," I said.

"Do not try to enter the city!" she said.

"Come here," I said. "On your knees."

She approached me, as commanded. She then knelt there, slimly, beside me. "Clasp your hands behind the back of your neck," I said, "and do not interfere." "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Kneel up, off your heels," I said.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"This garment you are wearing," I said, "what is, in effect, a chatka, I am shortening and transforming into two slave strips." I drew the long strip before the cord in front back over the cord so that it would no longer hang midway, or about midway, between her knees and ankles but was now about eighteen inches long. The garment then lopped below her body. I then cut the garment a bit behind and below the cord in front. I then moved her about and treated the garment similarly in the back, drawing the strip back over the cord so that it was now only about eighteen inches long, and then cutting it off a bit below and behind the cord. She now wore two slave strips, each about eighteen inches long, one over the cord in front, one over it in back.

"Face me," I said.

She obeyed.

"What have you done?" she asked.

"Exactly what you think I have done," I said.

"You have removed nether shielding from me!" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Restore it," she said. "Quickly! There is enough left of the cloth! Please!" She gasped.

I had thrown the remaining portion of the cloth into the fire.

She watched it burn, in dismay.

"Do you feel vulnerable?" I asked.

"Yes!" she said.

"In such ways may one increase the passion of a female," I said.

She shuddered.

"You are aware, of course," I said, "that these pieces of cloth might be pulled away, easily."

"Yes!" she said.

"Keep your hands clasped behind the back of your neck," I said.

"Now what are you doing?" she cried.

"In the future," I said, "the cord will be tied in this fashion, or in some equivalent fashion."

She moaned, looking down.

I had refastened it in a simple bowknot, a sort of knot which on Gor, in certain contexts, as in the present context, is spoken of as a slave knot. It is called that, I think, because it is sometimes prescribed by masters for the fastening of slave garments. Its advantage, of course, is that it may be easily undone, by anyone. It is fastened at the left side of the girl's waist, where it is handy for a right-handed male, facing her. "Now," I said, "it is possible not only to remove the pieces of cloth singly, but, if one wishes, one may easily, with a casual tug, remove the cord and, with it, both cloths together, simultaneously, expeditiously."

"Stripping me!" she said.

"Keep your hands clasped behind the back of your neck," I said. "yes." She looked at me, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Do you object to your new garmenture?" I asked.

"Surely I am entitled to object!" she said.

"Turn about," I said.

She obeyed. "Oh!" she said.

"You may again face me," I said.

She turned about, again, quickly, on her knees. She looked in dismay at the strip of cloth which I had taken from the back of the cord, as it now flared, and then turned black and crumbled, in the fire.

"Do you still feel that you are entitled to object?" I asked.

"No," she said. "No!"

"And why not?" I asked.

"I am your captive, and servant, your full servant!" she said.

I removed my hand from the strip of cloth tucked behind the cord, at her belly. "Keep your hands behind your neck," I said.

"Why are you doing this?" she moaned.

"You still have more to wear than most women in this camp," I said. She choked back a sob.

"Tomorrow morning," I said, "your neck will be in a coffle collar." She looked at me, wildly.

"You will be on a chain, with other free women. You will be in the keeping of my friend, and agent, Ephialtes, as sutler. He will take care of you, or sell you, or whatever, as seems appropriate. It was my intention that you be put in slave strips in order that your sense of vulnerability, and your passion, suitably, might be increased. Too, in this fashion, I am, to some extent, preparing you for the terrors and exposures of the coffle. I have removed one slave strip as a punishment, and a sign of my power over you. To be sure, this will even further increase your sense of vulnerability, and your passion. Too, it may also better prepare you for what you might experience on the coffle, the scrutiny and attentions of men, for example. The other women, incidentally, will be stripped, totally, and their heads have been shaved. As you will, at least for a time, have a slave strip, and your hair, you will be regarded as the "first' of the free women. All of you, however, will be subject to Liadne, a slave. She will be first girl over you. She has whip rights, and so on, over you, and behind her is the power of men."

"I understand," she said.

"She has also been given a slave tunic," I said.

"How often," smiled Phoebe, "did I, as a free woman, feel repulsion and horror at even the sight of such scanty, revealing garments, in which slaves were put. Not I would be grateful for so much.

I smiled. The tunic, in its way, put Liadne a thousand times above her charges. "But she is a slave, is she not?" asked Phoebe.

"Yes," I said. Thus Liadne, tunic or not, was infinitely far beneath her. Indeed, they were not even comparable. They were not even on the same scale. One was a person, the other was an animal.

"I would that I were as she," she said.

"Perhaps, someday, you will be," I said.

"My arms are weary," she said. "May I lower them?"

"No," I said.

"May I confess something to you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"When in Cos, and elsewhere, as a free woman," she said, "I saw slaves in slave tunics I told you that I felt horror and repulsion."

"Yes?" I said.

"But even more," she said, "I wanted myself to be put in such a tunic, and be similarly subject to men!"

"I understand," I said.

"As I am a free woman," she said, "I am shamed, keenly, to wear what I now wear, but, if I were a slave, I do not think I would be shamed. I think, rather, I would be grateful, for I might as easily have been accorded nothing. Similarly, I do not really think I would object, if I were a slave, and not a free woman, to being naked on a chain. I think, rather, I would feel grateful and very proud, that men had found me attractive enough, and exciting enough, to put me there."

"There are many aspects to slavery," I said.

"I think I am aware of aspects, from the point of view of my female fulfillments, that you, as a man, may not fully understand," she said. "Perhaps," I said. "I do know that woman make excellent slaves." "Have you never wondered why?" she asked.

"Perhaps because they are slaves," I said.

"Yes!" she said.

"Such as you?"

"Yes!"

"Yet even so," I said, "I suspect that there are senses of slavery, and aspects of slavery, that one can never fully fathom or anticipate until the experience is real for one."

"Doubtless," she said, shuddering.

I regarded her. She was lovely, kneeling before me, in the slave strip and cord, her hands clasped behind the back of her neck.

"May I lower my arms now?"

"No," I said.

"You are training me, aren't you?" she said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"I am afraid," she said.

"Do you know why I had you kneel as you are?" I asked.

"That you might busy yourself with my garmenture, without interference," she said.

"Are you modest?" I asked.

"Of course," she said. "I am a free woman."

"But when you first presented yourself before me, at the inn," I said, "you had bared your breasts."

"I think I have pretty breasts," she said.

"You do," I said.

"I bared them," she said, "because I did not wish to risk rejection." "So that is the sort of woman you are," I said.

"Yes," she said. "So not," I said, "how you could possibly object if you must display them again, and as I see fit, even as a slave?" she put down her head.

"You may lower your arms," I said.

She lowered her arms, and knelt back, on her heels.

"Knees spread," I said.

She complied.

"The slave strips looks well, fallen between your thighs," I said.

"Thank you," she said.

"Your thighs are pretty," I said.

She blushed.

"Yes," I said, "and your belly and breasts, and the rest of you." "Thank you," she said.

"Yes, you are remarkably lovely," I said. "Yes, I think you would make a lovely slave."

She trembled.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"I am afraid," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I do not know anything of being a slave," she said, "should it be done to me! I know nothing of pleasing men! I do not even know the drapings of tunics, the tying of slave girdles!"

"Should you become a slave," I said, "submit yourself to your sisters in bondage, not as one who was recently a free woman but as one who is now the lowest and most ignorant of slaves, the humblest of tyros and novices. Watch them. Learn from them. Serve them. Bring them small treats which you might earn. Beg them to help you, to teach you their ways, their arts and secrets. Even such small things as the use of the tongue can make a great difference in whether you survive or not."

She trembled.

"Reach now," I said, "to the cord at the left side of your waist." "I do not even know how to strip myself before a man," she said, in misery. "There are a thousand ways in which it may be done," I said. She touched the cord. Her fingers were on it. Then she looked up at me. "How might a slave do this?" she asked.

"In one of a thousand ways," I smiled.

She moaned.

"A typical way might be as follows," I said. "The girl might stand or kneel before the master. She might say, "Your property begs to be permitted to reveal herself to you. Then, if the permission is granted, she does so."

"Your property begs to be permitted to reveal herself to you," she whispered, softly.

"But," I said, "as you are a free woman, you are not my property." She regarded me.

"And so I do not grant you permission."

"Are you angry?" she asked.

"No," I said, angrily. The slave was so visible in her, so near the surface, that it was maddening. How it strove to emerge, and become her, totally! That she, such a woman, should still be free was an outrage to all justice and rationality. Her thigh should bear a brand! She belonged in a collar!

"Master?" she asked.

I forced myself to remember that she, fittingly or not, absurdly or not, was at least at this moment, free.

"Master!" she pleaded.

She was not now a slave. I must accord her dignity and respect!

"Collar me!" she begged.

I seized her by the arms.

I held her.

But then, in the distance, we heard the trumpets, the horns.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It is the recall," I said. "The assault has been terminated."

"The city has not yet fallen," she said.

"No," I said.

I released her.

"Shall I build up the fire?" she asked.

"No," I said.

I went outside the tent and scuffed some dirt over the remains of the fire and then reentered the tent, and, from the inside, tied shut the flaps.

"It is dark," she said. "Lie down," I said.

I removed my belt, and tunic, and crouched beside her.

I put my hand down, into her hair, and lifted her head a bit, and turned it, in the darkness. With my other hand, I touched her neck.

"Collar me," she begged.

It would have been easy enough to do so, there in the darkness of the tent. "No," I said.

I then put her back, on her back in the dirt.

"Lift your body," I said.

She obeyed.

"Shall I free the cord?" she sobbed.

"I shall do so," I said.

"Do not leave me tomorrow," she begged.

"I must," I said.

I laid aside the cord and strip. "Do not lower your body," I said.

"It is now lifted to you, as though it were that of a slave," she said. I put my hand on her, gently.

"Oh!" she said, squirming.

"Excellent," I said.

She sobbed.

"I think," I said, "you might bring a high price in a slave market." "Do not leave me," she begged.

"I must," I said.