Slave Girl Of Gor

4
La Kajira

I awakened at his feet in the Gorean dawn. I put my hands on his calves and ankles, as though holding them, yet so softly that he would not know himself held. I delicately put my lips to his calves, feeling the hair beneath my lips, and kissed him. I kissed his ankles and feet, softly, so that he would not know himself kissed, gently, that he might not be awakened, that he might not be angered by the boldness of the slave girl at his feet. Then I lay beside him, joyously happy. I saw the long, horizontal peak of the striped tenting above me, extending on either side from the leather cord that served as its roof tree. The striped sides of the tenting moved slightly in the early morning shiftings of the breeze. The dawn was a soft gray. Outside the tenting I could see dew glistening on the grass. I heard birds, calling to one another. I lay deep in the furs. I rolled to my stomach, my breasts pendant, to look upon the man who owned me. Much in the night had he overwhelmed me. On the interior of my left thigh, reddish brown, dried now, lay a streak of blood, my virgin blood, which never again would I be able to shed. He, as m a primitive rite, I being only a slave, had forced me to taste it. He had taken it on his finger and thrust it roughly in my mouth, smearing it across my lips and tongue and teeth, making me take into my own body the consequences of his victory, my ravishing, my deflowering, and then, as he held my head in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes, swallow. I would never forget the taste, nor the calm way he looked upon me, as a master. Then, though my body was still sore from his first assault upon me, again he pleasured himself, like a lion, in my vulnerable, raw softness; I was shown no consideration, for I was a slave. I clutched him, loving him. Much service did he get from his girl that night. How excited and obedient I had been, even sore, knowing full well that I would be swiftly and cruelly punished were I not completely pleasing to him. How happy I was, so subservient to him, so much at his mercy. A girl who has not been owned perhaps cannot grasp the feelings of one who is owned, truly owned; but perhaps such a girl, even if only dimly, can sense the joy of the slave girl. I would not have believed it, had I not experienced it.

Gently I lowered my head to the brute and kissed him, softly that I might not awaken my master.

I lay back in the furs, near him, at his feet, in the Gorean dawn.

Once during the night had he laughed, softly, richly, holding me helplessly, cruelly, to him, looking down into my eyes, deeply pleased with his ownership of me. How grateful, and elated, held, I had been!

My master was pleased with his girl!

I listened to the birds outside, in the glistening velvet of the soft dawn.

How far from Earth, with its pollutions, its crowdings, its hypocrisy, seemed this world. I lightly, with my fingertips, touched my brand. I winced. I would not much touch it, for a few days, for I wished its delicacy to heal perfectly. I wanted the brand to be perfect. No girl is so without vanity that she does not want her brand to be perfect. Even lipstick and eye shadow, which a girl may wash off and reapply, a girl wishes to be perfect; how much more so then the brand, which is always worn! The girl wishes a brand of which she can be proud. A good brand adds to a girl's sense of confidence, of comfort and security. Often, a girl's raiment is limited to brand and collar. Accordingly the brand is of considerable importance to her. Also, it is no secret on Gor that a small and beautiful brand, well-placed, considerably enhances a girl's beauty. I tried to resent the brand, but I could not do so. It was too beautiful, and now, too, it was too much a part of me. I kissed my fingertips and, gently, pressed them to the petals of the slave flower which my master, yesterday evening, with a hot iron, against my will, had caused to blossom upon my thigh. I lay there in the fresh dawn. On Earth it then seemed to me that I had been a true slave; and that, on this world, though I wore a brand, I was for the first time in my life truly free. On Earth invisible chains had kept me cruelly apart from myself and my feelings; conditionings and derisions had put walls between me and my heart and emotions; I had been tight, the miserable victim of bonds of my own acceptance; now, for the first time in my life, though I might wear chains, in my heart, my feelings and emotions, I was truly free, truly liberated; I lay there, happy.

I was suddenly frightened. I felt his hand, groping for me. I crawled beside him, and moved my head to where he might touch it, by his thigh. He was asleep. I felt his hands reach into my hair, and fasten themselves in it. He pulled me to his waist. I was a slave girl. "Yes, Master," I whispered.

I felt Eta's switch poking me. "Kajira," she whispered. "Kajira."

I awakened. It was still very early, though lighter now. My master was still asleep. None but Eta was up about the camp.

The dew of dawn was not yet burned off the grass. I crawled from the tenting.

Eta would set me my duties. I, a slave girl, would now be worked. I looked about at the sleeping men, recumbent and somnolent, in their tentings and furs. They were the masters. We women, slave girls, would now ready the camp. There was much to be done. Water must be fetched, wood must be brought from the piles, the morning fires must be made, breakfast must be prepared. When the masters chose to arise, their girls must have all ready for them.

I hummed softly to myself as I worked. Eta, too, seemed pleased. Once she kissed me.

The men were late to arise, and Eta sent me to the stream, with tunics, to wash upon the rocks. I was once startled by the movements of a small amphibian near me. It splashed into the water. The water was clear. I worked swiftly. The air was fresh and beautiful. Soon I smelled the frying of vulo eggs in a large, flat pan, and the unmistakable odor of coffee, or as the Goreans express it, black wine. The beans grow largely on the slopes of the Thentis mountains. The original beans, I suppose, had been brought, like certain other Gorean products, from Earth; it is not impossible, of course, that the opposite is the case, that black wine is native to Gor and that the origin of Earth's coffee beans is Gorean; I regard this as unlikely, however, because black wine is far more common on Earth than on Gor, where it is, except for the city of Thentis, a city famed for her tarn flocks, and her surrounding villages, a somewhat rare and unusual luxury. Had I known more of Gor I would have speculated that my masters might have sworn their swords to the defense of Thentis, that they were of that city, but, as I was later to learn, they were of another city, one called Ar.

When the first man, yawning, sleepy and bleary-eyed, the lazy beast, stumbled to the cooking fire, we were ready for him. Eta and I knelt before him, and put our heads to the dirt at his feet. We were his girls.

Eta piled several of the hot, tiny eggs, earlier kept fresh in cool sand within the cave, on a plate, with heated yellow bread, for him. I, grasping the pot with a rag and both hands, poured him a handled, metal tankard of the steaming black brew, coffee or black wine.

Following Eta's example, to my pleasure, we prepared ourselves plates and cups. We then, while waiting for the men, ate. As long as a male had taken the first bite, the first drink, at the meal, apparently there was little objection to our also partaking. We did so with gusto. Gorean amenities are more carefully observed, usually, at the evening meal, which is more of a gathering and an occasion than the other two or three meals of the day. At an evening meal Eta and I would, under threat of discipline, wait before eating until the master, and each of his men, had begun. We did not, commonly, however, provided it did not interfere with our service, wait until the men had completed their meal before commencing ours. We, thus, finished nearly with them, or a bit before. Thus, after we had cleared goblets, and bowls and dishes, if they were used, we were soon ready, unimpeded, to devote our attentions to the serving of wine and paga, or our bodies for their pleasure, were they desired. To indicate the greater significance of the evening meal, as compared to the other Gorean meals, no slave girl may touch it without first having been given permission, assuming that a free man or woman, even a child, is present. "You may feed, Slave Girl," is a common way in which this permission is given. If the permission is not given, the girl may not eat. Should the master or mistress, or child, forget to give this permission, it is merely the misfortune of the slave girl.

As the men came to breakfast we extended them obeisance and served them.

When my master came to the cooking fire it was with eagerness, such eagerness that the men laughed, that I knelt before him, and put my hair in the dirt between his sandals.

I remembered the night. Well had he taught me the meaning of my brand! I so loved him!

He gestured me to my feet. I sprang up. I stood straight before him, proud in the pleasure I had given him. From the looks of the men I understood that now I stood much differently than I had when I had come to the camp, that the girl who now stood slave within the wall of thorn brush was far more valuable than she who had so recently miserably stood captive beyond its perimeter. The looks of the men told me that I was now more desirable, more beautiful. I know I should have objected to this, that I should have resented it intensely. Yet how fantastically weak and joyous and alive and happy it made me feel!

My master, crouching down, examined the slave flower on my thigh. I did not dare touch him. I trembled. He straightened up. He seemed satisfied, and this much relieved me. I wished him to be pleased, not only with his slave, but with her brand. Eta examined the brand, too, and smiled, and hugged and kissed me. I gathered that the brand was an excellent one. I hugged and kissed her, too, weeping. She permitted me to serve the master, and I did so, delightedly. I watched him like a hawk, that I might anticipate his slightest desire.

One of the men, obviously, as his looks and gesture indicated, asked him about me; My master responded, chewing. They looked at me. I was the object of their discussion. I did not speak Gorean, but I reddened, and put my head down. Gorean masters commonly speak frankly and openly of the qualities of their girls, even before the girls themselves. My features, figure and performances were being candidly discussed and appraised. The sexuality, qualities and capacities, and skills, of a slave girl, not a free woman, are discussed on Gor with the same openness that men on Earth might bring to the discussion of paintings and music, and that Englishmen of the Nineteenth Century might have brought to the discussion of dogs and horses.

I gathered that I, in many ways, left much to be desired. I felt small and helpless.

My master extended to me his metal tankard. Gratefully I filled it again with the steaming black wine.

He was kind. He was permitting me to serve him. I looked at him. Were there to be no secrets between us? Were my defects, my helplessness, and the completeness of my surrender to him, to be broadcast so publicly? In his eyes I read that my questions were out of place. In his eyes I read that I was slave.

I lowered my eyes, and withdrew, the tankard filled, a slave girl.

It was with joy, later in the morning, that I felt, thrown against my body by my master, a bit of brown cloth. It was a sleeveless body scrap, a shred of slave rag. It was a few threads, fit for a bond girl. Yet I welcomed it as I might have a gown, with gloves and pearls, from Paris. Now I might not be so revealed to the men. It was the first clothing I had been given on Gor. Radiant was my gratitude to him, and abundant were the kisses which, in joy, I placed about his legs and feet. Joyfully I drew on the garment, slipping it over my head, and fastened it, more tightly about me, by the two tiny hooks on the left. The slit made the garment, a rather snug one, easier to slip into; the two hooks, when fastened, naturally increased the snugness of the garment, drawing it quite closely about the breasts and hips; deliciously then, from the point of view of a man, the girl's figure is betrayed and accentuated; also, the two hooks do not close the slit on the left completely, but permit men to gaze upon the sweet slave flesh pent, held captive, within; such a garment, of course, when a man grows weary of having his vision obscured, is easily torn away. I turned before my master, proud in my new riches. He indicated to Eta where the garment must be taken in, the hooks placed subtly differently. As it was the garment was too large for me. Eta was a larger woman. It was one of her cast-offs. The garment would be altered, that I would be as well revealed by it as Eta was by hers. The attire of Gorean slave girls is of great importance to their masters. They concern themselves with its tiniest details. The clothing, you see, as well as the girl, belongs to the master; it is natural for him, thus, to take an interest in it; both, in their diverse ways, can be reflections upon him, his taste, his judgment, his discrimination. That a male of Earth may not even know what clothing his wife owns, or what she buys, would be unthinkable to most Goreans, even those who stand in free companionship. To the master it would simply be preposterous. What his girl wears, if she is to wear anything, is of great interest to him. After all, she is not a wife; she is much more important: she is a prized possession. The clothing she wears, any cosmetics or jewelry, or perfume, must be absolutely perfect. He is in, so to speak, on everything. Should she tie her hair with as little as a new ribbon, it must pass his strict inspection. If it is not «right» for her, she will not be permitted to wear it. That a wife might wear a new dress and her husband not even notice it would be incredible, if not incomprehensible, to any Gorean, whether a proprietor or a companion. In short, Gorean masters concern themselves closely with their girls. Clothing, like other matters, is quite important. It must be perfect for its purpose. Its purpose may be to humiliate or brazenly and publicly display the girl, to discipline her, to keep her humble, to remind her she is nothing, only a wench in bondage; it may be to reveal her beauty, of which he is proud, for the eyes of all, or for his own pleasure and that of his peers; it may be to reveal his wealth, the value in girl and raiment which he owns; it may be to augment his prestige, or to incite envy in others; it may be to stimulate her with beautiful things; it may be to excite her sexually, and so on. These purposes, of course, are not all incompatible. Clothing, too, it might be mentioned, like food, is a useful instrument in controlling the girl. Few girls, for example, enjoy being sent nude to the market, to do shopping.

My master drew out his knife. I shuddered, but dared not run. I closed my eyes. I felt him cutting at the garment's hem. He made it scandalously short. It had been a garment of Eta's measured high, but to her own longer legs. Now I scarcely dared move in it.

At a gesture from my master I knelt. I did so in the manner m which I had been taught, back on my heels, back straight, hands on thighs, head high, chin up. I did not neglect a further detail. I spread my knees, widely. It was the position, of course, as I would later learn, of the Gorean pleasure slave. I had seen Eta naturally, unconsciously, assume it when she knelt. Such a girl, in kneeling, does not close her knees before a free man. Any slave girl, incidentally, addresses any free man as Master, any free woman as Mistress, though only one, of course, at a given time, is likely to be her true Master or Mistress.

It gave me pleasure to assume this posture before my master, who had full body rights to me; it gave me less pleasure, in the beginning, to assume it before free men generally; yet, eventually, I did it naturally, and pleasurably; it is a position that not only makes the girl more attractive to the man; but, too, subtly, psychologically, by its effect on the girl, by intensifying her sense of openness, vulnerability and exposure, it makes men much more attractive to her, she thus kneeling, and opened, before them; the girl who finds many men attractive is likely to find the master attractive; the girl who finds few men attractive is to that extent the less likely to find the master attractive; the pleasure slave, so submissively and vulnerably positioned, so helpless and opened before men, cannot help herself but become curious and excited, and heated, about them; in becoming excited and heated by men in general she naturally becomes excited and heated about the master in particular; after all, it is to him that she actually belongs; he is the one who is her master; in a pleasure slave passion is not an accident; inhibitions are simply not permitted; beyond this, instincts are triggered and intelligently released, and then allowed, untrammeled, to take their natural course; biology's dominance/submission equation is genetic; the most perfect satisfaction of that equation for complex, acculturated psychophysical organisms is the institutionalized bondage relation; this exists on Gor, where girls may be the legal slaves of strong men, capable of mastering them. I was such a slave. I had no doubt the man who owned me was capable of mastering me. He had already done so. I was his slave.

How attractive I found men! How I loved, and feared, my master. I wanted to give myself to him constantly.

He gave instructions to Eta, with respect to me. Then he, with his fellows, left the camp. Eta and I were alone. She went and brought pins, tiny scissors, a needle and thread. The alteration of my slave rag was apparently the first order of the day's business. It must match and betray my slave body perfectly. After that we could attend to our less important tasks. I stood and knelt, and stood, and moved as Eta instructed me. Once I removed the garment and she sewed the hem, where the knife had ripped it. In making the hem, of course, though Eta took it up as little as possible, the garment was further shortened. I reddened. I wondered if there was much to choose from between such a garment and being nude; I supposed the garment gave the men something to tear away. Then I put it back on. Eta repositioned the hooks. I gasped, as she fastened them. Then Eta deftly, here and there, sometimes cutting, and pinning and sewing, fitted the rag to me with candid perfection. This was done on my body, that the fit be flawlessly snug. Eta was a superb seamstress. Only twice, even under these conditions, and given our objectives, did I feel the needle. Then Eta stood back; and then walked about me. She went and fetched a mirror from the cave; it was a large one, and permitted me to see myself. I gasped at the slave girl betrayed in the mirror. I looked at Eta in horror. I had not seen myself before as a. slave. I was shocked, and startled. I had not known I could appear such. I could not believe it was me. No, it could not be me! I looked back at the mirror. How beautiful she was, that lovely slave. Could it be I? I looked at Eta. She nodded, and smiled. I looked again at the mirror. I had not known I could be so beautiful! Then I was afraid, for I suspected what such beauty might mean on the world on which I found myself. What man would not simply put a chain on it, or collar it? I stood before the mirror, stunned, looking at the slave girl.

Eta then, to my surprise, with the point of her scissors, ripped the tiny garment a bit under my right breast, that a bit of skin might show, and again at my left hip, a larger rip. These were done in such a way as to make them appear natural, inadvertent rents in the garment. She then, with the point of the scissors, at two points, ripped the hem she had earlier sewn out a bit, that in these two places it might appear the threads had broken; the hem then, in these two places, was irregular on my legs. She then, at another place, cut into the hem, ripping it, and unraveled and tore it a bit, as though it had naturally frayed; some stray threads hung upon my thigh. These were the touches which, to my horror and delight, made the garment of the slave rag exquisitely perfect. I looked at the lovely slave in the mirror. I wondered if the men knew, or suspected, the female cunning that went into the making of a slave rag. She was arming me with beauty. With what else might a slave girl be armed? Eta kissed me, and I kissed her. The ingenuity and care lavished upon the slave rag, seemingly such a pathetic accident of a garment, is a careful secret well kept among slave girls. If the master does not know why the smallest movement of his girl, clad in what he thought was a mere discipline rag, almost drives him out of his wits with pleasure, that is all right. The masters, as we girls sometimes tell one another, do not have to know everything.

I looked at the girl in the mirror. I approached more closely. I lifted the hem of the garment at the left thigh. I almost fainted with the delicate perfection of the brand. It was still red, rough, raw, deep, unhealed, but the form was clearly imprinted, unmistakably, deeply, and beautifully imprinted. On my thigh I wore one of the most beautiful brands, the dina, the slave flower. I tore the garment there, at the left hip, that as I moved, the brand might be glimpsed. Then I knelt before the mirror. Boldly I assumed slave position. I threw my knees apart. I rested my hands on my thighs. I regarded myself in the mirror. I saw a kneeling slave girl there. There was no doubt about it. She was a slave girl. How incredibly beautiful was that poor, lovely slave. She wore a brand. She wore a slave rag. She lacked only a steel collar. That lack, I supposed, could be simply supplied. It is nothing to put a collar on a girl's neck. I lifted my hair up; I lifted my chin, watching in the mirror. I conjectured what a steel collar would look like, fastened on my neck. I did not think I would mind one. It might be rather attractive. Eta's was, terribly so. I hoped, of course, that I might be able to choose whose collar I would wear. But, shuddering, I realized that a girl does not choose whose collar she will wear; rather it is the man who chooses; it is he, and he alone, who places the collar. Suddenly I sensed the misery of being a slave. I might belong to any man! I might belong to any man who might carry me off, or pay my price. I might be abducted or bought, or bestowed or lost in gambling! I was only an article of property, helpless and beautiful, without control over, no more than a dog or pig, into whose hands I might come. Tears sprang to my eyes. Surely my master would not sell me! Every bit of me would constantly try to please him. I did not want to be sold! What a miserable, beautiful girl I saw in the mirror, the poor slave! How sorry I felt for that beauty. But what man would be so foolish as to sell such a beauty? Or, even to share her with another? Surely such a man would keep such a beauty for himself alone,not sharing her with others. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I studied the girl in the mirror. How beautiful in her bondage she was. I brushed my hair back and, lifting my chin, turned my head. I had seen earrings in the jewelry in the cave, exotic loops, twists of wire and golden pendants; I imagined them upon me, hanging at my cheeks, adornments suitable for me, a barbarian slave girl. My ears had not been pierced but I had little doubt that this operation, if my master wished, would be promptly accomplished upon me. I considered cosmetics and perfumes, such as I had encountered in the cave. And behold, in my imagination, the girl in the mirror was so bedecked. I had seen bracelets, anklets, chains and necklaces, intricately wrought and beautiful, in the cave. I extended my arms and wrists, and one of my legs, considering how they might appear, ponderous with such barbaric glory. But the girl in the mirror wore only a slave rag. I then considered how I might appear, so made up, so perfumed, so adorned, but now in a snatch of brief silk, yellow or scarlet, clinging, diaphanous, fit for a man's pleasure girl.

Eta called to me.

Once again I saw only the plain girl in the mirror, the beauty in a slave rag. No adornments were hers; only some threads of cloth tight on her beauty. She was not an ornamented high slave. She wore only a slave rag. She was a low slave.

I sprang to my feet and hurried to Eta.

She was kneeling down and I knelt across from her. "La Kajira," said Eta, pointing to herself. "Tu Kajira," she said, pointing to me. "La Kajira," I said, pointing to myself. "Tu Kajira," I said, pointing to Eta. I am a slave girl. You are a slave girl.

Eta smiled. She pointed to her brand. "Kan-lara," she said. She pointed to my brand. "Kan-lara Dina," she said. I repeated these words.

"Ko-lar," she said, indicating her collar. "It is the same word in English," I cried. She did not understand my outburst. Gorean, as I would learn, is rich in words borrowed from Earth languages; how rich it is I am not a skilled enough philologist to conjecture. It may well be that almost all Gorean expressions may be traced to one or another Earth language. Yet, the language is fluid, rich and expressive. Borrowed expressions, as in linguistic borrowing generally, take on the coloration of the borrowing language; in time the borrowings become naturalized, so to speak, being fully incorporated into the borrowing language; at this point they are, for all practical purposes, words within the borrowing language. How many, in English, for example, think of expressions such as 'automobile, 'corral, and 'lariat' as being foreign words?

"Collar!" I said. Eta frowned. "Ko-lar," she repeated, again indicating the neck band of steel fashioned on her throat. "Ko-lar," I said, carefully following her pronunciation. Eta accepted this.

Eta pulled at the bit of rag she wore. "Ta-Teera," she said.

I looked down at the scrap of rag, outrageously brief, so scandalous, so shameful, fit only for a slave girl, which I wore. I smiled. I had been placed in a Ta-Teera. "Ta-Teera,"

I said. I wore the Ta-Teera.

"Var Ko-lar!" asked Eta. I pointed to the collar on her throat. "Var Ta-Teera?" asked Eta, smiling. I pointed to the brief rag which I wore. Eta seemed pleased. She had laid out a number of articles. My lessons in Gorean had begun.

Suddenly, stammering, I said, "Eta-var-var Bina?"

Eta looked at me, surprised.

I recalled the two men who had come to the chain and rock. "Var Bina? Var Bina, Kajira!" they had demanded. I had not been able to understand, or satisfy them. They had beaten me. Still I had been unable to satisfy them. I could not even understand them. Then they had prepared to cut my throat. The man in the scarlet tunic, from over the fields, had arrived. "Kajira canjellne," he had said. He had fought for me, and won me. He had brought me to his camp, where he had branded me. I was now his slave.

"Var Bina, Eta?" I asked.

Eta lightly lifted herself to her feet and went to the cave. In a few moments, she emerged. She carried, in her hands, several strings of beads, simple necklaces, with small, wooden, colored beads. They were not valuable.

She held the necklaces up for me to see. Then, with her finger, moving them on their string, she indicated the tiny, colored wooden beads. "Da Bina," she said, smiling. Then she lifted a necklace, looking at it. "Bina," she said. I then understood that 'Bina' was the expression for beads, or for a necklace of beads. The necklaces and beads which Eta produced for me were delights of color and appeal; yet they were simple and surely of little value.

I went to the cave, Eta following. I lifted one of the chest's covers. I took from the chest a string of pearls, then one of pieces of gold, then one of rubies. "Bina?" I asked, each time. Eta laughed. "Bana," she said, "Ki Bina. Bana." Then, from another box, Eta produced another necklace, one with cheap glass beads, and another with simple, small wooden beads. She indicated the latter two necklaces. "Bina," she said, pointing to them. Bina, I then understood, were lesser beads, cheap beads, beads of little value, save for their aesthetic charm. Indeed, I would later learn that bina were sometimes spoken of, derisively, as Kajira bana. The most exact translation of 'bina' would probably be "slave beads." They were valueless, save for being a cheap adornment sometimes permitted imbonded wenches.

Eta and I returned to the outside, to continue our lessons.

I still could not understand what had happened at the chain and rock. "Var Bina! Var Bina, Kajira!" they had demanded. The Bina, or Slave Beads, had meant more to them than my life. It was not I who had been important to them there but the beads. When they had clearly understood that I was unable to help them in their quest, they, viewing me then as useless, had prepared to be done with me. I shuddered, remembering the knife at my throat. I had been narrowly saved by the swordsman whose slave I now was. I had thought, before I was clearly apprised of the nature of Bina, cheap slave beads, that perhaps the men had supposed that I was to be chained at the rock, adorned with some rare and valuable necklace, worth perhaps a fortune. Perhaps it had been that which they had wanted. Perhaps then, either I had not been placed so adorned at the rock, contrary to their expectation, or, if I had been, that someone had, in my helpless unconsciousness, arrived earlier and simply removed the necklace, stealing it from my chained body. I might have been left at the rock either because I was chained, and could not be easily removed, or, perhaps, was not wanted. But it seemed unlikely that, if I should have worn such a necklace, it had not been placed on me; and unlikely, too, that someone, in such a wilderness, would come upon me while I there lay chained and remove the necklace. I was thrown into the greatest consternation by my new comprehension of the valuelessness of slave beads. It now made no sense to me whatsoever that the two men, so angrily and fiercely, should have sought for so trivial an object. Of what importance could be a string of slave beads? Why might they have been put on me in the first place? And where, if they had been put on me, had they gone? Who would want them? And why should men come through a wilderness to obtain them? What could be their importance? What could be their secret? I understood nothing.

Eta lifted up a stout whip, with long handle, which might be wielded with two hands, and five dangling, soft, wide lashing surfaces, each about a yard long. "Kurt," she said. I shrank back. "Kurt," I repeated. She lifted up some loops of chain; there were linked ankle rings and linked wrist rings, and a lock collar, all connected by a length of gleaming chain running from the collar. It was rather lovely. It was too small for a man. I knew, however, it would fit me, perfectly, "Sirik," said Eta. "Sirik," I repeated.

Upon command I had slipped from the Ta-Teera.

I stood among the men.

The warrior indicated that I should suck in my gut. I did so, holding my stomach in, tightly. I felt the strap, black, narrow, loop my belly. It was pulled tight, very tight, and cinched. I wore the bell at my left hip. I looked at my master, reproachfully, in anguish. The bells, rows, strung about my neck, and, loosely, too, depending about my breasts, jangled. The sound was horrifying, sensuous. With anger, with misery, I regarded him. The warrior took my hands behind my back and there, with a bit of black leather, fastened them together. The rows of bells on my wrists jangled as my hands were pulled behind my back and fastened there, wrist to wrist, lashed. How could he permit this? Did it mean nothing to him that he had, the preceding night, taken my virginity from me? Did it mean nothing to him that he had, for long hours, pleasured himself with my body? Did it mean nothing to him that he had won me, that I had yielded to him, that I had surrendered myself, totally, to him? That vulnerably I had been fully his? I tried to take a step toward him. The bells on my body, and those tied about my ankles, jangled. I could not move toward him, for the warrior's hand on my arm held me. I looked at my master with anguish. He was sitting cross-legged, some feet away, with others. He had a goblet of paga, which Eta had served to him. Did my master not love me, as I loved him? He, narrow-lidded, looked at me over the rim of the goblet of paga. "Do not do this to me!" I cried to him, helplessly, in English. "I love you!" Surely, though he spoke no English, he could not have mistaken the anguish, the feelings, the deep intent of the helpless girl so shamefully belled and bound before him. "I love you!" I cried. I saw in his eyes that he, as a Gorean master, had no concern for my anguish, my intent and feelings. I shuddered. I was a bond girl. He gave a sign. One of the men nearby readied a large opaque cloth, soft, black, folding it in four pieces, so that, folded, it would be about a yard square. He looked back at me. "I love you," I said. The cloth was thrown over my head and, with some loops of leather cord, four times encircling my neck, tied under my chin. I could not see. I was hooded. I threw back my head in anguish within the hood. "But I love you!" I cried. I stood there, belled and bound, forlorn and hooded. I loved him. But I had seen in his eyes, in the instant that the cloth had been thrown over my head, that to him, my master, I was nothing, only a meaningless slave.

I stood there, head down, miserable, frightened. I heard the men laughing. Five would do contest.

I hated the bells, so many, so tiny, hung about my body, which I could not remove, which would draw them to me. The sound was tiny, rich, and sensuous. They were slave bells. They would draw men to my body. I moved slightly. I felt them stir on my body and on the loops that held them. So slight a movement made them sound! I, miserable, was caught in their lewd, delicious rustle. I suppose the sound of the bells, objectively considered, is rather lovely. Yet theirs was a music of bondage, one which, in its tiny, delicious sounds, rustling, whispered, "Kajira. Kajira." They said, "You are nothing, Girl. You are a belled Kajira. You are nothing, Girl. You exist for the pleasure of men. Please them well, lovely Kajira." I shook my body, trying to throw the bells from me. I could not do so. In their jangling sound, helpless, I was held, betrayed. I could scarcely breathe without stirring the bells. I began to sweat, and fear. It was suddenly like finding oneself caught, imprisoned, hooded, in a net. No move I made was not betrayed by the bells. Most I hated the larger bell, of different note, fastened tightly at my left hip. It was a guide bell. I tried to free my hands. They had been tied by a warrior. I was helpless. I shuddered. And even so slight a movement was betrayed by the bells, indicating the exact position of she who wore them, the slave girl on whose body they were fastened.

The men were ready.

"Please, Master," I cried, bound, closed in the hood, belled, "protect me! I love you! I love you! Keep me for yourself, Master!"

I heard men laughing, talking, bets being made.

The contestants, by now, would have, too, been hooded. But they were not belled. They were not bound.

My cheeks, inside the hood, were stained with tears. The interior of the hood was wet.

I was Judy Thornton, a junior at an elite girls' college, an English major, a poetess, delicate and sensitive!

A man near me called out a word, delightedly, a word I would later learn was "Quarry!" At the same instant I felt the flash of a switch on my body and I, weeping, fled from its sting.

I was a nameless slave girl on an alien world, at the mercy of primitive warriors in a barbarian camp, an object for their sport, a lovely, two-legged plaything, a mere prize, in their cruel games.

The prize stopped, in a jangle of bells, gasping, throwing her head about, as though she might see. She was trapped in the folds of the hood.

I heard a man near me. I did not know if it were the referee or one of the contestants.

I felt the switch touch my body.

I shuddered, with a jangle of bells. But in had been done gently. It was the referee, aiding me, indicating his presence.

I breathed deeply. The bells rustled. I heard another man approaching, doubtless groping. And another to my left.

I was terrified.

Suddenly I heard the hiss of the switch behind me and, almost at the same time, felt the supple disciplinary device, to the amusement of the men, strike me swiftly and hotly below the small of the back. I fled wildly, jangling bells. I was outraged, and humiliated. My eyes were hot with tears. It stung terribly. The switch is often used on a girl when she is guilty of minor indiscretions or tiny misdemeanors. It is thought a fitting instrument for encouraging a beauty to be more careful or zealous in her service. I had delayed in the game for more than five Ihn. It was for that reason that the referee had administered his admonitory stripe. It was the second time in my life I had felt a switch. I did not care to feel one again, particularly when clothed only in slave bells and a hood. The laughter of the men made me angry, but then I cried. Anger in a slave girl was only meaningless pretense. It was not as though she were a free woman whose anger might have significance, might even issue in actions or words, free from the reprisals of discipline. Men are the masters of slave girls, the masters. Anger in a slave girl is futile, meaningless, though sometimes masters encourage it in their girls, to see them flush and assume an interesting demeanor, but it is in the end always insignificant for, in the end, as both the girl and master know, it is the master and not the girl who holds the whip. Thus it is not that slave girls do not become angry. They do. It is only that their anger, as both girl and master know, is meaningless. I cried. The physical effect of the switch on a girl is not negligible, but, I think, its psychological effect, should the blows be placed on a certain portion of her body, thus cruelly humiliating her, may be even more bitter.

Crying, I fled through the camp, stumbling. I heard men falling, stumbling, getting up, pursuing me. I could not free my wrists. Once I fell into the arms of a man and shrieked with misery. He threw me from him. There was much laughter. He had not even been a contestant. Another time the referee caught me, and then thrust me back against stone, that I might know where I was. He had kept me from striking into the cliff wall behind the camp. I fled again, into the camp. My running was erratic, terribly so. I was confused and miserable. I was terrified of being caught. I, too, did not wish to be again struck with the switch. Another man, not a contestant, caught me and prevented me from plunging into the thick wall of thorn brush, in which I might have been half torn to pieces. There was much laughter. More than once I heard a contestant, yards away, curse. Then I would hear one not a yard or more from me, and I would wheel, and run from him. Once I struck one, and tripped, and fell rolling in a wild jangle of bells. I heard him leap for me. I felt his hand, for an instant, at my right hip. I felt the hand of another touch my left calf. I rolled and crawled free, and darted away. Once I found myself, it seemed, surrounded by stone. Wherever I turned there seemed a cliff before me. I spun, disoriented, terrified. Then I fled back and found myself again somewhere in the center of the camp. Barely had I avoided being cornered against the cliffs. I then began to play more cleverly, more warily. Twice more in the game was I stung with the switch then, once on the left arm, above the elbow, and once, more cruelly, on the right calf, when I, wishing to make no sound, not thinking the referee near me, lingered too long in one position.

Then I fled again, directly, into the arms of a man. I waited for him to free me, to throw me back to the others. But his arms did not free me. "Oh, no!" I wept. His arms tightened about me. I was thrown screaming and squirming to his shoulder, and carried about. There was laughing. I heard the man who held me from the ground being slapped on his back by the referee. I heard the word which, later, I would learn was "Capture." It is a helpless feeling being held on the shoulder of a man, your feet unable to touch the ground; you are unable to obtain the slightest leverage; you are simply his prisoner. I heard shouting, and the pounding of hands on my captor's back. Then he, in his pleasure, one hand on my right ankle and one closed about my left forearm, lifted me bodily above his head, bending my body, displaying me. I heard applause, the pounding of hands on the left shoulder. I heard, too, in the sounds, Eta cry out with pleasure, much delighted. Was she not my sister in bondage?

Could she not understand my misery? My captor, whoever he was, impatient then to have me, hurled me as though I were nothing to the dirt at his feet. I felt his hands at my ankles. I turned my head to one side, moaning.

I lay bound in the dirt when he had finished with me. He was then unhooded and led away in his triumph to drink the paga of victory.

I lay weeping and miserable in the dirt. When I moved I heard the rustle of the bells, which were slave bells.

In a few moments I felt the hands of the referee close on my arms. He lifted me, and threw me upright, to my feet. Again I heard the word which, later, I would learn was «Quarry»; again I felt the sudden sting of the switch, inciting me to motion; again I ran.

Four times I ran as quarry in the cruel games of that evening.

Four times was I caught and, on my back in the dirt of that barbarian camp, rudely ravished by whom I knew not.

When, later, I had been unbound and unhooded by Eta, I had wanted her to take me in her arms, to comfort me, but she had not. She had kissed me, happily, and one by one, removed the loops and ties of bells, lastly removing that which I had worn at my left hip. She then indicated that I should help her with the serving. I looked at her, aghast. How could I now serve? Did she not understand what had been done to me? I was not a Gorean girl. I was an Earth girl. Was it nothing that I had been, regardless of my will, ravished four times, put brutally against my will to the pleasure of strong men? I saw the answer in Eta's eyes, which smiled at me. Yes, it was unimportant. Did I not know I was a slave girl? Had I expected anything else? Had it not pleased me?

I looked sullenly into the dirt. I was an Earth girl, but, too, I was a slave girl.

It was unimportant, I realized then. It had been truly nothing, no more than the serving of wine or the sewing of a garment. I realized then what might, truly, be the import of being a slave girl. Why had my master permitted it? Was I not his slave? Did I mean so little to him? He had taken my virginity; he had taken much pleasure in me; he had Won me, forcing from me my total surrender as a slave girl to his power; then he had permitted his men to amuse themselves with me. Did he not love me? I remembered his eyes on me, before the hood had been thrown over my head in preparation for my service in the cruel game. I recalled his eyes. In his eyes I had seen that I was nothing, only a meaningless slave to him.

I poured wine from the flask I bore into the cup, I holding it, of one of the men.

I froze. I saw dirt upon his tunic. Our eyes met. He was, I knew, one of those who had had me. I was now serving him. He regarded me. I extended to him the cup. He did not accept it. Our eyes met. I took the cup and pressed my lips to it. Again I extended the cup to him. Still he regarded me.

I had not been permitted, following the cruel game, to slip the Ta-Teera, my slave rag, again upon my body. My master had said a curt word. I must then remain nude. It is customary, following the game, that the prize remain nude, that the value of her captured beauty remain discernible to all, to the winners for their pleasure, to the loser for his chagrin, to the onlookers for their admiration, and, too, perhaps, to incite them in another contest, at some future date, to vie for its possession.

His eyes were upon me.

Angrily, with helpless anger, the futile, meaningless anger of a slave girl, I again pressed my lips to the cup, this time fully and lingeringly.

Again I extended to him the cup.

This time he took it.

He then, without looking at me further, turned to his cup companion on his left. I hated him. He had ravished me, and now I must serve him, and as a naked slave girl!

I served others, too, commonly this night, like Eta, remaining back of the circle of the fire, behind the sitting men, with a flask of wine. We remained in the shadows. When one of the men would lift his cup, I, or Eta, whichever might be closer, would serve him. Usually we served from more closely among the men, often even kneeling among them, but not this night. They spoke together, earnestly. Matters of importance, I gathered, were being discussed. At such a time men did not wish to be distracted by the bodies of slave girls. We remained in the shadows.

I watched, angrily. My master, with a rock, drew maps in the dirt by the fire. Some of the maps I had seen before. He had drawn them the preceding night for his lieutenants, when they had spoken alone. He spoke swiftly and decisively, sometimes indicating a portion of the terrain by jabbing at it with the rock. Sometimes he pointed to the largest of the three moons above; in a few days it would be full. I stood there, naked, recently ravished, sweat and dirt on my body, and in my hair, holding the large flask of wine on my left hip, watching. I wondered at what might be the nature of the camp in which I found myself. It did not seem to be a hunting camp, though hunting was done from it. Too, I did not think it was a camp of bandits, for the men in the camp did not seem of the bandit sort; not only did the cut and differing insignia on their tunics suggest a uniform of sorts, but the clear-cut subordination, the obvious organization and discipline which characterized them and their relationships did not suggest outlawry; too, the men seemed handsome, strong, clean-cut, responsible, reliable, disciplined, trained, and efficient; there was none of the laxness and disorder of either men or environment I would have expected in a camp of bandits. I inferred then that I found myself slave in a camp of soldiers of some city or country. The camp, however, situated as it was, did not seen an outpost or guard camp; it did not command terrain; it was not fortified; it was too small for a training camp or a wintering camp; too, because of its size, so small, it did not seem a likely war camp; sixteen men quartered here, with two girls as slaves; here there were no armies, no divisions or regiments. There was nothing here with which to consummate war, to repel or launch invasions, or meet in wide-spread combat on great fields. What then, I asked myself, was the nature of this camp?

One of the men lifted his cup and I hurried to him. I took the cup and I filled it. His tunic, too, I noted, was stained with the dust of the camp. I looked at him, angrily over the brim of the cup. Then I pressed my lips to his cup as I must, as a slave girl, and handed it to him. He took it, scarcely noticing me, and returned his attention to the map in the dirt, which was of importance. I wondered if he had had me first, or second, or third or fourth. I wondered which had been he. Each had been different; yet in the arms of each I had been only and fully a slave. I looked at him. He did not know I looked at him. I wondered how many hundreds of slave girls he had had.

I looked carefully, as carefully as I could in the light, at the large, blond, shaggy-haired fellow, whom I found, after my master, the most attractive male in the camp. It had been he who had first taken Eta, when, the night before I was branded, I had watched her perform, bound, belied and hooded, in the same cruel sport in which I this evening had been so humiliatingly victimized, treated as though I might be only a slave. I looked at him. There was not a stain of dust on his tunic. I was just as pleased. Had he run, and I known it, I might have endeavored to throw myself into his arms. I looked at him. Who knows, I thought, I might even have responded to him. This thought scandalized me, an Earth girl, but then I smiled to myself, and tossed my head. It did not matter. I was an Earth girl, true, but now I was only a slave girl. A slave girl is not only permitted to be responsive to men, but it is obligatory for her. It is a duty which, further, should she shirk, will be enforced upon her. It is not uncommon for a girl who is even trivially displeasing to be whipped. I looked at the large, handsome fellow. I had no honor to protect, no pride to uphold, for I was slave. He was indeed attractive. Too, I certainly would not wish to be whipped. I laughed to myself. For the first time in my life, I, a slave, felt free to be a woman. I then loved my sex.

A man lifted his cup, and I hastened to him, to serve him. I then returned to the shadows. I noted that Eta served wine to the tall, handsome, blond-haired fellow. I did not mind. I liked Eta, though she was first girl, and over me. I had worked well under her and she had not switched me. I watched my master. With the rock he jabbed down at the map. Men asked questions. He replied. They hung upon his words. I looked about the circle of the fire. What fantastic males these were, so strong, so handsome, so mighty. I felt small and slight, and helpless, before them. And how proud I felt of my master, first among them, he the mightiest and finest of all. Eta remained in the vicinity of the blond, shaggy-haired warrior. I moved more closely to my master. I wished to pour him wine and kiss his cup, should he give his girl the opportunity to do so. I did not understand their conversation, or the nature of the project which they were apparently planning. It was, I gathered, military in nature. Moreover, waiting was involved in it. More than once had a man gazed at the largest moon in the sky. In some days it would be full.

My master flung the rock down at a certain place in the map. It lay there, solid, half buried in the dirt. It was there that something, I gathered, would take place. The men grunted in agreement. There was a stream there, or a confluence of two streams, and, apparently, a woods. The men nodded. My master looked about himself. None asked a further question. They seemed satisfied. Their eyes shone as they looked upon him. How proud I was of my master. How thrilled I was, secretly, in my heart, to be owned by him.

The men rose from the side of the fire and, some talking among themselves, went to their furs and tenting.

My master looked at me. He lifted his cup. I hastened to him, took the cup, and filled it. I pressed my lips long to its side, then humbly proffered it to the magnificent beast whose girl I was. I knelt before him, and in my eyes, doubtless, he could read my need. But he turned away.

Before he had turned away, again I had read in his eyes, as I had before, earlier in the evening, that I was only a meaningless slave to him.

Was I such poor slave stuff, naked, in need, at his feet, that I was to be despised, and rejected?

Then, kneeling in the dirt, all the fury, the humiliation and frustration, of a scorned Earth girl, scorned by a barbarian, welled up within me. I began to choke with rage. I rose to my feet. I thrust-the flask of wine I carried into the hands of Eta, who came to comfort me. "Go away!" I cried. Eta took the flask. I would not permit her to kiss me. She said something, softly. "Go away!" I screamed at her. Some of the men turned to look at me. Eta took the flask of wine and, frightened, hurried away. I stood near the fire, which, now, had muchly subsided. My fists were clenched. Tears ran down my cheeks. "I hate you all!" I cried. I ran stumbling to the thin blanket which I had been given the night before. I tore it from the ground and covered myself with it, holding it about my shoulders. I shuddered, head down, clutching the blanket about me, shaking with sobs, near where the blanket had lain. I had been taken, against my will, from Earth. I had been brought to a strange world. I had been branded. I was being kept as a slave. I lifted my head, wildly, looking about the camp, up at the moons, at the cliffs and thorn brush. I looked at the men, some watching me. "I am better than you all," I cried, "though you abuse me! I am of Earth! You are barbarians! I am civilized! You are not! It is you who should bend to me, not I to you! It is I who should command, not you!" Eta ran to me, to urge me to silence. None in the camp save I myself understood my words, but, clearly, they were uttered in wildness, in hysteria, in rage; they were words, clearly, of protest, perhaps even of hysterical rebellion. Eta was clearly frightened. Had I known more of Gor, I, too, might then have been terrified. I knew little then of the world on which I found myself, or of the meaning of the brand on my thigh. My shield then, as before, was simply my ignorance, the ignorance of a foolish girl. I shouted and cried out at them, raging, weeping. Then I saw, before me, my master. He loomed in the darkness. I looked up at him, in rage. My fists clutched the blanket about me. It was he who had won me in the grim contest with steel in the fields; it was he who had brought me naked to his camp; he who had branded me; he by whom my virginity had been ripped from me; he who had, in his tenting, again and again, at length, reduced me to a panting, surrendered object of his pleasure, a vanquished, loving slave girl. "I hate you!" I cried to him, in rage. I clutched the blanket about me. How hard it is for a girl, stripped, to stand before, and conduct herself with dignity before, as an equal, a man who is fully clothed. I clutched the blanket with my fists. I held it tightly about me. It gave me courage. He had made me love him! I loved him! And yet he cared nothing for me! "Don't you understand," I cried, "I love you! I love you! And yet you treat me as nothing! I hate you!" I shook with rage. "I hate you! I hate you!" I cried. After making me love him, he had permitted his men to amuse themselves with me! He had given me to them for their sport! "You gave me to others!" I wept. "I hate you!" I looked at him, wildly. "You do not know who I am," I said. "I am Judy Thornton! I am of Earth! I am not one of your barbarian girls, a slut for your pleasure! I am a refined, civilized young woman! I am better than you are! I am better than you all!"

I saw, in the moonlight, the hand. It was extended toward me, open.

"You cannot treat me badly," I said. "You must treat me well." I looked at him, boldly. "I have rights," I said. "I am a free woman."

His hand extended still toward me, open. I did not know the extent of his patience.

I handed him the blanket. I stood then small and naked before him. The moonlight streamed down on the branded slave girl before her master.

He held the blanket, looking down at it. Then he looked at me. I trembled. I knew a girl was to be punished.

He lifted the blanket. In that instant I felt suffused with joy for I felt then that he would, in his kindness, cover me, protecting me from the eyes of his men; perhaps, too, he had been moved by my plight; perhaps he was now sorry for how cruelly he had treated me; perhaps now he would try to make amends; perhaps now I had stirred pity and compassion in his harsh breast; perhaps, too, he was moved now by my love for him and, overwhelmed with gratitude, and tenderness, at the value and immensity of this gift, might be moved to regard me, too, with affection, with love, in turn.

I looked at him with loving eyes. Then he placed the blanket over my head, and, with a length of cord, looping it several times about my throat, tied it tightly under my chin, so that again, as in the cruel game, I was hooded. Then he threw me to his men.

I lay in the blanket, clutching it about me. I was cold, sullen. I could no longer cry. The men, my masters, were asleep. I lay huddled, my knees drawn up.

I did not know what time it was. The moons were still in the sky.

I crawled to my knees, holding the blanket about me. I looked about the still camp.

My body ached.

I moved the blanket, looking down, shifting it that my leg be exposed. I examined my thigh. I looked at the brand which I bore on my body. It was a flower, lovely and delicate. Yet I could not pluck it. I could not remove it. It was imprinted in my flesh. It had been placed there, burned into my thigh, by a hot iron, as I had screamed under the metal's searing print. I regarded it, that graceful floral badge of bondage. It was now a part of my body. I had no doubt that I was more beautiful, branded, than I had been before. The brand, I could see, considerably enhanced my beauty. It is one of the attractive features of a slave girl. But, more beautiful though I might be on its account, it marked me incontrovertibly as a slave. I wished to escape. I looked at the thorn brush. Yet I wore a brand. Could there be a true escape, on a world such as this, for a branded girl? Would that mark not continue to say, to anyone, and all, softly, persistently, each instant, each moment, every hour of the day and night, when anyone might care to glance upon it, "Here is a slave"? Could there be an escape, on a world such as this, for a girl who wore such a mark? If it should be so much as glimpsed, would not such a girl be instantly placed in chain and a collar? Perhaps I might steal clothing, but the brand would still be on my body, marking me. Suppose men, suspicious, would turn me over to free women, that my body might be, without compromise to my dignity lest I be free, examined by them. When they discovered the mark, worn by a girl masquerading as one of their own lofty station, a woman free, would they not in fury, with whips, drive me stripped, begging for mercy, weeping, to the waiting shackles of the men? What escape, what freedom, could there be for a girl who wore a brand? I looked at the brand. Well and deeply it marked me as what I now had no doubt I was, what tonight I had been well taught I was, what I, in truth, incontrovertibly, now was, a slave girl.

The Earth girl, a slave on a barbarian planet, clutched the blanket about her.

I looked up. On the cliff above me, I could see, crouching, the guard. He was not watching me.

I looked at the cliffs, at the thorn brush.

I sat on the ground, the blanket about me. I knew I was a slave girl, legally, irrefutably; the brand told me that; but I wondered on a deeper question, one beyond legalities and institutions; I wondered if I were truly, in my heart, a female slave. This question troubled me deeply. I had, since my branding, experienced profoundly ambiguous feelings on this matter. It was as though I were trying to understand myself, my deepest emotions and needs. At times I had been on the brink of surrendering myself to myself, acknowledging to my horrified conscious mind forbidden truths, long-denied realities, speaking of a venerable, long-suppressed, antique nature, one antedating huts of straw and limestone caves. I did not know what dispositions slept latent in my genetic structures, dispositions inapt and out of place in the artificial world within the strictures of which I had been conditioned. A nature, like the growth of a tree, the shape of a bush, may be clipped and thwarted. The seed poisoned does not grow; the flower immersed in acid does not bloom. I wondered what might be the nature of men, and what might be the nature of women. I know of no test in these matters, unless it be honesty, and what leads to joy.

Perhaps I would not have considered these matters save that I was unable to drive from my mind the recollection of an event which had occurred late in the sordid abuse to which I had been so brutally subjected. I had been thrown to my master's men. One after another had raped and beaten me, and thrown me to the next. I was handed about as an object. Fierce was the discipline to which they subjected me. Though I wept for mercy, and cried out, none gave ear; no consideration nor lenience was shown to the piteous slave girl in their power. Then, strangely, late in this abuse, the event occurred, which even now troubled me. I lay on my back, weeping, my head bound in the blanket, thrashing and squirming, struck, held, unable to withdraw from, helpless to withstand the plunging discipline of the brute to whom I had been last thrown, and it had occurred. I suddenly felt an indescribable sensation. First, it seemed to me, incredibly, that this was fitting, what was being done to me; I had been proud and vain before men; what did I, truly, expect men, such men, men on a world such as this, to do about that? As his force struck me, I felt, strangely, "Be disciplined, Woman." I was half choked in the hood. Then, to my amazement, I welcomed the abuse I felt. There was, beyond its sense of fittingness, seeing that I, a woman, had displeased strong males, and must thus be punished, a sense of profound complementarity; the abuse, if he chose, was simply his to give, and mine to bear; he was a man, I was a woman; he was dominant; I was not; it was his to rule, mine to submit. I experienced then, degraded and abused though I was, with a flood of elation, primitive organic, animal, primate complementarity, the complementarity of man and woman, the complementarity beyond mythology and rhetoric, the complementarity of he who takes and she who is taken, of he who has, and owns, and of she whom he has, whom he owns, and makes his. With a cry of joy and misery then, from the depths of the hood, rearing from the dirt as I could, I clutched him; I felt my body locked to his; then I felt my body, as though of its own will, suddenly, spasmodically, grasp him; I could not begin to control the reflexes which he had triggered in me; they jolted and exploded in my body; I clutched him, helplessly; I was his.

Men laughed. "Kajira," said one.

Then I was thrown to another, I sat in the silent camp, wrapped in the thin blanket, thinking. "Kajira," had said one of the men.

I was angry. I could not forgive myself for having yielded to one of the men. I tried to tell myself it had not happened. It could not have happened. Thus, it had not happened. Yet I knew, in truth, it had happened. I had yielded to one of the men. In his arms, I, who was, or had been, Judy Thornton, had yielded to one of the men. An abused slave girl had wept and bucked in the arms of a master. It had been I. How ashamed I was! I asked myself what could it mean? Could the feelings which had overwhelmed me be denied? Could the sensate truth, the splendor of biological submission, so different from the truth of a man, which is that of domination, in whose glory I had been wrapped, be denied? I resolved that I must not permit myself the weakness which would make a mockery of my personhood. I must not again yield to a male. I thought of Elicia Nevins. How she would have laughed had she seen Judy Thornton, her lovely rival, on her back in the dirt, a branded slave girl, squirming in the throes of submission to a male, so shamefully helpless in his arms, uncontrollably, not the mistress of herself, yielding to his manhood.

I knew then I must escape. It would be difficult, for I was branded.

I looked up at the guard. He was not watching. I crept to the cliff wall. I examined it in the moonlight. At no point could I crawl more than a yard up its surface. I scratched my fingernails on the granite.

I turned to the wall of thorn brush. I feared it. It was high and thick.

The guard was not watching. The camp was not his concern. His concern was elsewhere, with possible approaches to the camp, the fields beyond the valleys.

I cried out with misery. I screamed, frightened. The brush sank beneath me. It would not support my weight. My right leg was deep in it, my right arm. I turned my head to the side, keeping my eyes closed. I felt the thorns. They seemed to tear at me. I was half immersed in the brush. I was caught. I dared not move. I began to weep and scream.

My master was first to my side. He was not much pleased. I immediately fell silent.

Another man came, bearing a torch, lit from the stirred ashes of the fire. Some other men arose but then, seeing it was only a slave girl, returned to their furs and tenting. Eta hurried over to me, but a curt word from my master hurried her back to her rest with dispatch.

"I'm caught, Master," I whimpered. Only too obviously had I been trying to escape.

In the torchlight he pulled my head back, by the hair, to clear it of the thorns. He did not want me blinded. I managed, suffering long scratches, to extricate my right arm. He looked at me. I was afraid he was going to leave me as I was. I could not pull my right leg back because of its position in the brush. I had no leverage, as I stood, to lift my leg out. "Please help me, Master," I begged. I had no wish to remain caught in the thorn brush until morning. It was embarrassing, and I was helpless, and it was painful. "Please, Master," I begged, "help me."

He lifted me up, in his arms, in this action freeing my leg, though it was cut and scratched. In the instant I relished being in his arms, held by him. My weight was nothing to him. I loved the feel of his strong hands on my body, holding me up, lightly, from the earth, which I, thus carried, could not touch unless he permitted it. I, naked, boldly put my head against the shoulder of his tunic. Then he had placed me on my feet.

I did not meet his eyes. I felt small before him. It had been obvious I had been trying to escape. I did not know, at that time, what might be the penalty for a girl who attempts escape and is so unfortunate as, as is nearly always the case, to be recaptured. Slave girls almost never escape. The major reason for this is the steel collar, which, obdurately encircling her neck, read, promptly identifies her master and his city. Almost no one, of course, would think of removing a collar from a girl, unless it would be to replace it with one of his own. This is because she is a slave. Girls may also be hunted down by trained sleen, tireless hunters. If a girl should elude one master, she will, customarily, soon fall to another. A successful escape, infrequent event that it is, seldom amounts, from the girl's point of view, to more than an exchange of collar and chains. Almost any man on Gor will hasten to put his collar on a loose, beautiful female. Where is she to run? What is she to do? All in all, escape is not a reality for female slaves. They are slaves. They will remain slaves. Too, they are branded, which further makes escape, for almost all practical purposes, an impossibility for them. Interestingly, ear piercing, too, can make it difficult for an escaped girl to elude detection. Ear piercing, interestingly, from an Earth point of view, is regarded by most Gorean women, slave and free, as more degrading than the brand. Slave girls native to Gor dread it terribly, perhaps because it is so visible, the piercing of their flesh being so flagrantly erotic; what man would even think of freeing them if they had pierced ears? They beg their masters not to pierce their ears. Their pleas, those of slave girls, are commonly ignored. Their ears are pierced. Afterwards, it might be mentioned, they are usually pleased with the piercing of their ears, and grow quite proud of this erotic dimension added to their beauty; not displeased are they either with the lovely adornments which their master may now order them to fix upon their body; free women, it is no secret, in many respects, envy their enslaved sisters, their beauty, their joy, their attractiveness to men; this may explain why free women are often quite cruel to slave girls; most imbonded girls fear greatly that they might be purchased by one of the dreaded free women. I have wondered sometimes if free women on Gor might not be happier if their culture permitted them to be somewhat more like the slave girls they so heartily despise. It seems a small enough thing that a free woman might be culturally permitted to have her ears pierced and, thus, be permitted earrings. Would it make so much difference? But the bonds of culture are strong. On Earth a free woman would not think of having herself branded, though it might improve her beauty; similarly, on Gor, a free woman would not consider having her ears pierced. Among slave girls, however, ear piercing, inflicted upon them by the will of their masters, is becoming widespread on Gor; one might say it is gaining considerable popularity among masters, which accounts, of course, for its growing frequency in the female slave population of the planet; it is a custom which derives, I am told, from the city of Turia, which lies in Gor's southern hemisphere, an important manufacturing and trading center.

A girl with pierced ears is, of course; either a slave or a former slave. If she is a former slave, her papers of manumission had best be in perfect order. More than one freed woman, because of pierced ears, has found herself again on the block, again reduced by strong men to the helpless state of bondage. Such a woman is usually, by intent, sold away from her city, delivered for a pittance to a foreign buyer.

My ears were not pierced, so I needed not fear that the piercing of my ears would betray me to the casual glance of a Gorean male as a slave girl. I was, however, branded. Gorean free women, no more than the free women of Earth, do not wear brands. Only slave girls, on Earth or Gor, are branded. On Earth, where slavery is practiced, commonly only troublesome girls are branded. On Gor, on the other hand, all slave girls are branded.

I did not think I could well escape with my brand. It marked me too well as a slave.

I did not speak to my master. He was, I supposed, considering my punishment, for having attempted to escape.

I did not know at that time what was commonly done to a girl who has attempted to escape, and has been recaptured. It is just as well. Much depends on the master but, commonly, the first time she is recaptured, she is treated with great lenience, as being only a foolish girl. Commonly, she is only tied and lashed. Should she attempt escape a second time, and be recaptured, she is commonly hamstrung, the tendons behind the knees being severed. Almost no girls attempt escape a second time.

I did not know at the time but even the thought of escape was a foolish one.

Many girls, even should they be so fortunate as to reach the walls of their own city, may not be admitted through its gates. Their slavery, even though no fault of their own, has deprived them of all their rights and cancelled their citizenship.

"Flee or be chained, Slave," is often said to them. They turn and run weeping from the gates.

Some girls attempt to flee to the greenwood forests of the north. In such forests, in certain territories, there roam bands of free women, the lithe, ferocious Panther Girls of Gor, but these despise and hate women not of their own fierce ilk; in particular do they revile and hold in contempt girls, beauties, who have been slaves to men; should such a girl, fleeing, enter the cool vastness of their green domain, she is commonly hunted down like a tabuk doe and cruelly captured; the forests are not for such as she; she is tethered and bound, and often lashed, then driven by switches helplessly to the shores of Thassa or the banks of the Laurius, and then sold back to men, usually for weapons or candy.

My master, with a spear and a loop of rope, under the torchlight, the torch held by one of his men, opened a passage in the thorn bush. It was some eighteen inches wide.

He pointed to the passage.

The way to flight was open.

I need only run.

I looked at my master in the moonlight. My knees felt that they might give way. I began to tremble.

The way to flight was open.

I looked with dread down the narrow corridor forced between the walls of fierce thorn brush, into the darkness beyond.

I needed only run.

The naked slave girl shook with terror before her master.

Then I knelt before him and pressed my lips to his feet, trembling. "Keep me, Master," I begged. "Keep me!" I looked up at him, clutching his knees, tears in my eyes. "Please, Master," I wept, "let me stay."

I remained kneeling, shuddering, as he turned from me and reclosed, with the spear and rope, the corridor in the thorn brush.

Then again he stood before me, looking down at me. He motioned me to my feet that I should follow him. Humbly, his girl, I followed him through the camp. The other man, too, he holding the torch followed.

We stopped before the rolled furs of one of the warriors. He blinked in the torchlight, and rose to one elbow, looking at us. My master spoke to him, briefly, no more than four or five words. I looked at the man. I knew him well from the camp. I had usually shrunk away from him. He was the least attractive man in the camp.

Why had my master brought me here?

My master said something to me, briefly, and indicated the recumbent warrior. I could not understand the precise meaning of the words addressed to me, but their import, as my heart sank, was clear. I was to please this man, and as a slave girl.

Yesterday night my master had taken my virginity, much pleasured himself with me, and forced my total surrender to him, the surrender of a completely vanquished bond girl. But should I then have inferred that I was a favored girl? That there was something special about me? No. It had been only first rights with me, naturally taken by him, the leader. It had meant nothing. I was only a girl. What had meant so much to me, what had been so momentous to me, had been meaningless to him. It had been only first rights. Doubtless he had taken first rights with countless girls, many of them more beautiful than I. I was truly for the use of all, as much1 or more, than the lovely Eta. There was nothing special about Judy Thornton. She was only a slave girl in the camp. I had not understood that. I had been confused, scandalized, outraged, miserable, when I had been put up as quarry and prize in the cruel game of the evening. I had, at last, afterwards, even cried out my rebellion, my foolish protest. I had been vain and proud. I had thought myself better than what I was. I, an Earth girl, had presumed to scold Gorean men. Then I had been hooded and thrown naked to them for their pleasure. In the course of the savage discipline inflicted upon me, late in its measures, I had, it both thrilling and horrifying me, sensed the ancient primate complementarity of male and female, that in the ancient biological sovereignties of nature, on this world reasserted, I, a female, was simply subordinate to the male. This truth, much fought and feared, long denied, accepted, burst upon me with a blaze of freedom. With hurricane force it blasted away the brittle webs and bars of falsehood. I, though helpless, hooded, in the arms of the beasts who ravished me, had experienced, exhilarated, an incredible sense of freedom, of liberation. It was not the freedom of convention I then felt but the freedom of nature, not the freedom to be what I was not, which had been prescribed to me, but the freedom rather to be what I was, which, for complex social and historical reasons, had been long denied to me; it was not the freedom of political prescription, but the freedom of nature, the freedom of a rock to fall, of a plant to grow, of a flower to bloom, the ecstatic freedom to be what one was. And I had cried out and seized the man. I, hooded, knew nothing of him but his maleness. I cried out and yielded to him. "Kajira," had said someone. How shamed I had been that I had done this. How sullenly I had lain in the camp afterwards. I had resolved to attempt escape.

In the camp, as I had lain there, I had known I was nothing special, that I was only a slave girl, that I must obey the men, and that they would do with me what they wished.

I attempted to escape. But, in a moment, foolishly, painfully, I was enmeshed in the thorn brush, helpless and caught in its cruel compass.

My master had then extricated me from my cruel prison and, with spear and rope, opened a path in the brush through which I might, did I choose, take flight.

I had wavered, and then, terrified and crushed, had knelt to him. "Keep me, Master," I had begged.

I now stood beside him, the man with the torch standing to one side. I looked down at the man in the furs, looking up at us. To me he was the least attractive man in the camp.

My master had said something to me. Its import was clear. I looked at him. His eyes were hard. I choked back sobs. I knelt beside the man in the furs, who threw back the furs.

My master stood behind me. The other man held the torch. I then, with hands and mouth, fell to kissing and touching the warrior. I pleased him as well as I could, being an ignorant girl, following his directions. At last he took me and threw me to the furs beneath him. I looked up at my master's face. I could see the side of it in the torchlight. The torchlight illuminated me. Then, suddenly, I turned my head to one side, closing my eyes, crying out. I could no longer resist the man. I then, shamed, under the very eyes of my master, yielded to the man.

When he had done with me to his satisfaction, he thrust me from him. My master then ordered me to my feet and he conducted me to where my blanket had been discarded. There, bending over me, he crossed my wrists and, with a narrow strap, tied them together behind my back; he then similarly fastened my ankles. I lay on my side. He threw the thin blanket over me and left me.

Eta crept to my side. I looked at her, dry-eyed. She did not attempt to untie me. The master had decreed bonds for me this night. I would remain bound. I turned away from Eta, lying on my side. She remained near me. Tonight I had run, belled, both quarry and prize, in a cruel game of barbarian men; insolent, I had been thrown to masters, who had impressed their dominance upon me; no longer had I doubt of their dominance, or of my complete subordination to their will; my master had, later, permitted me to run if I chose, to take flight; rather, I had knelt before him naked and begged to be kept; I would be kept, as he made clear to me, only upon his terms, those of my absolute subjection, my abject slavery; the slave girl had been permitted to run, if she chose; not so choosing, she remained in the camp as clearly what she was, total slave.

I wondered why my master had opened the corridor in the thorn brush; did I really mean nothing to him; was it nothing to him whether I remained in the camp, or lied into the darkness, to starve, or be devoured by beasts, or to fall into the hands of others? I suspected that, truly, it did mean little to him. Yet, as I lay there, naked, bound, under the blanket, I reddened. It had been for my benefit, not his, that he had opened the corridor in the brush. He had understood the slave girl better than she had understood herself; he had doubtless had experience with many girls; perhaps he had even owned Earth girls before; it did not seem likely to me that I would have been the only wench of Earth brought to the chains of this world; there had perhaps been many; as I lay there I realized that he had cognized me well, as a master a girl; the corridor had been opened for my benefit, not his; he, with his skill and experience in such matters, had simply and easily read my emotions, my feelings, my nature; they had lain as open to him as my flesh; I had been unable to conceal aught from his discerning eye; he was a master of female psychology; nothing in me had been secret from him; I had been, with ease, "sized up" and understood; I shuddered, thinking how easy this would make me to control, how simple to manipulate and defeat; I was both gratified and frightened that this man understood me; I was gratified because I wanted, deeply, to be understood, and I was frightened, too, because I sensed the power this understanding would give him over me; I had little doubt, too, that he was the sort of man who would exploit this power; he would use it as naturally, as innocently, as savagely, as effectively, as a boar its tusks or a lion its claws; he understood me and owned me; how could I have been more helplessly his?

I clenched the fists of my bound hands.

He had opened the corridor in the brush. He had known I would not run. I had not known I would not run, but he had known. He knew the girl better than she knew herself. He knew she would, when the choice must he made, kneel to him and beg to be kept. It was not he, but she who had not known that she would beg to be kept. That was the point of his small demonstration, that she, not he, learn that she would not run, that she would beg to remain in the camp, that she would sue on her knees to be kept. And what was the lesson to be gathered from that, I asked myself, angrily. I squirmed in the bonds, furious. The lesson seemed a reasonably obvious one, though perhaps one unpleasant for an Earth girl to accept. What did he know about me that I did not know about myself? What did this discerning brute, so much the master of the lovely Judy Thornton, know about her which she herself did not yet know, or admit to herself? "No!" I wept. I felt Eta's hand, gentle on my head, comforting me. "No," I moaned. "No."

But I knew that I had made a choice. He had then closed the thorn-brush corridor.

He had led me to a man, him whom I had found the least attractive in the camp.

It had then been designated to me that I would please him. Here there had been no bonds, no hooding. It had been I who must initiate action, I who must perform. I had choked back sobs. My will had bent helplessly beneath that of my master. I had knelt and, with hands and mouth, kissing and touching, attempted to please the free man. I tried to respond to the man's directions. I had done so poorly. I was an ignorant, clumsy, frightened girl, raw, uncooked "collar meat," as it is said. But, in time, he had thrown me beneath him and, I think with pleasure, conducted me through the throes of intimate service. I had resolved to attempt to resist him. My master observed. I wished to retain my personhood before my master, that he respect me. But, in less than a quarter of an hour, I had felt sensations overwhelming me which I could not resist. There had been tears in my eyes. Then, though my master observed, I had turned my head to one side, closed my eyes and cried out, and, unable to help myself, yielded to the man, Judy Thornton's lovely belly and haunches jolting in helpless slave orgasm.

I now lay bound, naked under a thin blanket.

Eta sat near me, to comfort me.

No longer did the opportunity to run present itself. The wall of thorn brush had been closed. Leather confined my body. I was tied hand and foot. I could not even rise to my feet. I smiled ruefully to myself.

The slave girl was well secured.

But I was puzzled why I had been bound. Surely it had not been to prevent my escape. The wall of thorn brush, and the sheer cliffs, would be more than ample to prevent that. Why then had I been bound? I supposed, perhaps, it was for purposes of discipline. Binding is excellent discipline. It is often used on this world for that purpose. Restraints, their psychological indignity and physical discomfort, particularly after a time, placed upon a girl by the will of a master, are among the simplest and most effective instruments of female instruction; they rank with food and the whip; a girl, under disciplinary binding, once released, is invariably eager to please; she does not wish to be rebound; the thongs have well apprised her of her place, which is at her master's feet.

But I did not think I was being disciplined. My master had not seemed dissatisfied with me.

My performance had not been superb, but surely I had tried hard, under his will, to be pleasing as a slave girl to the man he had designated.

My master had not seemed angry or irritated. I did not think I was being disciplined. Why then had I been bound?

I had labored diligently, and without inhibitions, as well as I could, as a poor, beautiful, commanded slave.

I had done the best I could.

Why then had I been bound?

I had tried to resist the man for several minutes, and had managed to do so. I had held myself tight and rigid, and had tried to hold in all feeling. I had not wanted my master to see me squirm as a slave.

I was still deeply ashamed that I had yielded to the man.

Then, as I lay there, bound, with Eta nearby, I asked myself why I should be ashamed? Was it wrong for a woman to yield helplessly to a man? Was it wrong for the heart to beat, to breathe, to feel? if the nature of the man were conquest and victory, what might then be the nature of the woman; could it be complementary; might it not be defeat, and delicious surrender and pleasure? I began to sweat in the bonds. Eta smiled at me. Perhaps an equal must resist a man, but I was not an equal; I was a slave girl! I belonged to men! I could be a biological woman, as perhaps a free woman could not. I could be a primitive female, an owned woman, as they could not. I could be a woman, as they could not. Slavery made me free to be a woman. I reared up, sitting, my hands tied behind me. I could not free myself. Eta held my shoulders gently. My eyes were wild. I had no choice. I was slave. I was forced to be a woman.

I cried out with pleasure. Eta cautioned me to silence. I had resisted the man for several minutes. I had fought not to feel. How foolish I had been. What pleasure I had lost. I imagined myself then superbly yielding and kissing and melting in the arms of a master from almost his first touch, the lengthy, delicious pleasure that I could give him, his slave, a pleasure, too, which would make me want to scream with the joy of my womanhood.

"Untie me, Eta," I begged. "Untie me!"

She did not understand me.

I turned my back to her, thrusting my bound hands piteously to her. "Untie me!" I begged.

Eta shook her head gently, and held me. I had been tied by the master. I must remain bound.

I shook my head with misery.

I wanted to crawl to the men, to tell them I understood, to beg them to have me, to let me give them pleasure.

I wanted to please them as a slave girl, theirs. My eyes were vulnerable with the helpless lust of a bound girl who would crawl to a man to serve him. I had not dreamed such an emotion could exist. It was not merely that I was eager to piteously and submissively display my beauty to them, that they might be moved to take it in their arms and vanquish it, but, beyond this, I was overwhelmed by an entire dimension of emotion which might be spoken of, though inadequately, as the desire to yield service and love. I wanted to give, unstintingly, with no thought of return. Always I had been concerned with what I might obtain. Now, for the first time in my life, in my joy and self-acceptance as a female slave, I wanted to give. I wanted to give all of myself, wholeheartedly, to deliver and bestow myself unto them as their girl, who loved them and would do all for them, asking nothing. I wished to be nothing, and to give all.

I wanted to be their slave.

I shook with the selfless ecstasy of the slave girl.

I wanted to crawl to them to tell them that I now understood, and that I was theirs. I wanted to cry out to them, to weep, to kneel to them, to kiss and lick submissively at their bodies in my joy.

"Untie me, Eta!" I wept.

She shook her head.

I knew I had not been as successful as I might have been in pleasing the man to whom my master had earlier commanded me.

I looked at Eta. I looked to the sleeping men. I looked at Eta, again. "Teach me, Eta," I begged, in a desperate whisper, "teach me tomorrow to be pleasing to men. Teach me to be pleasing to men."

Eta could not understand my words, but she could read my eyes, my looks, the movements of my body, my piteous needs. She smiled, nodding. She understood what was occurring in my body. I knew Eta would help me. She knew I was a slave. She would help me to be a better slave. Soon, I knew, when I learned more of the language, and could clearly, or more clearly, express myself, Eta would train me, as she could, in the giving of pleasures to masters. I kissed her.

I struggled with the bonds.

"Please untie me, Eta," I begged, again indicating the bonds. She smiled, and shook her head.

I squirmed in the leather. I now knew why I had been bound. It was to prevent me from crawling to the men as a slave.

I was not to interrupt their rest.

I cried out in anger and misery, confined by the bonds. Eta cautioned me to silence.

The men must not be disturbed.

She then took me by the shoulders, to press me back, softly, to the ground. The thin blanket was about my thighs.

Before she pressed me back, I, resisting, looked at her. "La Kajira," I said.

Eta nodded. "Tu Kajira," she said. Then she indicated herself. "La Kajira," she said. Then she pointed to me. "Tu Kajira," she smiled.

Then she gently pressed me back to the ground and, as I lay on my right shoulder, looking up, covered me with the thin blanket.

I saw the moonlight on her steel collar. I envied her the collar, I, too, wanted to wear a steel collar. It had writing on it. It doubtless identified her master. I, too, wished to wear a collar, which might bear, too, the name of my master.

Eta kissed me and rose to her feet and left.

I lay under the blanket, naked, bound. I rolled to my back. I moved a bit, to find a place where I might lie comfortably. I did not move too much for I did not wish to dislodge the blanket. It would be difficult to replace should it come off in the night. I looked up at the night, the stars, the moons. I saw the cliff. I saw the guard on the height of the cliff. I then rolled to my right shoulder, moving the blanket as little as possible. I regarded the closed wall of thorn brush. I moved somewhat and looked at the furs, and, in some places, the tenting of the men.

I turned my head and looked up at the moons. How wild and white and beautiful they seemed.

Judy Thornton, or she who had once, on a remote and artificial world, been Judy Thornton, looked up at the moons.

I remembered the lovely slave in the Ta-Teera which I had seen in the mirror. She, surely, had not been Judy Thornton.

I was gloriously pleased to be that slave.

I slept out of doors, in a camp of barbaric men. Above me were the bright stars in a black sky, and three moons. I lay under a thin blanket. I was naked. There was a brand on my thigh. I was a bound slave girl.

I was not unhappy.

I looked up at the moons. "La Kajira," I said. "I am a slave girl."