Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Ten IN WHICH IS RECOUNTED A PORTION OF WHAT OCCURRED IN THE PAVILION OF LORD NISHIDA

“Greetings, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida. “Welcome to Tarncamp.”

“Greetings,” said I, and bowed, politely, which salutation was graciously acknowledged by Lord Nishida, with an inclination of the head.

Lord Nishida was garbed in white robes. He sat cross-legged, within his pavilion, on a low, flat platform of lacquered wood, some twelve feet square. Beside him, one on each side, lay two swords, one short, one long, each with a large, slightly curved hilt, wrapped in silk, and a curved blade. The longer of the two swords was not unlike that carried by Tajima, thrust in his belt, edge uppermost. Lord Nishida’s countenance was refined, even delicate, but refined and delicate in the way a light, carefully edged weapon is refined and delicate, as, for example, the shorter of the two blades beside him.

“I trust that your journey hither was pleasant, and uneventful,” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said.

It would have been considerably less pleasant for the girls, of course, as they had been bound, and hooded, and led on leashes, for much of the journey.

“I trust, as well, that your quarters, though regrettably primitive, a consequence of the rude and transitory nature of our camp, are satisfactory.”

“Thoroughly satisfactory,” I said.

“I am pleased to hear that,” said Lord Nishida.

“You have made the acquaintance, of course,” he added, “of our trusted and loyal servitor, Tajima.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I trust his service was satisfactory.”

“Eminently so,” I said.

Tajima was standing behind me, to my right.

“He is in training,” said Lord Nishida.

“I am sure he will do well,” I said.

“We will see,” said Lord Nishida. “He has much to learn.”

“We are grateful,” said Lord Nishida, “that you deigned to accept our invitation to Tarncamp.”

“It was my pleasure,” I said.

I had heard a tarn in the vicinity, but I had seen none in the camp, either taking flight or alighting.

Lord Nishida smiled, slightly.

“And had it not been my pleasure?” I asked.

His eyes briefly clouded. “That would have been most regrettable,” he said.

A fellow sitting beside him, seated as he was, cross-legged, on his right hand, remained impassive.

The fellow was not of the “strange men.”

He had short-cropped blond hair, and squarish, heavy features. He wore an informal, brown robe, which betokened no caste in particular. He was, I took it, the envoy whose arrival Lord Nishida had been awaiting. I supposed him an agent of Kurii, one who might pose as an agent of Priest-Kings. He was not, however, Sullius Maximus.

At the edges of the lacquered platform, one on each side, crouched two larls. Behind Lord Nishida, at the back of the platform, stood six of the “strange men,” each armed with a glaive, the blade of which, socketed in its stout pole, was some two-and-a-half feet in length, and curved. It was presumably an infantry weapon. It could be used for either thrusting or slashing. It would not be thrown. Whereas I would not have anticipated difficulty in getting behind one such weapon, it would be exceedingly dangerous if there were two such weapons, as an aggressor would be likely to be vulnerable to the blow of the second weapon. As the glaive is used most effectively forward or to the soldier’s left, if the wielder is right-handed, one would try to keep to the wielder’s right. Behind Lord Nishida, to his left, stood what I took to be two women of the “strange men,” each lovely, each fully clothed, neither veiled, unlike most Gorean free women, particularly of wealth or high caste, in what I supposed, on Earth, would be spoken of as kimonos. I shall, in any event, use that word for such garments, henceforth. Too, interestingly, the garment worn by Lord Nishida, as it is called by the same word in Gorean, korti, I will refer to as a kimono, as well. The woman’s kimono is rather different from that of the man. The man’s kimono is informal, elegant, and loose, and allows much freedom of movement. The woman’s kimono seems narrower and, particularly from the waist down, much more constrictive. The women would walk with short, graceful steps, which gave them an unusual, distinctive gait. The robes of the Gorean free woman, while layered and cumbersome, have much greater play at the hem. The kimono, incidentally, is not allowed to the collar-girls of the “strange men.” This is not surprising, of course, as they are animals.

I wondered if they were examples of the “contract women” of which Tajima had spoken. In any event both were on the platform with Lord Nishida, which suggested status, though in a subordinate position. It seemed clear that neither was, so to speak, a Ubara, who would have shared a throne with a Ubar, if not his power. Neither, too, seemed a “display woman,” a “trophy woman,” or such. In the high cities “display slaves” are not uncommon. For example, a rich man’s palanquin, borne by slaves, may be followed by a single or double coffle of display slaves, uniformly tunicked, back-braceleted and neck-chained. They are a display of wealth. Similarly, slaves might be displayed about the foot of a Ubar’s throne, stripped and chained. These are commonly former high women taken in war. For example, the daughters of a Ubar defeated in battle, now the slaves of the conqueror, may be so displayed, as trophies attesting to the victor’s might and skill.

“You have a lovely slave,” said Lord Nishida.

Cecily had heeled me into the pavilion. After entering with me, she had gone, as was proper, to first obeisance position, beside me, a bit back and to my left. In first obeisance position, often assumed by a slave in the presence of a free man, she kneels with her head to the ground, and the palms of her hands down on the ground on either side of her head. The usual second obeisance position has the slave go to her belly, her hands on either side of her head.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Please allow her to kneel up,” said Lord Nishida.

“Kneel up,” I told Cecily.

She then knelt up, her back straight, her head up, her hands on her thighs. As was appropriate in the circumstances, she kept her knees modestly together.

“Excellent, excellent,” said Lord Nishida. “How pretty they are.”

I glanced to the two women of the “strange men” on the lacquered platform. They were looking upon Cecily, but I saw no sign of envy, hostility, or jealously. This was quite different from the way in which a Gorean free woman would look upon a slave girl. They see the slave girl as a vulnerable, but hated rival, with whom, for the interest of men, they could not begin to compete. These women, however, seemed to view Cecily more as one might have a lovely pet, doubtless of great interest to men but not really constituting a threat to themselves, and their position. I would later learn that these were, indeed, “contract women,” who, as girls, were often sold to pleasure houses, most often by their parents. Sometimes, too, they would sell themselves to such a house, to be trained in arts of pleasure, for example, music, dancing, singing, conversation, and such. As their contracts could be bought and sold they were, in effect, slaves, but they were not thought of as such. For example, they occupied an understood, accepted, and generally respected niche in their society. They were not tunicked, not branded, not collared, and so on. They were not “collar-girls.” Indeed, they regarded themselves, without arrogance, and with much justification, as far superior to collar-girls. They were, in their view, in a different category altogether. The collar-girl was an animal who might be put to the straw in a stable, and would not even be permitted within the refined precincts of the pleasure house. The collar-girl was ignorant of the simplest things, even the proper serving of tea, the careful, delicate, symbolic arrangements of flowers, and such. She would be of little interest to a gentleman, save for her performance of lengthy, servile labors, and her squirmings, gaspings, moanings, thrashings, and beggings, perhaps back-braceleted, in his arms. Certainly the contract women knew the attractions of simple collar-girls for males, but they did not regard them as rivals. When, wearied of a world’s concerns, he wished to spend a leisurely, elegant evening, gratifying his various cultivated senses, physical, intellectual, and aesthetic, his choice would not be the collar-girl, but the women trained to comfort and delight him in traditional and cultural manners. Interestingly, though I suppose there must be exceptions to this generalization, the women of the “strange men” seem generally reconciled to the fact, and will even expect, that their males will seek gratifications beyond the walls of their own domiciles. Nothing culturally heinous seems to be associated with this matter. As many companionships are arranged between families, with considerations not of love, or even of attraction, paramount, but of wealth, prestige, status, and such, and the young people often being scarcely considered in the matter, this is, I suppose, understandable. The female companion’s complacency in this matter, or her understanding, or her tolerance, is, one gathers, quite different from what would be expected in the case of, say, a Gorean free companion, who, commonly, would find these arrangements outrageous and insufferable. For example, she would not be likely, resignedly, without question, to pay a bill arriving at her domicile from a pleasure house, pertaining to a pleasant evening spent there by her companion. In the light of these considerations, to the extent they might apply, then, it should be clear why the “contract women” would not be likely to concern themselves overly much with collar-girls. First, they regard the collar-girls as far inferior to themselves, and thus scarcely in the category of rivals, and, secondly, they share the general view, as I understand it, of the women of the “strange men,” namely that they have little or no hold over a male, and he may be expected to pick flowers, so to speak, where he pleases. If, however, a contract woman might find herself in love with a client, she, being quite human, and utterly helpless in her contractual status, might, understandably, resent his interest in, say, another contract woman, or, even, as absurd as it might seem, a collar-girl.

In any event, neither of the women, whom I took to be contract women, took much interest in Cecily, or gave her much attention. To be sure, they doubtless recognized that she was attractive, and might, accordingly, be of interest, even considerable interest, to men, but what would that, really, have to do with them? She was different. She was nothing. She was a collar-girl.

Lord Nishida turned to the fellow sitting beside him, to his right. “Two met our friend, Tarl Cabot, as planned, and brought him to the reserve, where contact took place between him and Tajima,” he said.

“Yes,” said the fellow with short-cropped blond hair.

“These two,” said Lord Nishida, “were selected suitably, as specified?” said Lord Nishida.

“One was selected with great care, following diligent inquiry, and exacting research, from amongst several, from over two hundred,” said the blond fellow, “according to your various specifications.”

“You made the selection yourself?” said Lord Nishida.

“I would trust it to no other,” said the fellow.

“The appropriate background, the appropriate characteristics, egotism, ambition, greed, a lack of scrupulosity, and such?”

“Yes,” said the blond fellow.

“And are my senses likely to be pleased?” inquired Lord Nishida.

“I think you will be pleased,” he said. “Indeed, two businessmen in our service concurred in my judgment.”

“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida.

“The other did not much matter,” said the blond fellow.

“True,” said Lord Nishida. “Tajima,” said Lord Nishida, quietly.

“Yes,” said Tajima.

“The other’s purpose was served, surely, when the reserve was reached,” said Lord Nishida. “Yet I understand he is in the camp. Why did you not kill him?”

“I was reluctant to stain my blade with inferior blood, that of a weakling,” said Tajima. “I would have left him behind, for animals, but Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, our guest, desired that he be permitted to accompany us.”

“I see,” said Lord Nishida. “You did right, then, to bring him to the camp.”

Tajima bowed his head, slightly, acknowledging this judgment of Lord Nishida.

“He may be disposed of later,” said Lord Nishida.

“I am sure,” I said, “he may prove of service.”

“There is no place in this camp,” said Lord Nishida, “for cowards or weaklings.”

“He may be neither,” I said.

“Summon him forth,” said Lord Nishida. “Put a sword in his hand, and put him against our servitor, Tajima.”

“He is less than unskilled,” I said. “He knows nothing of the sword.”

“Summon him,” said Lord Nishida.

“I protest,” I said.

“Summon him,” said Lord Nishida, not unkindly.

His attitude gave me pause.

In moments Pertinax was conducted within the pavilion. He had apparently been in the vicinity, which led me to believe that Miss Wentworth, too, must now be nearby, though perhaps not yet permitted within the pavilion.

One of the long, curved swords, with the large hilt, was placed in the hands of Pertinax, at which he looked, apprehensively. A colored cord dangled from the hilt, which terminated in a tufted blue tassel. Tajima then backed away from him, and, smoothly, drew forth his own weapon, which he gripped with two hands, and assumed what, for such a weapon, was apparently an on-guard position. The position seemed formal, and quite stylized, but there was no mistaking the readiness, or menace, of his attitude.

“You will fight,” said Lord Nishida. “One of you is to die. Prepare to fight.”

Pertinax cast me a look of bewilderment, and misery.

But he did not turn about, and run.

I was proud of him. Too, I did not think he would have made it to the exit of the pavilion.

Four fellows now stood there, two armed with glaives, two with swords.

Tajima moved toward Pertinax, and, twice, feinted toward him.

Pertinax lifted the blade, weakly, and then, putting down his head, in defeat, lowered it.

“You will now kill him,” said Lord Nishida to Tajima.

I recalled Tajima was in training.

Tajima turned away from Pertinax, and faced Lord Nishida. “Lord,” said he, “set me rather the slaughter of a tethered verr.”

Tajima had his back to Pertinax.

But, from my training, I knew his every sense was alert, on a knife’s edge of cold fire.

I trusted that Pertinax would not act.

Tajima seemed wholly at ease, even disgusted, certainly indolent. There was insult emblazoned in his very posture.

I trusted that Pertinax would not act.

In a moment it became clear to me that Pertinax would not seize his apparent opportunity.

I smiled to myself, and, suddenly, almost inaudibly, I moved my foot, quickly, in the dirt.

Instantly Tajima had whirled about, his sword ready to fend a blow.

His action was so quick that I, familiar with the reflexes of warriors, which often spell the difference between life and death, must admire it, and Pertinax, startled, gasped, his blade still haplessly lowered.

“He may be permitted to live,” said Lord Nishida, “for the time.”

One of the guards relieved Pertinax of the weapon.

“Well done!” I said to Pertinax.

“I did nothing,” he said.

“That is why you are still alive,” I said.

I turned to Lord Nishida.

“My thanks, great lord,” I said.

He inclined his head, a little.

Tajima returned his sword to his belt.

Pertinax stepped back, shaken.

“If I may,” I said to Lord Nishida, “I would now like to speak of matters of importance.”

There was much I wanted clarified.

What was going on here? Why had I been brought here? What was I to do here? What was expected of me? It seemingly had something to do with my being a tarnsman, but, beyond that, I understood very little, little or nothing.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida, “we must speak of matters of importance, and soon, but, first, we should attend to a matter which is not important.”

I stepped back.

Lord Nishida then looked to the blond fellow with short-cropped hair, he in the nondescript brown tunic, who had had little to say, but had been muchly attentive to all that had transpired. In his seemingly slumberous stolidity he reminded me a bit of the inert larls who crouched at the edges of the platform. I trusted they had been well fed.

“I think you will be pleased,” said the blond fellow.

Lord Nishida then looked to Tajima.

“We thought it might be appropriate,” he said, “if one agent, Mr. Gregory White, introduced his superior and colleague, Miss Margaret Wentworth.”

“‘Gre-gor-e-white’ and ‘Mar-gar-et-went-worth’,” said Lord Nishida. “Barbarian names are so difficult.” Then he said, “Please proceed.”

Tajima bowed politely, and then motioned for Pertinax to follow him, and went toward the threshold of the pavilion. Shortly thereafter, a small figure, completely covered, from head to foot, wholly concealed in a large sheet of white rep-cloth, was conducted forward, a guard on each side of it, Pertinax a little before it, on its left, and Tajima in the background.

This group stood, then, before the platform, or dais.

Lord Nishida leaned forward.

The small figure, as noted, was covered, from head to foot, in the rep-cloth sheet.

I supposed this must be Miss Wentworth, from the slightness of the figure and the rep-cloth sheet, but I would have expected Miss Wentworth to be quite urgent and vocal, now that she had been permitted within the pavilion. Perhaps it was not she.

From the size of the figure and hints of the sheet it seemed clear that the figure within the sheet was that of a female, and, quite possibly, one who might stimulate spirited bidding.

I could see where the sheet was bunched, before her body, where she held it about her with two small fists.

I could see the small figure was barefoot.

It must be Miss Wentworth, but her silence was surprising.

I wondered that she did not speak.

Perhaps she was unaware that she was now within the pavilion, and standing before the dais of Lord Nishida.

Miss Wentworth had been muchly dismayed with her tunic, and particularly so after I had altered it more to a male’s satisfaction. She regarded the simple, graceful garment, it seems, as not only unconscionably brief, but despicably insulting. Too, I think she suspected its likely effect upon males, and this caused her considerable uneasiness.

A male, seeing her in such a garment, would doubtless suppose she was exactly what she appeared to be, a slave.

And who knew what consequences might then ensue?

It might not be amiss to insert a parenthetical remark here.

Whereas a Gorean free woman, used to extensive robing and veiling, reduced to bondage, and tunicked, not only face-stripped, now forbidden veiling, but revealingly clad, might almost die of shame to be seen so displayed, a girl of Earth is far less likely to have the same emotional response to brief or revealing clothing. She is, for example, familiar with miniskirts, sun suits, beachwear, and such. Indeed, the typical Gorean slave tunic is a great deal more modest than much of what might be routinely encountered at poolside in various resorts, hotels, spas, and so on. The acceptability of such garmentures to the Earth female is commonly taken by the Gorean, who tends to be a bit prudish in such matters, save where slaves are concerned, as evidence of the suitability of Earth females for the collar. Any Gorean female who appeared so, publicly, would be taken as “courting the collar.” Indeed, the state might take her in hand, and brand and sell her. Needless to say, as well, the nature of much of Earth lingerie confirms this view of the Earth female in Gorean eyes. Consider the brevity and softness of such garments. Are they not, then, secret slaves, slaves awaiting their masters? So Earth girls brought to Gor must largely learn the shame and degradation of the tunic, which, however, is not too difficult to grasp when, shortly, they see the contrast between their garmenture and that of the free woman, and understand how they are viewed. Then they may learn to weep in shame at their exposure. This, of course, is a temporary phase, for, soon, the slave, whether a barbarian fetched hither for the block, or a Gorean free woman reduced to bondage, discovers how special, different, and wonderful she has now become, that she is now a mere slave. They come to understand that they are now desired, as never before. They come to see free women as dangerous, but pathetically unhappy, repressed creatures. They fear free women, but, in their way, pity them for they cannot know the ecstasies, fulfillments, and joys of the slave. They come to a new understanding of their bodies, and are at peace with them, perhaps for the first time in their lives, and rejoice in them, and come to love them, and come to see them as delicious and lovely contrasts to the sternness and power, the rudeness and brutishness, of the male bodies, to which they will be forced to submit. They come to understand the magnificent complementarity of nature, and their lovely role in this complementarity. They would not now be other than they are, for they have finally come to understand the glorious preciousness of themselves, even though they may sell for no more than a handful of copper tarsks. The slave now knows that she is beautiful and desired. Accordingly, she soon walks happily, and beautifully, walks as a desirable female, and the most desirable of all females, the female slave, something for which men will pay. She now wears the tunic, or camisk, well, shamelessly, no longer dismayed that her beauty is brazenly displayed, but is now well pleased that it should be so. “Let me be seen, Masters. Look upon me! This is what you have collared!” The beautiful female body is no longer something which is to be hidden, as though it were a blemish or sore, something of which one is supposed to be ashamed, rather than something of which one is to be accepting, and pleased. So the slave now rejoices in her beauty, and, in her female vanity, relishes the fact that it must now, by the will of men, but as she wishes, too, be displayed for their pleasure. And so, slave-clad, she appears in public. The slaves of a city are amongst its most beautiful sights. Behold them in the streets and markets! How exciting and beautiful they are! And does the slave’s beauty, shamelessly flaunted before the master, not tempt him to its taking! How it torments him, and drives him wild, and the briefly clad, sinuous she-sleen are well aware of what they are doing. Well they know the power that lurks in an ankle, or the turn of a head. Do masters not sometimes bind and lash their slaves for their insolence and pride, until, at his feet, they offer him their beauty’s placation, piteously reminding him that it is his to do with as he wishes. And do they not even smile, or laugh, under the lash, until, say, the third or fourth stroke, well reassured of their effect upon him.

And I suspected then that she, Miss Wentworth, had gratefully disdonned the tunic and had welcomed the sheet as a transitory salvation, pending the providing of a suitable garmenture. Her concern to appear before Lord Nishida as soon as possible and demand her immediate return to Earth, before an additional and possibly greater delay might take place, had doubtless determined her to avail herself of any expedient at hand, and the sheet, if nothing else, was voluminous and, were the light not behind it, opaque. In any event, as nearly as I could tell, from the appearance of things, there was nothing beneath the sheet but Miss Wentworth herself.

To be sure, she would be in a collar.

I had seen to that.

On the other hand, perhaps it was not Miss Wentworth. The figure did seem very quiet. I supposed that that would be unusual for Miss Wentworth, not only because of her dispositions and personality, but because of her acute concern to make known her demands.

In any event, this mystery, if it were a mystery, was to be soon dispelled.

Lord Nishida made a tiny motion with his right hand, and Tajima put his hands, gently, to that portion of the sheet which was wrapped about the head and face of the bundled figure.

As soon as she felt his hands at the sheet a series of urgent but unintelligible noises emanated from within the cloth.

I knew then at least one explanation for the small figure’s silence.

A slave may be simply warned to silence, and she will then remain silent until permitted to speak. A free woman, on the other hand, or a woman who believes herself to be free, may require something further.

Tajima then, carefully, lifted the sheet away from the figure’s head, and it was, indeed, Miss Wentworth, who shook her head, angrily, as though to free her head even the more swiftly from the folds of the sheet.

She looked about, then, suddenly, wildly, taking in the scene about her.

She uttered a tiny noise of fear, and her legs gave out beneath her, but she was steadied by the two guards who held her in place, by the upper arms, beneath the sheet. Her fear, understandably enough, was a reaction to the sight of the two larls, one on each side of the platform. She had perhaps never seen a larl before, and even if she were familiar with these large carnivores, finding oneself in their vicinity, without viewing them through thick bars or ascertaining that they were, say, tethered on stout chains, would be enough to unnerve a heart more experienced and stouter than hers. In any event, I had certainly shared a similar apprehension upon my entrance into the pavilion. The fact that the beasts seemed somnolent and that they seemed to provoke little concern amongst the others in the pavilion had, of course, considerably, if not entirely, assuaged my apprehensions. The larl, of course, is never fully tamed. Like the tarn, it has a wild blood. Too, if one makes a sudden movement in its vicinity, for example, a paw may, as by a reflex, lash out and a hand may be half torn from a wrist, or an arm may be shredded.

Miss Wentworth, desperately, clutched the sheet about her.

Then she straightened her body.

She now understood the two larls to be harmless. She was mistaken in this conjecture, but it was a rational conjecture considering that the two beasts were quiet, crouched in place, and that their presence seemed to be accepted without question by the others present. She might have been less confident had she known more about larls. Pretty obviously the two beasts were domestic larls, probably raised from cubhood, and trained to respond to certain commands. On the other hand, as noted earlier, no larl is ever fully tamed. A thousand generations of stalking and killing lay concealed, lay in wait, in every corpuscle of those pelted, passive giants.

More tiny, inarticulate sounds emanated from Miss Wentworth.

Her eyes were a confusion between anger and chagrin.

Her mouth was widely opened, as it must be, to accommodate the ball, which was fastened in place by straps buckled behind the back of her neck.

It is a very embarrassing and humiliating gag, particularly for a proud woman. She does look absurd, or silly, with her mouth so widely opened, the ball fastened in place. The common Gorean gag, whether associated with a hood or not, consists of wadding, or packing, and binding. It muffles sound quite effectively, and is commonly used if one, say, might wish to transport a bound capture between sleeping guards, conceal a back-braceleted woman in a wagon making its way through a city’s gate, or such. The prisoner of such a device can make only tiny, miserable sounds. The usual code in such matters, if the prisoner is interrogated, is one sound for “Yes,” and two for “No.” The gag fixed on Miss Wentworth, in contrast, allows a good deal of noise, and would not do for the usual considerations of security. It does, however, share one virtue with the common gag, of course, which is that it makes articulate speech impossible. When a woman cannot speak she commonly feels frustrated and helpless. The blindfold, or hood, in its way, has a similar effect. One effect of the ball arrangement which is not shared with the common gag is that of making the woman appear ridiculous, her mouth widely opened, the ball in place. This attacks the vanity of the woman, with the consequence that she often becomes quite docile, hoping to be soon relieved of this indignity. Afterwards, a simple frown, or brief word, may be enough to silence her, perfectly. She does not wish to be again subjected to the humiliation of the ball and strap. She has then learned she may not speak, if men do not wish it. In passing, a bit gag might be mentioned. These may be fastened in place, or be as simple as a stick held between the teeth, which the woman is forbidden to drop. Both the ball gag and the bit gag are safer than the common gag, as they permit breathing through the mouth. A prisoner should never be left untended if fastened in a common gag. For example, if certain forms of distress occur, such as regurgitation, the gag should be torn free instantly. A captive is not to be lost, but brought safely to your chains.

The ball in Miss Wentworth’s lovely, but widely distended mouth was blue, and the straps which held it in place, buckled behind the back of her neck, were yellow. These are the colors of the slavers.

Miss Wentworth was then silent, absolutely, unwilling to further embarrass herself.

She threw a piteous look at Lord Nishida, one less then of anger than of supplication.

Surely he must understand her plight, and take pity on her.

She was now learning, too, I supposed, what it was to be in the power of men. She continued to clutch the sheet about her, tightly. The two guards held her, still, by the upper arms.

There was a bruise on the left side of her face, and I noted some discoloration, dirt, I supposed, on the sheet.

This soiling was in the vicinity of her knees.

A small gesture from Lord Nishida, a lifted finger, indicated that the embarrassing impediment to her speech might be removed.

She looked angrily at one of the guards, he to her right, and with, too, a look of vindictive triumph.

I supposed it must have been he who had seen to her inconvenience and discomfiture.

Tajima, carefully, unbuckled the gag and handed it to the guard on Miss Wentworth’s left, who slipped it in his pouch.

It was doubtless he who had supplied the device to his colleague.

“Lord Nishida!” she cried.

“Please,” said Tajima, “do not speak yet. You have not been presented.”

“I can present myself!” she cried, angrily, clutching the sheet even more closely about her. The two contract women observed her, with interest. They were unfamiliar, I supposed, with this tone of voice being used by a woman to a man.

But Lord Nishida smiled, and shook his head a tiny bit, negatively, and lifted his hand a little, in a benevolent, cautionary gesture.

“Then present me!” said Miss Wentworth, in fury.

“One moment,” said Tajima.

He then reached to the hair of Miss Wentworth.

“What are you doing?” she said, angrily.

“Please,” said Tajima, politely.

He then rearranged the hair of Miss Wentworth, first lifting it to the sides that its length and sheen might be noted, and then he put it carefully behind her back, spreading it nicely, evenly, behind the sheet.

Lord Nishida nodded. I gathered he was pleased.

I noted the interest, too, of the two contract women on the dais behind Lord Nishida, and to his left. I supposed they had seen few examples of such hair, given their presumed backgrounds, long, glossy, silken yellow hair, or blond hair.

Tajima stepped back, and seemed satisfied with his work.

Miss Wentworth seemed to smolder and fume with fury.

Tajima then turned to Pertinax.

“Mr. White,” he said, politely, “please do us the honor of presenting Miss Wentworth to Lord Nishida.”

“Do it, you fool,” snapped Miss Wentworth.

“Lord Nishida,” said Pertinax, “this is Miss Margaret Wentworth.”

Lord Nishida inclined his head, slightly, graciously, acknowledging her presence.

“I have been kept waiting,” said Miss Wentworth. “Why?”

“Deplorably, certain minor details of business were to be attended to,” said Lord Nishida, “before we were prepared to entertain your august presence.”

“The delay,” she said, “is rude, and inexcusable. I discover that a brutish warrior, a half-naked, meaningless slave, and my employee, White, are all here before me. I have priority over each of these. No business could conceivably be more important than mine.”

“And what is your business?” asked Lord Nishida.

“First,” said Miss Wentworth, “not only was I kept outside, kept waiting, but I was subjected to violence!”

“Yes?” said Lord Nishida.

“I demanded entrance, and was denied it, by this brute to my right,” she said, indicating one of the two guards who flanked her. “I was warned to silence, but would not be denied. I was struck! Struck!”

I now understood the bruise on her left cheek. I supposed she had been cuffed, struck with the open hand. One does not strike a woman as one might a man.

“I could not believe that one had dared to lay a hand on me,” she said. “When I expressed my indignation, and warned him that I would see to his punishment, the hideous, degrading device you saw but moments ago was forced into my mouth and fastened in place, and then I was put to my knees, to my knees, though a free woman, and must then wait outside, unable to speak, and kneeling, until brought within.”

“Most regrettable,” said Lord Nishida.

That she had been knelt would account for the soiling of the sheet, in the vicinity of her knees.

Given the personality, antecedents, and presuppositions of Miss Wentworth I could understand something of her frustration and outrage.

She had brought much of this, if not all of it, on herself, of course.

An obedient slave, of course, would almost never be struck. There would be no point to it. Similarly, if she were knelt, and, say, hooded, she would think little of it, for she is slave, and knows it will be done with her as the master pleases.

“Then,” she said, “when put to my feet and ready to be brought within, my head was covered in the sheet, completely, so I could not see my way!”

“That is common,” said Lord Nishida, “when one such as you is to be presented before a daimyo.”

“What?” said Miss Wentworth.

“A lord,” said Tajima.

“One such as I?” she said.

“Yes,” said Tajima.

This was not unlike a practice in the court of some Ubars, when a certain form of gift, or tribute, is being presented.

I would later learn that daimyo, or “great names,” were vassals to a shogun, a high lord, usually a military governor, with an army at his disposal. A shogun was nominally subject to an emperor, but the emperor’s role was largely ceremonial, and the true power, as is commonly the case, lies with those who are the masters of men and weapons.

“I denounce this brute to my right,” said Miss Wentworth. “He struck me, he denied me speech, by means of the humiliating object fastened in my mouth, and he put me to my knees before him. I, on my knees, before a male! I demand his punishment. He is to be slain, or flogged to the bone!”

“What is your business, that of which you spoke?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Is it not obvious?” inquired Miss Wentworth.

“Please speak,” said Lord Nishida.

“You have heard of the world, Earth, I presume,” said Miss Wentworth.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.

“I was approached by an agent on Earth, one doubtless in your employ,” she said, “and engaged, for a stipulated compensation, to pursue certain projects on this world on your behalf, in particular making contact with a Tarl Cabot and seeing to it that he was delivered to an agent of yours in a timber reserve of a city called Port Kar. To abet this project it was meet that I disguise myself, which I did, adopting the guise of a Gorean slave girl, even to allowing myself to be seen in the insulting, disgusting garmenture of such sleek, meaningless, lascivious, groveling little beasts. To complete the disguise I would require a subordinate to play the role of a master, and for that purpose I had no difficulty in recruiting a suitable male weakling, a minor employee in the very firm in which I worked, a fool, one of several, hopelessly besotted with my beauty from afar, who would take orders from me, docilely and unquestioningly.”

“Mr. White?” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” said Miss Wentworth. “And now I come to my demands.”

“But, please,” said Lord Nishida. “You were approached by no agent of mine.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Can you make tea?” he inquired. “Properly?”

“No,” she said, puzzled.

“Can you arrange flowers,” he asked. “Properly?”

“No,” she said.

“Can you play a stringed musical instrument, a lyre, a lute, a samisen?”

“No,” she said.

I saw the two contract women exchange amused glances. One giggled, slightly, she on the right, as one faced them. This displeased Tajima, but the girl did not seem disconcerted by his disapproval.

Lord Nishida did not see fit to acknowledge the contract woman’s indiscretion.

The woman’s name was Sumomo, and Tajima, I would later learn, was interested in her contract, which he could not afford.

“Perhaps you can dance,” said Lord Nishida.

“No,” she said.

Lord Nishida would surely not have in mind dances which might be indigenous to his own culture. Miss Wentworth could not be expected to have such skills. They would be quite foreign to her.

He must have in mind then, I supposed, Gorean slave dance.

To be sure, she would doubtless know nothing of that, as well.

The forms of dance of the women of the “strange men” would, I supposed, be lovely and would be backgrounded by a rich cultural tradition, but I also supposed they would be quite different from Gorean slave dance.

Whereas Gorean slave dance can be as subtle as the opening of the petals of a flower it is commonly richly, luxuriantly, unmistakably, outspokenly, unapologetically, brazenly erotic. It is hard for a woman to be more beautiful than in slave dance, where the slave, barefoot in sand, in a swirl of diaphanous silk, bangled, belled, and collared, dances before masters.

A skilled dancer brings high prices. I had once owned one, Sandra, whom I had sold long ago to a dealer in such wares, for a golden tarn disk.

Many masters require that their slaves learn at least the rudiments of such dance.

One supposes that the motivation of this is clear.

“Are you skilled,” asked Lord Nishida, “in the art of conversation?”

“No,” said Miss Wentworth, “and I do not understand the purport of these bizarre questions.”

“What then are you good for?” asked Lord Nishida.

“I do not understand,” she said. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, and I now demand my compensation, and to be conducted to some point, from which I may be promptly returned to Earth, to New York City. Please secure the moneys as soon as possible, or arrange for their delivery on Earth, as I intend to waste no more time here.”

“It will be seen to,” said Lord Nishida, “that your time is not wasted.”

“Good!” she said.

“But I fear it is not within my power,” he said, “to see to it that you are returned to your world.”

“I was promised!” she said. “Your agent, or some agent, arranged this whole matter! I do not understand what is going on.”

It was not difficult to tell that Miss Wentworth was now not only puzzled, but frightened. She had, as she had pointed out, fulfilled her part of a bargain, be it one of unscrupulous betrayal, and now she found herself in an alien environment, in which little or nothing of the arrangements into which she had entered seemed to be known.

She turned about. “White, White,” she exclaimed, “what is going on?”

“There is no ship,” said Pertinax.

“No, no!” she cried. “There is a ship!”

“No,” said Pertinax.

“Perhaps I can explain,” said a voice.

“You?” she said, questioningly. Then she cried out, “You!”

He who had spoken was the fellow on the platform at the right hand of Lord Nishida, he in the informal, brown robe, seemingly indicative of no caste in particular, he of the short-cropped blond hair, and heavy features, he whom I took to be an agent of Kurii.

“Joy! Joy!” cried Miss Wentworth suddenly, in wild relief, now certain it was he whom she thought. “There! He will tell you! He will tell you!” she cried to Lord Nishida. “Now things are all right! Now, all will be explained!”

“You have met before?” said Lord Nishida.

“Certainly!” she cried. “It is he, Mr. Stevens! He was my contact! It was he with whom I entered into agreement! I received an advance payment of several thousand dollars from him! Mr. Stevens, explain all to these fools!”

“You know him?” said Lord Nishida.

“Certainly!” she said. “He is Thaddeus Stevens, of Stevens and Associates.”

“I am Thrasilicus,” said the man. “As you were disguised on Gor so I was disguised on Earth. There is no firm ‘Stevens and Associates.’”

I did not think that it was really surprising that Miss Wentworth had not immediately recognized Thrasilicus. She had probably met him only once or twice before, probably months ago, in very different circumstances, and in very different garb. Here he would seem much different, in a different garmenture, in a different environment. Too, he had been rather in the background, and her attention had been much fixed on Lord Nishida, who occupied the center forefront of the platform. Too, Miss Wentworth had been distracted by her various concerns and the perhaps intimidating unfamiliarity of this milieu. Too, his appearance might have been somewhat different on Earth. For example, he would presumably have attempted to duplicate the diffident, half-apologetic body language of the man of Earth, and the subdued discourse of the typical, reduced male of Earth, culturally engineered to betray his natural power and manhood.

“Explain who I am to these fools!” said Miss Wentworth. “Get me out of here!”

“You have had little difficulty in the past,” said Thrasilicus, “in having your way with men.”

“So?” she said.

“And men strove to please you,” he said.

“Yes?” she said.

“Perhaps now,” he said, “men will have their way with you, and you will strive to please them.”

“I do not understand,” she said. “Explain things to these fools, and get me out of here!”

Thrasilicus then turned to Lord Nishida. “Miss Wentworth,” he said, “was an employee in a large business establishment of a sort with which you would be unfamiliar, and one of which I doubt that you would approve. Her office was to solicit funds from male clients to be invested in other enterprises, for which she spoke, through the auspices of the business establishment she represented.”

“In this endeavor she was successful?” asked Lord Nishida, with interest.

“Very much so,” said Thrasilicus. “Men would do much to please her, to win a smile, a glance of gratitude, to avoid a frown, a tear, a trembling lip. She is a highly intelligent, sophisticated, beautiful woman, and she used her sex brilliantly. Few men realized how blatantly they were being manipulated. Some others understood her game only too well, and played the game with her, she not understanding how the player was being played. She supposed them as much the victims of her charm and beauty as their simpler brethren. In any event, she brought large amounts of coin to her employers, and accordingly soon stood high, in arrogance, in her company, was welcomed into her establishment’s chambers of power, and so on. Colleagues of mine, for purposes which you can guess, scout attractive females. Indeed, there are many women of Earth who, unbeknownst to themselves, are even now being scouted.”

“What are you saying!” cried Miss Wentworth.

“Please,” said Lord Nishida, gently cautioning Miss Wentworth to silence.

“These colleagues,” continued Thrasilicus, “when they are convinced of the potential value of a given woman, enter her on an acquisition list.”

“I do not understand!” said Miss Wentworth.

“I myself,” said Thrasilicus, “was the first to note Miss Wentworth, at a business luncheon, in which she was rather obviously cultivating potential clients. For a woman of Earth she was unusually attractive, and I thought something might be done with her. I was there, of course, as Stevens, of Stevens and Associates. She introduced herself, engaged in conversation, even light-hearted banter, and subtly attempted to suggest, from the very first, that she found me physically attractive. I pretended to take this seriously, and she grew bolder, even touching my hand, and then drawing back, as though in embarrassment, or confusion, as though in fear she had gone too far. I think she knew her work well. Naturally I encouraged her to believe that Stevens and Associates might have considerable investment capital in hand, and that we were looking to put it to use, pending the location of a suitable firm to handle this matter. By the end of the luncheon, after which we lingered for drinks, I had learned a great deal of Miss Wentworth, how she operated, clients she had obtained for her firm, and so on. Interestingly, two of these clients were associates of mine. In any event, quite soon, almost immediately, and long before our conversation was concluded and I had placed the business card of Miss Wentworth in my wallet, she had been found, unbeknownst to herself, an apt candidate for a Gorean slave block. Indeed, I myself, that very afternoon, convinced of the matter, with no hesitation, entered her, by my own hand, on an acquisition list. The matter was then settled. All that remained was to determine a suitable time for her harvesting. I thought some fellow would have an amusing time teaching her her collar.”

“Collar?” said Miss Wentworth.

“But we concern ourselves, of course,” said Thrasilicus, “not only with acquisition lists, but want lists, as well, and a new customer, whom we were muchly concerned to please, for various reasons, had specified a particular form of merchandise. We examined the acquisition lists, and a large number of potential candidates for that list, more than two hundred, as I believe. And, all in all, after considering these women, those listed, and those under consideration for listing, it seemed to me, personally, and to others, as well, that Miss Wentworth was a splendid choice. To be sure, I admit the possibility that some aspects of her personality, and a certain personal annoyance with her, from when she had tried to manipulate me, might have had some influence on my choice. I hope so. Although the final choice was mine, I thought it judicious to subject it to the consideration of two of my associates, prominent in business in New York City, aware of my concerns and interests in certain matters, and muchly aware through personal experience, as they were clients of hers, of Miss Wentworth’s personality, techniques, practices, and activities. These were two, of course, of presumably several, who understood quite well what she was trying to do, and, for their amusement, or in their contempt, had let her think that they had been taken in, so to speak, that they were, as many others, the unwitting dupes of her charm and beauty. They were also aware, of course, that my primaries often make use of such women. In any event, they concurred with my judgment, and so the matter was settled, over drinks, and the clinking of glasses, in a dimly lit bar in Manhattan, that is, a drinking place in an area on the planet Earth. Miss Wentworth would strike two targets with one arrow, so to speak, a transitory purpose of interest to my primaries in the north and the satisfaction of an order from a new and valued client, currently in the same area.”

“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida.

“All that remained then,” said Thrasilicus, “was to waft the fantasy of wealth before the greedy, unscrupulous, shapely Miss Wentworth. She rushed to it as a vulo to sa-tarna.”

“Good,” said Lord Nishida.

I gathered that Miss Wentworth was exactly what Lord Nishida had had in mind.

“I do not understand any of this,” said Miss Wentworth.

“You are worthless,” said Thrasilicus.

“I do not understand any of this!” she cried. “You hired me! We had an agreement! You paid me! You gave me a retainer, a token retainer, as you said, of one hundred thousand dollars!”

“That money was never deposited,” he said.

“I saw papers, certifications,” she said.

“Of course,” he said.

“I do not understand!” she said.

“I do not think it is so hard to understand,” said Thrasilicus.

“Who were these business men you spoke of!” demanded Miss Wentworth.

“Two known to me,” said Thrasilicus.

“That you fabricated,” she said. “There were none such! All fawned upon me. There were none I did not dazzle, and charm! All sought my favor, my smile. I was popular!”

“I do not doubt your popularity,” said Thrasilicus. “There were probably none who did not consider, from time to time, how you might appear, naked, and bound at their feet.”

“No!” she said. “They were gentlemen!”

“A gentleman,” said Thrasilicus, “not unoften contains a man.”

“A woman,” she said, “is entitled to use her charms, to tease, to appear to offer, when there is no offer, and such.”

“Perhaps a certain sort of woman,” said Thrasilicus.

“I was successful,” she said. “I won many investments, much largesse, considerable capital, for my firm!”

“True,” said Thrasilicus. “And your practice always wore the veil of mutual interest, of the earnest exploitation of timely opportunities, of the utmost business efficiency, of the highest standards of commercial professionalism, but, underneath, was concealed an agenda of unilateral advantage, for your firm and yourself, an end you shamelessly pursued by attempting to appeal to, and twist, the needs of men, with a thousand smiles, the suggestion of promises, the scattering of various seductive hints.”

“I was successful,” she said. “I fooled them all!”

“Several of your clients, as I understand it,” said Thrasilicus, “lost a great deal of money.”

“That is not my concern,” she said. “They were dupes, gullible fools, all of them!”

“It is interesting,” said Thrasilicus. “You seem to believe that none of these men understood your techniques and stratagems, that none of them understood what you were doing, and how you were doing it.”

“None did!” she said.

“Some did, surely,” said Thrasilicus, “and doubtless several others, as well. Not all men are naive, not all are silly fools.”

“None did,” she insisted.

“Some understood you only too well,” said Thrasilicus. “While pretending to succumb to your rather labored wiles, they found your meretricious trickeries transparent, and secretly regarded you with amusement, even contempt.”

“No!” she said. “And, if I might ask, who were these two alleged businessmen to whom you referred earlier?”

“You may ask,” he said. “But that is all.”

“Who were they!” she demanded.

“Curiosity,” he said, “is not becoming in one such as you.”

“One such as I?” she said, puzzled.

“If you persist in this matter,” said Tajima, “it may be necessary to once again restrict your speech.”

Miss Wentworth regarded him, angrily, but said nothing.

She was unwilling, it seemed, as many women, to undergo again the shameful indignity of the ball and strap, which had given her a proof that on this world a woman might not always be permitted to speak how and when she wished.

I think she had then begun to suspect deeper meanings of her sex than she had been aware of on Earth.

“I have heard much of your sort,” said Lord Nishida to Miss Wentworth. “I have long looked forward to meeting one of you.”

“Of my sort?” she said. “One of me?”

“Yes,” he said.

Then Lord Nishida addressed Tajima. “Please draw down the sheet to her shoulders.”

Miss Wentworth struggled, but was held in place by the two guards. Tajima held the sheet in place.

“You wear a slave collar,” said Lord Nishida, concernedly.

“It was part of my disguise!” she cried. “I am a free woman!”

“It is very attractive,” said Lord Nishida. “Remove it.”

“I cannot!” she cried, angrily.

“You cannot?” asked Lord Nishida.

“No,” she cried. “I had the key, I could have removed it, but that brute, that monster, Tarl Cabot, he whom we brought here, for you, as agreed, took the key from me, and cast it into the sea!”

“I see,” said Lord Nishida.

Slave collars, of course, are not made to be removed by the slave.

“Get the hateful thing off my neck!” she cried.

Cecily looked up at her, startled. Cecily loved her collar. Had she been capable of owning property, it would have been her proudest possession. Actually, of course, it, like herself, belonged to the master. She had a security, and an identity, in the collar. In its way it defined her, and governed her behavior, how she should act, how and when she might speak, what she might do, and not do, and so on. She wanted to be owned, and loved being owned. She loved belonging to a man, as his helpless, vulnerable, utter property. How free she was then, kneeling at his feet, and how right, and perfect! Too, it betokened that she was a woman of value, that she had worth, that she could be bought and sold. Too, not every woman was collared. The collar attested to her desirability as a female. It said, in its way, “Here is a female who has been found of interest to men.” And, from the woman’s point of view, it said, in a sense, “See me. Look upon me. I have been found worth collaring.” It was, in its way, thus, a badge of excellence, a certification of quality.

Lord Nishida looked to one of his subordinates, near the entrance to the pavilion. “Bring suitable tools,” he said.

“Good!” said Miss Wentworth.

The fellow was gone, in a moment.

Miss Wentworth cast me a look of triumph.

She then regarded Thrasilicus. “There has been a misunderstanding here, Mr. Stevens,” she said. “That is obvious. Now, in the light of the sympathetic understanding and thoughtful consideration of our mutual friend, the noble Lord Nishida, to whom I take it you are subordinate, we may shortly renegotiate our concerns. There remain matters such as my compensation, which should now, incidentally, be considerably increased, given my inconvenience and embarrassment, my return to Earth, and such.”

“Actually, Miss Wentworth,” said Thrasilicus, “Lord Nishida and I are, in a way, allies, and neither of us is subordinate to the other.”

“I take it, however,” she said, “that Lord Nishida’s wishes would weigh heavily with you.”

“Certainly,” he said.

She then turned to Lord Nishida. “I will need a wardrobe,” she said. “It need not be clothing of Earth, expensive, well-tailored, tasteful, elegant, fashionable, chic, and such, such as I was accustomed to on Earth, for I well understand that such might be difficult to obtain here, but, you understand, it should be concealing, ample, and decorous, perhaps robes of concealment, such as might be favored by free women of Gor. Veiling, too, given certain aspects of the relevant culture, would not be inappropriate.”

Lord Nishida smiled.

At this point the fellow who had left the pavilion a bit ago returned and, with him, was a burly fellow, not of the “strange men,” carrying tools, who was, if not of the caste of metal workers, one at least, it seemed, who was familiar with certain aspects of their craft.

In a few moments Miss Wentworth’s slender, aristocratic, fair throat was freed of the light, attractive collar.

She straightened her body, and shook her head, and her hair swirled about her shoulders. She did it well, and it was fetching. It was doubtless intended to have its effect on Lord Nishida. I could understand how certain men might rush to please such a woman. “Thank you,” she said to Lord Nishida.

“Now,” said Lord Nishida to Tajima, “let us see her.”

Miss Wentworth regarded Lord Nishida, startled, disbelievingly.

Tajima lifted a finger, and each guard, of those flanking Miss Wentworth, and who had held her, generally, respectively, by the upper arms, now each took a wrist, and, a moment later, an upper arm.

“What are you doing!” cried Miss Wentworth. “No, no!”

She fought to cling to the sheet, to hold it together, before her, but her strength was nothing to that of the two men, and her fingers were pried from the sheet, and her arms were separated, and drawn to the sides. She had her head down, and was bent over, and was struggling wildly, frantically, as she could.

“Please, please,” protested Tajima. “This is to be done gracefully.”

“Stop! Stop!” cried Miss Wentworth, squirming in the grasp of the guards.

It was certainly not done gracefully. When a female gift, or prize, is to be revealed to a master, a merchant, a captain, a Ubar, or such, the gift, or prize, as shy as she might be, is commonly revealed formally, gracefully, even ceremoniously.

Then the guards held apart her arms, each with a grasp with one hand on her wrist, and a grasp with the other on her arm, above the elbow. They held her in such a way that her arms were slightly behind her, and this pressed her forward, accentuating her figure, toward Lord Nishida.

Her eyes were startled.

A look of utter dismay bespoke itself on her troubled features.

The Earth woman was well displayed, and Lord Nishida scrutinized her closely, and, seemingly, though he gave little overt expression of this, approvingly.

It was my surmise that his senses were pleased, well pleased.

“What are you doing!” she cried, aghast.

“I am appraising my new slave,” said Lord Nishida.

“I am not a slave!” she cried. “I am a free woman!”

“Not at all,” said Thrasilicus. “You have been unwittingly a slave for months, even for some weeks when you were still engaging in your petty, deceitful games on behalf of your firm, plying your wiles and charms, seemingly so innocently, to wheedle and coax wealth from clients, pathetically dazzled males as you saw it, men whom, given your own words, recently spoken, you obviously held in contempt. You were a slave from the time your name was first entered on the acquisition lists.”

“No,” she cried, “no!”

“I entered it myself,” said Thrasilicus, “and, as noted, on the very afternoon of the aforementioned business luncheon, following which, you may recall, you attempted to entice me to join your list of clients, that line of naive fellows begging for your attention, those eager to please you, to render homage to your charm and beauty, ready to exchange capital, often not their own, for one of your smiles. My interest in you, and I trust you find this flattering, was immediate. Indeed, as soon as you approached my table, so innocently, so charmingly, like a sleek, predatory little animal, I considered that you would look less well sitting at my table in your carefully chosen chic business ensemble than you would kneeling beside it, on the carpet, head down, naked, in a collar. And after a few moments of conversation I decided I would enter you on an acquisition list, for subsequent harvesting at our convenience. I did so, and, as noted, in the moment your name appeared on that list you were no longer a free woman, but a slave.”

“No!” she cried.

“Lament not,” he said. “Given your nature, character, dispositions, actions, and such, it is appropriate that you be enslaved. Bondage is right for one such as you. One such as you should be a slave. One such as you deserves bondage. For one such as you, bondage is not only a suitable fate, but one superbly fitting and apt.”

“Lord Nishida!” she cried. “Let this cruel jest proceed no further. I am naked, and men may look upon me!”

“Of course,” said Lord Nishida, “you are a slave.”

“You freed me of a collar!” she insisted.

“Only that it may be replaced with another,” he said. “Mine.”

“I am willing to pretend to be a slave!” she cried. “Let me reassume my disguise. I am exposed! I will willingly wear again even that shameful tunic, though it be but a humiliating badge of degradation!”

“You are a slave, stupid slut,” said Thrasilicus.

“No, no!” she cried. She struggled vainly in the grip of the two guards.

Tajima had retrieved the sheet and had now refolded it, and held it over his arm.

“See how fair-skinned is my new slave,” said Lord Nishida, over his shoulder, to the two contract women.

Both giggled.

The contract woman on the left, as one looked toward the dais, said, “Does she not smell, Lord Nishida?”

“She will have to be scrubbed,” said Lord Nishida.

“Please, please,” begged she who had once been Miss Wentworth, “give me the tunic!”

“Do you beg it?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Yes, yes!” she said.

“That shameful tunic, which is but a humiliating badge of degradation?” he asked.

“Yes,” she cried, “yes, please!”

“One must strive to become worthy of a tunic,” said Lord Nishida. Then he said to the two fellows who had the blond, distraught slave in custody. “See that she is cleaned, thoroughly, and then see to her branding and collaring. Let the brand be the Kef.”

That was the most common slave brand on Gor. Most female slaves bore it. It is commonly sited on the left thigh, just under the hip, perhaps because most masters are right-handed. Similarly the disrobing loop of certain tunics is at the left shoulder, presumably for the same reason.

“White! Gregory! Gregory!” cried she who had once been Margaret Wentworth.

“I am now ‘Gregory’?” he said.

“Yes, Gregory, Gregory! Please, Gregory, explain to them that a terrible mistake is taking place.”

“I was never Gregory before,” he said.

“Help me, Gregory!” she wept.

“Why?” he asked.

“I will let you hold me in your arms!” she said. “I will let you kiss me! I know you always wanted to do that! Help me! Help me!”

“You think to bargain with a free man, slave?” inquired Lord Nishida. “Get on your knees, and lick and kiss his feet, begging forgiveness.”

The guards released the slave, and she knelt, terrified, before Pertinax, and put down her head and began to lick and kiss his feet. “I am sorry,” she said. “Forgive me, Gregory.”

“I am Pertinax,” he said.

“Yes, yes,” she said. “You are Pertinax. Please, Pertinax, forgive me.”

“A slave,” I said, “does not use the name of the master to the master. All free men are to be addressed as ‘Master’, all free women as ‘Mistress’.”

The slave looked up at me, in misery, her eyes bright with tears, and put her head down, again, to the feet of Pertinax. “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

“More,” said Pertinax, sternly.

And the former Miss Wentworth again, softly, frightened, addressed her fair lips and small, soft tongue tenderly, for several moments, to the feet of a free man.

I thought I saw a small movement of sudden comprehension, of profound understanding, pass through the slave’s body.

Undoubtedly this was the first time she had ever knelt thusly before a man, let alone addressed herself in such a manner to his placation.

Outside the guard had apparently put her to her knees before him, as a matter of convenience or discipline, but this, obviously, was quite different.

She looked well at his feet, as a slave, but, then, do not women look well at the feet of men, as slaves?

“Please, forgive me, Master,” she whispered.

“I do,” said Pertinax, kindly.

She looked up. “Help me,” she begged.

“I fear I can do nothing,” said Pertinax.

“Please tell them I am not a slave,” she begged.

“I gather,” said Pertinax, “that you are a slave, or will soon be one.”

Kneeling, she put her head in her hands, and wept.

“Take her away,” said Lord Nishida.

One of the guards reached down, and jerked her to her feet by the upper left arm.

She turned wildly to me. “Save me!” she cried. “Do something! Fight for me! Rescue me!”

It interested me that the former Miss Wentworth, in this milieu, if in no other, suddenly understood the dependence of women upon men. Men might, if they wished, do with women as they wished. This simple, obvious fact had not been so clear on her former world, though it was a fact there, as well as here. That world was one in which women stood commonly within the shelters of civilized proprieties, within the fences of society, encircled by innumerable customs and laws, with their diverse enforcements and sanctions. In such a situation women take much for granted, not even understanding that it is being taken for granted.

“I fear, Lord Nishida,” said Tajima to Lord Nishida, “the woman is unutterably stupid.”

“No,” said Thrasilicus, “she is not stupid. She is merely ignorant. At present, it is true, I fear, that she knows little of the collar, and nothing of the furs.”

“She must learn, quickly,” said Lord Nishida.

“The whip will teach her, and quickly,” said Tajima, with, oddly, a glance at Sumomo, the contract woman who was on the right, as one would look to the dais. She was, indeed, a lovely young thing.

She sneered at Tajima. I gathered he had low status, for the women of the “strange men” are taught much respect to males. Even an older sister must bow first to a younger brother.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida, “what do you think of my new slave?”

I shrugged. There seemed little to say.

“I see,” said Lord Nishida. “Would you like her?”

The slave looked at Lord Nishida with disbelief. In that moment I think she first understood herself as property, which might be handed about, exchanged, bought and sold, and so on.

Cecily looked up, too, distressed. She knew herself as property, as well. She loved being property, and knowing herself property, but I did not think she was eager to be bestowed or vended. She loved being a possession, but, rather clearly, if I am not mistaken, she wished to remain the possession of a particular master, wished to remain my possession. Her distress, I think, had to do with the apprehension, this now again made clear to her, that she might without a second thought be given or sold to another. The slave, totally, is property, at the mercy of the master. Too, she may have feared that I might accept Lord Nishida’s offer, and then she would no longer be my only slave. Most slaves desire, fervently, to be a man’s only slave. That she might become, in such a situation, “first girl,” over the formerly insolent “Constantina” would be small consolation for sharing the attentions of a master with a rival. Some masters, of course, as it can be afforded, have more than one slave, that each may try to outdo the other, to please him the more. My own feeling is that it is best to have one slave, so that she will strive to be so loving, so pleasing, so hot, so needful, that the master will feel no desire for another. A master may have many slaves, of course, a merchant, say, may have dozens, a Ubar hundreds, and so on, but the slave, in her needful femininity, commonly wants to be the single property of a master, whom she need not share with another.

“My thanks, great lord,” I said, “but I am content with she who kneels to my left.”

Lord Nishida nodded.

His offer, in honor, had to be genuine, but I am confident he did not expect it to be accepted.

“Your name is Pertinax?” said Lord Nishida to Pertinax.

“Yes,” said Pertinax.

“Would you like this slave?” he asked.

“No,” said Pertinax.

The slave regarded him, with incredulity. “You always wanted me!” she exclaimed.

“I did not know you then,” he said. “Here I have learned, for the first time, your true nature and character, who you are, and what you have done.”

“Accept me! Take me! Own me!” she begged.

“No,” said Pertinax.

“Please!” she said. “Own me!”

“You would be owned,” he said, “but you would not think yourself owned. But sometime, I am sure, you will understand, in your heart and belly, that you are owned, truly owned.”

“Save me from this fate!” she wept.

“Your lips and tongue felt well on my feet,” he said.

“Keep me,” she said. “Own me!”

“No,” he said.

“I do not understand,” she wept.

“You are worthless,” he said. “You are petty, radically petty, to the core.”

She stood there, in the grip of the guard, naked, forlorn, shaken, stunned.

Again, I thought the offer of Lord Nishida was genuine, but, again, I was confident he did not expect it to be accepted. He was, I gathered, a shrewd judge of men. I did not find this surprising, from my estimation of his position, and apparent acuity. Indeed, I suspected that these formal overtures on his part were largely intended to express his contempt for the slave. Some men, of course, find it pleasant to embond a woman they hold in contempt, and then treat her accordingly. And, when the slave fires have been ignited in her belly, and she is the helpless prisoner of her needs, it amuses them to have her at their feet, prostrate, piteous, begging for their least touch.

“I trust, Lord Nishida,” said Thrasilicus, “the slave pleases your senses.”

“She pleases my senses,” said Lord Nishida, “but I am not sure she pleases my heart.”

“In bondage,” I said, “a woman is often muchly transformed.”

This was true. Bondage, in which the woman learns her womanhood, effects in a woman not only a sexual but a moral and personal redemption. In the collar, and in submission, she learns service, fulfillment, wholeness, and love. In the collar, and in her complete and categorical submission to the master, sexually, emotionally, and personally, she becomes herself, and happy.

“If Lord Nishida is not pleased,” said Thrasilicus, “we may search out another.”

“And this one,” said Tajima, who had had, from the beginning, as I understood it, reservations pertaining to the former Miss Wentworth, “as she would be unworthy meat for larls or sleen, may be bound and cast into the garbage pit for the delectation of swarming urts.”

There seemed a general assent to this, amongst those present.

They took her to be poor slave stuff.

I myself, however, did not think she would look poorly on a block, if well exhibited.

“We shall see,” said Lord Nishida. Then he addressed the two guards who had had the former Miss Wentworth in custody. “After her branding and collaring,” he said, “shave her head, and send her to the stables, and see that she learns she is a slave.”

“Yes, great lord,” they said, and exited the pavilion, the former Miss Wentworth, whimpering, but afraid to speak, held by the upper left arm, in the grip of one of them.

“Regrettable,” said Lord Nishida.

“Another may be procured,” said Thrasilicus, concerned. “You may return her to me. I would not mind having her under my whip.”

“Your choice,” said Lord Nishida, “was excellent.”

Thrasilicus seemed surprised.

“If she learns her collar well,” said Lord Nishida, “another may find her pleasing.”

“I had thought you wanted her for yourself,” said Thrasilicus.

“No,” said Lord Nishida. “Her yellow hair, blue eyes, and fair skin will be rare at home. She may figure amongst a variety of gifts, for another.”

“For whom?” asked Thrasilicus.

“For the shogun, of course,” said Lord Nishida.

Lord Nishida then looked at me. “Now,” he said, “we may address ourselves to matters of importance.”