Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Twenty-Two LICINIUS LYSIAS HAS RETURNED TO TARNCAMP; I CHOOSE TO DEAL WITH LICINIUS LYSIAS IN A CERTAIN MANNER; SARU IS TO BE TAKEN FROM THE STABLE; I RETURN TO MY HUT, FOLLOWED LATER BY PERTINAX

Growling, enraged, struggling, now awakened, Licinius Lysias, he of Turmus, fought the straps which held him, hand and foot, at our feet.

The slave, lying to the side, had not yet awakened.

“Licinius,” I said, “had not eaten nor drunk in several Ahn. There was no food, no water, in the stable. He would be hungry. Worse, he would languish in thirst. Frightened, in his haste to put many pasangs between himself and the camp, he would hesitate to bring the tarn down. Too, he would suspect himself pursued. He would remain in the saddle at least until darkness.”

“The bota at the saddle,” said Tajima.

“Fresh, cool water,” I said.

“And Tassa powder,” said Tajima. “I have heard of it.”

Tassa powder is a harmless, tasteless, swift-acting drug. It is commonly used in the taking of women. It might be introduced into the parties of maidens, into the private, candle-lit suppers of high-born beauties, into the beverages of inns or vendors. Commonly the women are innocent, guilty only of their unusual attractiveness, which will bring them to the slave block. To be sure, a woman might be less innocent, and might partake of, say, wine, with a stranger, one on whom she hopes to employ her wiles to her profit, one from whom she might hope to win some favor or advantage; perhaps she regales him with some contrived tale of hardship or woe, designed to elicit coins; perhaps she merely delights in tormenting a fellow, teasing and taunting him, leading him on to dazzling expectations and hopes which she has no intention of satisfying. She exercises her presumed beauty, seductive and mysterious within her robes and veils, to gratify her vanity, or even her dislike of males, such oafish, vile brutes. There are many ways, obviously, in which a woman can torture a male. In any event, it is not altogether unknown for such a woman to awaken later, helpless, gagged and bound, hand and foot, in a slave sack, being transported from her city. One interesting case involved a woman’s intention to arrange for the capture and enslavement of a hated rival, but it was she instead who found herself stripped and chained, and was delivered to the rival as her serving slave. From a cage, naked, branded, her throat enclosed in her rival’s collar, she was permitted to watch the ceremony of her rival’s companionship with the male she had sought. Present, too, at the celebration, was he whom she had sought to enlist on her behalf, a friend unbeknownst to her from the childhood of the male companion. Drawn from the cage, she served her rival’s feast, and, later, knelt before her, nostrils pinched shut, and head held back, was forced to imbibe not the festival wine, but bitter “slave wine,” that she might, before her rival, be readied for slave usage, before being sent to the kitchen.

Similar reflections, one supposes, obtain in the cases of many women of Earth, luscious slave fruit harvested by Gorean slavers. It is not their fault that their intelligence is high, their features sensitive and exquisite, their figures shapely. Too, I suspect that the choices of slavers are not always clear to those lacking their training and skills. One supposes more is involved in such things than the turn of a hip, the rounding of a calf, or forearm, the slimness of an ankle, the slenderness of a throat, such things. Is it a way of speaking, an expression, a hesitation, a gesture, a turning of the head, a shyness, a glance, a subtle, revealing, furtive unwillingness to make eye contact when a certain word is spoken, what? There are a hundred subtle cues, readable by the experienced and skilled. Some can read the needful slave in a woman when the woman herself fears to recognize it, and, in any event, dares not reveal it. In any event, much diversity occurs in the markets, and a multitude of choices are available to buyers. Perhaps, on the whole, the women have little more in common than the fact that they are lovely, and will be sold.

To be sure, it is clearly not the case that every woman brought from Earth to the sawdust of the Gorean slave block is so innocent, guilty of no more, say, than her intelligence and beauty. Doubtless many women, both of Earth and of Gor, have been inserted on one acquisition list or another for no reason other than the fact that it has pleased some fellow that it should be so. Perhaps some behavior, or attitude, a rudeness, a glance, a hasty word, an insolence, or such, displeased a fellow, and it was decided then that the fair creature will pay for her indiscretion, the matter made clear to her while she is awaiting her first sale.

I had no doubt, for example, that it had pleased Thrasilicus to bring the former Miss Margaret Wentworth into a Gorean collar.

She had been, in my opinion, an excellent choice.

Given the number of Gorean mercenaries in the camp I had not doubted that Tassa powder would be available in the camp, and it had been. I had then had it introduced into the bota, where its presence could not be detected.

It was toward dark, and a fire burned nearby.

“How did you know the tarn would return?” asked Pertinax.

“When the rider lost consciousness, it was no longer controlled,” I said. “It would then, having no guidance, return to its cot, perhaps even hastening, that it might not miss the evening feeding.”

It had arrived, interestingly, some Ehn before the evening’s distribution of meat.

We had then recovered Licinius and the slave, both unconscious.

The effect of Tassa powder is not felt for a time, but when it takes effect, it does so swiftly. Presumably Licinius would not have a weapon at the ready swiftly enough to slash the girl’s throat. Even more likely, he would not think to do so. Goreans frown on gratuitous injury to a slave, as they would to any other animal. Too, if he had had time to think, which seemed unlikely, the last thing he would wish to risk would be falling into the hands of vengeful captors. He had lost. He would abide by the consequences.

“Licinius was kept in the saddle by the safety strap,” said Pertinax.

“Of course,” I said.

“And the slave was quite safe,” said Tajima.

“Yes,” I said, “secured in utter helplessness, as befits one such as she, merely a soft, smooth, shapely beast, nicely tethered, a bound kajira.”

“She, too, was unconscious,” said Tajima.

“I thought she would be,” I said. “It did not really matter, of course, but I supposed he would give her of the water. Why should he not? Would she not be thirsty, as well? Are animals not watered?”

“Yes,” said Tajima.

“Too,” I said, “there was plenty. Also, water rounds the belly of a slave nicely, and freshens her appearance.”

“True,” said Tajima.

It was common, of course, to water women before their sale.

“How you think of her, how you speak of her!” protested Pertinax.

“She is a slave,” I said. “And the sooner you learn to so think of her, and so speak of her, the better.”

“Never!” said Pertinax.

“Did you not note,” asked Tajima, “how she denied being cold, and addressed Licinius Lysias as ‘Master’?”

“She was frightened,” said Pertinax.

“Surely, even in fear, truth may be spoken,” I said. And, I thought, though I did not bring this to the attention of Pertinax, a slave who is frightened is often afraid not to speak the truth. The Master may know the truth, and be examining her. Too, whereas a free woman may lie as profoundly and frequently as she wishes, a slave girl is forbidden to lie. A free woman may lie with impunity; a slave girl does not have this privilege. The slave girl fears to lie. Lying is not acceptable in a kajira. Punishments are terrible. She is not a free woman.

“Would you prefer,” inquired Tajima, “that the slave was frigid?”

“Surely such things are a matter of private concern,” said Pertinax.

“Not in a slave,” I said. “In a slave they are quite public, like eye color and hair color. They affect her price.”

“You would wish her to be frigid?” asked Tajima, politely.

“She is not a free woman,” I reminded Pertinax.

“— I suppose it is better for her to be frigid,” said Pertinax, “in order that she may remain her own woman, retain her self-respect and self-esteem, her dignity.”

“The slave,” I said, “is not her own woman. She is her master’s woman. Too, whereas she may well think well of herself, rejoice in herself, celebrate herself, love herself, as well as the master, for how can one love another if one does not love oneself, and so on, she is not likely to have self-respect and self-esteem in the senses that I think you understand such things. She is, after all, an animal. And certainly she is not permitted dignity. She is a beautiful animal, and whereas she has far more attractions than, say, a she-tarsk, she has no more dignity than a she-tarsk.”

“I see,” said Pertinax.

“The slave is not a free woman,” said Tajima. “She is to be hot, helplessly so. She must juice upon command. A touch readies her. At a snapping of the fingers, she must hasten to assume whatever attitudes or positions you wish. Indeed, she may assume them hoping that her master will see fit to caress her. Usually she conveys her desires by kneeling and nuzzling, and making tiny noises and whimpering, and kissing the feet and legs of the master, looking to him, lips parted, hoping for attention, such things. There are many variations. Slaves are very inventive, and very clever. Too, I assure you, my dear Pertinax, it is pleasant to have one in one’s arms, squirming, and writhing, and gasping, and moaning, and crying out, and weeping, and begging, and yielding.”

“They are not free women,” I reiterated.

“Such things,” said Pertinax, “are for low women, not for such as Miss Wentworth.”

I smiled to myself. Pertinax did not know, as Cecily and I knew, that the stable grooms had well ignited, as it had amused them, and doubtless in accord with the instructions of Lord Nishida, slave fires in the belly of the former Miss Wentworth, at that time a stable slave at their disposal. Any woman in whose belly burn slave fires is a slave, and henceforth and thereafter can be but a slave. Ropes, straps, and chains were not the only bonds to which the former Miss Wentworth was now subject. A free woman might, of course, look upon the former Miss Wentworth and, in virtue of the brevity of a tunic, perhaps, or a brand, or a collar, easily see her as slave, but they might sense, too, to their jealous fury, that something less visible and far more profound was involved, that she now, supplicatingly and irremediably, belonged to men. In her belly, smoldering, ready to spring into flames, seldom far from the surface, was the heat of a slave, and of this, perhaps, a brand on her thigh, a collar on her neck, might be understood as little more than institutional tokens hinting at the possibility of a far deeper bondage.

No wonder they hated slaves with such vehemence.

How could they, free women, hope to compete in interest with a slave? A slave, of course, came with no companion dowry, no land, no wealth, no social or mercantile connections, but men, nonetheless, somehow, enjoyed having them at their feet.

“Perhaps,” said Tajima.

“Certainly,” said Pertinax, irritably.

“She is stirring,” I noted. The effect of Tassa powder, on a smaller body, given identities of quantities, and such, is more lasting than on a larger body. Licinius had regained consciousness, in his bonds, something like a half of an Ahn past. Too, of course, I did not know the size of the draught accorded to the slave. She would not have been freed to drink, of course, but, tethered, supine, would have had the spike of the bota thrust between her teeth.

Licinius again fought his bonds.

He was well swathed with straps.

“Lord Nishida will have him crucified,” said Tajima.

“For the sake of the Priest-Kings,” said Licinius, addressing me, “use the sword, swiftly.”

“I fear that is not practical,” said Tajima, “for you are a spy, and traitor.”

“No traitor!” he said.

“You wear the cavalry’s gray, and betrayed it,” said Tajima.

“I am in another’s fee,” he said.

“Whose?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “I was approached in Turmus.”

“You may be tortured before you are crucified,” said Tajima. “Perhaps that will to some extent refresh your memory.”

“He would either die, or lie, to stop the pain,” I said. “Too, I doubt he knows from what purse his gain was taken.”

“I do not know,” said Licinius.

“I believe him,” I said. “Those who bought his services would be discreet in such a matter. A spy, he might be apprehended, and tortured. He can not reveal what he does not know.”

“Use the sword, before they come for me,” begged Licinius. “We are not of the Pani. It is a small favor to ask. Did I not attempt to escape? Slay me, and then loosen and discard the straps. None will know.”

“I fear several would know,” I said.

Licinius groaned.

“One is tied on the cross, closely,” said Tajima. “It is hard to move. Thus, in even a short time there arises from within the constricted muscles a great deal of pain, even agony. Too, one languishes for two or three days, until one dies of the pain, or of dehydration. Sometimes one is given some fluid, that the agony may be prolonged.”

“The sword! The sword!” begged Licinius.

“Impalement would be a Gorean way,” I said to Tajima.

“That is barbarous,” said Tajima.

“True,” I said.

“Too, it would be too quick,” said Tajima.

“It can last a long time,” I said.

“Interesting,” said Tajima.

“Yes,” I said.

“The sword!” said Licinius.

“I have sent for Ashigaru,” said Tajima. “They will take the prisoner in charge, and, too, will conduct Saru to the central camp.”

The girl, freed of bonds, naked, in Lord Nishida’s collar, lying nearby, the stains of the stable still on her, turned to her side, uneasily, and whimpered.

She was recovering from the effects of the Tassa powder.

I had noted some activity on her part a few Ehn ago.

One normally recovers slowly from the effects of Tassa powder, at least for a few minutes, and then one might, after a time, suddenly comprehending, awaken suddenly, hysterically, struggling, screaming, if one is not gagged. It is not uncommon for them to awaken in a stout, canvas slave sack, in which they can barely squirm, or bound hand and foot, say, on a carpet in an empty tent, or chained to a ring in the darkness. Such awakenings, too, may characterize Earth girls brought to Gor for the markets, as they are commonly sedated in tiered slave capsules for the journey from Earth to Gor. Many are even unaware of their journey, having perhaps been sedated in their own beds and then transported to Gor unconscious, only to awaken later in the pens, sometimes to the stroke of a slaver’s lash.

Saru now had her hands under her, and lifted her body a little, and looked up at me.

“You are back now,” I said. “You are near the stable, in the camp.”

She looked at Licinius near her, bound. I do not know if she understood what, even in general, had happened. Presumably she would have thought Licinius had been intercepted, or overtaken. Then she went to her belly, her head turned toward us. I did not know if she were capable of kneeling now, as she might be unsteady from the effects of the drug.

“The water in the bota was drugged,” I said. “The tarn returned.”

“Are you all right?” asked Pertinax.

“Show no concern,” I snapped. “Do you not know what she is?”

Saru regarded me, frightened. She averted her eyes. I sensed she knew what she was, even if Pertinax, in his naivety, did not.

” Nadu!” said Tajima, sharply.

The girl struggled to nadu, kneeling back on her heels, her head up, her back straight, the palms of her hands down on her thighs. She did not make eye contact with any of the free men, but kept her gaze forward.

It is a beautiful position.

“Split your knees,” said Tajima.

“No!” said Pertinax.

“Now!” said Tajima.

The girl spread her knees.

“Wider!” said Tajima. She was, after all, a collar-girl.

The former Miss Wentworth complied, quickly, docilely, with Tajima’s command. She had learned obedience to men, slave obedience, in the stable, at the hands of the grooms.

“Please!” protested Pertinax.

“Stay as you are,” cautioned Tajima.

The slave remained in the adjusted nadu, as directed. It was a common form of nadu, one almost invariably expected of a particular sort of slave, the pleasure slave.

I had the sense she very much wanted to look to Pertinax, for whatever reason, perhaps to see how he might view her, as she was, as she had been positioned, but she did not dare to do so. In any event, she knew she was before him, in nadu.

“Whose prisoner am I?” asked Licinius.

“You are the prisoner of Lord Nishida,” said Tajima.

“No,” I said, “you are my prisoner.”

“Captain?” asked Tajima.

“My prisoner,” I said.

” Ashigaru will soon be here,” said Tajima.

“Saru, I understand,” I said, “is finished in the stable. Ashigaru will call for her, see that she is cleaned up, and conduct her to Lord Nishida.”

“Yes,” said Tajima.

“You have learned the lessons of the stable, I trust,” I said to the slave.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Do you wish to be returned to the stable?”

“No, Master!” she said softly, quickly.

“You will learn to wear tunics, and silks, and bangles,” I said. “You will be taught to kneel and move. You may be perfumed and painted. You will be taught to please men. You will learn something of slave dance, and of the kisses of slaves. You will learn the use of your fingers, your hair, and tongue.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, shuddering.

“If you do poorly,” I said, “you will be slain.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“The wholeness of your life,” I said, “and your meaning, the fullness of it, all of it, and the very reason for your existence, and the only reason for your existence, is now to be a pleasure object for masters. You are an animal, and a property, only that, nothing more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will now exist for, and only for, the service and pleasure of men. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you understand why?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am a slave, Master,” she said.

I turned to the prisoner. “Licinius Lysias,” said I.

“Please, the sword!” he begged.

“You did not slay the slave,” I said.

“I would have,” he said, “had you not supplied my needs.”

“Of course,” I said, “but you did not do so.”

“Is she so important?” asked Licinius.

“Not at all,” I said, “but she is pretty, is she not?”

“Yes,” he said.

“We are pleased to recover the goods,” I said, regarding the slave.

“Perhaps then,” said Licinius, hopefully, “the sword?”

“It must take great courage to spy here, in such a camp,” I said.

“I was well paid,” he said.

“I think you are very brave,” I said.

“I wagered, I lost,” he said.

“I think,” I said, “you are an excellent swordsman.” I recalled the fellows in the stable, his own cohorts, whom I had set to secure him, one struck by a quarrel, but three felled by steel. The skills involved in such a display are rare. It is difficult for even a fine swordsman to defend himself against even two assailants, for one need only engage, setting the target, so to speak, and the other strike. I would not, comfortably, have set Tajima against him, who was skilled, as I had determined in the dojo. And I certainly would not, at his present level of training, have allowed him to engage Pertinax, certainly not singly.

“I would not have cared to conduct the dialogue in steel with Bosk of Port Kar,” he said.

It seemed he knew me.

I did not acknowledge this.

Tajima looked at me, puzzled. He had heard me referred to as Bosk of Port Kar, in the pavilion of Lord Nishida, but he knew me, primarily, surely, as Tarl Cabot, a tarnsman. I gathered he knew little or nothing of Bosk of Port Kar, or of the port itself.

“I accorded you an opportunity,” I said, “to come forth from the stable, disarmed, and depart in peace.”

“Surely it was a ruse,” he said.

“But you did not come forth,” I said.

“It seems the slave has value, after all,” he smiled.

“Every pretty slave has value,” I said. “This one might be worth as much as a silver tarsk.”

A tremor coursed the body of the slave. A man was conjecturing what might be her sales price, what might bring her into the hands of anyone, anyone whomsoever, who possessed the requisite coin or coins.

“Two,” suggested Licinius.

There are few things which so convince a woman that she is a slave, as to hear her value candidly discussed, in terms of prices, markets, and such. She then has a better sense of what she is worth, as what she is, as a collar property, to masters. A free woman, of course, is priceless, and thus, in a sense, without value. A slave, on the other hand, is not priceless, and thus has an actual value, a particular value, usually what men will pay for her. Slave girls, in their vanity, for they, as other women, are vain creatures, often compete on the slave block, each trying to bring a price higher than the others. Also, of course, there is a supposition that the higher the price the wealthier the master, and thus, hopefully, the easier and more comfortable will be the girl’s bondage. On the other hand, it is not unoften the case that the girl so purchased will find herself expected to do the work of, and supply the pleasure of, several slaves. It is not unusual, too, when a slave is introduced into a house, no matter what her purchase price may have been, that she will be bound and whipped, this to let her know that in that house she is truly a slave, and no more than a slave. Often, interestingly, the plainer girls purchased by the less well-fixed masters enjoy a bondage which, though strict and absolutely uncompromising, as is the Gorean way, might be the envy of many slaves who went for higher prices. The slave is grateful for the master, and the master is grateful for the slave. The relationship of female slave and male master, though one established, sanctioned, and enforced by law, is founded obviously on one common in nature, that of, so to speak, the conquered, possessed female and the conquering, possessing male. Indeed, legal bondage is an institutionalization of, and an enhancement of, a natural relationship, the male who, in a very real sense, owns, and the female who, in a very real sense, is owned, as much as a bow or spear. The rightfulness and naturalness of the relationship, so sanctioned by nature, and a thousand generations of selection, often leads to love. It is not unknown, accordingly, for a master and slave to discover, one day, and often sooner than later, that they are in love, that they are now love master and love slave. Let him beware now that he does not become easy with his girl. Indeed, she does not wish that, for her love for him is that of a slave.

“Surely you were not serious, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima. “This man would have slain Lord Nishida, he fled, he brought foes to our camp, he is a spy, he fought against us!”

“You would have permitted me to depart?” said Licinius.

“Yes,” I said.

“Surely not!” exclaimed Tajima.

“If so,” said Licinius, “I beg the sword, its quickness, its mercy!”

“No,” said Tajima.

“Will the knife do?” I asked Licinius.

“Surely!” he cried, gratefully.

“Never!” said Tajima. “What are you doing?” he said.

I had slashed away the straps binding the ankles of Licinius, and he struggled to his feet.

“Into the trees,” I instructed him, indicating the direction.

Gratefully he turned, stumbling toward the woods.

“Wait for the Ashigaru,” said Tajima.

“I dislike ugly deaths,” I said to him.

“Tajima’s hand was on the hilt of his gently curved sword.

“Would you draw against me?” I asked.

“No,” said Tajima. He removed his hand from the hilt of the sword.

I knew he did not fear to do so, even though he were newer to the roads of war than I. I was pleased he was unwilling to do so. How mighty, I thought, are the bonds of friendship. How sturdy stands, too, the banner of honor, even in the tempest, even on trembling ground.

“I must report this to Lord Nishida,” said Tajima.

“I know,” I said.

“Make it last,” said Tajima. “Let it be a thousand cuts. Perhaps Lord Nishida will be satisfied.”

“It is I who must be satisfied,” I said.

“He is your prisoner,” granted Tajima.

I then, the knife still in hand, followed Licinius into the darkness of the woods. He had not run, but was waiting for me.

“Thank you, Warrior,” he said. “Be swift, if you would.”

“You are unarmed,” I informed him. “You are far from villages, even huts. And you know not their locations, or your directions. There are larls in the woods but, hopefully, they are now well fed, and sleeping. You are without weapons and supplies. Many are the dangers in the forest. I do not expect you to survive.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, wonderingly.

“I am cutting you free,” I said.

“Free?” he whispered.

“Others will think you slain in the woods,” I said. “By the time they search for a body, you should be well away.”

He moved his arms, and rubbed his wrists.

“You would have let me depart in peace?” he said. “Truly?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I gave you my word,” I said.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“It is called honor,” I said. “Now, begone, quickly!”

“I will survive,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

He then turned and disappeared into the darkness, between the trees.

In a few moments I had returned to Tajima, Pertinax, and the slave.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “your knife is not bloody.”

“It seems not,” I said, and sheathed it.

“Perhaps you broke his back or neck, or strangled him,” said Tajima.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I will send Ashigaru to recover the body,” he said.

“Have them wait until morning,” I said.

“Lord Nishida will not be pleased,” said Tajima.

“Have them wait until morning,” I said.

“Very well, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

I then turned to the slave, who was still kneeling, slimly erect, hands down on thighs, head up, in nadu. She had not been given permission to break position.

“You were spared,” I said to her. “You could have had your throat cut, and been thrust from the saddle to the forests below, shortly after the flight had begun, as soon as it became clear there was no obvious pursuit. You were extra weight for the tarn to carry and would thus reduce its speed and shorten its range.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, not daring to look at me.

“But you were spared.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Though only a slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master.”

I did not tell her that now, too, another had been spared.

“You must clearly understand,” I said, “that you needed not have been spared.”

She gasped, in sudden terror.

“No,” I said, “slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

Her situation, of course, had been unusual, for, after the first few moments of her flight, she would have been little more than a hampering burden to the fugitive, and yet he had not disposed of her. She was fortunate. Licinius Lysias had spared her. I had spared him.

Normally, of course, as an animal, and booty, the female slave on Gor has little or nothing to fear as power arrangements and assortments are determined at the points of weapons. She will only have a new rope on her neck, be whip-herded with others on an unfamiliar road, toward an unfamiliar destination, and market, will only find herself in a new cage, pen, or kennel, will have on her neck a new collar, and such things. Indeed, when a city falls, amidst its burning and sacking, free women will often strip and collar themselves, to escape the sword. When it is later discovered they are not branded, they are often severely whipped, but the blood lust, by then, is commonly dissipated, and they are spared. To be sure, they will soon be put under the iron, have transition collars hammered about their necks, and put with other female slaves who will doubtless have their vengeance upon them, switching them and using them as their own serving slaves, as though they might be the slaves of slaves. How eager then the new female slaves, former free women, will be, to be sold, and put their lips to the feet of a male master.

I stepped away from the slave.

“I am thinking of Cecily,” I said to Pertinax.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, is heated, and aroused,” said Tajima.

I nodded. That is not unusual, of course, after battle. It is common then, when the blood has been shed, when the weapons are quiet, when one lifts one’s head and surveys the field, and realizes one is alive, to think of the softness of women, eagerly, even angrily and aggressively. Are they not the prizes of battle? Are they not flesh loot? Are they not, so to speak, lovely morsels, to be seized, to be aligned, to be examined, to be selected forthwith, to satisfy the appetites of masters? After the suppers’ desserts, surely then the slaves who served it. When one has survived it is natural to think of pleasures and playthings. There is a Gorean saying that the female slave is the warrior’s prize, and toy. The needs of males are many and they have their various assuagements, for hunger food, for thirst drink, for pleasure the slave.

I felt it well to remove myself from the proximity of Saru.

She was attractive, and a slave, and I was no more than what I was, a male in the vicinity of a woman who perhaps did not even understand the impact and lure of what she was, a female slave, an impact and lure so much more powerful than that of a mere free woman, indeed, a slave who might not, as yet, even understand fully the meaning of the collar on her neck.

It could, of course, be soon taught to her.

No, I thought, I must leave.

I had little doubt that Cecily would be still within the rope circle, though perhaps now asleep, with some others. Most, presumably, would have been taken from the rope by now. As mentioned, when the slaves are awake, they must be within the circle, grasping the rope. Later, to be sure, Ahn afterward, if not extracted from the circle, the same rope is usually looped and knotted about the slave’s waist. The effect then is rather like a circle which contains a number of smaller circles, each of which encircles the waist of a slave.

I looked about.

A tharlarion snorted nearby.

Beast by beast, over the past Ahn, several of the stampeded tharlarion, now slowed or milling, even grazing, many hemmed in by trees, and snared by brush, had been gathered in. I doubted that more than seven or eight were still missing. Tharlarion are not sleen, panthers, or larls. They leave an easy trail to follow. I did not doubt but what they would be eventually found and returned to the stable, perhaps, with some luck, by noon of the next day.

I looked about.

There was little to do now, here, by the stable.

I was thinking of Cecily. A woman in a collar is very easy to think of. Indeed, it is hard not to think of them, as they are beautiful, and slaves. How lovely to return to one’s domicile and be greeted by an eager, ready slave, who kneels, and looks up, happily, into one’s eyes, and then, humbly, lowers her head, before her master. Perhaps she lifts her small wrists to you, hoping that you will bind, or bracelet, them. Slaves wish to be in the power of their masters, and know themselves within the power of their masters. Soon, with your permission she is in your arms, her lips to yours.

There was to be a feast tomorrow, after the day’s work, as Lord Nishida had suggested. It would probably take place toward evening, even after dusk. After that, the next morning, I had gathered the camp would be abandoned. The plans of Lord Nishida, it seemed, given the discovery of the camp, were to be advanced.

What might be involved in these plans was not clear to me, but I was confident they involved, ultimately, no local objective.

Given the rough, narrow road leading from the camp, cut from the forest itself, muddy, unpaved, deeply rutted, the wagon loads of timber and planking transported almost daily upon it, its direction and such, to the southeast, I conjectured that it would lead to a waterway. There was no large town within hundreds of pasangs. The waterway would drain to Thassa.

Pertinax had spoken, long ago, of the Alexandra.

Pani were unusual in known Gor.

The waterway would provide access to Thassa.

We saw some torches, down the road, approaching, from the central camp.

” Ashigaru,” said Tajima.

“They will be coming for Licinius and you, Saru,” I said. “They will not find Licinius, and will be dissuaded to search for his body until tomorrow, given the darkness, and such. On the other hand they will find you.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do not call men ‘Master’,” said Pertinax, angrily.

“I must,” she said, “Master. I am a slave and must address all free men as ‘Master’, and all free women as ‘Mistress’.”

I was glad Saru understood this. To be sure, I suppose she had encountered few free women since Earth. She may have encountered some on Gor, of course, earlier, when she had thought herself to be masquerading as a slave, before arriving in the northern forests. I supposed, then, she might have, perhaps to her amusement, used the term “Mistress” to some free women, enjoying the supposed pretense. I gathered she had done this well. Had she not she would probably have been leaned against a wall, the palms of her hands on the wall, and had her calves switched. At the time, of course, as she had been entered earlier on an acquisition list, she had actually been a slave, unbeknownst to herself. Had she realized that, it might have given a very different cast to her docility. Indeed, she would have been a slave, though not yet a collected slave, weeks, or more, before her transition to Gor. Thus, technically, in that time she should have been exhibiting deference to the free, addressing free men as “Master,” free women as “Mistress,” and so on. She could not be blamed for this lapse, of course, as she was at that time unaware she was a slave.

I supposed that Mr. Gregory White, now by choice Pertinax, who long ago in the offices, aisles, and corridors of the investment firm might have furtively, yearningly, stolen glimpses of she whom he had taken at the time to be the ambitious, sophisticated, insolent, out-of-reach Miss Margaret Wentworth, so far above him, might have viewed her differently, rather differently, had he realized at the time that she was in actuality no more than a female slave.

And so a slave, how that had been concealed!

And so she, in all her smugness, pretensions, pettiness, and vanity, had gone about, from day to day, conducting herself as usual, taking her cabs, dining in her restaurants, cultivating her potential clients, and such, thinking herself a free woman, not knowing herself only a slave, that she should be fittingly on her knees, head to the floor, before them. Did she not know the slave rope, invisible, was already upon her? It required only that it, at the convenience of masters, be tightened. Had White known this, might he not have conjectured seizing her from behind, holding her helplessly before him, and whispering in her startled ear, “Slave.”

And so her slavery had been concealed, even from herself.

How many women, I wondered, even aside from acquisition lists, and such, are slaves, and do not know they are slaves.

Or do they know themselves slaves, lacking only a master?

How, I thought, might a civilization distort and pervert truth! How it can veil nature and conceal reality! How it can demean one thing and bedeck another, how it can in so many ways flee the serious, mighty, and worthy, and embrace the insignificant, the pathetic, the absurd, and ignoble.

How it can lie, say, about men, and about women.

They are not the same.

She had, as far as I knew, encountered no free women since coming to the northern forests. Few free women frequent the forest. The forest is dangerous, and the men in the vicinity, hungering for slaves, would soon have them in collars.

“Let her do so,” I said to Pertinax. “She must.”

He looked at her, irritably. She was small before him, slight, lovely, desirable, and, deliciously obvious, as she was in nadu, a female.

“Very well,” said Pertinax, angrily. But he then addressed himself to the slave, angrily. “But do not so address me,” he said.

Saru nearly lost position.

Clearly she was uncertain, confused, frightened.

“She must,” I said. “You are a free man. She would be terrified not to do so.”

“She is a slave,” said Tajima. “Understand that. Be kind.”

“Slave,” I said. “Look up, now, meet the eyes of Master Pertinax, good, and now address him as ‘Master’.”

Her eyes met those of Pertinax. “Master,” she said.

I thought that would be a moment that neither of them would forget.

Pertinax turned away, abruptly, angrily. “Very well,” he said.

The former Miss Wentworth, toward whom he entertained such mixed and ambivalent feelings, and intense feelings, kneeling before him in nadu, knees split, back straight, had lifted her head to his, and, tears in her eyes, with trembling lip, as the slave she was, addressed him, appropriately, as “Master.”

I sensed this was one of the most thrilling, disturbing moments in his life, and I sensed that it was one of the most meaningful, and thrilling, moments in her life.

What man does not wish to be addressed as “Master” by a beautiful slave, and particularly by one he wishes he owned, one for whom he languishes? And what woman, kneeling before a man whose slave she wishes to be, does not long to call him “Master”?

I saw he was unwilling to see her as what she was now, a slave.

“Break position,” he said.

She went to all fours, looking up at him.

“Why did you have her break position?” I asked, innocently.

“She makes me uneasy, like that,” he said.

“I understand,” I said. In nadu, as the back is straight, the shoulders are back, and this accentuates the delights of the bosom. The widening of the knees suggests the vulnerability of the slave and displays the softness of the open, exposed thighs. The placement of the palms down on the thighs, apart and down, to the sides, suggests that they will be held as they are, and thus are not permitted to fend or thwart a caress. The kneeling position itself is symbolic of submission. The head’s being up displays the beauty of the master’s property, the beauty of the features, the slenderness of the neck, and such, and, too, of course, in this attitude, the badge of his ownership, her collar, is well exhibited. To be sure, this can differ from master to master. Some prefer the slave’s head to be submissively lowered. The slave’s eyes may or may not be permitted to meet the master’s eyes without permission. This differs from master to master.

It will doubtless be recalled that Saru’s head had been shaved before she was consigned to the grooms in the stable, to assume the duties of a stable slut. That had been several weeks ago and there was now a blondish scrub of hair on her head. I hoped her master, Lord Nishida, would now permit her hair to grow. To be sure, the decision was his.

“Would you like to have a tunic, Saru,” I asked, “or perhaps a camisk, or a ta-teera?”

“Oh, yes, Master,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“I think it may be permitted,” I said.

“I hope so, Master!” she said.

It is interesting, I thought. Though a slave, technically, is not permitted modesty, few slaves are not eager for the merest shred of clothing, at least in public. In private, they may be limited to their collars. Clothing, of course, is at the discretion of the master. Sometimes a slave must perform well, even to be granted a string and slave strip. Many slaves, for example, in the morning, must have the master’s permission before dressing. “Master, may I clothe myself?” Such things help the girl keep in mind that she is a slave. To be sure, few slaves are likely to forget that. Occasionally they may be whipped to remind them, and they may even, themselves, sometimes request the whip, that they be reassured of their master’s attention, and the reality of their bondage.

As there were no free women in the camp, captured from the enemy, and such, I supposed the slaves would be permitted clothing, such as it might be, while serving the feast.

Lord Nishida, I surmised, had been amusing himself at the expense of Pertinax, when he had suggested that Saru might serve nude. There seemed little point now in denying her garmenture, as she had, by now, presumably, been properly instructed as to the nonacceptability of her former attitudes and behaviors, now that she had learned the lessons of the stable, now that she had begun to understand what it was to have a collar on her neck. Her kajira journey had been well begun. If he did have her serve nude, I conjectured it would be merely in order, for his amusement or his information, to observe Pertinax. Would Pertinax avoid looking upon her? Would he look upon her, and, if so, how, obliquely or openly, and, if openly, with disapproval or with, say, the unfeigned interest and delight of a Gorean master? Masters think nothing of nudity in slaves. They are familiar with it. For example, that is how women are sold. They may, however, revel in it, as in admiration of the lines of any fine animal, and, of course, they are likely, given the commonality of species and their maleness, to find it potently arousing, and sometimes irresistibly so. In any event, the matter was up to Lord Nishida. I expected him to have Saru serve clothed. She might, of course, at as little as an expression or gesture, have to reveal her beauty.

“You would like some clothing?” I asked.

“Yes, Master, yes!” she said, fervently.

I smiled to myself.

Usually the clothing permitted to slaves was such as was fit for slaves. Usually there was not much to it, and it was designed to leave few of the slave’s charms to conjecture. The slave did not realize, it seemed, that in many slave garments the slave might seem more naked, given its judicious suggestions and such, than if she were literally stripped. Some new slaves must be whipped from the house, to embark upon an errand, so terrified they are at the scantiness of the garmenture in which they have been placed. Certainly it is a change from the stiff, heavy, ornate, cumbersome robes of concealment, and the multitudinous hoods and veils, of the high cities.

I wondered what Saru would look like in armlets and anklets, in bangles, belled and necklaced, perhaps in a swirl of diaphanous, scarlet dancing silk.

I was sure she might please the senses of a man, perhaps even those of a shogun.

I suspected that it was for such a purpose, ultimately, that she had been brought to Gor.

The Ashigaru approaching from the central camp were now closer.

Saru, on her hands ands knees before Pertinax, cast a glance toward the approaching torches. I sensed she was desperate, and had no idea when she might, again, if ever, have a moment with him. I recalled how she had wanted him to call upon her in the stable, and recalled that he had not chosen to do so. I was sure that she, now well knowing herself a slave, wanted to nestle, collared, subdued, submitted, obedient, in his arms. I suspected she had dreamed of him, even long ago, on Earth. She had selected him, as I recalled, to accompany her to Gor. Too, I had no doubt he had found her excruciatingly attractive, even on Earth, even as a free woman. It was not difficult then to conjecture that he would now find her a thousand times more attractive, and in a thousand ways, now that she was a female slave.

“What are you doing!” he cried, in anger.

Saru was on her belly before him, her hands on his ankles, her lips pressed to his feet, weeping, covering them with piteous kisses.

Pertinax drew back, in fury.

She lifted her head to him. “I want you as my master!” she sobbed. “Be my master!”

“You do not know what you are saying!” he exclaimed. “What is wrong with you? You are of Earth! You are a woman of Earth! Where is your pride, your dignity! Be ashamed of yourself. Shame! Shame! Get up! Get up! You make me sick! You are disgusting! Disgusting!”

She put her head down to the dirt, crying.

“She is not a free woman,” I said to Pertinax. “Do not address her as such.”

“Can you not accept her femininity,” asked Tajima, “her needs, her womanhood, her helplessness, her defenselessness, her desire to submit?”

“Do not impose your values upon her,” I said. “Do you want her to lie? She is a woman. Why can you not accept her for what she is, not what you feel she should be? Are you only interested in women who have adopted, who have yielded to, who have succumbed to, the masculine values prescribed for them by an odious, inhuman, unnatural, self-alienating culture?”

Pertinax regarded me angrily.

“She is not a man, even if you demand it of her,” I said. “Let her be what she is, a woman, and a slave.”

“Let him alone,” said Tajima. “He understands nothing of these things. Let him belittle and shame her, humiliate and scorn her, if it pleases him. Is it not amusing, an exercise in power, though one somewhat cruel? Let him see to it that she is distraught, confused, uncertain, and miserable. She is only a slave, after all. Is this not a pleasant, gratifying torture to which he may subject her? Let him strive to deny her to herself, if he wishes. Let him demand such a denial of her. Let him disrupt and divide her. Let him torture her, as he will. Let him attempt to estrange her from her deepest being and needs, if it pleases him. He is, after all, Master, and she is merely slave. Let him strive then, by tearing and torture, to remake her, in an alien image, in his own image, to force her to discard and surrender herself, and hide herself behind a wall on which he would prefer to look.”

I supposed that the former Miss Wentworth, for years on Earth, had longed for what she felt was missing in her life, for the precious, incredible womanhood which she had only recently found, on Gor, and she was now, it seemed, to be shamed and punished for discovering on an alien world what had eluded her for so long on her native sphere.

“She is scum,” said Pertinax.

“Yes, Master,” wept the slave, at his feet.

“Slut! Slut!” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she wept.

“But surely,” I said, “you find this slut, this bit of scum, of some interest. I suspect you would not mind owning it.”

“‘Owning’!” cried Pertinax.

“Precisely,” I said, “owning.”

“She is worthless,” he exclaimed.

“She was worthless on Earth,” I said. “She is not worthless in a collar. She would go for a price, perhaps better than a silver tarsk.”

“Worthless!” he insisted.

“Doubtless worthless as a female slave is worthless,” I said, “but some men find them of interest.”

“Worthless!” he sobbed.

“But pretty,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, angrily.

“And on Gor,” I said, “you can buy such things.”

“I think you want her, my dear Pertinax,” said Tajima, “and as what she is, and should be, a slave.”

“Is that not what you have always wanted,” I asked, “from the first moment you laid eyes on her, her as a slave?”

“I think your desire was so fierce,” said Tajima.

“Was it not?” I asked.

“She belongs to Lord Nishida,” he said, angrily.

“Yes,” said Tajima, “and she was selected with care, in compliance with a very special order, one requisitioning a particular sort of slave, one worthy of a being a suitable gift for a shogun.”

“More is involved in these matters,” I said to Pertinax, “than intelligence, a lovely figure, a particular coloring of hair and eyes, and such.”

“What?” asked Pertinax, uneasily.

“Dispositions, needs, and latencies,” I said. “Slavers are alert to such things.”

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“They can read the language of the body and eyes, and voice,” I said, “in general, and in given contexts, and situations, sometimes even contrived stimulus situations.”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Perhaps the woman hears the word ‘slave’ or ‘collar’ spoken in her vicinity, seemingly innocently, seemingly inadvertently, it having supposedly nothing to do with her. But someone notes her subtlest response, the slightest alertness, or fear, or hesitation, or such. Perhaps a kajira on Earth, owned by a slaver, briefly, so briefly, by design, arranges a scarf or such and, for an instant, the other woman glimpses a collar. What is her reaction? Is it such as to suggest that she, too, belongs in a collar and, perhaps in her fantasies, has had one about her neck, snapped shut, locked? Perhaps the kajira sees the woman’s awareness, and smiles shyly, even apologetically, before adjusting the scarf, and hurrying away, leaving the woman standing there, astonished, unsteady. Is the glance of the kajira, radiant in her bondage, a hint, or an encouragement, or reassurance? Perhaps she hopes that the other woman, whom she instantly likes, will be found suitable, will qualify for the chains of a slave. Does that glance not say to the woman, however briefly, “I am happy. Are you my sister?” A slaver, of course, perhaps from over a newspaper, or one standing nearby, perhaps on a subway, clinging to a support, or one apparently merely waiting in a corridor or doorway, notes the woman’s reaction. Does it say, in effect, “I, too, belong in a collar. I wish I knew such a man, a man such as you know, lovely sister, one strong enough to put me in a collar. I am a woman. I belong in a collar. I want one!” Too, of course, there are such obvious things as the natural feminine grace of the woman, the width of her love cradle, the betraying movements of her body within her garmenture, the noted movements of her thighs, and such.”

“The Ashigaru are here,” said Tajima.

“Wait, a moment,” I said to them.

“It is dark,” said Tajima to the officer with the men. “In the morning you may search for the body of a scoundrel, in the forest, nearby.”

They would not be likely, of course, to find it.

The officer looked to the prostrate slave.

“Wait, a bit,” I said.

Saru struggled to her knees, before Pertinax.

“I have failed to please you,” she said.

He looked down on her, angrily. “Are you a slave, truly?” he asked.

I smiled to myself. There was clearly no question about the legalities of the matter. His question, I gathered, went far beyond legalities.

“Yes, Master,” she said, not looking up at him.

“Truly?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “A slave may not lie.”

“I find you disgusting,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”

“You are covered with dirt,” he said, “and sweat dampens and streaks the dirt. Tears stain your cheeks. Your body is soiled and foul. You stink.”

“She smells of the stable,” I said.

“I no longer respect you,” he said to her.

“I do not want to be respected,” she whispered. “I am a slave. I am not to be respected, no more than a tarsk. But I do want to be owned, and mastered.”

“You will be,” said Tajima.

I gestured to the officer of the Ashigaru.

He approached the slave and indicated that she should stand. He then said, very sharply, “Lesha!”

Instantly the girl turned away from him, lifted her head, turned it to the left, and placed her small wrists, crossed, behind her back.

Pertinax uttered an angry sound.

In a moment the girl’s wrists were thonged together, tightly, behind her back. A leash was then snapped about her neck, and she was led from the fire, toward the road, toward the central camp.

Pertinax went to the wall of the stable, and, in fury, sobbing, struck it with his fists. There would be dried blood there in the morning.

I then bid goodnight to Tajima and returned toward the central camp, and the hut I shared with Pertinax. Near the hut I removed Cecily, who was asleep, from the rope circle, and carried her, gently, to the hut. I did not awaken her. I put her on a slave mat, at my side. Her tunic had slipped up, about her waist, and I drew it down a bit, and smoothed it. She was an incredibly beautiful slave. She had originally been selected by Priest-Kings to tempt me to the subversion of my honor, and had been, accordingly, with all their wisdom and expertise, chosen with exquisite care to attain that end. She had been chosen to appeal to me in ways of which I had not even dreamed, and, by a parity of design, her own needs and desires had been taken into consideration, and mercilessly exploited, as well, and unscrupulously so, in that she had been selected as one who by her own nature would find herself similarly attracted, and, indeed, helplessly so, and, indeed, as might be a slave before her master. In short, by the devious machinations of Priest-Kings, to forward their own dark purposes, we had been matched to one another, superbly, and helplessly. The plan of Priest-Kings would have succeeded, sooner or later, I was sure, had it not been for the intervention of Kurii, in a raid on Gor’s Prison Moon. She was, of course, in the beginning, when we first became acquainted, in our imprisonment, a free woman. Had she not been, my honor would have not been the least in jeopardy. She was English, as I, and was a student at an Oxford College, as I had once been. She was unusually intelligent, and extraordinarily beautiful. She had been spoiled, and she derived from a wealthy mercantile background with pretensions, mistaken pretensions it seemed, to an aristocratic origin. To be sure, a lovely ancestress of hers had apparently been selected out from the fields in the Fifteenth Century to be a stirrup mistress to a knight, but the resultant, oblique line, as it turned out, was without spurs. This fact, however, seems to have been regarded as negligible to the line in question. It was not important, it seems, that a snapping of fingers might have once brought the lips of a low-born lass to a knight’s boot. In any event, she had been haughty, arrogant, supercilious, refined, and insolent. She had despised men, though on some level had found them fascinating and troubling, and had enjoyed leading them on and tormenting them with her wit and beauty. Too, however, she had had strong slave urges, something of which the Priest-Kings undoubtedly took note. Later, on the Steel World to which the raiding Kurii took us, I brought her into my collar.

I regarded her, but would not awaken her.

Her intelligence was high. Her features and figure were delightful. Her slave needs were overpowering. The slave fires were always ready to spring into flame in her belly. In a fair market I thought she might go for two tarsks or more. Under a man’s touch she was helpless. I was pleased to own her.

She was tired. I would not put her to use.

Pertinax had not yet returned to the hut.

I had little doubt he was wandering about, angrily, trying to sort out a variety of thoughts and feelings, most of which were doubtless troubling. I trusted he would remember to retrieve his Jane, the former Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Gate Towers, near the Street of Coins in Ar, from the rope circle. I did not think she would be pleased with his lateness.

I dropped off to sleep, but later, I am not sure how much later, but it was not yet light, Pertinax returned to the hut, his Jane following him. She was modestly tunicked. To be sure, her neck was in his collar. I wondered if I should have purchased her for him.

I gave no indication that I was awake.

She seemed in a foul mood and Pertinax, of course, given the events of the day, and particularly of the evening, was possibly even less benignly disposed.

“Where were you?” she asked. “What kept you? I spent Ahn in the rope circle! My hands were raw from standing and clutching the rope, under the eyes of the Ashigaru. Too, they dared to look at my legs and ankles! How could they help themselves? You have them bared, you brute! Then we were knelt and we must still cling to the rope! Ahn later our waists were encircled, and we were permitted to recline! Only then we were given gruel and water! I was the last to be freed! The very last! The Ashigaru had even left! Why were you so late! You are never again to keep me waiting in such a fashion!”

“Were you given permission to speak?” he inquired. There was a quiet menace in his tone, and I hoped that the slave was aware of that.

“What?” she said, uncertainly.

He leaped to her and seized her collar, and, by it, with two hands, he held her.

She regarded him, frightened. Never before had he behaved in such a fashion.

He lifted the collar, as he held it, with both hands, and it was tight under her chin, and then she was lifted rudely, stretched, standing, before him. She was then straight before him. She could not get her feet fully on the ground, but, at best, her toes. It was clear she was frightened, and quite uncomfortable. In this fashion a girl may be reminded that she wears a collar, a slave collar.

“Master?” she whispered.

He then removed his hands from the collar, and she stood before him, uncertain, frightened, and docile.

He then put his left hand in her hair, tightly, and, measuring her, carefully, deliberately, cuffed her once, and then again, once with the front of his hand, and then once with the back of his hand. Her head snapped back, and forth. Her eyes were confused, and frightened.

He then turned her about, and tied her hands together behind her back. He then turned her about, again, so that she faced him.

“Master?” she asked.

“Oh!” she gasped, turned and twisted by the force of it, and her tunic had been torn from her.

He then threw her to her knees before him, fetched a whip, and thrust it to her lips.

Instantly, terrified, she pressed her lips to it, kissing it, desperately, fervently, placatingly.

He then cast the whip aside, dragged her on her knees by the hair to a slave mat, and threw her back upon it, supine.

She looked at him, in awe, frightened. “Master!” she exclaimed.

I smiled, for I knew then that she knew she had a master.

He then put her to his pleasure.

Later, toward morning, her hands still bound behind her, she began to thrash, and beg.

I decided that it had not been a mistake to purchase her for him.

Women, I recalled, were the prize of the warrior, and his toy.

“That lovely brat still has to learn her collar,” I had said. She had known herself in a collar, of course, but perhaps she had not realized that the collar of Pertinax in which she had found herself was a true collar, a slave collar.

I heard her whimpering and moaning.

She now knew.

She was lovely.

She was no longer a brat.

She was now a slave.

There might be some consequences for Pertinax, I supposed, given the events of the night. I supposed he might find himself, now and again, perhaps sometimes inconveniently, importuned by a needful slave. But then one can always thrust them away, or cuff them from one’s thigh.

One does what one wishes, for they are only slaves.

In any event, Pertinax had now sensed what it might be, to be a woman’s master.

I had no doubt, despite what he might say, despite possibly even hysterical asseverations to the contrary, that he wanted Saru, and wanted her as what she was, and should be, a slave.

It was light when Cecily, beside me, awakened.

I felt her lips, soft, and tender, on my body.

Pertinax and Jane were asleep, Jane still bound.

“Very well,” I whispered to Cecily.