Witness of Gor

12

I swung back and forth.

About me the cords were tight. It was dank in this place, and utterly dark.

I lay very quietly in the cords, moving only a little to change my position, to twist a bit to my side, to ease the attitude of my bound limbs.

I could see so little that I might as well have been hooded.

I thought I heard, several feet below me, a movement, as though in water.

I was apparently in a net of some sort. With my thigh, and my shoulder, pressing against it, and with my fingers, behind me, I tried to ascertain its nature. It was a stout net. Its cords were perhaps a half inch in thickness. It would doubtless have served to confine something much larger, much heavier and stronger than I.On the other hand, the cords were not coarse. I, or things such as I, would not likely to be burned or cut in it, even if we struggled. It was not woven of those terrible ropes, sometimes used in punishment ties, in which a disobedient slave might find herself swathed from head to foot, ropes within which, in misery, she scarcely dares to move. Its mesh was apparently woven in a regular pattern, either of diamonds or squares, I suppose, depending on one’s axis of viewing it. The sides of these regular diamonds, or aligned squares, were some four inches in length. This mesh was thus capable not only of holding things of my size, and larger, but also things which might be considerably smaller. The softness of the cords doubtless had to do with the fact that some of the net’s catches might be expected to be such as I. I did not think particular consideration would be shown, say, to male prisoners. Our prettiness, obviously, tends to figure in our value. We are seldom, if ever, marked unless there is a purpose to it, as, say, when we are put under the hot iron and branded, say for purposes of identification. It is thought to be stupid to gratuitously mark a slave. Such things may lower her value. Even the dreaded five-bladed slave whip is designed in such a way as to avoid marking the slave in permanent fashion. One need not fear any lessening in discipline, of course, for there is, well within the parameters of protecting the master’s investment, more than enough, far more than enough, I assure you, and from personal experience, which may be done with us. Perhaps a brief remark on nets might be order. I was now enclosed, it seemed, in a general-purpose net, one of a sort which might serve many purposes, perhaps even the transfer of supplies from one side of a chasm to another, or cargo from one ship to another in a net of the soft in which I was now enclosed, it is easy to inspect the contents, to see what is held. This is different from many slave nets, which are often so closely woven that one can scarcely put one’s fingers though the mesh. The point of such nets seems to be to impress on the slave her helplessness, and, as well, to excite the curiosity of passers-by, say, prospective buyers or such, as to the nature of its contents. Similarly some auctioneers like to bring women to the block clothed, which vesture may then, as the bidding intensifies, be pregressively removed. There is also a variety of capture nets, designed with different animals in mind. I confine myself to those which are designed to net slaves. To be sure, they function quite effectively with free women, as well, who, it must be noted, unless surprised in the boudoir or bath, are often impeded by the cumbersome robes of concealment. Interestingly the very robes which are supposed to discourage predation upon them render them more vulnerable to it. Accordingly, ironically, in a given situation, a lightly clad slave, in her fleetness, might elude a captor to whom a free woman would fall easily. And when the “free woman” is capable of matching the slave’s flight, she, too, perhaps being then bedecked in less inhibiting garmenture, it will be too late for her, for, by that time, she, too, will be a slave. The nets I have in mind then are capture nets designed for the taking of slaves, or, perhaps better, more generally, women. They are light, easily cast and weighted. They are commonly circular, with a diameter of some eight to ten feet. The cords are commonly of silk and the mesh is normally fastened in diamonds or squares, some two inches, or so, in width. They swirl, twisting, though the air. It is like a sudden, odd cloud come between you and the sun. One is first aware of the reticulated shadow which seems to descend and then one has it all about one. One is suddenly caught. Usually one is running, and, in an instant, one falls, tangled, helpless. Sometimes one leaps up, only to find it all about one. One tries to tear it away. One forces it in one direction to be the more helplessly grasped by it in another. Then, commonly one falls, or one’s feet may be kicked away, from beneath one. One looks up through the mesh and sees one’s captor. In an instant then one may find the net secured about one, tied closed. One is its prisoner. Or one may be pulled from the net, and bracelted, or secured as the captor wishes. It is up to him, as you are then his. I have suggested that the slave, given her garmenture, is more likely to elude a captor then a free woman, which is surely true, but it is necessary to add that it is, of course, a relative matter, and one of degree. Neither the slave nor the free woman has much hope once, in a suitable situation, the hunter-has decided upon her. We are smaller than he. We are weaker then they, we are less swift than they. It is thus that we find our place, and have our place, in the design of nature, whatever may be her mysterious purposes. Nets are, of course, buy one way of acquiring women. Looped ropes, for example, are extremely common. Bolas are not unknown, too. Indeed, in the southern hemisphere, I understand that they are extremely common. I think I would fear to be taken by such a thing, it whipping about my legs, pinning them together. More cruelly the women is sometimes stunned by a throwing stick, a method which is used, I have heard, in a place called the delta of the Vosk. The Vosk, I gather, is a body of flowing water, a stream, or river. Similarly, chains, hoods, and such, too, have their purposes.

I lay very still in the net.

It was damp, and cold, in this place.

The free woman does have one advantage, of course, over the slave, in eluding capture, which is that she is not a domestic animal. For example, let us suppose that a given city has fallen, and that effective resistance within it is at an end. In such a situation, where a male might expect to continue the pursuitof a free woman, who is, after all, at that point, still a free person, he might not wish to tire himself pursuing a slave. He might simply, rather, instruct her to halt, and command her to him, ordering her to present herself for his chains, or his bracelets or binding fiber, and thong and nose ring. The slave might then, if she is wise, hurry obediently to her new master. Has she not been commanded? Does she dally at the wall, against which she has been trapped? Does she hesitate in the room, within which she has been cornered? Is she not a slave? Must a command be repeated? She kneels at his feet, putting her head down, humbly licking and kissing his feet, perhaps his dusty, ash-stained, bloody boots, in timid, tender obeisance. Does she not now have a new master? And is it not he? Must she not hasten to her place at his feet, summoned even as might be another form of domestic animal, perhaps by a mere word, or whistle? She dares not disobey. She knows what might be the penalties for such. She is a domestic animal. She now, merely, has a new master. She kneels before him, submitted. She accepts, unquestioningly, as she must, her new bonds.

I heard again a movement below me, something like a twisting, a stirring, in water. It was, I conjectured, several feet below me.

I conjectured that I might be suspended over what might be the sump of a fortress.

I did not know.

Perhaps, rather, it was some sort of pool or reservoir.

I did not know.

Certainly it must be deep beneath the fortress, or city.

I twisted a little. My ankles were bound, tightly, to one another. My wrists were still secured behind my back. I was helpless. I had no hope of freeing myself. When men such as those of this world tie a woman, she remains tied. I had learned that weeks ago in the pens.

One of my first lessons in the pen was to have been bound hand and foot, and then ordered to free myself. I had then, while watched, twisted and struggled from more than an Ahn. Then at last I had wept, in futility, “Forgive me, Masters! I cannot free myself!”

“Do not forget it,” said a guard.

“No, Master,” I wept.

I had then expected to be freed, but they had left me as I was, helplessly bound, past the time of the evening meal and throughout the night. They freed me in the morning and I was permitted to relieve myself and crawl on all fours, as I could, my muscles and limbs stiff and aching, with the other girls, hungry, to my pan of morning gruel.

What was I doing here, I wondered.

I was to be a pit slave, it seemed, whatever that might be.

“the “pit master” was spoken of as “the Tarsk.” I did not understand the allusion.

Given the length of my descent, from which my body was still sore, I must be far beneath the fortress, indeed, or perhaps far beneath the city, as the descent had often seemed an oblique one. I could be hundreds of yards from the vertical axis of the tower.

The “pit” or “pits,” I thought, must be near here. Surely I was at least in their vicinity.

It was dark here, and cold.

what was I doing here?

Why had I been purchased, and by men who, it seemed seldom bothered to purchase women, preferring, it seemed, to acquire them in other manners?

Why did they wish a girl here who was ignorant, or muchly so?

I did not want to be here.

I was supposedly beautiful. But of what use would be my beauty, if beauty it was, in this place, in the pits?

Too, I was supposedly quite vital, unusually so, it seemed, even for this world. My vitality, my sexuality, had, of course, been disparaged, belittled, denied, and starved on my own world. I had kept it concealed, hidden. I had even tried to be ashamed of it.How strange was my world, one on which one was expected to pretend to numbness and insensitivity, one on which one was conditioned to be ashamed of health. Women who had feelings such as mine for men were to be denounced with all the epithets available to the anesthetic, to the perverted, to the freaks and frustrates. Did we really constitute such dangers, I wondered, to the pervasiveness and mightiness of their eccentric conditioning programs? Was it not enough for them to exercise an almost perfect control over media and education? Did they fear a tiny whisper of truth so much? Was it truly so dangerous? Must all reflection, all inquiry, all thought be suppressed? Was it truly required that the “free marketplace of ideas” be closed, except in name? What a tiny, small thing were the genetic codes of an organism! One could scarcely detect the traces of such things with the most awesome instruments. What a frail straw was truth! So a blade of grass grew between the paving stones, one tiny, green blade of grass among the stones? Did they fear that so much? Grass is so beautiful. It did not seem to me that feelings such as mine were really so threatening to prescribed “movements.” Did it really make it so difficult for them to continue to present their particular interest as though it were the general interest? Surely I was not stopping them from doing that. Could they not even find little truths amusing, they so weak and tiny, lost among all the littering, massive lies? Who could fear them? They were so tiny, those little truths. But perhaps they were right. Perhaps even little truths are dangerous. A match may be seen from far off in the darkness. The tiniest of sparks might imperil a mountain of straw. So, too, perhaps even a modest truth, no stronger to eons of history, might undermine the myths of a world. Did the moons of Jupiter not shatter the crystalline spheres? Destroy telescopes then, for they might see the truth. They see too far, and too clearly. They look too deeply into reality. Did not a handful of fossils overturn a world? Let men then not examine the earth beneath their feet, for they might learn on what it is that they truly stand. How insidious the modest, recurrent elements of a healthy organism, the components of a natural biological development. How subtle, how insistent and quiet, and yet how tenacious a foe of promulgated perversions are the whims of nature,that she should choose to be so constituted. But nature cannot read. Thus she does not know what she is supposed to be. She is content to let others read her, if they dare. How odd if we should truly be the end of history, if our tiny grasp of things, our demands flung into the void, should be the finality of the universe. Are we, familiar with the rise and fall of empires, who have witnessed the building of the pyramids and walked the streets of Babylon and Nineveh, who have heard the tread of the legions and watched the armada set forth, to take our moment, our brief afternoon, to be the summit and meaning of eternity.

And so I was supposedly quite vital, unusually so, it seemed, even for this world. I was a palimpsest, with texts concealed beneath texts. On this world what had been written on me on my world, to obscure the underlying truths, had been scraped off, the dross scraped away to reveal the suspected, now-revealed, infinitely more precious message beneath.

How liberating it was for me to come to this world, where I might, at last, be myself, as I truly was!

To be sure, vitality is expected in a slave. In markets, we may even be tested for it. It is not only, you see, that a profound sexuality, an acute sexual sensitivity, an uncontrollable responsiveness, is permitted in a slave; it is required in her. It is one of the things for which we are purchased. We are slaves, you see. We are not free women.

But of what use would my vitality, if such it might be, be in this place?

I wanted to feel the arms of a guard upon me. I wanted to lie, moaning, in his arms. But instead I lay cold, and bound, in a net.

I twisted, and sobbed.

“There is someone there!” announced a voice, a woman’s voice, from somewhere to my right, in the darkness.

“Yes,” I said, startled.

I heard the creak of a chain, to the right.

“I knew something descended into the net,” she said. “I thought I heard it.”

I turned, as I could, in the net, toward the voice. “It was I,” I said.

“You are in the power of these brutes as well?” she asked.

I was silent. I did not know who was there in the darkness. I heard the chain creak once more.

“You are in the power of these creatures as well?” she asked.

“Totally,” I said.

“Are you chained?” she asked.

“I am bound,” I said, “hand and foot.”

“They bind us well, do they not?” she inquired.

“Yes!” I said.

“I am imprisoned,” she informed me.

That intelligence seemed strange to me, as it seemed her voice was quiet near me. To be sure, I could not see in the darkness.

“I am soon to be free!” she assured me.

I was not certain as to how to interpret this remark, issuing from the darkness, from this unknown source.

“How I despise these fools!” said the voice.

To such a remark, of course, I did not dare reply.

“How poorly they treat us!” she cried.

I did not dare respond.

“Have they treated you well?” she asked.

“I have been whipped,” I said. Indeed, I had been twice whipped.

“Poor thing!” she cried. “You must be of low caste!”

I was silent.

“They would not dare to whip me!” she announced.

I thought the speaker might profit from a whipping.

“You have an unusual accent,” she said, suddenly.

“I am from far away,” I said, evasively.

“Are you clothed?” she asked.

“Please!” I protested.

“The beasts!” she said.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“In the pits,” she said. “I think somewhere beneath the keep, somewhere beneath the fortress. I truly do not know. This place is a labyrinth!

“What ransom are they asking for you?” she asked, suddenly.

I was silent.

“It will not be as high as mine,” she informed me.

“You are from far off?’ she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you know in what city we are?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I was brought here, my features wrapped in my own veils!”

I decided I should not dare to speak further to her, even in what seemed to be our common predicament.

“How were you brought here?” she asked.

“My features, too, were obscured,” I said. Need she know that I had, in much of my journey, worn a slave hood?

I was becoming very uneasy with our conversation.

“None of these beasts have so much as glimpsed my features,” she averred.

I could make no such claim, of course. I was, and had been, public to men; I belonged to them; I was subject to their regard and whim; I had been exposed as frequently and routinely, and, I suppose, as naturally and as appropriately, as any other sort of domestic animal. Indeed, but I bit before, I had performed for men, before the dais, providing them not only a glimpse of my beauty, if beauty it was, but with an authentic, detailed, lengthy, provocative display of it, an exhibition designed to leave little to conjecture concerning at least the externals of whatever interest I might hold for them. It seemed I could have done little more unless I had stood chained on a sales platform, to be literally handled as the curved, tender little beast I was, or had perhaps been conducted behind the purple screen to be tested in a more intimate fashion. In such exhibitions, in such performances, movement, grace and rhythm are, of course, quite important. It is the moving, living, breathing, vital woman which is of interest. One must not only look beautiful, you see, but one must be beautiful.

“Such, I gather,” said she, “has not been the case with you.”

“No,” I said.

“Men have looked, then, upon your face?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“They would not dare to look upon mine!” she said.

I was silent.

“And have they seen more than that?” she asked.

“I am naked,” I admitted.

“Poor thing!” she cried. But I think she was pleased to have been concretely apprised of this intelligence.

“You, too, are at their mercy!” I exclaimed, trying to sit up in the net.

“No, no!” she cried. I heard a rattling, as though the bars. I thought she must, then, be clutching them, and shaking them. She seemed frustrated. I heard the bars shaken again. I heard, too, the creaking of a the chain from the right. Below me, too, if I was not mistaken, I heard again, a stirring, in the water. Somewhat below, perhaps, had surfaced, or approached, hearing the sounds above.

“I am of high caste!” she cried. “I should not be here thusly, so held, so humiliated!”

I was silent.

I lay back in the net, bound.

“Men are fools!” she cried.

It was she, of course, and not they, who seemed to be in some sort of confinement.

“They are fools!” she wept.

The men I had seen on this world did not seem to me to be fools. Indeed, they seemed to be anything but fools. By the force and intellect in them I had often felt awed. They did make many men of my world now, in this perspective, seem fools. Here men seemed assured of themselves. They had not been confused, and bled, and subverted, and crippled, by a sick society. Here they had never surrenedered their natural, bestial magnificence.

“How I hate men!” she cried. “How I despise them!”

I would certainly not respond to this. Indeed, what if she were a spy, set to examine me, perhaps even, cruelly, to trap me into some insolent inadvertence, trying to tease from me some careless, thoughtless, prideful, idly arrogant remark? Too, of course, more importantly, I did not, in fact, hate the men I had found here, nor did I despise them. If anything, I tended to admire them, and feel grateful toward them. Too, they tended to excite me, as a female, as few men of my old world had. To be sure, I did regard them with a healthy respect, even fear. They were, after all, the masters.

“But what could one such as you, of low caste,” said the voice, “know of one of my sensitivity and nature? How could one such as you understand the feelings of one such as I?”

“Only with great difficulty, if at all, doubtless,” said I, perhaps somewhat testily.

“But have no fear,” said she. “I will be patient with you. We are, after all, despite the discrepancies in our caste, sisters in sorrow, in misery and grief.”

I was silent.

“We have in common our precious freedom,” she said.

I did not respond to this. To be sure, I was confident that she was in some sort of confinement, and I lay bound and naked, in a net. But I did not doubt she had in mind some more serious sense of freedom, and one that made me uneasy. From things she had said, I had little doubt but what she was, in a sense important on this world, “free.” On the other hand, in a sense also important on this world, and doubtlessly more profoundly important, I was not “free.” It was not merely that I had a collar on my neck, close-fitting and locked as it might be, and a brand on my thigh, lovely and unmistakable, put there deeply and clearly for all to see. Nor was it even that my nature was such as to put me helplessly, lovingly, and appropriately at a man’s feet. It was rather that in the full legalities of a world, in the full sanction of the totality of its customs, practices and institutions, in the fullness of its very reality, I was not free. I was an animal, a property, a slave.

I had had little, if anything, to do with free women. I had encountered two of them earlier, in the pens, and not pleasantly. I had briefly, as I recall, recounted the nature of that interlude elsewhere. I did know that an impassable gulf separated me from such lofty creatures, an unbridgeable chasm, one of the same immeasurability that separated the lowliest of domestic animals, which slaves were, from the heights and glories of the free person.

“What is your caste?” she asked.

I was silent.

“Mine is the Merchants,” she said.

“That is not a high caste, is it?” I asked. I heard conflicting things about the Merchants.

“It certainly is!” she cried.

I was silent.

“I would take you to be of the Leather Workers,” she speculated.

I did not respond.

“Or perhaps, less,” she said, “you are one of those boorish lasses from the fields, that you are of the Peasants.”

Again I did not respond.

“That is doubtless it,” she said, seemingly satisfied.

The Peasants were generally regarded as the lowest of the castes, though why that should be I have never been able to determine. The caste is sometimes referred to as “the ox on which the Home Stone rests.” I am not clear as to what a Home Stone is, but I have gathered that it, whatever it might be, is regarded as being of great importance on this world. So, if that is the case, and the Peasants is indeed the caste upon which the Home Stone rests, then it would seem, at least in my understanding, to be a very important caste. In any event, it would seem to me that the Peasants is surely one of, if not the, most significant of the castes of this world. So much depends upon them! Too, I am sure they do not regard themselves as being the lowest of the castes. In fact, I doubt that any caste regards itself as being the lowest of the castes. It would seem somewhat unlikely that any caste would be likely to accept that distinction. Perhaps many castes regard themselves as equivalent, or at least, as each being the best in diverse ways. For example, the Leather Workers would presumably be better at working leather than the Metal Workers, and the Metal Workers would presumably be better at working metal than the Leather Workers, and so on. One needs, or wants, it seems, all castes.

“Yes,” she said, “you are of the Peasants.”

I was silent.

I trusted she would not fall into the clutches of peasants. I understand that they are not always tolerant of the laziness and insolence of arrogant, urban free women. They enjoy using them, when they obtain them as slaves, in the fields. I wondered how the women in the darkness would feel, sweating, harnessed naked to a plow, subject to a whip, or crawling, perhaps hastened by the jabbing of a pointed stick, into a dark, low log kennel at night. But perhaps she would be permitted to sleep chained at her master’s feet, within reach, at his discretion. But I feared it might be dangerous to speak to this person. To be sure, we were both in the darkness. But she was free. I was not free.

“Do not be sensitive that you are only of the Peasants,” said the woman. “There is much to be said for the caste.”

“Yes,” I said. “Those who eat are often thought to owe it a debt of gratitude.”

“Surely,” she agreed.

That seemed to me quite generous on her part.

“You were doubtless picked up on a country road,” she said, “perhaps ravished in the nearest ditch.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I myself was the victim of an elaborate plot, and intricate stratagem to secure a highborn prize for ransom.”

“Oh?” said I.

“As you are merely of the Peasants,” said she, “you must fear, terribly.”

“Why is that?” I asked not that I was not afraid. I was a slave. “They may not hold you for ransom, you see,” she said.

I was silent.

“I hesitate to call this to your attention, but you must face the possibility, my dear,” she said. “These men are brutes, powerful brutes! They may have another fate in store for you, one we dare not even thing of!”

“What?” I asked.

“How obtuse you are, my dear,” she said.

I did not speak.

“You are of low caste,” she said. “Surely you can guess.”

I was silent.

“The collar!” she whispered.

I was silent. I was relieved, muchly. I had feared, from her tone of voice, and such, that she might have had something else, something dreadful, in mind, such as being thrown to a six-legged carnivore of the sort which I had encountered on the ledge, or on the surface of the tower. But I did not think I would have to fear such a thing unless I proved to be displeasing, and I had no intention of being displeasing, at least if I could help it. Not only was I determined to be pleasing, if only as a matter of simple prudential consideration, that I might not be whipped or slain, but I genuinely, authentically, sincerely wanted to be pleasing. Something in me, from the time of puberty onward, had wanted to serve men, and love them, helplessly, and fully. Yes, I admit it, and on this world the admission costs me naught! I want to please men! Denounce me if you will but I am such! But, too, perhaps you know not men such as are on this world! In their presence I find myself docile, submissive, and obedient. Let their free women rant at them, contradict them, and attempt to make them miserable, for whatever strange reasons might prompt them to do so, but before them, before such men, I am only, and can be only, a slave.

“Yes,” whispered the voice in the darkness, “the collar!”

But I already word a collar! I could feel it, even now, on my neck, it was a state collar, I had been informed. I was not eager to be owned by a state, of course. I would have preferred to be owned by a given man, a private individual. I wanted to be a treasure to a man, and to love and serve him, with all my heart. Perhaps if I were very pleasing, he would not beat me, or sell me.

“Because of my rumored beauty,” said she, “there was no dearth of ardent fellows who would compete to be my swain. Many gifts I had from them. And I gave nothing! One lesser known begged me to attend a rendezvous in a jeweler’s shop, one which had put recently opened its doors in the city, that I might there pick for myself the finest of a dozen ruby necklaces, which he would then purchase for me. And as he would be a secret swain, one who accosted me from time to time amasked, purportedly that the elevation of his birth not be betrayed, the rendezvous was to be clandestine. My curiosity was piqued, naturally. And when he showed me a sample of the sort of necklaces in question, I feared my head was turned.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I would meet him at the new shot, that very afternoon, secretly,” she said. “I did not even have my palanquin borne there, but descended from it at a park, ordering my bearers to await me. I then made my way afoot, by circuitous, devious paths, though it was more than a quarter of a pasang, to the shop.”

I did not think that that was very far, though, to be sure, I was not really familiar with linear measurements on this world.

“In a rear room in the shop, shut away from the sunlight and bustle of the street, he met me amasked, I veiled. In this room, in the lovely light of golden lamps, were the dozen necklaces displayed. I knew the worth of such objects. I was muchly impressed. I selected the largest, and finest, of course.”

“Please, continue,” said I.

“It contained more than a hundred rubies,” she said.

“Please,” I said.

“May I place it about your neck?” he asked. I saw no harm in this, it being done, of course, over my robes and veils. And he did so. It would have been hard fro me to do it myself, you understand.”

“Of course,” I said.

“There was a mirror in the room, and I could see him behind me, as well as sense him there, as he put the necklace about my neck, and closed its clasps. I had never been necklaced by a man before. There seemed something unsettling in it, somehow, the tiny click of the clasps, and such.”

I was silent.

“I continued to gaze into the mirror. How beautiful I seemed! And how strikingly lovely, too, was the necklace, in its numerous, softly shining strands. And he was still close behind me, quite close. I felt uneasy. I could not understand this feeling. A soft sound, a gasp, I fear, escaped me. He was so near. I even felt weak. ‘It is pretty,’ I informed him, lightly. ‘It pleases me that it pleases you,’ said he. His voice sounded very deep, very strong. He was close behind me. Then he put his hands on my upper arms. I saw him holding me, thusly, in the mirror. I wavered in weakness. Perhaps the room was close. I knew that if he chose, I was in his power. But It was unthinkable, of course, that he might press his advantage, perhaps even to the alarming extent of touching his lips to my shoulder. He was a gentleman, surely. Yet he seemed very close, and very strong. Should a gentleman seem such? It did not seem so. He made me feel uneasy. I resolved not to like this sensation. I decided that I would teach him to respect a woman. He would be reminded of the behavior which was expected of him. I would put him in his place. I would taunt, and torment, him.‘Perhaps you would care to be rewarded for your gift,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you would like me, for a moment, to lower my veil,’ I said, ‘that you might glimpse my features.’ ‘Dare I hope for so much?’ he said. ‘No,’ I said. ‘And unhand me!’ I said, sternly, sharply.Instantly he removed his hands from my arms, and stepped back. I thought that a fleeting smile crossed his features, but I must have been mistaken. I again regarded myself in the mirror. I was truly quite beautiful. ‘I will leave no,’ I said. ‘Of course,’ said he.”

“You did not thank him for the necklace?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Such things are owed to such as I from such as he.”

“And you did not, even for an instant, lower your veil?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” she said, angrily. “What do you think I am?”

I was silent.

“I am a free woman,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I went through the shop, to the street outside. Fortunately, a public palanquin was nearby, no more than a few yards away. I was pleased. Thus I need not walk, and perhaps soil my slippers in the public streets. With a gesture, my swain summoned it from me. He gavea coin to the first bearer. I somewhat impatiently awaited my swain’s hand, that he might graciously assist me into the palanquin. He did so. I then reclined within the palanquin, adjusting my robes and veils about me. I would not so much as glance at my scorned swain. Let him suffer, tormenting himself as to how he might have displeased me. I had the necklace, and so it did not matter whether or not, really, I saw him again. The transaction had been a profitable one from my point of view. On the other hand, I did find the buffoon of interest. And he must be rich, for he had afforded such a necklace. And, indeed, who knew what further largesse one might obtain from such as he, particularly if one handled such matters cleverly, what further rare and precious encouragements such as he might lavish upon me, to woo my favor? My favor, I assure you, would not be easily won, if at all. Let the necklace be but the first of a succession, I thought, of ever richer and more hopefully, more desperately proffered gifts, the first of many similarly tendered inducements. In such a way, I might make clear to him, he might hope to add some weight, some charm, perhaps even some persuasiveness, to his entreaties. And his mask suggested he must be highborn, perhaps one of the highest born in the city. There would then be, I speculated, even should I deign to permit the relationship to develop, no difficulty, or impediment, with respect to caste. One must be careful about such things, you know. Surely he had tried to conceal his identity, that the shame of my rejection, which he surely must have realized he might risk, not be too publicly broadcast. He would come back, of course, for doubtless he was smitten by me, as a man may be by a highborn free woman. After all, I was not one of those curvaceous, scarcely clad little sluts whose job it is to attend, and with perfection, to a man’s baser instincts. Such meaningless slime is easily come by. It may be purchased cheaply in any city, even at many a crossroads.”

“Yes,” I said. Many of us were doubtless not expensive. I did not even know how expensive I might have been, had it not been for some special characteristics pertaining to me, in particular my newness to the world, and my consequent ignorance, conjoined with an adeptness in the language unusual for so new a slave. To be sure, I was supposedly quite pretty, and I was certainly, sometimes to my chargrin, extremely helplessly sexually responsive. Such things, too, might have improved my price. I did not know, of course, what I had cost. I did not think I had come too cheaply, but, too, perhaps, my price had not been to dear. I really did not know.

It had been conjectured, above, that I might easily be a “silver-tarsk girl,” but I did not really understand what that might be. The “silver tarsk” to whoever sold me, but all this was not that illuminating as I had no clear idea of the values involved. I had gathered, however, that it would be a good price for one such as I. And this price, I gathered, had much to do with what was coming to be in me, I feared, an easily aroused, quickly ignited, uncontrollable, unrestrainable passion. And my beauty, too, if beauty it was, I suspposed, would not be likely to reduce my price either. I trust that the reader, if this ever finds a reader, or readers, will not be shocked by this sort of thing. Just as men will buy one animal for speed, perhaps for racing, and another for strength, perhaps for draft purposes, they will buy another for beauty and passion, for the purposes of their compartments and furs. To some extent this still disturbed me, but I recognized my helplessness in these matters. It was not only that I knew I must well please a master, and heatedly respond to him, if I did not wish to put my life in jeopardy, for I was owned, but that I could not have helped myself. Men had done this to me. I was now theirs. Let those who can understand these things understand them. Let those who cannot understand them not do so. What other choice have they?

“And it did not matter,” said she, “what his caste might be, assuming it was high, for I was of the Merchants, one of the highest of castes, there being none higher, I insist on that, saving perhaps that of the Initiates.”

I knew little or nothing of the Initiates, but I had heard that such as I were not allowed in their temples, lest we profane them. Normally, if our masters attended their services, we would be chained, or penned, outside, along with other animals.

“So,” said she, “whatever his caste, assuming it was high, of course, it would be practical for us to contemplate a companionship, and if his caste should be thought higher than mine, however mistakenly, I could, in such a relationship, be thought to raise caste. Why should I not, in virtue of my beauty, attain to the highest castes, assuming the Merchants was not already regarded, correctly, of course, as such-yes, to the very highest of castes, saving only that of the Initiates, of course.”

It seemed clear to me that she did not really believe, whatever might be her protestations, that the Merchants was a high caste. She would be only too eager, it seemed, to “raise caste.” What had love to do with such things, I wondered. Why should she wish to raise caste? Surely that was not truly important. Caste considerations seemed to me artificial, and rather meaningless, except as they tended to reflect sets of related occupation. Suppose there was something to caste. Why should she feel herself entitled to raise caste? What was special about her? Why should a Merchant’s daughter aspire to a higher caste? With what justification? Why should she be permitted to raise caste? Why should she not look for love in her own caste, or in a lower caste? Why should she not look for love wherever she found it, regardless of caste? But then, I was not Gorean. She was a free woman, of course, she could bargain, plan and plot to improve her position in society. How different from a slave. The slave’s position in society is fixed, as fixed as the collar on her neck. She cannot sell herself, but is sold. She must serve the humblest master with the same heat, devotion and perfection as the administrator of a city. In fact, I have sometimes wondered if the existence of kajirae on this world does not contribute to its stability. The man who has everything from a woman is not likely to be dissatisfied, cruel and viciously ambitions. He tends to be happy, and happy men are not likely, on the whole, and absent serious provocations, to disrupt society. And the slave, of course, hopes to find her love master, whom she desires in the fullness of her femininity to serve submissively, diligently, gratefully, and joyously, he who will care for her, and love her, and treasure her as a slave of slaves. It is to his whip she wishes to be subject. In all their tenderness he will never let her forget whose collar she wears, and she loves him for it, his strength, and his gift to her, fully and uncompromisingly mastering her.

I wondered if in the free women, so haughty there in the darkness, there was any femininity, or a woman.

She seemed to have no sense as to what it might be to be a woman. Doubtless her ransom would be paid, and she would never learn.

Had she no slave in the cellars of her heart?

Had she no concept as to where her true happiness might lie?

“Yes,” she said, “to the very highest of castes-saving only that of the Initiates, of course.”

The Initiates, as I understood it, were celibate, or putatively so.

“Oh, yes! He would come back!” she said. “He was smitten with me! But I would not so much as glace at him now, I reclining in my palanquin. Let him tremble. Let him suffer! The palanquin seemed a sturdy sort. It was he, of course, who would close its shutters. ‘Doubtless you will bring a high ransom,’ he said. ‘What?” I said, turning quickly toward him. The doors of the palanquin swung shut. I heard two bolts slide into place. It suddenly seemed extremely quiet in the palanquin. I rose to my knees and pounded on the door. I could hear my pounding very clearly but could hear little or nothing from outside. I was suddenly extremely frightened. The palanquin lifted. It began to move. I lost my balance. I wept. I recovered my balance. I cried out. I scrambled about the palanquin, pounding on the sides, the ceiling, the surface of the couch. It continued to move. I did not know to whence it was being borne. I was wild inside it, like a trapped animal. I called to the bearers. It seemed they could not, or would not, hear me. I screamed, my cry wild in the palanquin, reverberating within it, hurting my ears. But such a cry, I suddenly suspected, might not even be audible outside the palanquin. I tore away the hangings inside the palanquin. Behind them was iron. It was doubtless layered, insulated, and baffled. Outside, visible from the outside, would be the lacquered wood of the palanquin, it giving no hint as to what was inside. I lunged, and pressed, against the shutters of the door. They were, too, beneath the silk, torn away, of iron. Their construction was doubtless the same as, or comparable to, the construction of the sides. They were closed, and locked. I put my fingers to the margins of the shutters. They were fitted closely into heavy linings of leather. I could not begin to move them. I flung aside the cushions of the palanquin. I tore aside the coverlets. I thrust back the mattress. The flooring, too, was of iron. I tore the silk from the ceiling. It, too, was of iron. In it, as in the walls, were tiny baffles, doubtless such as to admit air, but soften, or preclude, the exit of sound waves. I knelt on the floor, pressing upward. I could budge nothing. I screamed again. I called out. I threatened. I promised rewards! I cajoled! The palanquin continued to move. It turned from time to time. Perhaps we were in less traveled streets now, side streets. I grew hoarse with calling out. I could now scarcely speak. The finger tips of my gloves, and the palms of them, were worn and soiled from pressing the hard surfaces about me. My gloves were expensive. They would be ruined. They were even torn at the knuckles. And my knuckles within them, and the sides of my fists within them, hurt, from my pounding on the sides, the floor and ceiling of the palanquin. It turned again, and continued to move. I thrust down the mattress and the coverlets, twisted as they were, and knelt on them, and pounded them, in frustration, in futile rage. I then, exhausted and miserable, threw myself to my stomach upon them, weeping.”

“Go on,” I said.

“I was in an iron box,” she said, “being carried away.”

“You were helpless,” I said.

“For the first time in my lift,” she said. “The palanquin was apparently later placed on a wagon, doubtless covered over, and thusly was I removed from the city. I eventually fell asleep and, doubtless Ahn later, I awakened. The palanquin must have been removed from the wagon. The doors opened, and a voice said, ‘Come forth.’ I crept to the edge of the palanquin, to the threshold. It was dark outside. I was in some sort of ruined barn. I could see though its sides, and roof. We were somewhere in the country. The moons were full. A rope was dropped over my head and drawn closely about my neck. By its means I was drawn from the palanquin. One man then stood behind me, he who held the rope by means of which I was kept in place. I was then, other than for the fellow behind me, standing before my captors. There were, altogether, six or seven of them. He who had lured me to the shop was there, and still masked. It was he who was most prominently before me. It was he, it seemed, who was first among them. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ I demanded. ‘You cannot get away with this!’ I cried. ‘You will pay for this!’ I cried. ‘Release me!’ I demanded. ‘Keep your mouth shut,’ he said. He said that to me, a free woman! ‘I will do as I please!’ I said. ‘Do you wish to keep your clothing?’ asked one of the men. Another laughed. ‘I am a free woman,’ I whispered. The fellow in the mask, whom I had foolishly taken as a smitten swain, seemed to be regarding my figure, in the moonlight. Shadows fell across me from the ruins of the barn. Doubtless he was free and could respect me, as I was free, as well. But it made me uneasy, to see him look at me, regarding me in the moonlight, in the shadows, from head to toe. ‘Whatever the ransom you wish,’ I assured him, ‘it will be paid, promptly.’ ‘Let us strip her,’ said one of the brutes, ‘and have her serve us, keeping her as a slave, until the ransom is paid. None will know. And she, in her vanity, will never speak of what was done to her.’ I could not move, for the rope on my neck. ‘No,’ said another, ‘and if she dared to do so, she would doubtless be remanded to the pens, for sale outside the city.’ I trembled. You can well imagine my terror, at the thought of being at the mercy of such beasts! Can you imagine? I, a free woman, to be kept as a slave? I am not such! The thought of it was unconscionable! I wavered. I almost fainted at the thought. ‘You see,’ said one of them, ‘she desires so to serve!’ ‘No, no!’ I cried. They laughed. How could they so misunderstand my responses? ‘You would oil, juice and gush, naked, your beauty in chains,’ said another. ‘No!’ I cried. ‘You would hasten to serve, once having felt the lash,’ said another. I almost swooned. ‘No, no,’ I murmured, scarcely able to speak. ‘Interesting,’ mused their leader. Did he, too, misunderstand my responses? ‘I am a free woman!’ I cried. But then I drew back, in terror, for he in the mask, their leader, had produced a knife. But I did not want to press back against he behind me, either. I stood where I was, frightened, the rope on my neck. Then I did shrink back, for the knife approached me. “Please!” I protested. I felt its point move though my robes, their layers. Its point was at my lower abdomen. Then, with a quick lateral motion, I crying out a little, it opened a slit in my robes, perhaps a mere hort or two in width. ‘Keep your hands to your sides,’ said the leader of my captors. The knife, its point, was within my robes. Then it directed itself toward me. I felt the point press lightly, twice, against my lower abdomen. “Please!” I wept. The point came forward a little, I pressed back, against the captor behind me, literally against him. I was pinned against him, by the point of the knife. My head was up, from the rope on my neck. ‘Does she have a belly?’ asked one of the men. ‘Oh!’ I said. I wince. ‘It would seem so,’ said their leader, he in the mask. The men laughed. ‘It is a pretty one?’ asked a man. ‘Let us see,’ said another. “Hands at your sides!’ I was sternly warned by the leader. I felt the knife turn within my robes, its blade upward. From the manner in which it had earlier parted my robes I knew it was extremely sharp. With one upward diagonal movement I had little doubt it could part my garments, with one stroke revealing me from my lower belly to my throat. I sobbed. I tensed. The knife was removed from my garments, and sheathed. I quickly put my hands over the tiny rent in my robes, and then adjusted them, that it would be covered. One of the men uttered a sound, as of disappointment. ‘Hands to your sides,’ my captor reminded me. I put my hands again to my sides. The rent was now well concealed, as I had adjusted the robes. ‘The value of a slave can only be adequately ascertained when she is utterly bared,’ said my captor, ‘but the value of a free woman, one for whom a ransom is requested, is often the better preserved the more her modesty is respected.’ ‘True,’ said a man. Unaccountably I was angry. ‘Keep your hands to your sides,’ said my captor again. I complied. I then felt a broad band of leather put about me. It was quite snug, and it was buckled behind me. Within it, my arms were helpless. It also had, as I later learned, a ring in the back, by means of which I might be attached to various objects, such as other rings or stanchions. I then stood before them, in this confinement. The rope was still on my neck. ‘What ransom shall we ask for you?’ inquired my captor. ‘I am priceless,’ I said. ‘Nonetheless,’ said he, the beast, ‘we shall think in terms of a finite amount.’ ‘Armies will search for me!’ I said. One of the men laughed. ‘But doubtless there will be a search,’ said another. ‘Have no fear, lady,’ said my captor. ‘We have a place in mind for you, an excellent place, one for your safekeeping, where no one will ever find you.’”

At this point she desisted in her discourse and I heard, in the darkness, an angry, futile rattling of bars. I also detected, again, the creaking of a chain, as though some object, suspended on it, might be swinging back and forth. I did not know in what sort of incarceration she was, of course, but I did not doubt, from what I knew of this world, that it would be effective. I also heard a churning below us, the water. The sound must have excited the curiosity of something down there.

“He then put his hands to my head,” she continued, “I helpless before him, confined in the broad band of leather, held in place by the rope on my neck. His hands were at my veil! ‘No!’ I cried. His hand removed the pins. He held the veil in place. ‘No!’ I begged. I was helpless! He could face-strip me at his pleasure! ‘You did not care, as I recall,’ he said, ‘to lower your veil, that even for an instant your features might be glimpsed.’ ‘No!’ I sobbed. These words reminded me, of course, of my own, in the shop. I was terrified. His hands were on my veil. He could remove it, in any fashion he might wish, at any time he might wish. ‘If you do not wish your veil lowered,’ said he, ‘then let it be raised.’ He then lifted my veil upward and bound it about my face. In moments, the veil and other cloths, I was blindfolded. A cloth, too, over the veil, was drawn back between my teeth, deeply, and tied, within my hood, behind the back of my neck. I was thusly gagged. My hood then, too, was drawn forward, over my features, and tied beneath my chin. The rope remained on my neck. I was lifted from my feet, and sat upon the wooden floor. To my horror my hose and slippers were removed. ‘She has pretty feet,’ said a man. ‘Like a slave,’ said another. ‘Yes,’ said another. I drew back my feet, but a man crossed them, the right over the left. They were then lashed together, with the hose. ‘The slippers are rich, and intricately embroidered,’ said the leader. ‘Doubtless there is not another such pair in the city. They will be easily recognized. They will serve as token that she is within our power.’ Then said the leader to me, ‘One whimper means “yes,” and two whimpers means “No.” Do you understand?’ I whimpered once. There is apparently a code in such things.”

This was true. Such a convention was, as far as I knew, commonly observed on this world. At any rate I, who had been fitted with, and subjected to, and had learned to endure, a considerable variety of gags, and mouth bonds, in my training, was familiar with it. It had been taught me as early as my first gag. I understood, of course, that such things might well not be familiar to free women. To be sure, they are not stupid, no more than other women, and can be taught them quickly. Most slaves, after all, doubtless, were once free women. One interesting from of gag is being “gagged by the master’s will,” in which the woman is simply forbidden to speak, except, of course, for whimpers, in response to direct questions. One may also be “bound by the master’s will,” in which case one must keep one’s limbs in a given position, perhaps wrists crossed at the back of one’s head, as though they were literally bound, forbidden to separate them without permission. I do not know why one whimper is used for “Yes,” and two for “No.” It is probably because one usually thinks of such responses, for whatever reason, in terms of “Yes” and “No,” rather than of “No” and “Yes.” It does not seem to be correlated with the greater frequency of affirmative to negative responses to questions. For example, “Do you wish a blanket in your cell?” is likely to elicit a piteously affirmative response, whereas “Do you wish to be lashed?” is likely to elicit one which is earnestly negative.

“The rope was removed from my neck,” she said. “I was then lifted in the arms of someone. ‘We expect you to be cooperative,’ I was informed by the leader. His voice was from before me, so it was not he in whose arms I was held. ‘If you are not cooperative, or choose to be troublesome,’ he continued, ‘your clothing will be removed, and you will be lashed, as though you might be a slave. Do you understand?’ I assumed he was bluffing, but with such a man, with such men, such beasts and brutes, I could not be sure. I whimpered once. ‘Take her away,’ said the leader. I sobbed, and whimpered, and struggled, but it was to no avail. I was later placed in a trunk of some sort, I think. I heard the latches fastened. Indeed, I thought I heard, as well, the closing of four heady padlocks. This was placed on a cart. Several times I was transferred from one container or vehicle to another. I was ungagged only in darkness and then to be fed and watered. More than once I was aerially transported.”

I, too, at least once, had been so transported. Well I recalled my helplessness, the whistling wind, swaying of the basket. It would be by air, it seemed, in one fashion or another, one would most likely arrive at this place, this apparently remote aerie. She had claimed to be clothed. I supposed it true, but in the darkness I did not know. She must be fortunate. Certainly most of the women I had seen brought here, when I was in the cell in the side of the mountain, had been brought here as stripped, or scantily clad, captives. Slaving, it seemed, was part of the business of this place. On this world, as I have indicated, women count as loot. Perhaps the women were then transported beyond the mountains, to far markets.

“Often did I recall,” said she, “how they had spoken of having a place in mind for me, one for my safekeeping, one in which no one would ever find me!”

I heard her shake the bars in the darkness.

“Oh, yes!” she cried. “Here I am surely theirs! Here I need not fear rescue!”

I thought it true.

“Where is the ruby necklace?” I inquired. I thought it must be very pretty, and of great value.

“They left it on me, the sleen,” she cried, “until I arrived here. It was their joke, I think, that I should wear, fro all to see, hung about my neck, when I arrived here, what I had sought so avidly, so greedily, that with which they had baited their trap, that by means of which I had been snared, that in virtue of which I had come so simply into their power! But, their joke finished, it was removed from me before I was put here.”

“You do not know where it is?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Perhaps it is now once again at its work. Perhaps, even now, it is being used to snare another.”

“They are clever wretches!” she cried, suddenly. Again I heard the movement of what must be bars, shaken. She wept.

It seemed, indeed, she had been deftly, and cleverly, taken. The men here, it seemed, were not unskillful in diverse endeavors. Many businesses might be herein practiced. Certainly her acquisition, the arrangements, her transportation and such, spoke of a tried methodology, of some sort of experience or acumen in such matters. I gathered that she was rich. Her ransom, I speculated, would be considerable. It would doubtless be far more than she, or, I supposed, almost any woman, would be likely to bring on a sales block. If that were not the case, it seemed unlikely that the men here would be holding her for ransom. Rather, they would simply sell her, perhaps individually, or in a lot, with others. She was, it seemed, a free woman. I myself, on the other hand, was the sort of woman who is most appropriately owned. I had known this, even on my old world. And here, on this world, I was owned. To be sure, I would have preferred a private master. You might think, incidentally, that all of us would prefer to choose our own master, and not merely a private master, but an individual master, but that is not true. I think I would have preferred to choose my own master, but that is perhaps whom I had knelt even before my body had grown used to bonds of iron, one whom I had never forgotten, one whom I had failed to please, one whose whip I had kissed. But some of us, at least, would prefer not to choose our own master, but, rather, to have one imposed upon us, whom we must then, in the fullness of our bondage, willing or not, strive to please. Indeed, had I not met a particular man, one I well remembered, I, myself, might have preferred this latter alternative. I did, of course, hope to have a kind master, or, at least, one as kindly as was compatible with the clear, strict relationship in which we stood to one another. I wanted to win the love of my master, whoever he might be. I asked only the opportunity to serve and love. I was waiting to serve and love. But, in any event, it is not we who choose the masters. It is the masters who choose us.

“Hist!” she said, suddenly. “Someone is coming!”

I sat up, as I could, in the net, my hands bound behind me, my ankles crossed and tied. The net swung.

I heard nothing.

I saw nothing.

I was very still. I strained to hear. If she had truly heard something, her senses must have become considerably sharpened in this environment. To be sure, she might have learned, somehow, to detect and interpret the slightest of sounds in such a place. I did hear a stirring in the waters somewhere beneath. I had heard that sound before.

I thought I saw a light, dim, far off.

What would be done with me?

I recalled that the man in the chair had speculated that Dorna, the high slave, would not be displeased with my disposition. That recollection did not hearten me.

Closer grew the light.

“He is coming,” whispered the woman from the darkness. I heard the slight creak of the chain.

It seemed to me that at least two were in the passage, but it may be, I thought, that only one counted.

of what use, I asked myself, would be my beauty, if beauty it was, or the helplessness of my sexual reflexes, taken as a matter of course in a slave, in a place such as this?

But doubtless I would be assigned my duties!

The light came closer.

I did not even know my name! I had a name. One had been given to me by my masters. But I did not know what it was. It was on my collar. I knew that. But I did not know what it was. Indeed, I could not even read.

Now I could hear tiny sounds, unusual sounds, in the approaching passage.

I shuddered, waiting, bound in the net.

I recalled the girl from the surface, a slave, who had been whipped and sent, plunging, into the depths. She was terrified. I had no doubt she would do her best to be found pleasing.

The light was now closer, and I could determine, clearly, that there were two figures in the passage. The first was a woman, in a brief tunic. No more than a rag. She was excellently curved. She was doubtless a slave. She carried a torch. I was not sure what was behind her. I did not even know, for certain, if it were human or not. It seemed large, broad thing. But it had tiny legs. It walked bent over. I did not know if it could straighten itself or not. It less walked than shambled. It moved with small steps.

I blinked against the light. It was now bright, contrasting with the precedent darkness.

The woman continued to approach.

The thing, whatever it was, with its small steps, its lurching gait, came shuffling, shambling, behind her, snuffing, sniffing, and grunting. It was not, I surmised, human.

The woman stopped.

She now stood a few feet from me, behind a low wall. This wall was apparently circular. My net, I know discovered, was suspended almost over the center of what appeared to be a large, circular, well-like enclosure. The enclosure was perhaps some sixty-five to seventy feet in diameter. The water, several yards below, was very dark. I saw that my net had some ropes attached to it, which extended to a wall behind the walkway where the woman stood, behind what appeared to be the exterior wall of the well-like structure. I heard a creak of chain to my right, and I looked there, quickly. It was from that direction that I had heard the voice of the free woman earlier. I gasped. There, a few feet to my right, there hung, suspended from heavy chain, fixed in the ceiling, a narrow, conical-topped, cylindrical cage. It was perhaps some six feet in height, and some two to three feet in diameter. In this cage, standing within, veiled, in robes of concealment, was a woman. The arrangement of the veils suggested that they were merely tied about her features, and not pinned. Her robes of concealment seemed soiled and, at the hems, were torn. Her small hands grasped the bars of the cage. It was these she had, it seemed, futilely tested from time to time. She did not have gloves, which must have cost her modesty somewhat, but I did not find this surprising. From time to time, her wrists might have been corded before her, or behind her, and men on this world seldom, as I understand it, put bonds over such things as gloves or hose. They prefer on the whole, it seems, to place bonds upon, and to check and test their knots, the arrangement and such, on the bared limbs themselves. In this approach one obtains greater security, of course, as layers between the bonds and the flesh are avoided. I recalled her slippers had been, by her own account, taken from her to be used as evidence of her capture. Too, as I recalled, her ankles had been bound with her own hose. That sort of thing is not unusual. Indeed, the guards in the pens had said that free women were eager to oblige their captors, for they carried about with them, for the convenience of the captors, their own won bonds, one stocking for the ankles, and the other for the wrists. The free women pulled their feet back, a little more under her robes. She was doubtless terribly distressed that her feet were not covered. She was not, after all, a slave. Slaves, I might mention, are often kept barefooted.

“What is that on your neck?” suddenly cried the free woman. “I see it though the cordage of the net! It is glinting! It is a collar! You are a slave, a slave!”

I was too frightened to answer her. I had not told her that I was not a slave, of course. On the other hand, I had not corrected her misapprehension as to the matter. I hoped this would not count as lying. We can be punished terribly for lying.

“Lying slave!” she screamed.

“No, Mistress!” I cried. “Please, no!”

“Oh, you are a well-curved slave!” she cried, angrily. I hoped she would not hold this against me. What could it matter to her, a free woman, if I might bring a good price on the block?

“Deceptive, deceitful slave!” she cried.

“No, Mistress!” I said.

“Well-curved, lying slave!” she screamed.

“Forgive me, Mistress!” I begged.

“Beat her! Beat her!” she called toward the walkway, that behind the wall.

“Please, no, Masters!” I called over my shoulder.

“Deceitful, deceptive, well-curved, lying slave!” screamed the free woman.

“Forgive me, Mistress!” I wept.

“See her ears!” suddenly cried the free woman. “They are pierced!”

the torchlight, doubtless, had reflected from the tiny objects, dropletlike, with their steel pins, which were fastened in my ear lobes. The tiny pins, studlike, had snapped into small disks on the other side. I did not think that these things were intended to be so much ornaments in themselves as devices by means of which to guarantee that the penetrant channels wrought in my body by the worker’s needle could not, even in the healing of the flesh, close. They must remain open, held open by the tiny posts about which the wounds would heal, which posts could later be removed, their work done. And thus it was that portions of my body were made such that they would be ready later, at a master’s convenience, should he so desire, for the affixing of ornamentation. Even so, of course, the devices made it rather clear that my ears were pierced, as they were.

“Beat her!” screamed the free woman.

“Please, no, Mistress!” I begged.

Then I turned back, blinking against the light, for I felt myself, in the net, by means of ropes, being lowered, and being drawn toward the wall.

I did not want to be beaten!

The net neared the wall. The light was very bright.

“Close your eyes,” said the woman with the torch.

I closed my eyes, gratefully, against the light, but, too, of course, I was frightened. The light hurt my eyes. But, too I wanted to see. But, of course, I had no choice. I had been commanded. I must obey. I am a slave.

I felt the net drawn over the low wall and then I was on the walkway, supine in the net, behind the wall. I could sense the torch, reddish, though my closed eyelids. Its radiated warmth was welcome. I lay on the stones. I heard a sniffing and shuffling, a grunt. I shuddered, my eyes closed. I felt the toils of the net being drawn aside.

“Let us see what the object looks like,” said a slurring voice, scarcely human in sound. “Oh, it is a pretty object.”

I felt something large, almost pawlike, brush back my hair. I felt my head turned, from left to right, and back.

“Its ears are pierced,” said the slurring voice.

“Yes,” said the woman.

They had apparently now determined by actual inspection, at close range, that my ears were indeed pierced, that the objects in view were not otherwise affixed, held in place by, say, clips, or tiny plates, tightened with tiny screws.

“A pierced-ear girl,” slurred the voice.

“Yes,” said the woman.

“You are a pierced-ear girl,” said the voice.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, my eyes closed.

“You are so low?” it asked.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“You may open your eyes,” said the woman.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the light. I could see her fairly well, standing over me, the torch lifted. She was a brunette, and indeed shapely, and beautiful. She wore a ta-teera, a slave rag. On her neck was a collar. It was narrow, and close-fitting, like mine, this is the sort of collar found most frequently on this world’s numerous kajirae; most of us wear it. I could not well see the features of the large, shaggy head which hung over me, as the light was behind it. I knew it could speak. But I did not know if it were human or not. I was sure, whatever it was, it was free. It was the woman behind it, in the collar, the torch lifted, who was slave.

“Untie her ankles,” said the voice, and the thing straightened itself a little.

The woman placed the torch in a holder on a nearby wall, near the exit of the passage.

She then crouched down, near my feet. The large, bent thing stood before the torch. I could see only the misshapen shadow, like something between a boulder and an animal.

“You need not look upon his face,” she whispered to me, “unless commanded to do so.”

“Mistress?” I asked.

“He does not care to have his face gazed upon,” she said.

“Is he a beast in the service of the pit master?” I asked.

“He is the pit master,” she whispered. “All here who are slave are as though his. In the pits his word is law for us. He is to be obeyed with perfection in all things, instantly, uquestioningly, with no appeal. He is here, in this place, as master.”

“Master,” I whispered, frightened.

“Yes,” she said. “That is the power he has here, total power over us, in all ways, the power of the master! We are his, fully, to do with as he pleases.”

“The state is my master,” I whispered.

“Here,” said she, “he is as the state.”

I trembled.

“This is his world,” she said, “the pits, the darkness. He has power here not only over such as we, but over the prisoners, as well.”

“Prisoners?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “And thus is order kept in this place.”

“Is he human?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“What are you saying there?” asked the slurring voice, almost like that of a beast.

“Nothing, Master,” she said.

“Nothing?” asked he.

“It is only the meaningless drivel of a slave,” she averred.

“What have you said to her?” asked he.

“Only little things,” she said. “She may desire to live.”

“Are you untying her ankles?” asked he.

“I bend to my task, Master,” she said.

She knelt by my ankles, bending forward. Her small fingers struggling with the knots. They would not be easy to undo. They had been jerked tight by a man.

“Wait,” said he.

“Master?” she asked.

“Does she appear to you sensitive, extremely feminine, even high strung?”

I looked up at the slave, startled.

“Yes, Master,” responded the slave, after a moment, thoughtfully.

“Are her ankles still tightly bound?” he asked.

“Alas, yes, Master,” said the slave, frightened.

“Desist in your efforts to free her, for the moment,” said he.

“Yes, Master,” said the slave.

“You are a newcomer to our world, are you not?” it asked.

“Is she not of the Peasants?” called the free woman from her cage, angrily, suspended of the dark waters.

But none paid her attention.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“But you have learned to call men ‘Master’?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“This world is very different from yours, is it not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“But you are learning to fit in, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master!” I said.

“And you belong in a world such as this, do you not?” he asked.

“I fear so, Master,” I whispered. It made no sound.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“And as what you are?”

“Yes, Master,” I said. It was true.

“Your ankles are tightly tied, are they not?” he asked.

I moved them, a tiny bit. How helpless I was! How tight the cords were!

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Before her ankles are untied,” he said, “let her look upon my face.”

“Yes, Master,” said the slave at my ankles.

I half reared up, my hands bound behind me.

“Courage,” whispered the slave, rising to her feet. She went to the torch behind the beastlike figure and removed it from the holder. He approached me, his face in darkness. I moved back a little. I could feel the toils of the net beneath me. How terrifying to be a slave! How helpless we are! His face was now close to mine. The woman then brought the torch forward, so that it was, lifted, a little behind me, near the wall. In this fashion were the features of the pit master illuminated.

I screamed, and tried to scramble back, bound as I was. His hand, on the bound ankle, drew me forward, over the net, on the stones. I twisted and thrashed for a moment, and then, in misery, in disbelief, looking up, past the torch, toward the recesses of the ceiling, lay still. I felt his heavy, pawlike hand. It moved about. I shuddered. “She has smooth skin,” he said. He then put a hand to my hair and, by my hair drew me up, sitting, before him. In my hair his hand was tight. I did not complain. A slave is not a free woman. She does not expect to be handled gently. I did not wish to be cuffed. I kept my hands closed, desperately. He drew my head forward, closer to his. I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. I sobbed. I gasped. Burning tears forced themselves from between my tightly pressed eyelids. “Open your eyes, it said. I could tell that it was not pleased. His hand was now cruelly tight in my hair. I was well held. My ankles fought the cords on them. My hands were tied behind my back. I could not press him away, or even try to do so. I could not leap up. I could not run. He tightened his grip yet more on my hair and, instantly sobbing, I ceased to struggle. I held as still as I could. The least movement would have caused me excruciating agony.

“Courage!” whispered the female slave.

“Must a command be repeated?” he inquired.

“No, Master!” I whispered.

I then opened my eyes and now, for the first time, confirming the horror or my earlier, briefest glimpse, looking fully upon the features of the pit master.

It was in the power of this ting that I was!

A convulsive shudder overcame me.

I lost consciousness.