by John Norman
He was the sort of man who was to be obeyed, immediately and perfectly.
I loosened my robe and sat down, cross-legged, on the cushion before the table. I picked up a piece of the yellow bread.
“Oh, no, Mistress,” said the girl, putting out her hand. “That is how men sit. We are women. We kneel.”
“I will sit,” I told her.
“Mistress understands, surely,” said the girl, in misery, “that I must make reports to Ligurious, my master.”
“I will kneel,” I said.
“That is much more lovely,” said the girl, approvingly.
I then began to eat, kneeling. This posture, to be sure, though I do not think I would have admitted it to the girl, did strike me as being much more feminine than that which I had earlier adopted. Certainly, at least, it made me feel much more feminine. I wondered if there was a certain rightness to women kneeling. Certainly we look beautiful, kneeling. The posture, too, at least if we are permitted to keep our knees closed, permits us a certain modest reserve with respect to our intimacies. Too, it is a position which one may assume easily and beautifully, and from which it is possible to rise with both beauty and grace. To be sure, the position does suggest not only beauty and grace but also submissiveness.
This thought troubled me. But then I thought that if women should be submissive, then, whatever might be the truth in these matters, such postures would be appropriate and natural for them. In any event, the posture did make me feel delicately and exquisitely feminine. I was somewhat embarrassed, to be sure, by these feelings. Then it suddenly seemed absurd to me that I should be embarrassed, or should feel guilty or ashamed, about these feelings. I think I then realized, perhaps for the first time, fully, the power of the conditioning devices to which I had been subjected. How strange, and pernicious, I thought, that a woman should be made to feel guilty about being feminine, truly feminine, radically feminine! What a tribute this was to the effectiveness of contemporary conditioning techniques! In the world from which I came sexuality was not an ingredient but an accessory. Here, on the other hand, I suspected, men and women were not the same.
Indeed, it seemed that here I would be expected to assume certain postures and attitudes, and genuinely feminine ones, perhaps merely because I was a woman. In this world it seemed that sexuality, and perhaps a deeply natural sexuality, was an ingredient, and not a mere accessory. It might be at the very core of this world. An essential and ineradicable element in this world appeared to be sexuality, with its basic distinctions between human beings, dividing them clearly into different sorts, into males and females. In a world such as this I realized that I might not only be permitted to express my natural, fundamental nature, but that I might be encouraged to do so. This was a world in which my femininity, whatever it was, and wherever it might lead, was not to be denied to me. I glanced at the whip on the wall. On this world, I suspected, I might even be given no choice but to be true to my sex, and fully. For a moment this made me angry.
Surely I had a right to frustrate and deny my sex if I wished! If I was afraid to be a woman, truly and fundamentally, with all that it might entail, surely I should not be forced to become one! Yet I knew that in my heart I felt a sudden, marvelous surge of hope, a sense of possible liberation, that I might here, on this world, be freed, even if I were placed in a steel collar, to be what I truly was, not merely a human being, but the kind of human being I actually was, a human female, a woman.
“Mistress’ drink is cold,” said the girl. “Let me have it reheated or fetch you a fresh one.”
“No,” I said. “It is fine.” I lifted the small, handleless bowl in two hands. I was excited that she had had used the word “fetch.” She was the sort of girl who might carry or fetch for a Master or a Mistress.
“No, Mistress,” said the girl. “You are a woman. Drink more delicately.”
I then sipped from the bowl.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said. “That is more feminine.” I then realized, even more profoundly than before, how deeply sexuality must characterize and penetrate this culture. The differences between men and women were to be expressed even in their smallest behaviors. What a significant and real thing it is in this culture to be a man or a woman.
“This is warmed chocolate,” I said, pleased. It was very rich and creamy.
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.
“It is very good,” I said.
“Thank you, Mistress,” she said.
“Is it from Earth?” I asked.
“Not directly,” she said. “Many things here, of course, ultimately have an Earth origin. It is not improbable that the beans from which the first cacao trees on this world were grown were brought from Earth.”
“Do the trees grow near here?” I asked.
“No, Mistress,” she said. “We obtain the beans, from which the chocolate is made, from Cosian merchants, who, in turn, obtain them in the tropics.”
I put the chocolate down. I began to bite at the yellow bread. It was fresh.
“Perhaps Mistress should take smaller bites,” she said.
“Very well,” I said. I then began to eat as she had suggested. I was a woman. I was not an adolescent boy. Again, even in so small a thing as this, I began to feel my femininity keenly. Too, again, I became very sensitive of the depth and pervasiveness of the sexuality which might characterize this world. Men and women did not even eat in the same way.
“Exceptions can occur under certain circumstances, of course,” said the girl. “Mistress might, for example, in the presence of a man she wishes to arouse, take a larger than normal bite from a fresh fruit, and look at the man over the fruit, letting juice, a tiny trickle of it, run at the side of her mouth.”
“But why would I wish to arouse a man?” I asked.
The girl looked at me, puzzled. “Perhaps the needs of Mistress might be much upon her,” she said. “Perhaps she might wish to be taken and overwhelmed in his arms, and forced to surrender to him.”
“I do not understand,” I said, as though horrified.
“That is because Mistress is free,” she said.
I had understood only too well, of course. But I was terrified to even think such thoughts.
“Slaves, I suppose, occasionally have recourse to such devices,” I said. I was eager to learn.
“A device such as that with the fresh fruit,” she said, “is more appropriate to a free woman. We do have at our disposal, as slaves, however, a number and variety of begging signals, such things as groveling and moaning, and bringing bonds to him in our teeth, wherewith we may endeavor to call our needs to his attention.”
“Begging signals?” I said.
“We are at the complete mercy of our masters,” she said.
“Are the masters then kind to you?” I asked.
“Sometimes they consent to content us,” she said.
“How horrifying to be a slave,” I said.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said, putting her head down, smiling. I saw that, again, she was answering me in the fashion in which, doubtless, I wished to be answered, doubtless with deference to my dignity, status or freedom. Sorely then I envied her her collar. My feelings now began to alarm me. I decided that it would be safest to change the subject.
“Where are the spaceships?” I asked.
“Spaceships?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I do not know,” she said. “I have never even seen one.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Has Mistress?” she asked.
“No,” I said. I gathered that Susan, like myself, had been brought to this world unconscious. We knew nothing, or almost nothing, of how we had come here.
“The people of this world have very little evidence,” she said, “that such things even exist. The only evidence they have, for the most part, is that of certain objects brought from Earth.”
“Objects?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Usually girls, in chains.”
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br /> “You refer to them as ‘objects’?” I asked, horrified.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said. “They are slaves.”
“I see,” I said.
“This world is, as Mistress will discover,” said the girl, “on the whole a very primitive and barbaric place. Do not expect to see complex machines and spaceships.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I do not even think that such ships are housed on this world,” she said. “I think they merely visit it, from elsewhere.”
“Surely men must come and go between here and Earth,” I said.
“Perhaps, Mistress,” she said. “But I know nothing of it.”
“Have you no hope of returning to Earth?” I asked.
“Look at me, Mistress,” she smiled. “I am half naked. I am branded. I am collared. I do not think I was brought to this world to be returned to Earth.”
“But surely you wish to return to Earth,” I said.
“No, Mistress,” she said.
“But you are branded and collared,” I said. “You are a slave!”
“It is my lot, Mistress,” she said. “I am not discontent.”
“But, why?” I asked.
“There are true men here,” she said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“A thousand times better a collar on Gor than freedom on Earth,” she said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“That is because Mistress is not a slave,” she said.
“May I call you ‘Susan’?” I asked.
“Of course, Mistress,” she said.
“You need not call me ‘Mistress’,” I said. “You may call me ‘Tiffany’. “
“No, please, Mistress!” said the girl, turning white. “Please, no!”
“Very well,” I said. I saw that she was under some strict and superb discipline.
“At the very least,” I said, “I want us to be friends.”
“No, Mistress, please,” she said.
“But you are a girl from Earth,” I said. “You are an American. I am an American.”
“Please, no, Mistress,” she begged.
“You are from Cincinnati, Ohio, in America,” I said.
“I am a female slave,” she said.
“Why can we not be friends?” I asked.
“You are free, and I am only a slave,” she said.
I looked at her.
“I will try to serve Mistress well,” she said. “Whip me, if I do not please you.”
“Very well,” I said. I thought that I was now beginning to understand something of the discipline under which slaves might be held. I wondered what it would be like to be under such discipline. I shuddered.
“Does Mistress enjoy her breakfast?” asked the girl.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” she said.
“Susan,” I said.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said.
“This seems to be a very sexual world,” I said.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said.
“Are women safe here?” I asked.
“No, Mistress,” she said. “Not really.”
“You said earlier,” I said, “that I was very beautiful.” She had seen me naked.
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.
“Do you think that men here, on this world, might find me of interest?”
“Do you mean really of interest,” she asked, “as a female slave?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Will Mistress open her robe?” she asked.
I did so.
“Will Mistress please stand and remove her robe, and let it dangle from one hand, and turn, slowly, before me?”
I did so. I waited, inspected.
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.
I nearly fainted in fear, terrified, but not a little thrilled by this insight.
“Mistress would look well being sold from a block,” she said.
Hastily, frightened, I pulled the robe on again, and belted it tightly.
“But I think Mistress has little to fear,” she said.
I regarded her. In the girl’s view, in some respects at least, as I had just learned, I was not unsuitable for slavery.
“Why?” I asked.
“You are well guarded,” she said. “Your quarters, even, are in the palace of Corcyrus.”
“This is the palace? There are guards about?” I asked.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said.
“I am frightened by your master,” I said.
“I, too, am frightened by him,” she said.
“No doubt our fears are quite silly,” I said.
“No, Mistress,” she said.
“No?” I asked.
“No, Mistress,” she said. “Our fears are fully justified. They are quite appropriate.”
“Do you think he wants me?” I asked. I was terrified of Ligurious.
“I do not think so,” she said.
“Why?” I asked, puzzled.
“If he wanted you,” she said, “by now you would have been branded. By now you would be in his collar. By now you would have been chained naked at the foot of his couch. By now you would have felt his whip. By now you would have learned to beg to serve him.”
“Oh,” I said.
“It is not that he does not recognize your beauty,” she said. “That any man could see at a glance.”
“Oh,” I said, somewhat mollified. I would have been outraged, or something in me would have been outraged, if I had not been thought worth a chain. I was sure I could prove to a man that I was worthy of a chain.
“His interest in you, merely, does not appear to be in that way,” she said. “Too, of course, he has many beautiful women, and is a busy man.”
“Many beautiful women?” I asked.
“Slaves,” she said.
“More than you?” I asked.
“I am only one of his girls,” she laughed, “and I am surely one of the least beautiful.”
“How many slaves does he have?” I asked.
“He is an ambitious and abstemious man,” she said. “He worked long hours in the service of the state. He has little time for the meaningless charms of slaves.”
“How many slaves does her have?” I asked.
“Fifty,” she said.
I gasped.
“Perhaps Mistress would like to finish her breakfast,” said the girl.
I knelt down before the small table, as I had been taught. I was trembling.
Here, as I had just learned, one man might own as many as fifty women.
“Mistress is not eating,” said the girl.
“I am not hungry,” I said.
“Am I to report to my master, Ligurious,” asked the girl, “that Mistress did not finish her breakfast?”
“No,” I said. “No!”
“Every bit of it, please, Mistress,” said the girl.
I nodded. I ate. I felt like a slave.
Then I had finished.
“Excellent, Mistress,” said the girl. “I shall now dress Mistress. I will teach her the proper garments, and their adjustments, and the veils, and their fastenings. Then it will be time for her lessons.”
“Lessons?” I asked, frightened.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said.
“What, sort of lessons?” I asked, apprehensively.
“Lessons in language,” she said. “Lessons in our habits and customs. Lessons in the details of the governance of Corcyrus.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Tiffany Collins,” I said.
“No, Mistress,” she said.
I looked at her, puzzled.
“Put that identity behind you,” she said. “Regard it as being gone, as much as if you were a slave. Prepare to begin anew.”
“But, how?” I asked. “What am I to do? Who am I to be?”
“That much I know,” smiled the girl. “I know your new identity. M
y master has told me.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“From this moment on,” said the girl, “accustom yourself to thinking of yourself as Sheila, Tatrix, of Corcyrus.”
“Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus?” I said.
“Yes,” said the girl.
“What is a Tatrix?” I asked.
“A female ruler,” she said.
I looked at her, disbelievingly.
“It is a great honor for me,” said the girl, “to serve the Tatrix of Corcyrus.”
I trembled, kneeling behind the small table. The brief robe of yellow silk did not seem much to wear. I was afraid of the world on which I found myself.
“Who are you?” asked the girl.
“Sheila?” I said. “Tatrix of Corcyrus?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please say it, Mistress. Who are you?”
“I am Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus,” I whispered.
“That is correct, Mistress,” said the girl.
“I do not understand,” I said. “I do not understand anything! I do not even know the name of the world on which I find myself.”
“It is called Gor,” she said.
Chapter 4 - A NIGHT IN CORCYRUS
I awakened, sometime late at night. I had been dreaming in Gorean, the language spoken in Corcyrus, and, I had learned, in much of this world.
Several weeks had passed since I had been brought here. In this time I had been immersed, for hours, for Ahn, a day in studies and trainings pertinent to my new environment. I was still muchly imperfect in many things, but there was little doubt in my mind, nor I think in that of my numerous teachers, that I had made considerable progress.
I lay nude, late at night, on the great couch. The night was warm.
Supposedly I was Sheila, the Tatrix of this city, Corcyrus.
I could still feel the effects of the wine I had had for supper. I do not think that it was an ordinary wine. I think that it was an unusual wine in some respects, or, perhaps, that it had been drugged.
I had had a strange dream, mixed in with other dreams. It was difficult to sort these things out.
In the past few days, gradually, I had been entered into the public life of Corcyrus, primarily in small things such as granting audiences, usually with foreigners, and making brief public appearances. Always, in these things, Ligurious, happily, unobtrusively, was at my side. Often, had it not been for his suggestions, I would not have known what to do or say. I Had even, the day before yesterday, held court, though, to be sure, the cases were minor.