by John Norman
“I had long considered bringing you to this place, Lady Sheila,” he said, “even before you yourself expressed an interest in the walls, but, again and again, I forced the thought from my mind. This thought I resisted further, even more tenaciously, when you yourself broached it, now and again. Then finally, after much troubled thought, it seemed to me that perhaps it was best that I let myself accompany you here.”
“I do not understand what you are saying,” I said.
“Here I would be alone with the Tatrix of Corcyrus, near saddled tarns,” he said. “It seemed then that I knew what I should do. It seemed then that a given course of action would be appropriate. It would be easy enough to execute. Indeed, I could undertake it now. It is perhaps what I should do. I shall not, however, do it. I contravene no orders. Rather I will let the game take its course.”
“You speak in riddles,” I chided him.
“Let us now descend from the wall,” he said. “Let us now return to the palace.”
I glanced at the tarns. They were gigantic, fierce birds.
Drusus Rencius stood close behind me. I thought for a moment he might take me in his arms. I felt faint. I wanted him to do so.
“What is that sound from within your cloak?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Show me,” I said. I turned. He held open the side of the cloak, it then like a curtain between me and the city. The parapet was at my back.
There, held by a snap catch against the silken lining of the great cloak, looped, in coils, there hung a set of light chains.
I could not determine the exact arrangement of the chains, coiled as they were. There seemed, however, to be a longer chain, which was a base chain, and two smaller, subsidiary chains. At one end the base chain was attached to a rather small neck ring, but suitable for closing about a woman’s neck; at the other end it was attached to one of the subsidiary chains, about a foot long, and terminating on each end with a ring; those rings looked as though they might fit snugly about a woman’s ankles; the other subsidiary chain seemed to be placed about two feet or so below the, neck ring; at its terminations were smaller rings, which looked as though they might close snugly, locking, about a woman’s wrists.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It is called a sirik,” he said.
“Do men carry such things?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he said.
I wondered what chains like that would feel like on my body. They looked very graceful. They were doubtless flattering. Too, they would hold me quite well.
“Let us descend from the wall,” said Drusus Rencius. “Let us return to the palace.”
Chapter 7 – BRACELETS
“It is so skimpy,” I said, “so tiny.”
“Retire behind the screen,” he said, “and put it on.”
I hurried behind the three-part screen in one corner of the large, well-lit room in the inn of Lysias, off the square of Perimines, on the street of Philebus. It is not far from the house of the slaver, Kliomenes, on Milo Street. We had entered the inn through its front door. We would leave it through its back door, which opened onto an alley. Later, we would return to it through this same back door. We would then take our final exit, once again, later, through the front door.
I put the small garment on the broad, dark-stained, polished boards of the floor near my feet, behind the screen. I then began to remove the veils and robes of concealment.
“There is no place back here,” I said, “to put my garments.”
“Put them on the top of the screen,” he said. I will fold them and place them on the chest.” I did this, reaching above my head to place them on the top of the screen. He then removed them from this location.
“You are to be barefoot,” he said.
I removed my slippers and put them to the left side of the screen. I saw his hand take them.
I then removed the remainder of my garments, and saw them, from the top of the screen disappear. Now, behind the screen, I was naked. Only an inch of wood separated me from such a man. I wished that I had retained some of my other garments behind the screen, if only for psychological security. I felt the dark, polished floor beneath my bare feet.
I felt the air of the room, behind the screen, on my body. I touched the screen lightly with my finger tips.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“No!” I said. I hastily, trembling, crouched down and seized up the small bit of cloth I had placed at my feet. I moaned, inwardly. It was so light, tiny and short. It would be dismayingly revealing. Surely such garments are an insult to a woman, I thought, forcing her to show how beautiful she is, to anyone who might care to look upon her. I drew it over my head and pulled it down, desperately, about my body. It was a gray, beltless, one-piece garment of rep cloth, with inch-wide straps over the shoulders. I tugged it down, at the hem, at the sides, trying to make it cover more of my thighs.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, faltering.
“Step forth,” he said.
I came forth, from about the edge of the screen.
“Aiiii,” he said, softly, to himself.
This response pleased me.
“Stand there,” he said, indicating a place on the floor.
I went to where he had indicated.
“Now turn, slowly, and then face me,” he said.
I did so.
“Are my legs pretty?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But your face and figure, as a whole, are also quite pretty.”
“You find my pleasing, then?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Indeed, I had not supposed that the Tatrix of Corcyrus would prove to be such a beauty.”
“Surely, then,” I smiled, “I would be worth at least a silver tarsk.”
“There are many beautiful women in the markets,” he said. “You are untrained.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Come here,” he said, “and remove my cloak. Then fold it, and place it on the chest.”
I did so.
“Now return to where you were, facing me.”
I did so.
“The Tatrix of Corcyrus does not often remove cloaks for gentlemen,” I informed him. I did not tell him, of course, how I had almost trembled being so near him, and how pleased I was to have performed this small service for him.
He did not respond but continued to gaze upon me, as though studying me. My scanty garb, of course, I understood, invited such scrutiny.
“Few men,” I said, “have looked upon the Tatrix of Corcyrus clad in this fashion.”
“Stand, straighter,” he said.
I did so.
“Doubtless they would think of her somewhat differently, if they saw her clad like this,” I said.
“Or any woman,” he said.
“Of course,” I said. I shuddered to think how men might think of women clad like this.
“The garment,” he said, “is perhaps too modest.”
“Too modest?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “but it will perhaps do. I tried to find a garment which would be both serviceable for our purposes and, at the same time, considerate, within the limitations of our project, of your modesty. That explains the neckline which does not plunge to your belly, revealing much of the beauty of your breasts, and the hemline, which is surely something less than slave short.”
I pulled down the sides of the garment. It seemed quite short to me.
“It does not even have a nether closure,” I said to him.
“In that it is authentic,” he said. “Such a closure, or the lines of a lower garment, affording such a closure, would be instantly detected by slaves.”
“I see,” I said.
“The slave, at any instant,” he said, “is to be available to the master.”
“I see,” I said.
“Do you wish to continue with this project?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“
I will take you into the house as though you might be a new girl or a fresh capture. This will explain why you are not in a collar. It will also make plausible your lack of a brand, should the matter arise. Your garment, incidentally, is long enough to cover most common brand sites. That you are totally free woman, and not a slave, or a capture enroute to collar, will be known to several members of the staff. They will, accordingly, refrain from handling you as though you were such a slave or capture, for example, stripping you, hurrying you through the halls with whips, and so on. Certain other members of the staff will not know that you are free. I shall take it upon myself to protect you from them. The pose of a jealous captor should suffice. The slaves, of course, will not know you are free. They will think you are merely a new girl, either a slave or one who, optionless, will soon be reduced to their status, one who will then be no more than they.”
“No one will know, even high members of the staff, will they,” I asked, “that I am actually the Tatrix of Corcyrus?”
“No,” he said. “They will know only that you are a free woman.”
“Good,” I said.
“Come here,” he said, pointing to a place before him. I went there and stood there, before him. It was not far from the couch, behind him. The couch was a large, square one, with, in its foot, the slave ring, an almost inevitable feature, it seemed, in Gorean domiciles. There was a small mat, and blanket, both rolled up, beneath the slave ring. They would doubtless be used there by a chained slave, if the master permitted it.
I glanced about the room. It was spacious, well-lit, comfortable and private. I wondered if free men and free women ever met in such places, for affairs. But then I glanced again at the slave ring. It seemed more likely that a man might bring a slave here, perhaps one rented for the afternoon or evening. I looked at Drusus Rencius. How could a free woman, I thought, ever compete with a slave?
“Drink this,” said Drusus Rencius.
What is it?” I asked, startled. It seemed he had produced this almost by magic. It was a soft, leather bota-like flask drawn from within his tunic.
“Slave wine,” he said.
“Need I drink that?” I asked, apprehensively.
“Unless you have had slave wine,” he said, “I have no intention of taking you through the streets clad as you are. Suppose you are raped?”
I put the flask, which he had opened, to my lips. Its opening was large enough to drink freely from. “It is bitter!” I said, touching my lips to it.
“It is the standard concentration, and dosage,” he said, “plus a little more, for assurance. Its effect is indefinite, but it is normally renewed annually, primarily for symbolic purposes.”
I could not believe how bitter it was. I had learned from Susan, whom I had once questioned on the matter, the object. It is prepared from a derivative of sip root. The formula, too, I had learned, at the insistence of masters and slavers, had been improved by the caste of physicians within the last few years. It was now, for most practical purposes, universally effective. Too, as Drusus Rencius had mentioned, its effects, at least for most practical purposes, lasted indefinitely.
“Have no fear,” said Drusus Rencius. “The abatement of its effects is reliably achieved by the ingestion of a releaser.”
“Oh,” I said. I knew this, of course. Susan had told me.
When a female slave is given the releaser, she knows that she may soon expect to be hooded, and bred.
“Could it not be sweetened?” I asked.
“I have chosen that you drink it as it is,” he said, “as it is normally drunk.”
“You would have the Tatrix of Corcyrus drink unsweetened slave wine?” I asked.
“Shall we return to the palace?” he asked.
“I will drink it,” I said. I was a bit irritated with Drusus Rencius. Clad as I was before him, he had seemed to become much more domineering, much more aggressive with me, than he had before. Something in me resented this, but I felt something else, something deeper within me, how deep I did not know, excited and deeply moved, responding to it.
“Do you wish help in drinking it?” he asked.
“How could you help me drink it?” I asked, puzzled.
“The female is put on her knees,” he said. “The man crouches behind her. Her head and body are bent back. Her nostrils are pinched shut. The liquid is then poured into her mouth. Before she can breathe, she must swallow. In this way even a frightened or stubborn girl, early in her bondage, learns that she must, if her master wishes it, accept nourishment.”
“What if she keeps her mouth closed, her teeth clenched?” I asked. “What if she chooses to expel the nourishment later?”
“A mouth may be forced open,” he said. “Too, it is difficult to induce gagging if the hands are tied behind one.”
“I see,” I said.
“To be sure,” he said, “this method, for its best results, requires two men. Do you wish help?”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I shall manage very nicely by myself.”
I then, grimacing, forcing myself, a little at a time, and then, desperately, tears in my eyes, hurrying, in great swallows, downed the foul beverage.
“Very good,” he said.
I thrust the soft leather flask back to him. Gasping, half choking, I wiped my mouth with the back of my forearm.
“Go stand there,” he said, pointing to a place near the door, “facing me.”
I went to where he had indicated and turned, then, facing him.
He tossed the soft flask to the top of the chest, atop his cloak, which I, earlier, bidden, had folded and placed there.
“Why did you make me drink unsweetened slave wine?” I asked.
“Stand straighter,” he said.
I stood straighter.
“Why did you make me drink unsweetened slave wine?” I asked.
He looked me over, casually, not hurrying, from my head to my toes, and then, slowly, back.
“It was fitting,” he said.
I gasped. The arrogance of him!
“What do you have there!” I said.
He had removed a pair of light bracelets, joined by about five inches of light chain, from his pouch.
“Slave bracelets,” he said. “Turn around, facing the door, your hands behind your back.”
Almost numbly I did so. I heard him approach me. Then he stood behind me, quietly, not moving. Perhaps be was looking at me. Then, suddenly, I felt the two bracelets flung about my wrists, striking them, encircling them and snapping shut.
I was suddenly very frightened.
I tried, tentatively, behind my back, to separate my hands.
They could move only to the ends of their short chain.
“You are braceleted,” he said.
I leaned against the door, terrified, almost fainting, using it for support. I was breathing deeply. My heart was pounding.
I was braceleted! He was busying himself elsewhere in the room. I do not think he noted my condition.
How helpless I felt, braceleted.
In a moment he had returned to my vicinity, by the door. I now straightened my body. I was struggling to regain my composure.
“You braceleted me easily,” I observed, lightly.
“It is not hard to bracelet a woman,” he said.
It had been done so casually, so expertly, with apparently so little thought. Too, it had seemed to me to happen very suddenly, very decisively. In one instant I was free, and in the next I was held helplessly, the prisoner of bands and a chain. I was still shaken, perhaps even visibly so, with the enormity, of what had been done to me. I had been made helpless.
“You have braceleted other women, haven’t you?” I asked.
He had done it so easily, so nonchalantly.
“Yes,” he said. I hated those other women. I tried again to separate my wrists. I could not do so, of course. How short, how strong, seemed the chain that held them in proximity to one another. Suddenly I felt very weak. I, like the other women befor
e me, perhaps women who were mere slaves, wore the steel of Drusus Rencius.
“We shall leave now,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “Oh!” I said. “I did not mean that! Forgive me! It slipped out. I did not mean it.”
“Do not worry about it,” he said. “It is difficult for a woman clad as you are, and braceleted, not to think of a man as her master.”
“Thank you, Drusus,” I said. “You are very kind. Such a mistake, as you might imagine, is very embarrassing.”
“Doubtless,” he granted me, indulgently.
I wondered what it would be like to be owned, and to have to call a man “Master”. But, of course, owned, it would be quite suitable and proper for one to do so, for he would be, in fact, in such a situation, one’s Master. My mind was racing. How could it be that I had called Drusus Rencius “Master”? How inadvertently, how naturally, it had slipped out. I wondered if I were actually a proud, free woman, as I thought, or was something else, perhaps only a slave.
“If Lady Sheila is ready,” he said, “perhaps we should leave now.”
I put up my head.
I reminded myself that I was not really, in a sense, braceleted. Oh, I wore the steel. It was locked on me, and well, but I was the Tatrix of Corcyrus. I could order Drusus Rencius to remove it from me at any moment I wished, and he would. Thus, in that sense, it was not truly on me. I did shudder, for a moment, at the thought of what it would be to be truly in such bonds, but then I hastily dismissed such fearful and unsettling thoughts from my mind.
“Lady Sheila?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Let us go.”
He then opened the door and, holding me by the left arm, conducted me from the room.
Chapter 8 - I HAVE BEEN IN THE HOUSE OF KLIOMENES; THE ROOM IN THE INN OF LYSIAS; WAR
“Perhaps now,” said Drusus Rencius, “you have a better idea of the nature of the pens.”
I could not even answer him, accompanying him back through the alleys to the inn of Lysias. I feared that my head might begin to swirl, that I might lose consciousness. I was scarcely aware of my surroundings, of where I was or what I was doing, or even of my feet touching the ground. I felt light-headed. I was trembling. I was filled with wild, turbulent emotions. I would never have believed that women could be subjected to such domination. I hoped that Drusus Rencius could not smell my arousal.