* * * *
"Are you awake?" asked a voice.
The hand on my shoulder shook me again, again gently.
My body stiffened. "Yes," I whispered.
I lay on the slope of a ditch, as it ascended to a road. There was a trickle of water at my feet. The grass was very green here, because of the water.
When I had left the wagon, by means of which I had accomplished my escape from the inn, I had fled across the fields. I had run and walked until perhaps noon, and had then, fearful of discovery, hidden near a small pool in a brake of ferns until nightfall. I had washed in the pool and drunk from it. I had set out again in the moonlight. I had eaten almost nothing and I was terribly hungry. I had been afield for only an Ahn or so when the winds had risen and clouds had obscured the moons. Rain had begun to fall, as it apparently had the night before. I stumbled on through the darkness, my legs lashed to the thighs by the knives of the wind-whipped grass. I soon grew weak and exhausted. I sought a dwelling, or a road, which I might follow to a dwelling, that I might there, like an urt, skulk about and, as at the inn, piteously seek some sustenance from their refuse. Twice I fainted, probably from hunger. The second time I recovered consciousness the storm had worsened and the sky was bursting with lightning and thunder. As I crouched in the grass I saw, in a valley below me, in a flash of lightning, like a wet stone ribbon, a road. I crawled toward it. At its edge there was a deep ditch. Had I not been crawling, I might, in the darkness, between flashes of lightning, have come on the ditch unawares and fallen into it. As it was I lowered myself down its slope with the intention of then climbing the other side and attaining the surface of the road. In the bottom of the ditch there was, at that time, a flow of water some six inches deep, from the storm. I knelt in this, the cold fluid rushing about my legs, and, cupping my hands, drank from it. I then started to climb toward the road. I was suddenly frightened. The incline was steeper than I had anticipated. I slipped back, into the water. I tried again, inching myself upward. Grass pulled out of the slope, clutched in my hands. I slipped back. I was weak and miserable. I waded at the bottom of the ditch and, in two or three places, again tried to climb out of it. I was not successful. The storm, meanwhile, had subsided. I could now see the moons. In the moonlight I found an ascent which I, though with difficulty, could manage. Gasping, holding at the grass, inching my way upward, I drew my body from the grass to the road. I looked at the road, from my belly. I felt out with my hands. It seemed constructed of large, square stones. It was not an ordinary road, I thought. Like most Gorean roads, however, a single pair of ruts marked its center. Gorean vehicles, commonly slow moving, tend to keep to the center of a road, except in passing.
In the distance I heard the sound of bells, harness bells. It might be a wagon, or a set of wagons, which had pulled to the side of the road during the storm and now, with the passing of the storm, had resumed its journey. It must be near morning, I thought, that they are on the road. Gorean roads are seldom traveled at night. The bells were coming closer. I moaned and slid back from the road, again into the ditch. I slipped back a yard or so down the grassy slope, and then, clinging to grass, held my position. I could not see the surface of the road. I would wait here until the wagons had passed. They would not, I was sure, at night, in the moonlight and shadows, detect my presence. I clung there until the first wagon had passed. I could hear others approaching, too. I let myself slip down further in the ditch. I must not be discovered. I put my cheek against the wet grass. I was very tired. It was a good hiding place, the ditch. In the darkness, in the moonlight and shadows, I would not be detected. I was safe. I dreaded the climb again to the surface of the road. The ditch was so steep. I did not understand the need for such a ditch at the side of the road. But I was safe now. There were other wagons, too, coming. There must be many wagons. I must wait. I would rest, just a little bit. It would not hurt to close my eyes, only for a moment. I was so hungry. I was so tired. I was so miserable. I would rest, just for a little bit. I would close my eyes, only for a moment.
* * * *
"What are you doing here?" asked a voice.
"I am a free woman," I said.
I lay on the incline, the grass under my belly. It was warm now. The sun felt hot on my back. Muddy water was about my feet. A man was behind me. At least one other, I could hear him moving about, was above and in front of me, up on the surface of the road.
"I was attacked by bandits," I said. "They took my clothes."
"Hold still," said the voice behind me.
I heard the clink of a chain.
My body stiffened, my fingers clutched at the grass.
A chain was looped twice about my neck and padlocked shut.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"Hold still," said the voice.
The chain was then taken under my body and down to my ankles. My ankles were crossed and the chain was looped thrice about them, holding them closely together. Another padlock then, its tongue passing through links of the chain, was snapped shut. My ankles were now chained tightly together. I could not even uncross them. It is common to run a neck chain to the ankles in front of a woman's body, rather than behind it. In this fashion any stress on the chain is borne by the back of her neck rather than her throat. It is also regarded as a more aesthetic chaining arrangement than its opposite, the neck chain, for example, with its linearity, and its sturdy, inflexible links, affording a striking contrast with the softnesses, the beauties, of her lovely bosom. This arrangement is also favored for its psychological effect on the woman. As she feels the chain more often on her body in this arrangement, brushing her, for example, or lying upon her, she is less likely to forget that she is wearing it. It helps her to keep clearly in mind that she is chained. It reminds her, dramatically and frequently, of that fact.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "I am a free woman!"
"How is it, did you say," asked the man behind me, "that you are unclothed?"
"Bandits took my clothes!" I said.
"And left you?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"If it had been up to me," said the fellow behind me, "I think I would have taken you along and left the clothes."
I was silent.
"I suppose," he said, pleasantly enough, "they might have been poor of eyesight, or perhaps it was just very dark."
I did not speak.
"What is your Home Stone?" he asked.
I thought quickly. I did not want to identify myself with Corcyrus, of course, or any cities or towns in that area, even Argentum. Too, I knew we had flown northwest. I then took, almost out of the air, a city far to the north, one I had heard of but one, unfortunately, that I knew little about. The name had been mentioned, I did recall, on the tarn platform, in the camp of Miles of Argentum. Perhaps that is what suggested it to my mind.
"That of Lydius," I said.
"What is the location of Lydius?" he asked.
"North," I said. "North."
"And where in the north?" he asked.
I was silent.
"On what lake does Lydius lie?" he asked.
"I do not know," I said.
"It does not lie on a lake," he said.
"Of course not," I said.
"On what river does it lie?" he asked.
"It doesn't lie on a river," I said.
"It is on the Laurius," he said.
I was silent.
"What is the first major town east of Lydius?" he asked.
"I don't remember," I said.
"Vonda," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"No," he said. "Vonda is on the Olni. It is Laura."
"Yes," I said, sick and hungry, chained.
"You are certain that you are a free woman?" asked the man.
"Yes," I said.
"Where is your escort, your guards?" he asked.
"I was traveling alone," I said.
"That is unusual for a free woman," he said.
I was silent.
"What were you doing on this road?" he asked.
"Traveling," I said. "Visiting."
"And where did you think you were going?" asked the man.
"I don't know," I sobbed. I did not even know what towns lay along this road. I did not even know where I was.
"Look here," said the fellow. He turned me about. I saw he was a brawny, blond youth. He did not seem angry or cruel. He crouched down and, with one finger, near the bottom of the ditch, made a precise marking, or drawing, in the mud.
"What letter is that?" he asked.
"I do not know," I said.
"Al-ka," he said.
"I cannot read," I said.
"Most free women can read," he said.
"I was not taught," I said.
"You have a lovely body," he said.
"Such things are not to be noted in the case of a free woman!" I said.
"It is difficult not to notice," he said.
"Respect my modesty," I said. "Do not look upon me so!"
He smiled.
He continued to regard me, appraisingly.
"Please!" I protested.
He was not a man of Earth.
He was natural, and strong, and free. Gorean men relish women, and prize them. Perhaps that is why they like to own them.
They find them inordinately attractive, devastatingly exciting and irresistibly beautiful.
What a joy then to have one in one's arms, and collar.
"Please," I said, "please!"
He continued to savor me.
I knew myself well scrutinized.
"Yes," said he, musingly, "a lovely body."
"You would not be interested in it," I said, lightly.
"Why not?" he asked.
"It is only the body of a free woman," I said.
"The bodies of most slaves," he said, "were once the bodies of free women."
"Please unchain me," I said.
"It has delicious slave curves," he said.
"Unchain me, please," I begged.
"Your body does not suggest that it is the body of a free woman," he said. "It suggests, rather, that it is the body of a natural slave."
"I beg to be unchained," I said. "You can see that I am a free woman. My body is unbranded. I do not wear a collar!"
"Some masters," said he, "are so foolish as not to brand and collar their women."
"That would be stupid," I said.
"I think so," he said.
"So you can see, then," I said, "that I, uncollared, unbranded, must be free."
"Not necessarily," he smiled.
"Unchain me," I begged.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Lita," I said. I remembered this name from the time that Drusus Rencius had taken me to the house of Kliomenes in Corcyrus. It was the name he had chosen for me there, Lady Lita, of Corcyrus. It had sprung into my mind probably because of that trip. Too, I recalled that both Publius and Drusus Rencius had thought that it would be a good name for me.
Both of the men then laughed, he standing now before me as I sat on the bank, and he, who was apparently alone, on the surface of the road.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"That is a slave name," he said.
"No!" I said.
"It is a common slave name," he said. "Indeed, it is one of the names popular with the masters for unusually juicy and helpless slaves."
I was angry.
What sport then, I thought, must Drusus Rencius have had of me in Corcyrus! What a clever joke he had played upon me, the beast! Was that not a pleasant vengeance to take upon she who had so frequently discomfited him, she whom he then believed to be proud Sheila, the arrogant tatrix of Corcyrus? I recalled that, yes, both Publius and he had thought that that would be good name for me! I had understood so little then!
"It is also the name of some free women," I said.
"It is possible, I suppose," said the man.
"Please unchain me," I begged.
"Lita," said the man.
"Lady Lita," I said.
"Lita," said he.
I looked at him in misery.
"It seems clear you are a slave, Lita," he said. "You are naked. You apparently have no Home Stone. You do not know where you are. You cannot even read. Your name is even that of a slave."
"No!" I said.
"But it is," he said. "Therefore, since it seems clear that you are a runaway slave, you will henceforth address us as 'Master.'"
"Please, no," I said.
"If you are actually a free woman, as you claim," he said, "no great harm will be done. On the other hand, if you should prove to be a slave, as you doubtless will, this will save you some whippings for disrespect."
I stared at him in misery.
"Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
He continued to look at me.
"Yes—Masters," I said.
"The word sounds very natural on your lips, Lita," he said.
"Yes, Masters," I said.
"You may thank us," he said.
"Thank you, Masters," I said.
He then scooped me up and, standing on the slope, threw me over his left shoulder. My head faced behind. In this fashion a girl cannot see where she is being carried. In this fashion, too, it is her bottom which is first being presented for the view of those whom her carrier approaches. It is thought useful for her to understand this. It is, of course, a common way of carrying female slaves. He then, slipping, crouching down, putting out his hand, scrambled up the slope.
In a moment they had put me on a blanket in the wagon bed of an open tharlarion wagon. They were not ungentle with me.
"I am very hungry, Masters," I said. "May I have something to eat?"
"Surely," said the fellow who had carried me up the slope. Then, while the other fellow took his place on the wagon box and started the ponderous draft beast into motion, he gave me two generous pieces of bread, two full wedges of Sa-Tarna bread, a fourth of a loaf. Such bread is usually baked in round, flat loaves, with eight divisions in a loaf. Some smaller loaves are divided into four divisions. These divisions are a function, presumably, of their simplicity, the ease with which they may be made, the ease with which, even without explicit measurement, equalities may be produced. He also gave me a slice of dried larma, some raisins and a plum. Twice he poured me water from a bag into a cup. He indicated the side of the cup from which I might drink. When a cup is shared masters and slaves do not drink from the same side of the cup.
"Do not eat so quickly," he cautioned me, as I tore piteously at the bread. "How long is it since you have eaten?" he asked.
"Since last night," I said, "before the bandits attacked."
He laughed. I continued to bite and tear at the bread. I had hardly eaten in four days. At the inn I had eaten even garbage.
"Eat more slowly, little Lita," he said, "or you will make yourself ill."
"Yes, Master," I said.
In a time, my repast was finished. He put aside the cup from which I had drunk.
"You look much better now," he said, "now that you have been fed and watered."
"Thank you, Master," I said. "May I speak?"
Something in me relished, somehow, asking for permission to speak. Somehow that seemed very meaningful to me, and, indeed, in some way, perhaps obscurely, arousing, sexually arousing, very sexually arousing. To be sure, I gathered that it was wise on my part to conform with their stipulations, their requirements. If I were not mistaken they actually thought it likely that I was a slave. This misapprehension, an error this absurd, of this gross a nature, was almost incomprehensible to me. Could not anyone, looking upon me, see clearly that I was a free woman? How could anyone conceive that I might be so lowly and degraded a creature as a slave? It was not my fault if I had what some brutes, in their superior, mannish vulgarity, referred to as "slave curves." Surely anyone could see that I was a free woman, and could be only that.
Kajira of Gor Page 25