The crowd, then, too, and most of the officers of Ar, began to leave.
I myself, but days ago, had lain, mastered, in the arms of Hassan, the Slave Hunter. "How, then, will you know her?" I had asked Hassan. "I will not know," he had said. "The sleen will know." He had had clothing, from the Tatrix, furnished to him from Corcyrus, presumably from her very chambers. It was this which had been used to put the sleen on the scent, only recently in Ar. That clothing, I knew, could not have been mine. The sleen had rejected me. They had sought another. Dozens of things now, suddenly, began to come clear to me. I had been told that I was Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, that this, here, on Gor, was to be my identity. Perhaps, in a sense, then, I had been Sheila, but, obviously, there must have been another as well, the real Sheila, so to speak. The experience which I had originally taken to be a dream, when I had been drugged, early in my stay in Corcyrus, I now understood had probably not been a dream at all, but my recollection of being inspected, in my half-conscious, drugged state, by Ligurious and Sheila. Doubtless she had been curious to see me. Susan, too, once, had seemed terribly startled to find me in my chambers. She had, presumably, in spite of their precautions, caught a glimpse of the other Sheila, elsewhere in the palace. Naturally she had taken her for me. This, then, would explain her surprise at finding me, so soon and unexpectedly, from her point of view, in my chambers. This explained, too, my unusual and checkered schedule, so to speak, the certain times I must be in my chambers, and so on. These were times when the real Sheila was abroad in the palace, and doubtless attending to the governance of Corcyrus. It made sense, too, now, that I had been kept from the conduct of important business and the making of significant decisions. It was not, really, that I was not ready for such things, but, rather, that it would be absurd that I, not being the true Tatrix of Corcyrus, should concern myself with them. I remembered, too, that I had never been able to understand, really, the fear and hatred with which the Tatrix was viewed. I had done little or nothing, as far as I could tell, to inspire such feelings. These feelings, it now seemed clear to me, would doubtless have been the results of the acts and policies of the true Sheila, the real Tatrix. Unknowingly, I now realized I had seen her in the small room off the great hall on the day that the forces of Ar and Argentum had entered the city. I had known there was a woman somewhere who resembled me. Ligurious had, once or twice, told me as much. He had seemed much enamored of her. That was the woman, doubtless, and I had assumed as much, whom I had seen being leashed and disguised as a capture in the small room. She, apparently in the custody of soldiers of Ar, was to be carried to safety. What I had not realized until now was that she must also have been the true Tatrix of Corcyrus. In the great hall, before his departure, Ligurious had told me that I would soon serve my purpose. "What purpose?" I had said. "That purpose which we feared might one day have to be served," he had said, "that purpose, or major purpose, why you were brought to Gor." Only now, in a yard in Ar, did I fully realize how duped I had been. I had been brought to Gor in the event of just such a contingency. If things should go badly in Corcyrus for Ligurious and the Tatrix, if the people should rise, if the projected war for the mines of Argentum, which must have been truly theirs, turned out badly, they might escape, leaving behind them a pretty little proxy, a naive surrogate, on which enraged multitudes or menacing enemies might vent their wrath. How well they had planned. They had brought me to believe, even, that I actually was Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, that that, on Gor, at least, was my identity. Surely Susan had believed it, and Drusus Rencius, and many others. How well they had planned! My features, even, had been frequently and publicly exposed in Corcyrus. Thousands would be able to identify me as the Tatrix! But their plans had gone awry. That purpose, or major purpose, for which I had been brought to Gor, had not been served. I had been freed from the cage in the camp of Miles of Argentum. I had managed to escape. Thus, instead of the matter of Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, supposedly being concluded with an impalement on the walls of Argentum, following which Ligurious and the real Sheila, under new identities, and doubtless with salvaged riches, might proceed almost wherever they might please, an intensive and gigantic search had been initiated. Ligurious and Sheila had expected me to be identified as the Tatrix and shipped under lock and key to Argentum, there to be impaled; they had not expected me to escape; they had not counted on sleen. How unfortunate these events had turned out, at least for the real Sheila, now helpless in the bracelets of Hassan, the Slave Hunter. I thought of the impaling spear and regardless of what she was, or might have been, or what she and Ligurious might have intended for my fate, I could not help but feel sorry for her.
I felt a hand close tightly on the back of my neck. I could not even begin to think of escape.
"Turn about, Slave," said a voice.
The hand released me, and I turned about.
"Do I not know you?" asked Miles of Argentum. It had been he, apparently, in the uniform of Argentum, with Hassan, his men, the sleen, the officers of Ar. I had noted such a fellow with the others as long ago as Hermadius, where I had first seen the sleen.
"I do not think so, Master," I said.
"You look very familiar to me," he said. "Drusus," he called.
One of the officers came towards us.
I gasped, inadvertently.
"Do you know him?" asked Miles of Argentum.
"I do not think so, Master," I said.
"Why did you respond as you did?" he asked.
"It is only that he is such a strong and handsome officer, and I am only a slave," I said.
"Look here, Drusus," said Miles of Argentum. "See what we have here."
"A slave," said Drusus Rencius, dryly, shrugging. I suspected then that Drusus Rencius had seen me in the crowd but had not drawn me to the attention of Miles of Argentum. There was not the least glimmer of recognition in his eyes. It was as though he had never seen me before. I tried to give no sign of this, but I was almost overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. Then I wondered if, perhaps, he truly did not recognize me.
"Look more closely," said Miles.
"Yes?" asked Drusus.
"To be sure," said Miles, "this woman has apparently been shorn within the last three or four months."
"Yes?" asked Drusus.
"Surely you can see the striking resemblance," said Miles.
"To whom?" asked Drusus.
"To Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus," said Miles.
"Yes," said Drusus. "There is a resemblance."
I was confident now that Drusus Rencius recognized me. In the first instant I had seen him, mingled with my surprise, had been incredible joy at once more seeing him. I had had to restrain an impulse to throw myself, licking and kissing, to his feet. It was as though I might have been his actual slave. I wondered if I were his slave. I wondered if it was he who, in the true rightfulness of nature, was my master, if it were he who, in the true rightfulness of nature, owned me.
"Is this Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus?" asked Miles.
Drusus lifted up my tunic, on the left, casually, as a Gorean master. He did this with no more thought than one might have lifted up a corner of a tablecloth, or a curtain or drapery. I now realized that whatever might be the feelings of Drusus Rencius toward me I was now a slave to him. Once I had boasted to Drusus Rencius that I knew well how to torture a man. Now, of course, that I was a slave, the tables had been well turned. Now it was I who was at the mercy of men. They could do with me as they pleased. If there were any tortures to be administered, either physical or psychological, it was now I, and not they, who must fear them. I must set myself to be totally obedient and absolutely pleasing. He dropped the tunic back into place. He then stood before me and, with two hands, checked my collar. It was a standard collar. It was well on me. He then took me by the upper arms and, holding me, looked into my eyes. I restrained an impulse to try to press myself against him and kiss him. I wondered what he saw in my eyes, fear, perhaps, and bondage, and that I was his.
>
"Is it Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus?" asked Miles of Argentum.
"No," said Drusus Rencius. "It is only a slave."
"I see," smiled Miles of Argentum. He put his hand under my chin. "Lift your head, Girl," he said. I did so. He withdrew his hand. I kept my head up. "Stand straighter," he said. I did. I saw that he enjoyed commanding me, as a slave.
Miles of Argentum regarded me. He grinned. "I think," he said to Drusus Rencius, "this may be Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus."
"Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus," said Drusus Rencius, "has been captured."
"Has she?" asked Miles.
Drusus Rencius was silent.
"Come here, Girl," said Miles. I did so. He read my collar. I felt utterly helpless. By the collar I was clearly identified. I could not leave the city. I could not flee.
"You may go," said Miles, dismissing me.
"Thank you, Master," I said, and, with tears in my eyes, fled through the gate of the yard.
Outside I found Claudia, Crystal and Tupa. They had been waiting for me.
"What did the soldiers want?" asked Claudia.
"One was a general," said Crystal.
"Nothing," I said.
"What was the other?" asked Tupa.
"He was from Ar," said Crystal. "He was a captain."
"Where was the other one from?" asked Tupa.
"Argentum," I said.
"Where is that?" asked Tupa.
"To the south and west," I said.
"What did they want?" asked Claudia, again.
"Nothing," I said.
"Let us hurry back to the agency," said Claudia. "We do not want to be late for check-in."
"No!" said Crystal.
The doorkeeper was a friendly fellow and we did not fear being a little late. On the other hand, we did not wish to risk being switched or lashed across the back of the thighs. Similarly it is no fun to be put on one's stomach and have one's feet, by the ankles, fastened over the six-inch-high, seven-foot-long metal tying bar, and then to have them spanked soundly with a light, springy board.
The other girls were in no doubt as to the route home. They did not even proceed to the Wall Road. They retreated on the street a bit, and then went south and east for a few streets, and then, suddenly, turning right, we found ourselves on Emerald. This was the route, I took it, which had been followed by Hassan, the sleen, and the others. Moving south on Emerald we came, after about an Ahn, to the Plaza of Tarns. In a few moments, then, we had re-entered the agency.
"You are just in time," said the doorkeeper to us.
We lined up, single-file, at his counter. There was a cup and a pitcher of Bazi tea on the counter. Bazi tea is a common beverage on Gor. Many Goreans are fond of it. I was last in line. He took our disks from the out-board and hung them, one by one, in their places, on the in-board.
"You had best hurry along and get something to eat," he told us.
"Yes, Master," we said. "Thank you, Master."
Along the corridor a bit I turned and watched him lock the agency door. This was fastened with two bars and locks. I then watched him swing shut and lock the gate to our corridor. He then returned to his place behind the counter. From somewhere behind the counter he took out a wrapper and placed it on the counter. It contained a lunch. He also poured himself a cup of Bazi tea. He then began to eat.
I looked at the locked agency door, and the locked corridor gate.
I considered who I was.
I was Tiffany, of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus, the Plaza of Tarns. I knew this. Many people knew it. Anyone would know it who read my collar. Miles of Argentum, for example, knew it. I thought of Miles of Argentum. He had let me go. But he had risked nothing. He knew exactly where to find me, if he should care to do so. I was a helpless, imprisoned slave, totally at the mercy of masters.
But doubtless he was not interested in me.
I then went down the corridor, to the kitchen, to get something to eat.
31
Argentum
"Remove your silk," he said.
I did so.
"Kneel," he said.
I did so.
"Straighten your body," he said.
I did so. I knelt naked before Miles of Argentum, before his thronelike chair, on the tiles in his quarters, in Argentum.
"Your knees," he said.
I spread my knees even more widely before him.
"You are now known as Tiffany, I believe," he said, "of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus."
"I am Tiffany," I said, "of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus."
"I never forget a face," he said.
I was silent.
My entire group had been brought from Ar to Argentum, as though to entertain. This had been done at the expense of Miles of Argentum. Furthermore, much to the surprise and displeasure of the girls, who were perhaps by now somewhat spoiled, we had been brought under heavy security. We had never, from the time we had left the agency in Ar to the time we entered the grounds of the palace in Argentum, been out of chains of one sort or another. I supposed that it was only I, of all the girls, and perhaps of all those on the staff of the agency itself, who suspected the reasons for this trip to Argentum and the rationale of the security. I did not think Miles of Argentum was particularly interested in feast slaves, per se. Surely such might be rented in Argentum itself. I think rather he was interested particularly in one feast slave. Tonight I had been brought to him, leashed and braceleted. My keeper, a fellow from the agency, had then, in his quarters, freed me of these bonds and turned me over to him. He had rented me for the night.
"Thrust out your breasts, Tiffany," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I lifted and straightened my body even more, sucking in my gut and putting back my shoulders, this lifting the softness of my bosom brazenly to him, as that of a slave girl, for his consideration or attentions.
"You are pretty, Tiffany," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"I enjoy commanding you," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You are a barbarian," he said.
"Yes, Master."
"Barbarians make good slaves, do they not?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said. "I hope so, Master."
"Your native tongue, as I understand it, is called English."
"Yes, Master."
"But you do not much need that tongue on Gor, do you?"
"No, Master," I said.
"Your Gorean," he said, "is excellent."
"Thank you, Master."
"But you cannot read?"
"No, Master."
"Statistically," he said, "young women pick up new languages quickly. Did you know that?"
"No, Master," I said.
"Why is that?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"In our history, as in yours," he said, "there were once many small, isolated linguistic groups, who, being apart from one another, developed mutually unintelligible languages."
"But everyone on Gor, as far as I know, speaks one language, Gorean."
"No," he said, "there are many languages on Gor, but it is true that the overwhelming majority of civilized Goreans speak the language, as we think of it. Do you know how that came about?"
"No, Master."
"Have you heard of Priest-Kings?"
"Not really, Master, the word, little else."
"You need not concern yourself with them," he said, "as you are only a slave."
"Yes, Master," I said. Many things on Gor, I had learned, were not regarded as fit subjects for the speculations of slaves.
"In any event, Priest-Kings, who have such power," said he, "have required that we on this world, for the most part, share a common language, the nature of which they left to us, and it has been composed, at least lexically, of many languages, and is regularly standardized at the great fairs, and elsewhere, by the caste of scribes, who supervise most educa
tion, on many levels, on this world."
"The Priest-Kings then," I said, "are wise and kind, and intend that by means of a common language all municipalities may well understand one another, and thus disagreement will be obviated, and peace and harmony assured."
"It is well that you are pretty," he said, "for you are such a naive little slave. Do you truly think disagreement, conflict, and war, will vanish once enemies well understand one another? Indeed, would they not, if they truly understood one another, be in a more favorable position to anticipate and prosecute hostilities? Language is not that important. What men want is important. Wars, and such, are fought for territory, for mineral wealth, for geopolitical advantage, for ports, for mines, for treasure, for arable land, for slaves, and such, and for reasons of insult and honor. They have nothing to do with whether one speaks the same language or not. Do you think there are no enemies, no hatreds, amongst folk who speak the same language? The better you understand your enemy the better you can understand his hostilities, his ambitions, and the dangers he poses to you."
"Then the intentions of these Priest-Kings have been frustrated?" I said.
"Not at all," he said. "They have required a common language of us for their own purposes, that they may the more easily communicate with us, and, through the Initiates, a high caste, and those sleen think themselves the highest caste, make known to us their will."
"I see," I said.
"But we digress," said he. "Once, on Gor, as in your own history, there were many isolated linguistic groups."
"Yes, Master?" I said.
"And so now you grasp the reason why young women are adept at learning new languages," he said.
"No, Master," I said.
"You do not seem stupid," he said.
"It is my hope that I am not stupid," I said.
"Are you stupid?" he asked.
"I do not think so, Master," I said. "I hope not."
"But you do not see?"
"Forgive me, Master. No, Master."
"The knack has been bred into them," he said.
"I do not understand," I said.
"Women throughout your history, and ours, for hundreds of generations, have been prizes."
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